Here Be Dragons: A Gentrified Tale / January 8, 2019 by Bry Reed

Going out of state for college creates a nostalgia for all things Baltimore. For months I crave the food, noise, and people I have known for two decades while I am away studying in a secluded suburb. Nothing can calm my hunger for four wings, Western fries, and a medium half and half. Every winter, when I return to this charmed place I take it all in.

Looking around I see things that will never change. There will always be kids in khaki pants waiting on buses that take way too long. There will always be grandmothers in line at gas station windows to buy one too many lottery tickets. Yet, amidst the never-changing there is something new here. Stores and people I have never seen before clutter my landscape. Hidden among the sidewalks and potholes there is something new here…

Riding down North Avenue it becomes so much clearer. The project apartments I used to call home are no more. My childhood memories of parking lot games and hopscotch turned to rumble and ash. My elementary school—where I learned to read—is no longer standing. There is a new school there. It has no colorful mural outside its door. The yellow pillars where my mother took our annual First Day of School are gone. So much has changed.

I want to cry. It is like someone took a battering ram to my childhood while my back was turned. Sadly, however, I do not cry. Instead, I imagine myself painting a warning label on the side of a rowhome. The sign would have a simple message: here be dragons.

Baltimore is not undiscovered. We have known her beauty for decades before your cashless businesses arrived. I know no city more beautiful and know community more resilient than my own.

The Cost of Being Brave / January 4, 2019 by Bry Reed

Nobody ever tells little Black girls the cost we pay for being brave. Our voices shake rooms and call ancestors from broken places, but nobody ever tells us the toll we pay for being brave. Our backs break under the weight of commmunities, big and small, but nobody ever tells us the tax we pay for being brave.

Instead, they lead us to chaotic waters. Bend our necks and tilt our heads to drink the kool-aid. We serve as test subjects for the anger they cannot let loose.

Instead, they push us to the forefront. They linger behind closed doors and half drawn curtains and wait to see how far we get. Then they come full force and beat us back into our troubled corners while they claim victory.

We pay their price in bloodlines. Generational trauma and poverty strip away our imaginations. The rest is left to our own minds to toil over…and over…and over. Nobody tells little Black girls that their sadness is not theirs alone to carry.

Nobody tells little Black girls the price their mothers paid for being brave. All we see left is the scar. One on her right knee and another on her wrist. Nobody tells little Black girls the price their sisters paid for being brave. All we see is her shadow.

Nobody tells little Black girls how to sing her own song in her poetry. We learn that in our bedrooms with the doors closed as we cradle pen and paper.

We learn the harshest truths when nobody is around to save us.

The Kids Aren't Alright: A Lesson in Baltimore City Public Schools / December 31, 2018 by Bry Reed

A lesson children should never have to master is learning about the water cycle in a frigid classroom. Yet, here we are in 2018 and Baltimore City Public Schools (BCPSS) are becoming experts in curriculum served over ice. News outlets such as Teen Vogue and The Baltimore Sun are just a few who have recently covered the saddening, and systemic, neglect of students by BCPSS.

The issue of heating systems, however, is not new (as many Baltimore students can tell you). As an alum of BCPSS, I remember wearing winter jackets and coats inside of classrooms as administrators tried to give write-ups for not following uniform policy. So not only were we cold, but we were cold AND facing disciplinary action. The saddest reality: none of us were surprised. In fact, we were more surprised when schools were closed. Imagine the shock of feeling like your humanity is being noticed? The reality of living as black and brown children in American public schools is a waiting game of when others chose to validate your existence.

Do not be fooled into thinking these issues are the product of a cold winter. As Kimberly Mooney points out in Teen Vogue, the issue of failing heating systems is not the beginning of the where Baltimore City has failed public school students. Instead, it is one of many results of poor infrastructure, corrupt politicians, and institutionalized racism. Most BCPSS are underfunded due to the cycle of being disenfranchised in the United States. Simply put, public schools are funded by property taxes of the neighborhoods which surround them. So in Baltimore City, students who live in impoverished neighborhoods are likely to attend an equally impoverished school. Essentially, students are tasked to play a losing game of school funding unless they attend a school in a wealthy neighborhood such as Baltimore's Roland Park community.

