1 LOVE

I wanted to write a response to the shooting. More of a response to the responses I was hearing. Most of which were predictable statements, theories and conclusions out of the mouths of self-righteous and insensitive politicians, news stations and even a cartoonist. Floods of Facebook statuses, Twitter feeds and blog posts that I read, largely from the Black community, also carried a similar tone in their reactions.

Thoughts are powerful and, for the most part, private. When we feel the need to share our thoughts, they are given a voice through words. In sharing, these words are then given value or forgotten. Now, it is in action that thoughts receive their strongest avenue. To do something about what you think takes a great deal of determination and sometimes risk.

I decided to write about what I have experienced; a livelihood that is not given much platform in our community because of the overwhelming negative thoughts, words and actions against Blackness. There is a definite imbalance of stories and binary scale of focus that either highlights failure or success, or in this case violence over peace. And in no way am I ignoring that there are issues of violence in the community, but in the same token I will not fuel the problem by focusing on the negative. A key point. We each have a responsibility to take action and I strongly oppose banishment as a solution. I find it interesting how vocal Mayor Rob Ford is about gun violence but very discreet about his own domestic disputes.


Toronto is a multicultural city, and I am happy to live among all walks of life. But if there is one thing Toronto has not managed to solidify, despite the countless cultural hubs of Little Italy, Korea Town, The Danforth, St. Clair West, etc., when it comes to 'visual minorities' your Canadian identity is similar to a credit score. Anything contrast to Whiteness - an accent, (authentic) cultural clothing, cultural food, skin complexion and cultural practices can lower your credibility, unless of course these attributes have become trendy and likely appropriated. The amount of times I hear people (of various ethnic backgrounds) telling other people to "go back to their country" is appalling and far too frequent.

So when it is stated that "foreign gangsters" need to be deported whether or not they are citizens, I find it totally void of accountability. I wonder what the First Nations community has to say to that comment. How can we claim ownership of this country but not the people who populate it? The amount of times I hear people (of various ethnic backgrounds) telling other people to "go back to their country" is appalling and unchecked.

"Twitter frustrating this morn. After EatonCentre tragedy, words like 'us' and 'our.' After #DanzigShooting tragedy, mostly 'they' and 'them'"

I personally don't give a red cent whether Jamaicans or Trinidadians or East Africans or Middle Eastern people are unjustly targeted with being innately or culturally violent because those opinions do not resonate with my own experience.

Particularly I want to focus on Jamaicans, who get a lot of the blame for violence in the city, whose men are charged with being absent fathers and women laced with pink, blue and rainbow weaves. Well I have a very different perception in mind when I picture Jamaicans.

For the stories that aren't given the light of day, here is a piece of mine:

My favourite people in the world are Jamaicans. And trust me, I'm not jumping on the Olympic bandwagon, my affections spread much deeper than sports and even reggae. In my mind, nothing beats the pride, humour, endless proverbs and priceless mannerisms of the nation's people.
My love naturally stems from having two esteemed Jamaican parents. Mind you, two parents who don't drink or cuss...and watch me sideways when I have a cooler. Two parents who've I've watched grow as much as they have me.
My mother gave birth to me at sixteen years old; a fact that neither of us are ashamed of because the difficult experience has made her a stronger woman. She went on to have three more beautiful children and stayed at home to raise us all. Every morning I remember being woken up to Eggos cut into four pieces x 2 with a glass of juice. My lunch was packed in a brown bag and my hair brushed back with small and large bubbles. 90's clothing were very comfortable. My classmates would sometimes ask why I dressed so well for school; I sometimes wondered why they dressed so ragga ragga. Despite moving over 19 times in my life, I never had to want for anything. I've lived in houses to condos to a basement apartment, and dined on ackee and salt fish to corned beef and cabbage, when money was tight. All of these experiences have helped shaped me as a person, to know how to adapt when times are rough and to also know what it is that I am working towards. But anyway.
My mom is very creative; she can draw, sew, refurbish, decorate and is one of the most stylish women I know. She may not have been able to help with any of my French immersion homework but when it came time to putting together a creative project I always received top marks for the grand creations I would bring in Monday morning. Oh, and my mom is very open...and nosy. We learned about keeping our private parts private, and that withholding secrets were futile because mom knew everything! It was not a good day when she found my stash of cod liver oil vitamins behind my dresser. I found intuition to be a strange thing grownups had. Their reasons for making decisions seemed to be so mysterious. Who would look behind a dresser? What was the perfect hiding place, could not escape my mom's cleanliness. In addition, we could not merely wash the dishes, we had to clean the kitchen. Counters, sink, fridge stove, floor and walls. We could not merely bathe, we had to groom. Smooth the ashyness with lotion, clean ears, cut nails, rub the matta out of our eyes and brush teeth for five minutes.
Also mom and dad never let us perm or put in false hair with the exceptions of braids when we got a bit older. Before this returning wave natural evolution my mom dreaded her hair. Tired of wearing extensions herself, we all were stunned when she chopped off her hair and patiently twisted over the first six months. What a beauty.

I was raised in a blended family. My dad has raised me since the age of three. My dad has always been a hard worker and has an impeccable entrepreneurial spirit. My dad is a proud man, he never let statistics define his success and only expected the best from us. Together mom and dad make a dream team. Their teachings and more importantly the way they lead their own lives, gave us no excuses to lead astray.
"You can be anything you want." My parents always relayed this message to me and my siblings. Whether that was to be an actress or school teacher -"just work hard and don't give up." I've never really been afraid to grow older because of the simplistic but mind-blowing advice elders dish out with such knowing and care.
My dad would say that he has to work twice as hard a white man for the same recognition but did not use that as a crutch for what he could or could not achieve. In fact, he always preached the importance of building businesses in your own community and that you can't complain about something if you are not part of the solution.
Our home is decorated with art from around the world, but African images and textiles dominate. If any conversation about Blackness were to enter the house it better be proactive and positive or else my dad will have a Malcolm X moment and breakdown every ignorant comment while ultimately making everyone feel uplifted by the end of the discussion.
My mother is probably the most honest human being I know. She is very weary of gossip and having "a ton load of friends." We share a quiet quality but she has emphasized that being calm, kind and honest should never be confused for weakness. Thus I've learned to be a good judge of character, something that takes patience and above all knowledge of self. To know what is and isn't for you.

mom & pops

I feel very blessed for my upbringing and the positive people who have raised me...and at the core of that are a group of Jamaicans. Proud of who they are, who know where they come from and where they're going.

In tribute to Jamaica's 50th year of Independence on August 6, 2012 let us define our freedom outside of colonial ties. Let us embrace industry and business that we can call our own. Let us invest in the youth, in education and health. And let us not forget all of the resilience, sacrifice and love that we will celebrate with vigor.

One LOVE