The Community

by N. Jamiyla Chisholm

Freedom is never voluntarily given by the oppressor; it must be demanded by the oppressed. —Martin Luther King Jr.

You have to grow from the inside out. None can teach you, none can make you spiritual. There is no other teacher but your own soul. —Swami Vivekananda

Old habits are said to die hard, and the same is apparently true for traumas.

These traumas are irritatingly unhealed because they are cyclical, because this is not the first time that race has intersected with the systemic breakdown of families and the abuse of children.

After witnessing four years of a presidential administration that heightened racial tensions, created a policy to separate children from their parents, and banned Muslims from traveling to the country, all while amassing a cult following that led to hundreds of white men storming the US Capitol on January 6, 2021, under the guise of having been disenfranchised, I saw too many parallels to the world of York.

the need to find the good in something is universal, even when what is found has devastatingly harmful effects.

Black power was my father’s belief system; love was my mother’s.

My mother was happy he felt enlightened, but what she didn’t say was she didn’t want to leave her world for one she knew nothing about.

Although women still have a long way to go in the fight to be heard, it’s sad to think of the number of women who were forced into this situation because it wasn’t appropriate to go against your husband

she was not about to be abandoned again without some proactive action on her part.

Ummi went on to explain the Community’s philosophy. No one had anything to hide. What was good for one person was good for another, and if something had to be said, it was said to a roomful of people. Essentially, what affected one, affected all.

another pawn in a chess game none of us could ever checkmate.

Interesting way to look at trauma/traumatic changes to a child’s life that is inflicted by the parents

I at least wanted my heart to be the last one you felt beating when you drifted off.

As long as the family was close, together somehow, she felt she was doing the right thing.

Adults opted for silent stares instead of incivility. I had learned that kids were different.

The word “American” was taking on new meaning for me when it already had so many different connotations depending on which side of the line one stood. Choices, democracy, freedom, rights, or capricious, imperialistic, violent, xenophobic.

Desperation can make people do desperate things.

People were either intuiting or disregarding their neighbors’ needs, and the heartbreak of 9/11 continued to play out on repeat the week after.

The feeling that one suffers alone but also as a collective, the belief that someone else’s situation is worse,

Racism was such a powerful concept, we thought, that people who lacked power often hesitated to see themselves as victims. Instead, they think if they hadn’t been there, this wouldn’t have happened. If they hadn’t made eye contact, they might not have been noticed. If they hadn’t been Black or Muslim or a woman or gay, they would be safe.

Because they felt so emasculated and dejected by society that the only way to freedom was to voluntarily isolate. I wondered if a Dwight York or a Jim Jones would have existed and amassed a following had the citizens of this country felt like citizens who could expect justice and respect.

Who protects children if not their parents?

James Baldwin wrote about sentimentality’s disingenuousness in the 1949 essay “Everybody’s Protest Novel,” aptly comparing sentimentality to dishonesty. The way to steer clear of this dishonesty is to address the nation’s deep wounds of racism, patriarchy, and white supremacy rather than poking at them.

“My lack of understanding shouldn’t get in the way of me experiencing love.”