Folio: SLCC’s Literary & Arts Magazine Ubuntu Special Edition

Ubuntu

“I am because you are”

Ubuntu noun

1. An Nguni Bantu term meaning “humanity,” sometimes translated as “I am because you are.”

2. A concept in which your sense of self is shaped by your relationships with other people.

© 2023 Folio Literary Magazine, Volume 24.1 Special Issue: “Ubuntu.” Folio is an award-winning literary and arts magazine compiling artistic pieces from students, staff, and faculty at Salt Lake Community College. The works included in this special issue edition, “Ubuntu,” are published with permission from their respective creator(s). All rights are reserved by this publication and the creators whose works are published in “Ubuntu.”

Folio is curated, edited, formatted, designed, and published by SLCC students and Folio editorial staff. This edition is intended for free public distribution and is not for sale.

Front Cover: Jessie Tembo, Beringo Masumbe, Shari-fa

Harrigan, Rukiya Aden

Back Cover: Thierno B Bah, Patience Bambu, Jevahjire France, Musa Chikobe

Inside title page: photo of decorative plate in Dr. Land’s office

Special Thanks to

• Black Student Union

• Folio student editors, Miriam Nicholson and Sam Wilson

• Jerri A. Harwell, Chair of Department of English, Linguistics, & Writing Studies

• Dr. Roderic R. Land, Dean of School of Humanities & Social Sciences

• Dr. Daniel D. Baird, Folio Faculty Advisor

Typefaces used are Ostrich Sans, Simonetta, and Book Antiqua

https://www.slccfolio.org

Preface

by Dr. Roderic R. Land Dean of School of Humanities & Social Sciences

W. E. B. Du Bois was seemingly prophetic when he wrote in his seminal text, the Soul of Black Folk , back in 1903, the famous quote, “the problem of the 20th century is the problem of the color-line.” While this quote is often used in the halls of academia and recited by many public intellectuals, it is rarely stated in its entirety. In The Soul of Black Folk , Du Bois goes on to say it is “the relation of the darker to lighter races…in Asia and Africa, in America and the islands of the sea.”

This quote in its entirety takes on what I would call a global approach to allyship. A global perspective of seeing the humanity in people across the world, which means that while we grieve and mourn for the gun violence victims of Columbine, Sandy Hook, Uvalde, Atlanta, South Carolina, just to name a few, we can also join arms and show our support for the victims and their families in the childcare shooting in Thailand, where 38 people were killed and at least 24 of them children. The mass killing in Canada. The unrest in Haiti. The victims of violence and corruption and oppression in Venezuela, Brazil, Africa.

No, that’s not your lane? OK…how about voter suppression and oppression laws being enacted upon our neighbors in Georgia, Florida, and other places—or the various things happening right here in our own backyard? Maybe it’s environmental issues and climate change. Maybe it’s education reform to ensure every child regardless of race, class, gender, or condition has access to a quality education. Maybe criminal justice reform or reintegration projects to ensure our brothers and sisters who were previously incarcerated have a

chance to make a living upon their release. Maybe you identify with the struggle of our LGBTQ family or a strong advocate for mental health initiatives.

Whatever it is, may I remind you that we are all in this together!

UBUNTU!

What did he just say?! UBUNTU…U-B-U-N-T-U. This is an African concept that gets at the profound sense that we are human only through the humanity of others. As Nelson Mandela stated, “If we are to accomplish anything in this world, it will in equal measure be due to the work and achievements of others.” My dear sisters and brothers, we have work to do. We can’t simply sit back and watch all that is going on in the world like some riveting drama-filled movie.

We must continue to work for peace, for racial justice, for economic justice, and for unity around the globe. To do this, the world needs a makeover. It needs to undergo a major mental and spiritual transformation. It is not enough to only condemn violence, hatred, and war. However, we must learn to love peace, truth, and reconciliation. We must focus our attention on the positive affirmation of love.

Let us be a concerned generation. And let us show the world by example of how to love and see the humanity in all creation.

