Abstract
The performative essay, constructed through a method of collaborative spirit-writing, teases through three textual encounters: Trump’s public statement that the 1960 Civil Rights Act led to white people being very badly treated; the experience of two Black subjects at airport security that become analogous to the surveillance of national borders, and the politics of race and the materiality of bodies in the United States. All making an argument for performative resistance against the current U.S. political climate towards better collective and collaborative futures.
Introduction
This piece pivots on the polemics of possibility and the pains of the practical-present. Or is that the historical present? What we imagined would be simple in the everyday negotiation of challenge with the Trump administration, is confronted with realities of a contested past revisited in this current historical moment. The performative essay is constructed through a method of collaborative spirit-writing (Alexander & Weems, 2022). The writing engages a performative dialogue that teases through three textual encounters. Encounters that forced us to pause and critically reflect on the challenges of everyday living during the second term of Donald J. Trump as the president of the United States of America. In many ways, the piece is not just about him, but the socio-political zeitgeist of American culture that makes possible the systematic unraveling of democracy and the exacting reversal of commitments to diversity, equity, inclusion, and antiracism (DEIA). As it is being witnessed on a national level with the activated goading of national leadership and government.
In the essay we take three instances as the loci of our analysis: a public utterance from the current U.S. president that suggests the 1960 Civil Rights Act led to white people being very badly treated; experiences at airport security that trigger notions of surveillance in the particularity and plurality of everyday life—extrapolated to the militarization of borders and border crossings; and then the ever-prevalent politics of race and the materiality of presence in the United States. All from the perspective of two Black subjects engaged in autoethnographic processes of reflectivity, reflexivity, and refractivity across place, space, and time (Alexander, 2023a, 2023b). This essay begins with exploring the traumas of Trump—three instances and counting.
#47s First Three Hundred and Sixty-Five Days (January 20, 2026)
“White people were very badly treated where they did extremely well and they were not invited to go into a university or college.” He said, an apparent reference to affirmative action in college admissions. “So, I would say in that way, I think it was unfair in certain cases.”
Outrage coupled with laughter at the insulting ignorance of this statement took me back to 2016, the day after the election. Even though while I empathized with Hillary Clinton, during the scandal between Bill Clinton and the young woman when he was in the White House, there was something about her that spoke to my gut—while I’ve always admired her intelligence and commitment to Civil and Human Rights—I’ve just never liked her based on the vibe I pick up each time I see or hear her. Regardless of that, my choice for president was clear, because while I’m so disappointed in both main parties and what they’ve allowed and are allowing Trump to get away with, back then when Trump was the alternative, voting for her was a no-brainer. I recall staying up late like usual to watch as much of the news about voting in various precincts and repeated reassurance by all the news commentators that Hillary Clinton was the presumed winner by a lot if not a landslide!
I thought it was going to be simple, once the polls closed, all the mail-in, and in-person votes would be counted and of course, Hillary would win many actual votes (which she did) and more than enough electoral college votes to be our next president. I went to sleep after taking a final swallow of the merlot I’d been enjoying that evening, saying a quick prayer of gratitude to God for living long enough to see our first Black “and” now woman president of the United States. But no! that’s not what happened. Although Trump was not qualified period; that Hillary Clinton was the most qualified presidential candidate, we’ve ever had, with extensive political experience as First Lady, U.S. Senator and Secretary of State; including Obama. Although Hillary won the popular vote, she lost thanks to what continues to be our anti-democratic electoral college process. I woke up to the opposite of what I experienced in November of 2008 when Barack Obama won—I went from jump-in-the-air, call-everybody-and-they mama jubilation that day to complete and utter disbelief, noting the irony of this tragedy happening right after the end of Obama’s second term in 2016. Looking back, I acknowledge that I was in complete shock, a feeling that lasted at least the rest of that day, to the beginning of the despair and anger and “I don’t believe this shit,” I’ve been feeling each day of Trump’s first and (even worse) second term.