This leaves the question: how can we fix it? First, we must dismantle the system-- lots of unlearning, rebuilding, and empowerment. Until then, you can take small steps to support students struggling to learn in a crooked system. By giving to the GoFundMe page and supplying coats you are helping Baltimore City students survive the winter months. In addition, by donating books to Valencia Clay's students you are investing in students' education. In return, Ms. Clay is sending donors a copy of an amazing poster made by the educator herself (shown below).

Avoid leaving your support on the internet. Bring opportunity for supporting public schools students into much needed spaces like their classroom, their bank account, and their resume. An easy step to support public schools is through volunteering. Whether in Baltimore City, Charlotte, or Chicago these students need more help than they are given. Sign up to be a classroom volunteer or to lead a workshop. Own a business or work for a company? Hire public school students for paid internships.

The kids will never be alright if we leave their education in the hands of complacent politicians. I challenge you to act.

Sidenote shoutout to Keombré McLaughlin, a BCPSS alum, for her op-ed in The Baltimore Sun. May Jonathan Tobash rest in power.

I Am Tired / December 31, 2018 by Bry Reed

Few things have been more pivotal to my growth than the peace, advice, and support of black women. It is essential to my health and wellness. Yet, despite the deeply talented black women around me I experience an ever present issue: the black man.

Let's be clear: not all black men. I have to get that disclaimer out of the way early before my comments and email are loaded with people explaining to me that I have just had "a few bad experiences" or that I am "petty and divisive". I can have petty tendencies-- flaws I am working on-- but this moment is not born of my petty bone. These are lived experiences. It is not every black man, but the truth is that these realities apply to more than enough to hold true. I have been burdened by the patriarchy, nonsense, and antics of the problematic black man since before my birth.

More recently, in my college career, my experiences with black men have become more and more taxing, traumatic, and tragic. Honestly, I am fed up with fighting for my right to be apologetically black and woman. I cannot divorce my identities from one another-- I am an intersectional beauty. My compounded identities, of blackness and womanness, however, place me at a difficult crossroads. In the words of my black woman ancestors: all the women are white, all the blacks are men, but some of us are brave. Living as a black woman requires a tremendous amount of bravery. It is a dangerous endeavor to live as one of the most oppressed, silenced, and appropriated groups in human history.

The fact remains that the intersectionality of black womanhood means that we are often left fighting for the liberation of others with little reciprocity. On one hand, white women, adorning the privileges of whiteness, cannot be reliable allies in the fight for equity until they begin to confront their white supremacy. On the other hand, black man, covered in the privileges of maleness, cannot be reliable allies in the fight for equity until they begin to confront their patriarchy.

Essentially, black men must confront their complicit reality: you hurt us too. The hardships of black womanhood do not only apply to our blackness. We are victims of patriarchy as well. Thus, we must address both oppressions.

A simple start: listen to black women and act accordingly. It is not enough to engage in cyclical conversations. I am not in the business of re-traumatizing myself so that black men can feel better. Black men must do the labor too. Open a book, read a blog, watch a video. The proof, the stories, and the statistics are all over. Libraries and internet catalogs are full of the lived experiences of black women who have been confronting these atrocities for decades.

Black women cannot (and will not) continue to be everyone's saviors. Our mental and physical health does not afford us such luxuries. We are being suspended, fired, murdered, and assaulted at catastrophic rates. We have led the revolution for everyone else. Who will stand for us?

Pay Black Women / December 31, 2018 by Bry Reed

As Black Panther delivers groundbreaking numbers at the box office for the second week, audiences are amazed by the storyline, action, and character development surrounding the women of Wakanda. The hit Marvel film showcases the talent, dedication, and versatility of Black women actors. Yet, some are still skeptical that this film will have long lasting effect on an industry, and a world, that routinely undervalues the talent and time of Black womanhood.

Paying Black women for time and talent should be non-negotiable. Yet, the numbers showcase the disparity between rhetoric, action, and funds. As Twitter-- and other social media platforms-- create moments of support and empowerment, Black women continue combatting the realities of wealth inequality and wage gap. These struggles are not mere hardships, but results of compounded marginalization.