UBUNTU!

From A Friend in Need

by Shari-Fa Harrigan

Do you trust me? Can I call you my friend?

Imagine the things we have been through, the trials and tribulations we have suffered. The marches that led us to fight for our freedom, the speeches that flowed from our hearts and minds, the brave souls that were lost due to racism, prejudice, and discrimination.

Do you trust me, to lead you and our brothers and sisters into a greater nation? A better world that our ancestors dreamed and hoped for. We have the tools, the knowledge, and the wisdom to build a strong foundation for those who are willing to fight with us.

I trust you, to fight this fight with me, to change perspectives, to teach the young and change the minds of the old, to demolish the systems that work against us, and to build a better world for you and me. I trust you enough to pick me up when I’m not strong, to think beyond my measures when I don’t have the answers, to be brave when my fear is crippling me and to reassure our people that better days are ahead.

Meeting you added on to a piece of me, a piece of who I am. I am because you are everything I am not, and together we can make changes and hope for a better future.

Sincerely,

Your true friend.

Ritual of the alarm

by Deidre Tyler Poet Laureate, SLCC

Sleep so good, dreams so fair, Rest so peaceful lying here, Couldn’t bring me to say Time to get up and away, So I used my faithful friend, But regretted in the end

Are you familiar with the ritual of, Setting the clock to start the day

Have you ever heard the sounding Of the dawning of the morning?

What about the snooze to stay Dreading the start of the day

Five minutes of snooze I said Crawling sleepily out of bed, Stretching legs oh so slow, Sleep beckoning me to stay Time beckoning me to go, Jumping in the shower fast,

Dressing quickly, on the go, Time screaming back at me, Packing lunch quick and fast

Something stole the time away Fifteen minutes of my day Taws’ the great procrastinator,

Setting the snooze deceived me

Prove to be no friend of mine

Sleep so good, dreams so fair, Resting peaceful lying there, Couldn’t bring me to say Time to get up and away,

I used my faithful friend, Just to regretted it in the end

Procrastinator stole from me

Fifteen minutes of my day Snooze you made me late

Girlfriends

by Jerri A. Harwell

I have some girlfriends. With them

I can be me.

Not the me I am at work Or with others. But me.

That girl who made it out Of inner-city Detroit— With only a few scars.

My girlfriends

Don’t judge me

Or filter me.

They may even talk About me.

But only my girlfriends

Can do that.

Sometimes we get together And talk all night.

Yeah. We’ve talked about our firsts. Our first this and our first that.

I tell them that only the last one counts. This one we’re with now. This one we’ve been with For decades.

Yeah. He’s the only one who matters.

My very first girlfriend

Was my mother

And she told me

Not to depend on a man.

She said,

“You shouldn’t need a man

For anything.

You need to have your own job

Your own money

And your independence.”

Then she added,

“Well, the only thing you Should need a man

For is sex.

And half the time

He won’t be any good at that.”

My girlfriends laughed and giggled

When I told them what Momma said.

They said my momma was right.

Half of ‘em don’t know what They’re doing.

Then we talked about that half.

Some of us and our husbands Go on what we call a “Chicken Run.” You see, one day a girlfriend said, “I know where the Best fried chicken is in Utah.”

So, occasionally we make The hour-long drive For our chicken run.

On one trip, After we had ordered and eaten,

My 85-year-old girlfriend asked To talk with the cook.

When he came out, she said, “Boy, if you do everything As well as you cook, Watch out.”

I thought we’d get kicked out For harassing the help.

Me and my girlfriends.

Hmm. I think it’s time For another chicken run.

We have White Castle parties too Complete with Faygo® pop. Not soda, not soda pop. Just pop.

You see none of us are from here But we found each other here in Utah.

Back in the days

Of not seeing another Black face For days or weeks. We found each other.

The girlfriends.

And when he made me mad, We talked. They told me, “Girl, Just do this so good and for so long that he He forgets why he’s mad.”