Being the optimist I am (struggling now), once he was inaugurated, I thought it was going to be simple but it wasn’t…Once I got over the shock and had a reality check, I started to focus on ways to be optimistic beginning with the fact that by design there are three distinct parts of government President, House of Representatives and Senate, the idea of the Founding white men who designed the government and wrote the Constitution for white land owning men, while my ancestors were slaves. They believed that the balance of power would prevent corruption to a degree the country couldn’t recover from as a nation of laws. Two hundred fifty years later “this” year, we are experiencing the worst president we’ve ever had on so many levels it’s hard to catch my breath: Zero political experience Complete ignorance about anything related to the history of the U.S. No respect for the Constitution No respect for the Rule of Law Desire to dismantle all DEI programming
In fact, according to his niece Mary Trump, Trump’s father realized just about the only thing his son was good at early on was selling. Convincing people to support or buy into whatever it is he’s pitching at that moment.
There’s no better example of this ability during his presidency than his online “Trump Store.” Given that presidents are not supposed to profit from the position while they’re in office, I was shocked at the broad range of clothing and products, many of them containing either Trump’s name alone “or” his name and image.
After his first term, in 2016, I thought it was going to be simple to make certain Donald Trump would never get the opportunity to run, let alone win again. And the fact that he was elected for a second term, speaks to how far we haven’t come as a Nation. This first year (yep, it’s only been 1 year as of 1-20-2026) feels like forever and I pray daily that his escalating and obvious cognitive decline will finally result in getting him out of office.
I thought it was going to be simple to recover as a nation from Trump’s first term, but I know recovering from his second term won’t be.
Upon reading the same story “Civil Rights Lead to White People Being Very Badly Treated,” I was triggered (Green, 2026). And I too experienced “laughter coupled with outrage.” The same and maybe not the same as Mary; a slight reversal or inversion of her felt “outrage coupled with laughter.” I laughed first, which is my sometime response to lunacy, ignorance, arrogance, and protectionism in claims of “reverse racism” as defense of white people in the United States of America. Built upon a genocide of indigenous peoples, on the legacy of slavery, indentured servitude, the persistent hierarchy of white privilege. And the absurdity of MAGA rhetorics that attempt to “Make America Great Again” by seeking to turn back the hands of time on issues of democracy, social justice, equity, women’s rights, LGBTQ+ and DEIA—as a defensive posture to recoup white masculine heterosexist dominance.
What a trigger for the descendants of slaves, and those of us with the marked materiality that signifies the opposite of an idealized white privileged presence. Including those of us whose gendered and sexual identities are considered non-normative. Knowing also that in the Black maleness of my body, sex and sexuality under white surveillance has always been consider “non-normative” and bestial to white propriety or a comparative relationality. The white fixation on the Big Black Cock or the Black vagina and buttock. Each marketed as value in an abusive system of forced procreative productivity of chattel slavery and the desirous convenience of unlegislated sexual abuse.
I laughed first—not because the persistent racist rhetoric of his engagement is humorous, but through laughter my spirit attempts to protect itself coupled with the unbelievability of the emergent reality of it all. But my laughter does not protect me from the coupled outrage.
I thought it was going to be simple to accept the reality of this perpetual ignorance—meaning again/and again/and again, but it wasn’t. It wasn’t because his rhetoric is a clarion call to violence against people of color, women, and those who identify as LGBTQ+, drag queens, and all other-sensed belongingness in this county; against all non-white peoples; against the invitational creed of “The New Colossus” on the Statue of Liberty that invites: “Give me your tired, your poor,/Your huddled masses yearning to breathe free” (Lazarus, 1883). I read and witness it every day—the government authorized display of both overt and covert Immigration and Customs Enforcement (I.C.E) attacks on Brown bodies; increasing raids, military interventions, cattle calls in the rustlings of human dignity, state sanctioned violence, the degradation of the minoritize subject, the separation of families, increased deaths and detention camps/centers (Reichlin-Melnick, 2026). And the shifting and intensified tactics “to locate and deport immigrants suspected of living in the country illegally. They have used children as bait, gone door-to-door and at times forcibly stormed into people’s homes without judicial warrants” (Vives et al., 2026). How do we write from the field of our own experiences to tell the story of what is happening here in America, home of the free and the brave (Alexander, 2025)? All of which is outpacing accountability (Ray & Sanchez, 2026) and diminishing trust in the purpose of the project (Mejia & Vives, 2026). All of which is the antithesis of welcome, within a skewed interpretation of democracy.
