South to America: A Journey Below the Mason-Dixon to Understand the Soul of a Nation

by Imani Perry

She looked at me, in a way that older Black women reserve for younger Black women, and told me, “You are so beautiful.” I will not have that look always. I am approaching being an elder myself, and my job will be to look upon younger Black women and say “You are so beautiful” and mean it. History will make it my turn to return that favor. And I will do so because it has been one of the most sustaining gifts of my life, that look of love that is a witness to everything we have endured and everything we have held onto despite it all. We do not go gently into the night; we spend the final years and days imparting everything we have learned to make this thing survivable. We teach people how to live with the daily heartbreak on your chest, and still laugh and find the pleasure in cursing out somebody who deserves it. We teach you how to remember the moments of humiliation sliding down your face while not killing anybody or yourself too much, to hear the snatch of fabric or the snicker, the feel of blood stuck on you, the shoving, and still push up your chin. As an elder, you have to look for the ones who are told they are wrong, find them, and reassure them, even at the very end, when more than anything you just want to rest and watch TV and escape because you have been disregarded and thrown away. It is an honor nonetheless.