“Oh Please.

I’m so pissed at him I haven’t even talked to him For two days.”

“Girl, you don’t need to talk. Just do this so good and for so long He forgets why he’s mad at you.”

Hell, at the end of the day I forgot why I was mad at him.

Thanks to my girlfriends.

Decades later, When our son died My husband said, “This is our first tragedy In twenty-four years Of marriage. God is good.”

And as I was grieving, Grieving so hard I couldn’t stand, My girlfriends with wings Flew under me

And caught me And held me up.

They held me and let me cry. Did you know when you cry In the shower, it hides your tears? 17 minutes. In 17 minutes, the hot water Runs out.

Did you know cold water Hides your tears just as well?

I stood in the cemetery With my husband and children.

And it was cold. So cold.

That early December cold.

That day it was below freezing. And death didn’t care.

But a few feet away

And in every direction I turned and looked

My girlfriends were there.

For the luncheon

There were no funeral potatoes

And none of that sorry-assed Mormon ham.

They made red beans and rice, fried chicken, black-eyed peas, greens, macaroni ‘n cheese, Corn bread, and not the Jiffy® kind either.

They were there for me. They cooked for me.

My girlfriends.

When my husband

Was in the hospital

She came.

One of the girlfriends. She left her family

And came to sit with me.

She was mad at my husband

And she wasn’t even talking to him.

But she came.

That’s love.

That’s girlfriend love.

When one girlfriend’s daughter was shot. We took turns visiting and staying with Her until her mother could Fly into town.

That’s what girlfriends do. That’s girlfriend love.

We’ve watched each other’s kids. Fed each other’s kids.

We were the village

That raised each other’s kids. You see, there were five of us, Who all had daughters

Within six months of each other.

We raised them together.

The girlfriends did. With girlfriend love.

Over the decades, One’s husband left her

After a three-year long affair. When he married the “bi-atch” We held a “Waiting to Exhale” party To comfort her.

The girlfriends did.

Another’s husband Left her for A man.

When one girlfriend

Told me she was divorcing

Her husband

I said, “Girl, go home. And I want you to

Do this so good and for so long.” They’re still together.

When yet another girlfriend

Told me she was divorcing Her husband, I gave her my best Madea “Hallalujer” And asked why she stayed So long.

Among our children, There have been deaths, But also marriages Of various kinds.

You see one girlfriend’s Daughter took a wife.

Mine can’t decide between Her male and her female lovers.

Now most of us have grandchildren. At one gathering, I got down on the floor

To put a sock back on a girlfriend’s granddaughter And said to that baby, “You would think with so many grandmothers around, we could keep socks on your feet.”

We all laughed.

Now we’re raising each other’s grandchildren.

The girlfriends are.

No. We no longer all live in Utah But we keep up with each other.

We’ve gone through too much life together Not to keep up with each other.

We’re girlfriends.

A few weeks ago, over the holidays

We once again gathered when one of our Girlfriend’s sister passed.

She was cremated.

Did you know it takes Hours to burn a body to ashes? We took shifts because of COVID-19. Only so many could be in the room. But we were there, covering the whole time.

Ashes to ashes and dust to dust.

The girlfriends.

Silence by Joey Du Shane-Navanick

SLCC Black Student Union Mural

by Lizzy Lambson

Liz Lambson is a visual and performing artist from Salt Lake City, Utah. Her artwork has been featured on the Black Lives Matter mural at Salt Lake City Hall, the cover of SLUG magazine, and the exterior of the Utah Black History Museum bus. She is also active in the arts and culture community as a writer, actress, and string bassist with the Ballet West Orchestra.

Across the top of the mural from left to right: Colin Kaepernick, Huey P. Newton, Malcolm X, Harriet Tubman, Martin Luther King Jr., and Barack Obama. All the faces below are just anonymous characters.