In the first 365 days of his second term, “Trump echoes segregationists” from time and memorial in which separate is never equal, in fact it is meant as a hierarchy of the materiality and historicity of being white through a performance of whiteness, and the reification of white as right values that seek to turn back the hands of time (Jones, 2026). And his outrageous claims against the Civil Rights Act fails to recognize that “the Civil Rights Act has protected many white Americans themselves as it, outlaws discrimination based on gender and religion, not just race” (Jones, 2026). Though for him the foregrounding of race—is the key in the sustainability of privilege. Gender and religion are tertiary characteristics subordinated by race so there also goes “one nation under God” and the legislated bodies of women. So, the issue, his issue, is not about rights it is about restoring white privilege. That is too simple, but that is what makes it so dangerous—and thus complicated.
I too thought it was going to be simple to recover as a nation from Trump’s first term, but I know recovering from his second term won’t be.
“Customs Check”
As a Black American woman, who came of age during the 70s, I’m sensitive to being considered a problem of some kind by the police, and other kinds of security and am always nervous when it comes time for the check-in part of airline travel and double check to make sure I don’t have anything on or with me that’s not allowed.
On January 2nd 2026, 25 years after 9/11, and 18 days after the start of Trump’s second term, I thought it was going to be simple but…My husband and I hadn’t been out of town since the pandemic hit about 5 years ago and had looked forward to our trip to Cancun, Mexico with our married cousins who would celebrate their birthdays one day apart while we were there. On the trip over, our cousins who’d gone through the TSA Pre-Check process were checked in quickly, and my husband who always had to let the security officers know he has a metal hip, knee and ½ knee, went through the scanner with no additional check required. When it was time for me to go through, for some reason (even though I didn’t even have a belt on) my waistline set off the scanner—as a result a white female TSA agent lightly ran the tips of her fingers across the front of my waist and let me through. While she was checking my waist, I asked her why the scanner highlighted my waistline and she said she had no idea. I chalked it up to my long locs which seemed to hold a silent alarm and continued with James to the gate our plane would depart from in a few hours. As I sat waiting for the plane, I continued to consider what about my waistline or stomach indicated a problem. Finally deciding to switch back to vacation mode and enjoy my time with James until it was time to board.
Seven days later Friday, January the ninth it was time to return home. We’d had a wonderful vacation, and I didn’t think about the search of my waistline until I was in the TSA check-in line in the airport in Cancun. Once again, our cousins had left us to quickly move through pre-check because they had a flight leaving shortly. When it was our turn in the regular check-in line, my husband told the TSA agent about his metal hip, knee and ½ knee before he went through the scanner. After it went off, he was moved to another part of check-in for clearance, while I was allowed to come through the scanner right behind him.
This time was different. At the Latina TSA agent’s instruction, I walked into the scanner, placed my feet in the appropriate outlines and held my hands up (“
She had me stand in front of her while she took the straight, flat palm of her right hand and slowly ran it up the inside of my leg up to my crotch, then slowly down the other side. I felt violated and it reminded me of the rare occasions I’ve gone to visit friends and/or family in the penitentiary where at least it’s expected. Next, she took the straight flat palms of both hands and ran them over the front of my body beginning at my shoulders, over my chest, legs and down to my feet, followed by asking me to turn around so she could run her flat palms down my neck, shoulders, back, waistline, ass, thighs, back of my calves, down to my ankles, followed by wiping off my shoes. It’s the most naked and exposed I’ve ever felt fully dressed and I thought about what my slave ancestors had to go through before they were sold.
