I was sitting here thinking about how I got to this place of advocating for the restoration of Black history. If it were solely up to me, I would have chosen a less taxing, less unrewarding cause to advocate for.
However, in the words of Nina Simone, “I have no choice in the matter. An artist’s duty, as far as I am concerned, is to reflect the times.”
In school, I was not a student who loved history, and I certainly had no plans to teach it when I grew up.
Unlike other professions where a mistake can be smoothed over, history leaves no room for error. The slightest slip can draw the sting of a thousand voices ready to correct, dismiss, or condemn.
I’ve experienced people debating a point in a video or article they didn’t even finish watching or reading. Yet, here they are, flying Delta to the comment section to respond.
It’s like people talk with their mouths open, the meat still in between their teeth, droplets of spittle sky rocking out of their mouth from food they have not chewed properly, let alone swallowed.
In a time where many of the Civil Rights that Black people fought for are being stripped away, there is no safety net when the facts slip.
Still, I show up.
I press record and publish with hands slick from sweat, skin raw from the invisible cuts of criticism, and keep offering what my people literally bled to learn.
Even when I wonder why I’m doing this, I keep moving forward, not because it’s always fun. It is not. As the saying goes: “Heavy is the head that wears the crown.”
I move forward because I must, and because, to quote Toni Morrison, “This is precisely the time when artists go to work. There is no time for despair, no place for self-pity, no need for silence, no room for fear. We speak, we write, we do language. That is how civilizations heal.”
And so, while it is not always exciting, it is worth it.
I march on, a pen in my hand, a computer in my lap, and a calling in my heart.
I am an artist, and this is my duty.
The PBS Blog 