The lives of Black women are nuanced by the reality of compounded marginalization. Not only are Black women racialized, but we are also subjected to gender inequality. Now, racism and patriarchy are not the only oppressions that impact Black women. The possibilities for nuances in Black womanhood are endless-- because experiences are endless. Class and sexuality are examples of a few more layers of marginalization which impact the experiences of Black women.

Since 2008 there has been a recent push for diversity and inclusivity initiatives. One core portion of these initiatives for diversity and inclusion attempt to target marginalization on college campuses and corporate offices. Fortune 500 companies and top ranked USA Today institutions are constantly hiring new talent to navigate the waters of diversity, inclusion, and all the pitfalls in between.

Despite positive intentions, however, these initiatives can also be spaces for inequality. How? The double duty dilemma. Consider which groups of people are routinely doing the organizing, facilitating, and policy work to dismantle inequality-- the marginalized groups themselves. More specifically, Black women and queer folk-- and the people who occupy both spaces-- are routinely doing the heavy lifting surrounding equity and opportunity for marginalized groups. Thus, marginalized people such as people of color, women, queer folk, and differently abled bodies are facing discrimination as they are simultaneously are tapped as the leaders of their revolutions. This doubling down of marginalization and revolution is called double duty.

Marginalization of oppressed groups cannot be combated by the oppressed alone. Working to dismantle systems that have existed for centuries will take time, planning, and a lot of work. But I believe it can be done. One key step in revolutionary change is revolutionary partnership. Black women should not and must not be expected to overcome our inequalities by ourselves. Others must join the cause. Allies in positions of social and economic capital must challenge the oppressive status quo and demand more. Change must come in the form of legislation, funding, access, and opportunity.

In a world overrun by late capitalism, labor is never free. The expectation for women of color, and Black women specifically, to survive on accolades, experience, and volunteerism alone is criminal. It is not enough to applaud the work of black women on screen in films like Black Panther. If you applaud Black women, support Black women, or expect labor from Black women then be prepared to pay for our time and talent.

Black Transwomen Deserve Better / December 31, 2018 by Bry Reed

Rest in power to Black transwomen who have been murdered due to our ignorance, silence, and erasure.

Dejanay Stanton, a Black transwoman from Chicago, is the latest reported victim of the war against transwomen. Her death on September 4th 2018 marks the 17th recorded death of a transwoman in 2018. Following 2017, the deadliest year on record for transwomen, 2018 is projected to be an even more fatal year for the already marginalized trans community. As the death toll of this violent anti-trans war continues we, as a global community, must face one simple truth: Black transwomen deserve better.

Few communities are more at risk than Black transwomen. In addition, violence against Black transwomen is widely underreported despite being one of the marginalized communities most susceptible to violence. Transphobia, the negative attitudes and exoticization of trans folk, fuels a range of violences against the trans community. While transphobia fuels acts of physical violence against the trans community, there are also examples of more subtle violences that occur daily. For example, when reported on by mainstream media, however, transwomen face the subtle violences of being misgendered by on air personalities and headlines. The realities of the subtle and overt violences facing transwomen daily reveal the ways transphobia is commonplace in public opinion.

In regard to politics, government policies and transphobic public figures pose constant threats to the lives of Black transwomen. In North Carolina House Bill 2, which sparked the transgender bathroom policy debate of 2017, is one example of the hysteria and violent rhetoric surrounding the everyday lives of trans folk. The politicizing of their genitalia, sexualities, and bodies illustrate how trans folk are constantly dehumanized. Instead of being granted the privilege to live, work, and love as autonomous human beings trans folk are reduced to commodities, threats, and stereotypes.

As the year continues, and for years to come, Black transwomen deserve better. They deserve protection from transphobia in all forms. From structural inequality to personal attacks they deserve safety, support, and solidarity. They deserve legislation which advocates for their lives and experiences. Ultimately, Black transwomen are the foundation and spirit of movements for Black liberation, feminism, and queer rights and deserve more from the rest of us.