Freedom Land

by Dr. Juone Kadiri

Dr. Juone Kadiri is Vice President for Institutional Equity, Inclusion and, Transformation at SLCC. She spoke and sang at the SLCC Convocation on Monday, August 22.

Please view Dr. Kadiri’s video at: https://www.slccfolio.org/kadiri-65.

SLCC Black Student Union Mural

by Lizzy Lambson

Photos of the Black Student Union

by Scott Fineshriber

Thierno B Bah, Patience Bambu, Musa Chikobe, Jevahjire France

Musa Chikobe, Glory Johnson-Stanton, Jevahjire France, Thierno B Bah

more pictures at: https://www.slccfolio.org/ubuntu-gallery

Back: Patience Bambu, Rukiya Aden, Jessie Tembo, Thierno B Bah Kneeling: Jevahjire France

Front: Beringo Masumbe, Musa Chikobe, Shari-Fa Harrigan

Jessie Tembo, Beringo Masumbe, Glory Johnson-Stanton, Rukiya Aden, Shari-Fa Harrigan

Hypocritical Supremacy

by Tawananyasha Ian Dzenga

Is it a matter of ability or disability?

A black dog hunts for food

Stripped of its dignity it has lost its voice

The white dog lounges in the mercy of superiority

But is it necessarily a better hunter?

Is it a matter of ability or disability?

A brown thoroughbred horse gazes at its lane

Cameras only show that it has short legs

The white horse is shown as perfect even though it is nervous

But is it necessarily faster?

Is it a matter of ability or disability?

A limping lion is an heir to the throne of his pride

The lion’s family wants a different lion to be king

And they want the one with no scars

But is it necessarily the charismatic king of the jungle?

Is it a matter of ability or disability?

A woman strives to own a house

The bank gives preference to the man

The woman cries foul and the next day she is missing

But the bank still exists.

Strange Days

by Shari-Fa Harrigan

What is it that drives us to think?

What pushes up to rise up and want more?

What challenges us to shift our views?

These are the strange days that I have, the days that I think about what life was like for those who came before me, the constant reminder of who I am, and what I stand for.

What happened on those strange days that my enslaved ancestors were killed, shipped, hung, beaten and terrorized? These are the thoughts that play over and over in my head.

Strange days like this don’t come around too often, but when they do, I hurt, and I think of what it would be like if we lived in a different world. I think to myself, “why wasn’t it different? What made my ancestors say enough is enough? What pushed them to fight back? What drove them to think about freedom?”

But glory to those who marched and to those who believed that better days were ahead. These strange days can’t last in my head.

Meteorite

poem and graphic

by Kemone Carby-Feleti

I wish the world would end with a meteorite.

Because I am tired of never feeling safe, Because humanity never had my faith, Because I am tired of being persecuted by every damn race.

Because all people like to do is complain, But never try to hold space.

I wish the world would end with a meteorite.

Because why are we made to hate the color of our skin, the hue of our eyes, the texture of our hair, and the strength in our pride. Why, if God created us all in his image Is being a person of color such a crime?

I wish the world would end with a meteorite.

So, the planet can reset. Because racism, transphobia, homophobia.

Because modern day slavery, And transgenerational trauma.

Because y’all said we could be anything Then took it away when they/them didn’t fit. Because—humans don’t deserve nice things.

I wish the world would end with a meteorite.

Because humans are not kind, Because wanting security still doesn’t grant peace of mind.

And spaces that were supposed to be safe Are just as cruel and unkind. Like how church is supposed to be about community But is used as a tool to perpetuate more oppression and hate crimes.

I wish the world would end with a meteorite.

Because Fuck People, White people, Black people And everyone in between. And fuck the young girl in me for dreaming that we could all live in harmony and peace.

I wish the world would end with a meteorite.

Because if—that meteorite hits, When, that meteorite hits, We will all be like the dinosaurs, extinct.

As A Black Man

by Jimoh George

As a Black Man

When you see the flashing red, white, blue lights do you get scared as a black man?

When you walk through the grocery store and get crazy looks

And feel unwanted as a black man?