I know she was trying to be as considerate as possible, but I still felt helpless and violated, as if in the midst of Trump and cronies attacks on non-whites; and any white folks who had the audacity to stand up to him, TSA was looking for an excuse not to let me back into my country. I bit my tongue rather than speak up because I wanted to make certain we were able to finish checking in and catch our plane on time—otherwise, I may have responded in a way that would have resulted in our remaining in Cancun for the foreseeable future.
Once again, I thought it was going to be simple or at least no more complicated than a brief additional security check, but it wasn’t…
Mary’s hot pussy is an object lesson. Mary’s hot Black pussy has been a historical curiosity—along with all Black women constructed as the Hottentot Venus under the white gaze (Crais & Scully, 2010). And hence exotic, abnormal, or surreal. In other words, a hot curiosity to be used and abused against one’s will. To be checked and rechecked. To set off alarms. Mary’s hot pussy in the airport signals a security risk.
When I am going through airport security I have been historically chosen for a random security check? Random pat downs of the Black man. They say, “I am going to touch you there.” “Spread your legs.” “Put one leg forward.”
The pat down from chest to ankle. Turn around and repeat.
The pat down from back to ankle. Turn around and repeat. “I am going to pat you there with the back of my hands.” “Let me check that again.” “Do you have anything in your pocket that I need to know about?”
Que(e)ries sometimes with a sense of personal guilt and shame on the part of the examiner. And at other times with a sense of aggressive man-handling that seem like intentional rough sex-play or heavy petting—under duress. My duress. I am taken. And I am taken aback, again. Each time.
But several years ago, the frequency doubled and increased. It double and increased when relative to a health condition, a pacemaker was installed (Alhayek et al., 2022). A metal device in my body/on a body that historically they may have been trying to detect—that might call personal or collective harm. Relative to the airport and the sophistication of equipment, I must automatically self-select the individual check—as opposed to risk going through the system and the potential of a minor electromagnetic interference with the device. At times, there is a hand wand that presents its own challenges, but there is always a pat down. And relative to the airport, there are sometimes loud shot outs: “Pacemaker here!” “He has a pacemaker here!” “Personal check!”
This is accompanied by the signal and pull aside. And the routine. It is less a feeling of shame, but a violation of privacy that I suspect that many others, given similar conditions (e.g., a pacemaker, artificial joints, pins, and prosthetic devices) in/on their body—experience. Each of us questioning. Not questioning the security concern. Questioning the impropriety of human in/dignity. The indelicate engagement of concern that should translate across the particular and the plural of our joint humanity. And to that, I often feel helpless and violated. Not just my body but my dignity.
But as an exigency of engagement, and the need to move forward, I to endure it. I endure it as a customs check. You know that regulated ritual performance of crossing borders (domestic and international) that check incoming goods, travelers, luggage or bodies with levied taxes or fees or discomforts of suspension—as the price of passage. Policing bodies and border crossings have become a thing. But Jones and Harris (2021) end their important essay by saying, “If you see non-conforming or gender-confusing passengers being humiliated by airport security workers by being publicly patted down, or escorted off to a private examination room, you can say something. Airport activism: Don’t get over it, if it’s not over” (p. 15). It is important to mention the sexed context and charge of their missive. And with the always reality of being a Black man in America, and with the inclusion of the pacemaker, I now say something. Beyond the impropriety of gendered/race surveillance—the health and safety issue trumps the process. I ask about the necessity, the caution of necessary care/consideration, and if I feel particularly uncomfortable—I ask for another examiner. And sometimes when I see someone else, particularly Black folks or marked queer folks—I stop to give witness and offer an emotional support—so that they don’t feel so alone. And when completed we, me and the other other, often give that sad glance of assurance that says, “I see you.” “I got you.” “I know.”
These are often silent exchanges that still resonant with the power of being seen and thus fights off the pain of isolation. It is like when my Black brothers and sisters offer each other the simple head nod when passing each other in public spaces. The gesture speaks volumes of recognition against invisibility. Acknowledgment of presence keys into the reality of sometimes shared experiences in which the materiality of our bodies signal caution in varying situations of everyday life; both the real and the surreal.
