The following article by Nairobi X was first published on May 1 on Hear Her Voice, a group proudly affiliated with the Indianapolis Liberation Center.
This blog is about conflicting contradictions and matters of the heart—my heart, to be precise.
I remember lying on the top bunk in an 8×10 two-man prison cell, my body still while tears flowed down my face as I lay in complete silence and darkness. At that moment I didn’t really know God, but I prayed to him not to harden my heart and to allow racism to leave me stained with hatred and forever scared.
I was young, unaware and lacked consciousness. Too Blind and uneducated to understand the rage, anger, and frustration that my father displayed towards white people. I would look at him sideways and internally ask myself why he was so angry with them. I was familiar with poverty, and although I lived in it, I had never heard the word oppression. I was born in the ghetto, so I didn’t perceive it as a disparity. Late night prayers asking God to cover my eyes and spare me.
At 19 years old, I found myself caged within a cage it’s called solitary confinement for what the department of corrections claimed to be “inciting a riot.” That riot consisted of me and several sisters embracing our culture and heritage by rocking afros and afro puffs to the chow-hall and expressing ourselves through written lyrics. They labeled me a racist because I wrote about injustices, about growing up in the hood, and not being privileged.
To them, it was a crime for me to speak about the abuse, lynching, torture, hate crimes and the history of oppression against my people, particularly about the injustices of the so called “justice system.” Yet I stood humble and unmoved despite the rumors and the threats against the motion of the ink and lead that spouted from my pencil and pen. They invaded my headquarters and stripped me over and over again, but I wouldn’t stop because it was the freedom and sovereignty that flowed from those utensils that kept me from being mentally enslaved and incarcerated within.
Hold up don’t stop reading! This blog is not about the uncomfortable unspeakable word racism. I mentioned this only to make you aware that this was my first conscious encounter with discrimination and racism.
At a very young age my image and understanding of love was distorted; one minute he loved her, and the next minute, he abused her. For me, violence spoke the language of love and if it wasn’t violence, it was sex. When I was growing up to give yourself to someone meant, “I love you.” As a result, I never understood that true love should be built on pillars of understanding, hope, forgiveness, honesty, loyalty, commitment, compassion and trust.
To say that I have trust issues would be an understatement. It has taken me a long time to learn how to love myself and to verbally express how I want and need to be loved by others. When you come from a dysfunctional family that never knew how to express proper love, you become uncertain about what love is supposed to look, feel, and be like. This lack of understanding makes it difficult to communicate your needs to your partner which may very well destroy your relationship or prevent you from having a healthy one.
At just 10 years old, I was forced to adapt to the streets, hustling to survive in what mainstream society now labels as “marginalized communities.” Back then, it was simply the “hood.” Many times, I found myself homeless by choice. Why would I choose to be homeless? Because I would rather live on the streets than be exploited and physically abused by child protective services and the foster care system. How can you claim to protect me when you place me in an environment more harmful and traumatizing than the one you removed me from?
Living on the streets eventually led me to gang affiliation, and sadly, it became my home—a natural part of who I was. As I navigated various forms of literature and creed, I developed a code of honor and integrity that reflected love, life, and loyalty. These principles have now become embedded in me; I uphold and stand by them. However, there are times when my loyalty is extended by default, and I remain unaware that not everyone deserves such qualities as respect, loyalty, integrity, honesty, and commitment.
At times, these very qualities and principles have placed me in extreme conditions, leading to broken and unhealthy relationships—some of which I knew I needed to walk away from. Yet my heart convicted me in the name of loyalty. Although my mind spoke the truth, it was my principles that held me hostage within myself.
God The Father-
How can I call you “Father” when I never really knew my own father or had an intimate relationship with him? You say you love me, yet you allowed me to be brutally victimized by society. The Bible claims you are a just God, but where is the justice for people who look like me? How can I depend on you when I often have to question your presence? How can I trust you when I’m still waiting for your protection? Are you a figment of my imagination or a deception?
Yet, to me, you remain both solace and epic. I know many would hesitate to voice these thoughts, but perhaps it was ordained for me to say, so I said it.
As I Protest you impeach the words that I speak! Why? because you disagree with the substance or does the weight of them sink too deep? Your actions demand for me to speak only to imprison my speech. Why do I need to go to a church or a mosque when the temple is inside me and every day all day the devil is beside me. These are some of the conflicting contradictions of the heart that resides in me.
Featured photo: From the original post. Credit: Hear Her Voice.