Sent to you by moya via Google Reader:
"And when we speak we are afraid
our words will not be heard nor welcomed
but when we are silent
we are still afraid
so it is better to speak
we were never meant to survive."
– Audre Lorde, "A Litany for Survival"
If capitalism slept, it would have nightmares about us. Those of us who pilfer office supplies, trade DIY fashion tips, write love poems to Palestine, remember why Claudia Jones was deported during the McCarthy era. Those of us who have orisha-powered blogs with drums playing on imeem, who invoke lines from poems in long-since out-of-print books, who do reiki across time zones from Egypt to Detroit, releasing trauma, reactivating souls, who trade single mami advice all day on twitter.
But capitalism doesn't sleep. So neither do we. We stay up all night, or wake up early and refresh the screen. We live on each others' words and prove the lie of the hourly news story about our worthlessness. We speak for far-flung intimate audiences, and when we wind up wounded, we don't stop because slowly we learn that these words are salve. We stay up, stay connected, send love letters every way we know how. These words are salve. Halfway to salvation.
The energy transmitted through the radical women of color blogosphere (a.k.a. those of us who are seeking to build community and create transformation across space and time, bringing ancestors and babies every step of the way) is a life-giving force. This magic, this potential is also why we are punished for loving each other. This is not the glorification of a scene, this is a distinction between scene and community, a reminder of what is at stake.
—by alexis gumbs