After growing up in Chicago, I fell in love with the winter seasons of what some economists mis-frame as the Global South. In Mexico, and Antigua and Barbuda, I enjoyed the year-round warm weather. The sun wrapped its arms around me from January to December for eight years.
Every morning I stepped outdoors this week, the dark sky and cold temperatures reminded me of the life I left behind. I struggled to accept the separation.
Being back in the States feels like dating an ex-girlfriend. She looks good, but once you get involved again, you realize why you broke up.
My family moved abroad during Trump's first term and returned last month. While at the gym on Monday, running on a treadmill between two TVs perched from the ceiling, I read captions conveying pain and pride. One screen displayed the inauguration, and the other showed footage from a Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. event.
"Oh God! What?" I verbalized feelings of disbelief and disgust as I read celebratory comments from a Trump supporter.
I switched viewpoints to the other TV, which showed interviews of people recognizing MLK's contributions to the Civil Rights Movement. My feet moved forward on the treadmill, but I remained in a happy place, smiling at the images and corresponding words.
I jogged for thirty minutes. Between hate and love, I ran toward answers to where I live. A little more than three miles didn't take me far or produce adequate responses.
In last week's blog post, I shared how my job resembles a divine appointment. It's not a pseudo-manipulative God position like Trump's cabinet appointee, Elon Musk, who salutes Nazi fascism. My work impacts the most vulnerable members of our society.
I need your help.
It is crucial to help Black and other marginalized populations succeed. As federal DEI programs lose support from the White House, we must remain vigilant.
We must open our eyes to creative pathways to progress in schools, nonprofit organizations, religious institutions, and businesses. Executive orders have been signed to override diversity policies and practices.
Do you remember my ex? Why did I return to her embrace? What follows is how I process this decision.
The love I shared with Antigua ended. It was time to leave.
America and I had a good relationship. Like any couple, we had disagreements but managed to stay together. The love and hate of our union produced family, friends, and communities.
We pushed through struggles, enjoyed moments of prosperity, and contemplated riding in limousines to the airport after our wedding.
Returning to my ex is difficult. She pledges to make herself "great again," but I'm not convinced. Her history involves the enslavement of Africans and the genocide of indigenous populations.
She is working to erase the past's implications for today through educational policies and laws. With systemic oppression and the help of individuals, she will not change.
I returned with my family to help her improve, but I'm uncertain she wants help.
My products and services involve people pushed to the margins of America’s focus. She cares for majoritarian populations accepted in elite social and economic strata.
What can we do to heal this relationship? How can we collaborate to increase our chances of creating a more equitable society? In these four years, we must persevere and combine our resources to embody change.
I don’t have time to complain.
We have work.
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The postings on this site are my own and do not necessarily reflect the views of the Umoja Community Education Foundation.