Do you feel like you’re getting attacked as a black man?

Do you feel like you aren’t protected as a black man?

Do you feel unwanted by society as a black man?

Olugbala: Our Bodies Matter Too

A Speculative Fiction Narrative

by Glory Shekinah Stanton

Prelude

In many developed nations around the world, their modern society was fundamentally founded on and still functions on Antonio Gramsci’s “Concept of Hegemony.” This theory states, that the only way for the working class (oppressed peoples) to gain any sort of power in a society is to overthrow the bourgeoisie (upper class) in a separate movement established by the oppressed, with the intention of creating their own state.1 If one were to reflect upon such revolutionary movements within a global context, some examples may be—The American Revolution 1765-1783, Nat Turner’s Rebellion August 1831, The Cuban Revolution 1953-1959, The Black Power Movement 1960-1970, and the Venezuelan Political Conflict of 2018-Present.

During the 1960’s Black Power Movement, the Black Panther Party, a vanguard revolutionary socialist group, was portrayed as one of the largest threats to American society. It was viewed as such a threat that J. Edgar Hoover, former FBI Director, and Richard Nixon, a former United States President, were obsessed with preventing the rise of the “Black Messiah,” an idealistic figure who would liberate the marginalized communities in the United States and overthrow the imperialist regimen and status quo.

So, strategically they assassinated public icons like Martin Luther King Jr., Fred Hampton, and countless others who posed a threat to the current “democracy”.2 Since their tragic deaths, there has never been any other who could incite such an innate need for freedom and liberation…until now.

Part I

Present day—June 19, 2066:

Finally reaching the edge of the woods, I hand Inacio a flash drive with every file from Camp Xavier’s experiments.

“Take this Inacio! You all must hurry, when you make it

to the plane, give the drive to Edward; do not under any circumstances, give this to anyone other than Edward. And to make sure that it’s him, ask him—’Aren’t the azaleas most vibrant during the fall in Moscow?’ His response should be, ‘They only bloom on Vorony Island in the spring.’ Then, and only then, is it safe for you to release the drive and go with him. Edward will make sure that the files reach every device in the developed nations. Once the world knows what these people have done to you and your family, you’ll be taken to a safe house in Johannesburg and when you’re ready for the revolution, a woman named Assata will find you.”

“But these are not just ordinary people, it isn’t safe for me and my family to be a part of this fight,” he rushes with pure fear marring his face. His wife sits close by trying to soothe their crying daughter, but it isn’t fear I feel radiating from them, but an overwhelming sense of hope and peace.

“Inacio, ‘speak not because it is safe, but because it is right!’3 this fight isn’t yours alone. It is for all of those who lost their voices long ago. It’s for humanity. Now, you have to go…hurry!”

As I watch my grandparents and mother running towards the only real freedom any of us will ever know, I know that I am a part of something bigger than us all. Knowing that there’s still a chance and hope for a better future, knowing that the bodies of the unheard may no longer be disregarded, knowing that the immoral gain for the wealthy in the name of science and her democracy could all cease to exist, and knowing that the will of the people are all that we have left to stop this genocide…is, all at once, very sobering. I look down at my dissipating hands; I know that my job here is complete. Todo poder para la gente!

Past—November 28, 2019:

In 2019, while the migrant caravan was immigrating to the United States, dictator Trump forced most of the immigrants into migrant camps. Not knowing what to do with them, and without any kind of paperwork to identify them, it was like the immigrants never existed. So, he initiated “Project M,” a privatized sector for experimental testing. First, the testing was to develop stem cell research. But over the past 50 years, the government and its scientists have been experimenting on the migrants in the camps, each camp with a different focus ranging from military tactics, biophysiorejuvenation and cloning, eugenics, immunology, and the newest…bio-simulation control. Before the technology became so sophisticated, the scientists were ordered to turn the immigrants into hybrid war cyborgs, meant to protect the democracy as the first line of defense from any external or internal threats, or so they said. As one may suspect, many of them died, but the benefit of these camps was that as soon as a baby was born, they had another participant.

