The black radical tradition is a story and a journey of love.
The story begins with individuals reduced to bare lives and nothingness. It sows seeds of love with an urge to recognize their existence and redeem their oppressed pasts; it acknowledges their damage, it measures their scars.
How deep is the scar, it asks?
Deep. Deep and so infectious that it requires the tyrant to be cured along with the victim if it is to be truly healed. The love is truly radical, for it recognizes the humanity of the oppressed AND the oppressor, and in doing so, it seeks to heal the tyrant and tends to the wretched.
Finally, in stretching its hold in order to accommodate previously denied ways of being, it promises an inclusive (F)uture that renders possible the existence of multiple future(s).
This love is that of Fanon, so radical that it demands a bigger, more flexible measure to hold the entire humanity in its embrace.
Like that of Du Bois, it travels back in time to pay its respects to those who lived lonely lives and died forgotten deaths.
Haartman’s love, that aches to belong to a place that can be called home.
Hooks’ love, critical but never disdainful- a love that reminds us all of our collective potential to be better, to constantly do better.
Malcolm’s love, a love truly urgent but also uncompromising.
It is a love also like Ali’s. One that reminds us to claim our identity and our names.
To make them say our names.
Say my name.
Say my name.
Say it till they get it right.
A love like Anzaldua’s. It demands to be acknowledged, does not beg for it.
Perhaps also like Morrison’s, for it urges us to bear witness for those who can’t bear witness for themselves.
Audre Lorde’s love, one that teaches us that incomplete love is no love at all, for much like oppression, there can be no hierarchy of love.
MLK’s love. A love truly vulnerable. A love truly brave. A love that strives to find a home in the ‘not yet’, in perhaps the ‘never will be’ and yet still continues to strive. To live. And to fight.
It is a love that is revolutionary, for it refuses to settle for scraps. It demands more and better from the present to ensure a better tomorrow.
But it is also kind, gentle and selfless, since it does not want to leave anyone behind.
It is vulnerable. It recognizes the limited resources we have to redeem our fractured pasts. But it also admits that it is this limitation that necessitates our collective effort, for our humanity is all we have and as long as our humanity is not exclusionary and vengeful, it is enough.
It is exemplary love, for it urges us to lead lives that are reflective of our values, not our conditions. Of our dreams, not our pasts.
Black radical tradition, then, is a story of a love born out of our mutual vulnerability, unifying us all in our shared humanity. And a story that lives on through the hope of our reunion, at the rendezvous of victory.