“Emancipate yourselves from mental slavery, none but ourselves can free our minds!” ~ Marcus Garvey.

Last week we enjoyed a cultural event, attending a play written and directed by a local African American poet and playwright, Darius Daughtry.  This is the second of his plays that we have attended, and one of the most noteworthy aspects of the event is that his audience (both times) is one of the most diverse that I have seen.  The representation of ages, ethnicities and genders seemed to be complete, to my unscientific observation, and was wonderful to behold.  Of course South Florida is a very diverse community anyway, but to see such a broad cross section coming out to enjoy a production which combined Shakespeare’s words with a Hip Hop soundtrack (The Bard in Bars – if you get a chance, do catch it!) was remarkable.

My own familiarity with Shakespeare is a little shaky, to be honest.  And this production included snippets from several of the plays, so I was a little challenged to keep up with the storyline.  I have my own particular history with Macbeth.  When first I came to this country, one of the kind souls who made sure that I took a break on my shift (in fact would bring food from the cafeteria to make sure that I stopped and ate), was an African American lady whose last name began with Mack, then she got married so I just added Mack to her new surname.  So she responded by calling me Macbeth!

But earlier in my life I had been a part of the Drama Society at high school.  Our Drama teacher had high ambition, and directed us in plays like The Plague, by Albert Camus.  But one year he exceeded himself by writing his own adaptation of Macbeth, imagined as a play put on (during the period of enslavement in Jamaica) by the Plantation owner’s wife, performed by the enslaved.  And I, being the only white girl in the Drama group, was typecast as the Slave-owner’s wife.  I was appalled, horrified, offended and jealous of my classmates, especially when my best friend got to play Lady Macbeth! To be honest I had wanted to be one of the witches ‘By the pricking of my thumbs, something wicked this way comes!’  I have no recollection of any of my lines, and felt as if I should be apologizing for the sins of the white race, not performing the role of the oppressor.

Those days were fun though.  We had some ancient costumes (motheaten and full of dust).  Did I wear a wig? I suppose I must have.  One of the treats of being a part of the Drama society was traveling to Kingston to perform at the ‘Little Theatre’, on a real stage with curtains, lights and everything!  And as a special treat, go to the Oxford Pharmacy and get a milk shake! These were simpler times.

With the advent of smart phones and social media platforms, all the world is indeed a stage now, and anyone who wishes may upload a video to loud applause (many likes and shares) or total silence.  With the desire to go ‘viral’, we are bombarded with scenes of apparent disaster narrowly averted, or cute animals, cuter babies, it is very easy to disappear down a rabbit hole (did I mention cute cats?).  I recently stumbled upon a woman who has, in less than two months, garnered a following of over a million women world wide.

Her topic is not very sexy, and is introduced by her loudly declaring ‘we do not care’.  She then goes on to list all the things ‘we do not care’ about.  Her perspective is that of women experiencing perimenopause or menopause, with all of the associated signs and symptoms.  By verbalizing her list of things she no longer cares about (wearing matching socks, listening to her children’s complaints, being worried about her appearance) she has given permission for a movement of women not to care either!

Her authenticity and sincerity (she often appears wearing glasses, with at least two other pairs adorning her head or blouse as well) have attracted a global following, as she is not trying to be a comedian, or in any way putting on a show for the ‘likes’.  She is merely expressing the emotions of a woman who is done living up to the expectations of others, and merely wishes to be comfortable as she navigates the challenges of forgetting what she was saying in mid-sentence; lying awake at three in the morning; breaking out in a sweat when everyone else claims to be freezing; or any of the other myriad joys of ‘going through the change’.  This topic of course was once almost taboo.

It struck me that the phrase sounds uncaring, but in her own way she has freed herself from the expectations of society, has emancipated her mind from a form of mental slavery, and is now free to live on her own terms.  For many of us this sounds selfish, but (and this pertains not only to perimenopausal women) it may be life-saving, and a lesson often learned too late.  For we need to learn to care for ourselves first.  And by doing that, we give permission to those around us to value us, and to value themselves also.

With our newsfeed full of examples of an uncaring government, it strikes me that this is the time to care, and to care more actively about the plight of others.  But with so many things happening in so many different areas (aid cut to desperate foreign nations; families ruptured as parents are snatched from legal proceedings; cuts in food programs for poor families; millions at risk of losing health insurance; hospitals and nursing homes losing much needed funding; journalists and academic institutions being muzzled; what else have I forgotten?) it is hard to decide what to care about.  And this is part of the plan.  Disrupt so much in so many different areas that we cannot focus on one thing.  Dastardly.

Today marks Emancipation Day, a day when slavery was abolished throughout the countries colonized by the British.  Of course, this sounds more positive than it was, since the practice was merely replaced by ‘apprenticeship’, where the formerly enslaved continued working for their former owners, and in fact had to pay them reparations for their prior free labor.  Meanwhile the English government paid the slave owners reparations also, approximately £20 million pounds, decreed in an act written at the same time as the abolition act.  Some descendants continued receiving annuities until as recently as 2015.  And yet those who, for 400 years, gave their blood, sweat and lives, there has been no compensation.

It is no wonder that the scars and damage done to those Africans and their descendants continue to haunt us today.  And that there is still much work to do, to repair the damage done.  Here in the US we have seen strides made, and strides reversed.  But there is always hope, there are always helpers, those who continue to share their visions and their dreams. 

This Friday morning I wish all who celebrate today a very happy and meaningful day.  For those who are going through your own personal challenges, I hope you can put yourself first.  And if you can, find a way to explore the lived experience of someone who looks nothing like you, for until we walk a mile in the shoes of another person, we cannot know what their lives are like.

Have a wonderful weekend, Family!

One Love!

Namaste.