“Person of Color” (P.O.C.)
The bureaucrat with some exclamation then states, “I need a government sanctioned pigment!” In response Opus states, “Tutti Frutti.” Which causes the bureaucrat some frustration as she pulls the form from the typewriter and exclaims, “Start again. Color?” To that Opus refuses stating, “No! I’m not listing one!” The preceding frames in the comic strip are in color, thus reifying the materiality of his presence as he describes himself. But this frame shifts to black and white, a kind of shadowed imagery of the two characters as the bureaucrat states: “Sir … it’s not about the color of our skin, but the content of our character!” An obvious reference to the famed sentiment of the King (1963), “I Have a Dream” speech. In the following frame, the interactive dialogue returns to color as Opus states: “Exactly!” and the bureaucrat sarcastically responses, “I’m kidding. It’s all about color now!”
In references to color, in the next frame, Opus states: “There’s too many to choose.” And the bureaucrat’s responds with, “Got it”—along with a snapping sound indicated as she advances the form in the typewriter. In the next frame, maybe as a response to his indecision, the frame now is in a slightly muted tone between colors and black/white—the viewer sees only her hands on the keys of the typewriter with the heading (as indication of what she is typing), “
In the next frame, which has returned to full color—and seeing the new descriptive identity, Opus responds,
Comic strips are most often written through what Burke (1937,1984) calls a comic frame; a reification of both form and function that uses humor to humanize conflict, maximize consciousness, engage in a subtle if not overt criticism through humor or a sense of play—but no less cutting. Hence, I have always been intrigued with how cartoonists capture the political zeitgeist of a culture. This including how Charles Schultz depicted the times when he introduced Franklin Armstrong as the first Black character in the Peanuts comic strip (Alexander, 2023a, 2023b). In the Opus comic, which used satire to frequently target the George W. Bush presidency, as I am also keying in on the politics of racial identity—and “who” needs to check a box; “a government sanctioned pigment!” And his resistance to claim a singular hue and embrace the notion of “dude of color”—without a reductive singularity. The comic strip riffs on this social dilemma of race as necessity, and as both a declaration and a denial. Opus enters the U.S. Department of Groups under a particular mandate of declaration. He is faced with a limited set of choices that do not adequately describe his multi-colored presentation—maybe analogous to the multitudinous array of race/ethnic/cultural/points of origin that inform the materialities of bodies, but not the U.S. census.
The invocation of “Dude of Color” comes as a compromised description of a multiethnic/colored identity; not unlike the construction of “Person of Color (POC).” Which emerged in the 1970s designed to foster solidarity among non-White groups against systemic racism and to replace disempowering, white-centric terms like “minorities.” It emphasizes shared experiences of marginalization, though it faces criticism for obscuring specific, distinct issues faced by different racial groups, particularly Black communities (Alvarez & Neville, 2016; Franklin et al., 2006). But then, for me, created a false homogeneity of those same populations that were never equal within their diverse struggles, thus creating a tension in the representation one in/with/and the other. I think about this tension often when a self-defining or politically described “person of color” is elected to public office. This is then followed by a celebration of presentation/representational progress that becomes problematic, when the “POC” reifies the particularity of their raced/cultured/ethnic positionality—in celebration and distinction—and is not representative of diversity within diversities—but the particularity in plurality. Same and not the same.
But even that observation is a pale comparison to the grim reality that we must all face in the United States during the second term of Donald Trump. In the cartoon strip, which preceded this current moment, but was always and already on the pulse of racial politics in this country—the bureaucrat in the cartoon makes real the issue. The bureaucrat’s invocation of MLK’s dream is important. He stated: “I have a dream that my four little children will one day live in a nation where they will not be judged by the color of their skin but by the content of their character.” It is important because the bureaucrat’s mockery is followed by the reality check (or is that a trigger warning), when she says, “I’m kidding. It’s all about color now!”—It is an intentional act of demeaning the dream. It also speaks to our (current) times and the fractious nature of race (or the politics of race) in this country; and the evidence of a dream deferred (Hughes, 1951).
