Transcriber: Juana Laclau Reviewer: Belen Maya
I am not expendable,
and though you think I’m dispensable,
I regret to inform you that my life matters.
Well, actually scratch the regret
because I’m not sorry to let you know that my skin color
shouldn’t be enough to put me in a chokehold.
To my COD’s asphyxiation,
I'm really debating on whether you see me or the blackness on my skin as calls
for extermination as if I can infect you with my melanin.
My only sin was being born this way.
My race should not be justification for being killed.
Neither should it be the reason for my body to be target practice
and filled with fifty or forty one or ten bullet holes.
There are souls attached to your holster, Mr. Officer.
It would be a little bit better if we could confine it to the police force,
but they aren't the only source of the black and brown genocide.
Even common folk are desensitized to life
as they try to rectify what they believe to be invasions
by invading scores with shotgun pellets.
We operate in a system where overzealous citizens determine innocence.
Therefore, it's no coincidence that the significance of a hoodie Arizona
and Skittles are mysterious, but I am serious.
I am not expendable.
Trayvon Martin. Oscar Grant, Michael Brown.
Jordan Davis, Renisha McBride, Ahmaud Arbery, George Floyd, Breonna Taylor,
Kendra James are all human beings.
They’re not just the list of names who all lost their lives for nonsensical reasons.
I thought we already fought for our freedom to live.
Justice doesn't come to our neck of the woods
because of reduction in population is for the common good, right? Wrong.
I will no longer go along with the fear of being the next one
to be on the barrel side of the next gun or crying for the next son,
whose mother can only hold on to memories
I, we are not your enemy.
And so until I find the remedy for survival,
I'll just refer you to the title of this poem.
I wrote that poem in 2014, just days after the death of Michael Brown.
I laid in bed sobbing upon hearing the news that he was killed.
I scrolled through my Twitter feed reading about him being shot:
hands up in the air, body left in the street, bleeding for hours.
It wasn’t my first time hearing news like this.
I was around for Trayvon Martin, for Sean Bell, for Kimani Gray.
But something this time was different.
I realized that black people were feverishly
trying to keep Michael Brown human, in essence, to keep him alive.
They were tweeting to save him from attacks on his character,
from theories of why he was in the wrong
or from news outlets that would pull some sort of mug shot
or irrelevant Facebook photo.
I wrote “I am not expendable” to join them in that fight,
to push back against all the ways that black people were deemed other
and advocate for our humanity.
And years later, I am still in that fight,
adding names to a seemingly never ending list.
State-sponsored violence or the use of social control institutions,
like that of policing and incarceration,
when disproportionately wielded against people of color,
and particularly black people, rob personhood.
Scholars like Michelle Alexander let us know that mass incarceration
simply follows and reinforces narratives
about black criminality, just like systems before it,
like slavery, reconstruction and Jim Crow.
When we look to those who are incarcerated,
we often do not see who they mean to their families and
the communities that they come from.
Artivism, or art based activism, seeks to bring back that personhood.
According to the Prison Policy Initiative,
there are over 2.1 million people incarcerated in the United States,
and black people comprise the majority of those behind bars.
Scholars from Harvard University found that black people are three times more
likely than their white counterparts to be killed by the police.
Women, LGBTQ and non gender nonconforming folks experience higher rates of gendered
violence and incarceration demonstrated by
the work of the African American Policy Forum
Last year, the world watched for almost nine minutes
as George Floyd was slowly killed,
eerily echoing the words of Eric Garner and poured out into the streets
for one of the largest social protests in history.
In the midst of a global pandemic and now many ask, “What do we do?”
Well, one answer to that question is art-based activism or artivism.
Art-based activism seeks to use the power of art to address social issues,
to challenge systems of oppression and to engage in struggles to change
the world in which we live.
“Behind the walls, between the lines” is one such example.
I found it behind the walls between the lines as a way
to bring together my personal, professional and academic passions.
“Behind the walls, between the lines” is a movement to deepen the awareness
about the racial inequity in the legacy of America,
particularly with incarcerated control
and inspire activism aimed at its dismantlement.
We use spoken word and other artistic mediums like that of visual arts, poetry,
dance and music as a ways to tell stories,
to reclaim narratives and catalyze change.
Against the backdrop of Michael Brown's death,
we debuted our first showcase in February 2015 in Philadelphia, Pennsylvania,
featuring 8 spoken word artists, poets, singers, songwriters and visual artists.
We had over 125 attendees and several community based
and grassroots organizations.
Seven years later, we have done five more showcases, dozens of various workshops,
community discussions, documentary screenings and virtual series.
We've expanded our artists collective
and partnered with other organizations, like Bailey’s Café in Brooklyn, New York;
the Prison Education Project in Uganda, Africa;
The Groundswell Mural Arts Project in Philadelphia, Pennsylvania;
and the Center for Arts at the Center for Justice in Columbia University
in New York, New York,
who all demonstrate the power of arts to affect social change.
What we’ve seen is that people who would have never gathered in
the same room, let alone share their views on divisive topics,
are brought to tears, or they engage in rich
and thought provoking discussions that continue outside of
the room that they were initially gathered in.
We see people who knew nothing about mass incarceration,
roll up their sleeves and ask, “How can I help?”
Artivism doesn’t require any fancy degrees or any extensive knowledge.
It simply requires a commitment to acknowledge the humanity of the other.
As we continue to see images of Black Death around us
and protest to demand justice for Black lives
both within the United States and worldwide,
we must acknowledge state-sponsored violence and anti-Black racism.
Those who are impacted by racial injustice must know that your story matters,
that it deserves to be heard, to be shared, to be reclaimed and to exist.
Allies of the black community must validate those experience
and connect with those who are on the ground fighting for change.
Artivism is a powerful way to build solidarity across racial, ethnic, class,
gender, political affiliation and geographic lines.
Further, artivism connects individuals with practical
and tangible tools to support movements.
So, so those of you who are like, “What do I do?”
Begin to learn. Think back to my opening poem.
How many names did you recognize?
For those that you didn’t, begin to learn about who they were,
and not just from the story on the news, dig deeper.
Learn about who they were to the people that loved them.
Begin to plug in.
Find community based and grassroots organizations,
learn about their work and support them.
Begin to listen.
Attend demonstrations, plays, showcases or any other kind of art based activism
and learn about their perspectives.
What can you bring into your everyday life from that space?
Ultimately, believe that you can make a difference.
Black people are not expendable. Let’s create a world where that is true.
Thank you.
(Applause)