My mother was a second-generation Afro-Cuban, born in one of the camps in the middle of the Everglades, Camp Xavier. Camp Xavier was the site dedicated to biophysio-rejuvenation. Usually, their protocol was to wait until a child was 5 years old before they began testing, but my mom was special. You see, all of the testing they had done on her parents before, altered her DNA. She developed the ability to heal at 40 times the rate of an average human. The physicians and scientists discovered this when she was 2 years old. Her parents ran away with her, into the middle of nowhere, trying to find their way back to Cuba. But in one of the bodies of water, there were alligators that had been displaced from Hurricane Irma. Her parents were attacked and died almost instantly. Not too far behind them, the researchers

saw what happened and counted it as a total loss, never bothering to recover their bodies. Two days later, my mother was seen wandering just outside of the camp’s walls with only the faintest scar above her left eyebrow. They began testing her right away, and that’s when they realized her “gift.”

Dr. McCallister, the lead Principal Investigator, P.I., over Camp Xavier’s experiments, decided to cease experiments on her and instead trained her on the science and technology behind his “creations.” His logic was that my mother would most likely outlive them all, and since her parents died when she was so young, he was the closest thing to a parent she had ever known. And he was right—she outlived each one of them. As such, she decided to carry on his legacy of “creations.”

Present Day—June 17, 2066:

My mother, Dr. Gwendolyn R. Grant, a world-renowned obstetrician, made her “claim to fame” when she successfully grew and delivered a full-term fetus using a bio-simulator pod. These pods were essentially artificial wombs. First, one would select their desired phenotypes and genetic markers. Then she fertilized an embryo that gets implanted into the lining of the pod, where it will grow in the perfect environment undisturbed for 5 months. After about 5 years of testing, she was finally successful, and in May 2050, the first fetus was born. That baby was a beckon of hope, an era of endless new possibilities and beginnings...a Genesis. And that fetus was me. Once my mom’s pods caught global attention, things sort of took off from there; next, doctors learned how to grow organs and extremities using her technology.

Many people think her creation is great and it is, but the caveat is that these bio-simulator pods only function using human plasma. When asked about this at the 8th

Biennial Global Bio-Innovations Conference, she said that all of her participants were there voluntarily and protected under the National Office for Human Research Protections.

My mother never hid from me how I came into being; in fact, she made it seem like the greatest thing to happen since man’s creation. She reveled in the fact that we’re both products of modern science. On my 17th birthday she told me that my gift this year is the gift of “knowledge.” She wants me to be a part of her lab, to learn the proper protocols so that when she’s ready, she can hand things over to me.

Today is my first day, it’s 4:30am, and I’m ready for this internship to be over.

After nearly missing my transport shuttle, I finally make it through the lab’s doors at exactly 6:00am.

“If you’re on time, you’re late Genesis. 15 minutes early is on time.” I hear my mother’s hologram chastise.

“Yes, mother,” I respond.

“Today, I will have you sort through the archives in sector D3 to develop a comprehensive understanding of Camp Xavier’s inception. It will be important for you to fully master every area and project that we are involved with from its beginning stages to the current status.”

“Yes, mother.”

About halfway through my shift, I start to nearly bore myself to death with the technicalities of the first animal, then human cloning. I spot near the back of the shelf a “Classified” folder; so, naturally, I have to read the files. But I wasn’t prepared for the brute savagery that these documents contained. There are files of account after account and photos of “failed experiments,” of people:

people who are now dead from exposure to toxic gas to see if they could build an immunity, people’s amputated limbs with metal guns and lasers stemming from them, children and newborns with tubes coming out of them from every direction just to get their stem cells and bone marrow. At the bottom of each of the files are the project sponsor’s names and signatures; they’re the names of the untouchables, of those who hold all of the global wealth. Right next to theirs is McCallister’s signature on some, and my mother’s on the rest. On the very last page, there is a little girl on a surgical table with her abdomen gapping open and a side-by-side photo of her stomach completely healed. Looking closer, I see the faintest scar above her left eyebrow and realize that it’s my mother.