The overall comic entry is both hilarious and sardonic, meaning laughable and “grimly mocking” of the historical nature of racial politics in the United States. Now made more real with the current national leadership that is directly attacking issues of diversity, equity, inclusion and antiracism (a dismantled investment in equity). Reinforcing that everything is about color/race and points of origin; building walls/not bridges between peoples of this country and the world. Especially as that currently relates to people of Mexican/Hispanic backgrounds with notions of belonging, and of being legal or illegal. The materiality of presence matters in a social and political economy that is “all about color now!”
The Berkeley Breathed comic originally published in 2007 could have been published today.
How Black people are identified by white folks coupled with the way(s) we choose to identify ourselves. I’m thinking about the impact of colorism, the advent of “multi-racial” and its adoption by numerous Black folks including the younger brother of a long time ago friend. I hadn’t heard from this multiracial dude in 30+ years until February 5th. He was reaching out to let me know he’d just self-published his memoir. I was surprised about the book, but not about his new way of identifying himself. His oldest brother told me several years ago that his younger, much lighter skinned brother with non-kinky hair no longer considers himself Black.
When we decided to make this a section in this paper, my first thought was to begin my portion as I begin here—with the litany of names Blacks have been labeled with over the years.
I emailed Bryant once I received his draft to let him know the cartoon was a perfect preamble to the beginning of my response.
D. L. Hughley (a Black comic) has often said “It’s not what you call me, it’s what I answer to.” Those of us who are descendants of slaves have experienced generations of not having any control over what white folks call us or for decades what we answered to, but with complete control over what we called them when not in their presence. Which I argue mirrors what happens when racist white folks are not in the presence of Black people. The word nigger moves from their mouths so effortlessly no one notices; it’s as if that’s the God given name of all Black people. When I was a professor at a private and/or state college the issue would come up on occasion in one or more of my Multi-cultural Education classes. My students would use the fact that Black artists have been using the word in their raps for years, to claim a “confusion” as to whether they should be able to use it in mixed company. In each case, I’d first disabuse them of the notion that they’re confused about usage, second strongly suggest they never make the mistake of using it around Black folks, and third I’d share what would happen if a white person “ever” called me a nigger to my face.
On the other hand, there are two distinct camps about whether Black people should use the word. The Al Sharpton, etc. camp believes that due to its destructive, hurtful, racist history, no one should us the word. I understand the reasoning behind this position, but the fact is you can’t “kill” a word. Usage is controlled by whether specific words are popular, any effort to force folks to stop using it will likely result in an increase usage. The rest of us continue to embrace the use of the word among our peers when it’s used with humor, love, or anger and to verbally indicate a kinship we share regardless of our position about the use of the word. Also, the construction of the “N-word,” is a ridiculous textual/verbal placeholder because you can’t get to the “N-word” without thinking “nigger” first.
When it comes to defining groups of people from any other country in the world, being born in a country not race, defines identity. People born in Italy are Italians, people born in Brazil are Brazilians, etc. I recently watched a YouTube of Trevor Noah interviewing Idris Elba who identified himself as Canadian, then shared that thanks to his submission to ancestry.com he’s discovered that his biological ancestry is 100% African.
It’s only in the United States of America that all members of white ethnic groups are lumped together as either Americans, Caucasians, or just plain white. And any time either for census, college applications, or other reasons selecting race or hue is required Black/African American is always one of the options.
It’s not what you call me, it’s what I answer to. I’ve lived through all the pronouns for blackness except “nigra” which is a word I only know from my grandparents whose parents (like many Blacks) escaped the South to move North. During segregation it was common for whites to call Black people niggers to their faces. Growing up after the end of de jure segregation but during the actual segregation which lasted another several decades, I was old enough to understand what my grandparents, mother, uncle and others would have “grown folks’ business” discussions about, when children weren’t supposed to be around. They would tell stories of having to endure the repeated insult for fear of losing their jobs of being attacked by whites, of getting caught up in the injustice system.
