ameliaslunchbox

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A dead man’s dream by Carl Wendell Hines Jr. Now that he is safely dead, Let us praise him. Build monuments to his glory. Sing Hosannas to his name. Dead men make such convenient heroes. For they cannot rise to challenge the images That we might fashion from their lives. It is easier to build monuments Than to build a better world. So now that he is safely dead, We, with eased consciences will Teach our children that he was a great man, Knowing that the cause for which he Lived is still a cause And the dream for which he died is still a dream. A dead man’s dream. (Originally written for Malcolm, but applies to Martin, and many of our other fallen, who are molded/mangled/made into palatable monuments.)

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"Where kinky hair goes to unthought-of dimensions..."

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I was born through a womb by way of open wounds no immaculate conception just two broken souls reaching out for dear life.

- amelia simone, excerpt from “birth story”

“I was born” are the first three words in many slave narratives from the United States. They are often followed by a place, but seldom a date, given the precarious conditions of birth and life for Africans enslaved in America. The authenticity of the authors’ voices and accounts were routinely questioned, as was the authenticity of their very humanity. These simple words, “I was born”, may seem self-evident, but they were radical, existential claims in the context of chattel slavery, where people were seen as commodities to serve the interests of capital. “I exist.” This is still a radical claim in the midst of circumstances that threaten to negate our presence. As a descendent of people whose humanity could not be extinguished by enslavement, I will continue to write my self into existence.

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love rejected hurts so much more than love rejecting; they act like they don’t love their country no what it is is they found out their country don’t love them.

- Lucille Clifton

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I had an opportunity to see Oliver Mtukudzi live in Cape Town this summer & he was truly unforgettable. Living legend.

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Black Thought in an Ivory Tower

In the halls of ivy, some things go unsaid. If only the hush made them cease. Instead, they maneuver subtly, like silent killers.

Once, we discussed radiation, how it can poison quietly, gradually, invisibly. The professor asked, “Can you imagine being erased slowly, day by day, in a million tiny instances that escape recognition?”

It was oddly validating to know, other silent wars are waged besides the daily barrage on the skin I’m in.

- amelia simone

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Live light. Travel light. Spread light. Be light.

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#eGoli. (at Johannesburg~South Africa)

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"Movement building comes from building yourself first." - Zachie Achmat, Political Activist and Speaker at the Equal Education Congress Equal Education is a movement of learners, parents, teachers and community members working for quality and equality in South African education, through analysis and activism. I had the opportunity to go to the opening day of the #EECongress and I was blown away. The majority of the people in this room are students under the age of 18 who have mobilized and begun to demand a dismantling of the reality that richer learners have access to better education, a reality which serves to perpetuate the status quo and maintain the gap between rich and poor. They are doing this through focused, sustained campaigns directly demanding accountability from government, such as the recent sanitation campaign, during which students used photography, demonstrations, writing, and legal advocacy to demand sanitary school facilities for all schools. They are consciously identifying themselves as a class movement and I heard young people saying things like "education is not a consumer good, it is a right, so it should not be delivered through a market system." They even had international observers attending as a show of solidarity, such as young people from Chile's students movements. These young people have seriously made me ask myself what I am doing to help activate students in the states around these same issues, especially in the context of the #BlackLivesMatter movement, of which education must be an integral part. There's work to do. #EqualEducation #Everygenerationhasitsstruggle

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What place do political consciousness, civic engagement, and human rights awareness have in our curricula, schools, and communities? Is the answer universal or does it depend on the context? Can educators prepare students to "succeed" within our economic/political/social systems while simultaneously activating them to expose the inequities in these same systems and eventually subvert and transform them? I spent last week grappling with these questions and more with educators and activists from South Africa, Malawi, Democratic Republic of the Congo, and the U.S. #education #humanrights #southafrica #columbiauniversity (at South African Human Rights Commission)

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Monument to a Vessel - Peterson Kamwathi. Stevenson Gallery. #CapeTown #SouthAfrica #StevensonGallery (at First Thursdays Cape Town)

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Transatlantic Thoughts

On Tuesday morning, I embarked on a direct flight from New York City to Johannesburg, followed by a flight to Cape Town. At a little over 16hrs, JFK to JNB is one of the top 10 longest nonstop flights in the world. Being in an enclosed space for that long can be extremely uncomfortable. Passengers are encouraged to walk and stretch periodically during the flight. Blankets, pillows, and a large selection of movies and entertainment are available. Several meals are served along with unlimited wine and spirits to help people relax. Flight attendants are extremely pleasant and walk around with water at regular intervals to help people avoid dehydration. Nevertheless, everyone was frantically gearing up before takeoff and I could hear scattered conversations lamenting the arduous journey ahead.

No one in my immediate family or recent generations has made this trip, but during the flight, my mind couldn’t help but wander to thoughts of ancestors who have traveled long distances in less ideal circumstances. As a student of history, images of an involuntary trek across the Atlantic while chained to another person and confined to the hull of a ship flashed into my thoughts. Although they were likely traveling from West Africa on the Middle Passage, the enslaved Africans in my bloodline had indefinite days of strife ahead of them before docking to an unknown fate in an unfamiliar and hostile place. Many of them never made it and were dumped overboard into the choppy waters of the Atlantic. One could argue those may have been the lucky ones. In the early 1600s, this same transatlantic trip could take several months and by the 19th century, required a minimum of about 6 weeks. I already knew that my 16hrs of sipping wine in a cramped seat while flying through the air was a luxury, but suddenly, it felt like a fantasy, an extravagant, sci-fi like notion when I think of how my predecessors may have made this same voyage several generations ago.

At one point during the flight, the passenger next to me tapped me to wake me from sleep. Mari was a wonderful Mexican-American college student from Southern California, with kin who have also had a history of turbulent journeys to the US (albeit traveling clandestinely into lands that were taken from them). She didn’t want me to miss the beautiful image of the orange sun blending with the midnight blue sky, as we were suspended somewhere in the Atlantic, unable to tell whether it was night or day. Without concept of time or place, it felt like a rare moment of clarity that I should cherish. As I marveled at the bright layer of light resting gently beneath a bed of indigo, I wondered if any of my ancestors got the chance to peak out even just for a moment at the strip of colors over the horizon as they sailed across the Atlantic. And I wondered if maybe, just maybe, they had a split second on that excruciating trip to gain comfort from imagining that one day, someone descended from their blood might get to take this journey again, only this time flying through the sky, 30,000 feet above those waters.

- amelia simone

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A tomorrow beyond yesterday requires wild imagination, but we master restraining gifts for survival of the present.

We’re writing it today, but we’re not all taking note - someday youth will ask our role in the History of the Future.

- amelia simone

(If you were writing a book titled, The History of the Future, how would it unfold?)

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April 14, 2015

Erica Garner

Once our outrage is muffled by daily survival and minutiae, and our fury is pacified by the opiate of popular culture, the crowds behind her dwindle.


But Eric is still gone, her anger cannot die. Must she wait until the next for the crowd to re-form?

- amelia simone

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April 13, 2015 In the recesses of my mind, there is constant play, the kind that lasts until streetlights signal end of day. - amelia simone

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April 11, 2014 Sometimes I travel outside of myself in search of treasure. I've been rerouted enough to know that's the wrong road. - amelia simone