hi.
I think I’m finding my words again. But before I continue share them, I need to let you know what’s been going on.
Some of what’s been going on, you already know: a white woman threatened to call the cops of a Black man for absolutely no reason — and then followed through with her threat. A young Black woman was killed while sleeping in her bed, by cops who used a battering ram to crash into her house in order to carry out a no-knock warrant — and they had the wrong house. A white cop knelt on the neck of an unarmed Black man for almost 9 minutes, killing him — and the cop knew the entire time he was being filmed, occasionally staring into the camera as the last of his victims breath left his body. He didn’t care in the least.
These three incidents happened one after the other, but they were the only the latest in decades — or, rather, centuries — of racist incidents that continue to occur in the United States to this very day. For some reason, however, these three incidents seem to have awoken the collective consciousness of America — or more accurately, white America — resulting in nationwide protests against racist brutality (and some that are occurring around the world). This, of course, is amazing. And while all this has been happening, I have been deluged by calls, messages and emails.
Some of them have been wonderful: friends of all races and backgrounds calling me to process what’s happening in the country, and brainstorming with me how we can continue to fight not only for justice and civil rights, but also kindness and love and light. We have commiserated and encouraged each other. (Related: I have some amazingly good friends.) But a significant number of the messages I received — from friends and strangers alike — have felt more like a performance of appearing to care about the issues of racial inequality, while actually being a thin disguise for their true purpose: having me, a black woman, reassure the white authors that they are, in fact, good people, and not racist at all.
This onslaught of people — and I’m talking several dozen, here — needing my blessing for them to return to their lives feeling comforted that they are Good People™ is downright exhausting. A few of them even enumerated racist acts of their past, but assured me “they’re better now.” My friend Brené, with whom I spoke with several times over the last couple of weeks (God bless her), became irritated on my behalf. “Good Lord,” she said, “you’re not a sin-eater, for heaven’s sake.” Her words encapsulated exactly what I was feeling, and as the messages kept coming in — coupled with the fact that, weirdly, my given name has actually become short-hand for “racist, middle-aged white woman,” not to mention witnessing some naked racism in the comments of friends’ Facebook posts (one person who I’d actually never met coming after me on my page), I just became enraged. Just truly furious. As a result (and if I’m honest, true to form), I just shut down.
I stopped posting on my personal Facebook page, and deleted the app from my phone. I stopped blogging here, because in my mind, what was the point? Focusing on light seemed hopeless. I’ve been blogging for over 16 years. Maybe this was the time, I thought, to take a serious break. Besides, I have to book to write — a book about the intersection of joy & activism, which is so ironic, I laugh every time I think about it. Joy is the last thing I’ve been feeling over the past two weeks.
But then, this weekend, I came across this tweet from poet and storyteller Joél Leon, and it stopped me in my tracks:
“your art is your protest
your speech is your protest
your rest is your protest
your meditation is your protest
your heart is your protest
your teaching is your protest
your marching is your protest
your anger is your protest
your love is your protest”
I immediately printed it out and pinned it to my bulletin board, because this is it entirely. If a change is going to come, and I’m going to be a part of it, then I can’t go quiet. (It’s like Bishop Desmond Tutu once said: “I wish I could shut up, but I can’t, and I won’t.”) I need to keep doing what I do, and bring everything I am to it — and that means no soft-pedaling, no pulling punches. And so, before I continue to do my work here in this space, I feel the need to come clean, and be very clear about who I am:
I am Karen Nicole Walrond, daughter to Kermitt and Yvette, sister to Natalie, wife to Marcus, mother to Alexis. I am an immigrant from the two-island nation of Trinidad & Tobago. Because I am Trinidadian (arguably the most multiracial of all the Caribbean islands), I am descended from the enslaved, the colonizers, and the indentured servants (my 23andme results are insane — the entire planet lights up when you look at my results, except for Russia and Australia). That said, make no mistake: I am a black woman. I identify as Afro-Trinidadian, Afro-Caribbean, and black.
My beautiful husband, Marcus, is English, an immigrant, and white. Our brilliant and intuitive daughter, Alexis, was adopted from childbirth and is Mexican-American and Afro-Colombian. She identifies as African-American, black and Latina.
We are all U.S. citizens. Marcus and Alex are also British citizens. I am also a Trinidadian citizen.
I am a practicing Christian. I was raised Catholic, but am now a practicing Episcopalian (the church with the cool bishop who gave the sermon at Harry and Megan’s royal wedding). The Jesus who I follow is a brown, Middle Eastern Jew, born of an unwed mother, a refugee, and who served all, even and especially those who were considered outcasts by society, and he taught to lead with love always, no exceptions. Absolutely no exceptions.
My mottos focus on light: first, we are called to always look for the light — in life and in each other, because we are, quite literally, made of light (just ask astronomer Carl Sagan). I love story, and chances are I love your story, even (and maybe even especially) if you do not look like me, or love like me, or pray like me (or don’t pray at all). I believe every life and soul is worthy of love and belonging, no exceptions. Absolutely no exceptions.
Secondly, if there isn’t any light around, we’re called to make light. Arun Gandhi, Mahatma Gandhi’s grandson, once told me that his grandfather believed that our gifts and talents and skills were given to us in trusteeship by God (or Allah or the Universe, whatever name you’d like), specifically to serve each other, and make the world better. I believe this deeply.
So.
I am back, wholly and fully. And my brothers and sisters, Chookooloonks is my protest. And I will continue to protest that the beauty of the people of this planet will save us (for example, through my This Was A Good Week posts, so don’t worry, they’re not going away). But I’m going to be far more mindful of what I say here — in that I will likely speak my mind more freely. I’ll be thoughtful about what I share and how often I share, because I believe that self-compassion and self-care are cornerstones of activist and advocacy work; that said, everything I share will be even more transparent and 100% from the heart.
Strap in, Starshines. I hope you’re ready. ✨
Soundtrack: Higher love as performed by Kygo & Whitney Houston
A little about the new book.