Performing Happiness: Emotional Labor & Reproductive Rights / December 31, 2018 by Bry Reed

Performing happiness is exhausting. Sometimes I do not feel like getting out of bed or doing hours worth of work for little recognition. Sometimes I do not feel like being the angry Black woman that is disregarded for being whiny and disagreeable. The reality is that the demand of constantly being inviting, happy, and accomodating is detrimental to my health.

For many Black women worldwide the cost of performing happiness is our physical and emotional well-being. It is quite literally fatal as stress and anxiety reduce our life expectancy. We are told to smile, loosen up, chill out, and not make everything that deep. If only our ignorance came that easily. Instead it comes at the expense of us. The sexism, classism, and racism which dominate our world usually trickle down the oppressive ladder until it falls upon us (and our Native and Latinx sisters) to make sense of. We are decimated by violent government policy and social expectations which police our bodies. Black women's happiness is not allowed to be our own.

The demand for Black women to be content connects to larger issues. For instance, Black women's reproductive rights are under constant attack. The struggle for access to adequate information about contraceptives, healthcare, and child care is ongoing. Demanding that Black women smile and behave adds to these repressive systems. In both cases our bodies are not our own to operate, but objects controlled by the outside world. From catcalling to reproductive rights Black women's need to be authenticity ourselves is crucial to our survival.

The next time you have the urge to tell a Black woman how to feel here's an important tip: don't. Our emotions are not up for discussion-- just as our reproductive rights should not be. We have the right to be angry. Just look at history. We have the right to free child care. We have the right to information that helips us make life saving decisions about our bodies. Do not police us. Instead listen closely to our stories. Then advocate for us (because it's also not our jobs to die fighting alone for our rights).

Listen. Act. Repeat.

Take a moment to call your representatives in opposition of Kavanaugh's appointment to the United States Supreme Court in support of Black women. And to the Black women who go to work, raise families, and fight tirelessly for our community, I see you. You are important. You are resilient. You have a home here.

A Lesson in Literacy: Reading Is A Political Act / December 31, 2018 by Bry Reed

In elementary school I had a hard time learning how to read. Reading aloud on the multicolored rug in my kindergarten classroom evolved into a mix of subtle traumas. It was not until my mother emphasized the power of words that I felt empowered to read. Soon weekend trips to the Enoch Pratt public library on Pennsylvania Avenue became my favorite weekend activity with my mother. Her love, guidance, and patience drove me. She never gave up (and still her love is unwavering). By second grade I grew into my book nerd identity. I devoured stories of Junie B. Jones and Nancy Drew. At the core of my love for reading was my mother's emphasis: reading opens worlds to you.

My mother's lesson was a political act. She was teaching me valuable lessons about the ways people are kept in the dark. By giving me books my mother gave me the world. It gave me social capital because books taught me how to play the game. Books taught me code-switching, dog whistle politics, and Black feminisms. Without books I would not know bell hooks, Audre Lorde, Maya Angelou, Marsha P. Johnson, and Janet Mock. Reading is a crucial step in liberation.

Attacks on public libraries, public schools, and prison libraries must be understood as violent. The intential censorship and removal of knowledge is violent. Banning books is an act of war. Disarming Black and Brown people, especially Black and Brown children, through the banning of books is criminal, but we rarely highlight these atrocities. We cannot minimize the impact of these things.

Banned books teach the most important lessons. Across the United States incarcerated folk are not allowed to read a variety of books from The Color Purple to The New Jim Crow. The politics of which books are banned and which books are not is a conversation about power. Banning books removes power and agency. It silences the marginalized. It reinforces oppression.

I will never forget my mother's lesson. I will continue to fight for the freedom of Black and Brown people. The freedom to read without the threat of violence is crucial to Black liberation. We must rally together as a community to uplift marginalized folk. Donate to activists and advocates doing the work to educate us. The revolution does not happen one leader at a time. Revolutions are collective acts of resistance.

One organization I am supporting this year is Justice 4 Black Girls. Their commitment to advocacy for the education of Black girls is directly connected to the fight against mass incarceration. You can follow them on Instagram at @justice4blackgirls and follow @brie.b for daily doses of knowledge on how to better protect incarcerated Black girls.