I thought it would be simple, but it wasn’t. On April 4, 1968, Dr Martin Luther Jr. was assassinated. In August of the same year, James Brown released his single, “Say it Loud, I’m Black and I’m Proud.” I was there. I remember how quickly the shift from when calling someone “Black” was considered an insult; the polite “of colored,” and “negro” to the right fist raised anthem of “Say It Loud, I’m Black and I’m Proud.” No matter how hard you try, you can’t stop me now happened.
I’m not certain if James Brown’s song was written because Dr King was assassinated or in response to his death’s added catalyst for the Civil Rights Movement. But I am sure that once it was out, pride in being Black became damn near universal. Black people for a long time wouldn’t pass each other on the street without speaking, exchanging a hands-at-waist-level 5 and/or raised right fist. Dashikis and other African garb became popular and the voice for civil rights, and human rights, and equal rights for Black people—has never been louder.
I thought it would be simple, but it wasn’t. I thought once Medger Evers, Malcolm X, and Dr King were killed, and we demanded change including how we wanted to be identified (BLACK)– that white folks in power would accept what we wanted to answer to. Fast forward to all the years since including now. I think, acknowledged or not, most white folks have an innate fear of Black people proudly identifying themselves as BLACK. Which is why they’ve continued to construct alternatives until they’ve come as close to calling us “colored” as they can.
On Misnomers, Actualities, and Futurities: A Conclusion
The narration of these casual yet pivotally traumatic experiences, like moving through airport security—helps to magnify the dangers of border crossings in this country and beyond. When and where particular bodies are made suspect for both issues of safety and belonging, with shifting technologies of surveillance and dehumanizing experiences in the crossing of
And the issue of
Yes, we are consistently living in the past-present-future; in the tense and tensiveness of our relationality to each other with the policies, politics, and polemics that regulate sociality between humans and with our orientation to the planet. More so than ever, the legal abolition of slavery (December/June 1865); the last 160 years since the ratification of the 13th Amendment and 62 years since the Civil Rights Act (July 2, 1964) that literally outlawed discrimination based on race, color, religion, sex, or national origin. And the beginnings of the Black Lives Matter movement in 2013 as a domestic turned international social movement fighting systemic racism, discrimination, and violence against Black people, especially police brutality. We have seen a resurgence of hate and indifference to the human condition based on issues of race, class, sexuality, presumed origin of citizenship/ancestry, the legislation of women’s bodies related to reproductive rights, the insurgent regulations on sexual health, restriction on gender reassignment, and recent threats on the access of HIV-AIDS treatment and pre-exposure prophylaxis—as a presumed regulation on sexuality.
As qualitative researchers we explore the “how” and “why” of human behavior that shape social formations. We put our critical thinking, articulate languaging, thick description, exacting analysis, and our performative bodies on the line to make sense of cultural phenomena. This in communion with diverse others who are also struggling to make sense of the personal, the public, and the political! We use the narrated lived and felt experience through naturalistic inquiry as evidence of knowing; mirroring how to be fully human with and for others; for those within the struggle and those who are causing the pain.
Now, maybe more than ever, we must reaffirm and be able to openly share our critical sense-making processes to build collaborative futures. As Denzin and Giardina (2021) profoundly charged: “Collectively and collaboratively, this moment calls for a critical, performative, social justice directed at the multiple crises of our historical present. We need a rethinking of where we have been, and, critically, where we are going. We cannot go at it alone. We need to imagine new ways of collaboration, to engage in research and activism. New ways of representing and intervening into the historical present. New ways to conduct research, and a rethinking of in whose interests our research benefits” (p. 5).
We thought it was going to be simple, but it wasn’t. Let our spirits collaboratively work towards a participatory democracy that provides equal opportunity for all to live, to love, and to thrive.
Footnotes
Declaration of Conflicting Interests
The author(s) declared no potential conflicts of interest with respect to the research, authorship, and/or publication of this article.
Funding
The author(s) received no financial support for the research, authorship, and/or publication of this article.