“But why…how could they do all of this to innocent people?” I think to myself. My mom said that everyone at these camps is here because they want to be, because they want to contribute to science. But her…the government… are both the reason behind these people’s suffering for so long.

Praying that we aren’t still part of these heinous acts, I run over to Sector P where most of our participants live. I walk down that long hallway treading so softly that I was afraid to breathe. The last door on the right is where my mother conducts her experiments, but there’s a gallery upstairs where I can observe. As soon as I look out, I see the malnourished Black and Brown bodies of our participants. All of them are in chairs, almost lifeless with blood and plasma coming out of one arm and a saline drip going into the other. “She lied,” I whisper. In shock, I leave the building just as quietly as I came and catch a transport shuttle back home; I’m done for the day. I am done, period.

Confused and dazed about my new discovery. Once I’m back at home, I wail out in agony. I’ve never seen anything so evil…and my mother is the cause. I know

that she suffers from alexithymia—a lack of emotions. She doesn’t even know me, or that I’m “gifted”; I can heal quickly—that’s a given, but I’m an empath with an ability to jump through time/space. I can only visit a place for 3 minutes at a time. If I can get to my grandparents, Inacio and Flora, before they leave then, maybe I can save them all. I sent word to Edward, an old friend, and ally of the underground rebellion. If I can get the files and my family to him, I can end it all. I can start the revolution for the people and, they can stop it before it starts, it’s not too late. Edward always said, “Speak not because it is safe, but because it is right.” Closing my eyes, I feel myself transporting.

“Inacio, Flora come with me, there’s not much time.…”

References:

1. Bloom, Joshua., and Martin, Waldo E. Black Against Empire: the History and Politics of the Black Panther Party. Berkeley: University of California Press, 2013.

2. Fontana, Benedetto. Hegemony And Power On the Relation Between Gramsci and Machiavelli. Minneapolis: University of Minnesota Press, 1993.

3. Snowden, Edward. “Speak Not Because It Is Safe, but Because It Is Right.” Twitter, Twitter, 11 Feb. 2017, twitter.com/Snowden/status/830221870943305728.

“Dear White People”

by Kemone Carby-Feleti

We are complex, Multifaceted people of color, Melanated individuals, Burdened

We are fierce, Divine, Spiritual beings embodied

Yet misunderstood, Misunderstood because—we choose Self-love and peace of mind

Over subservience

Because, We choose, We chose—us over you

You,

You are not our chore Never was our responsibility

Yet we are the beginning and the end of you, We built you, We!—built you, I said, what I said We built you up

Yet, You mistreat us, Manipulate us, Invalidate us, Fear us, Then tear us down,

We are not your punching bag, Or your punchline, Not the reason, Nor your excuse,

Yet we are left

In the wake of your rampage, To repair the damage, you caused Heal our souls and remove the splinters from our hearts Piece by piece

We are the voices on the wind, Chanting, Chanting at the crossroad,

We are more than the vitriol you spit, The narrative you spin, The lies you tell

We are the descendants of our ancestors, The embodiment of their rage, Your shackles do not bind us

We are enough, Oppression will end where we begin, Our cries will not be silenced,

We will be heard, Because we demand justice, For the people that came before us.

“Freedom Land”

by Dr. Juone L. Kadiri

Dr. Juone L. Kadiri is Vice President for Institutional Equity, Inclusion and Transformation. She spoke and sang at SLCC Convocation on Monday, August 22, 2022.

You may watch the full speech and song on SLCC’s Convocation 2022 page. Dr. Kadiri presentation starts about 22 minutes in.

Thank you to all past and current SLCC artists, writers, musicians, dancers, photographers, activists, and more for trusting Folio with your creations!

special thanks to the black student union