Exclusion

Exclusion

Within the last nine months, the faith tradition of my baptism and the state in which I was born have given me—and people like me—the boot. Kicked out. No longer welcome. Excluded. Many claim this violence in the name of Jesus.

The Iowa legislature is the first to strip away civil rights. (Iowa Public Radio, 2.27.2025)

I have complex feelings and thoughts about this.

In 2024, when they shared their Project 2025 playbook, I heard people say that their media outlet of choice had assured them that the horrors would never actually happen. One of my undergrad students last fall innocently asked me "Why are you afraid? He never does everything he promises." And yet, here we are.

After the election I realized something even more chilling: If I were in hiding, like Anne Frank—one of the few oppressed people whose story I heard as a child—it’s very likely that some people in my life would turn me in.

When you strip civil rights, claiming they’re “extra rights,” what’s left of humanity? When you decide you know more about a person’s identity than the medical establishment, claiming the right to choose FOR them, people die. It's not hyperbole.

This song by rings in my ears: (Hozier - Foreigner's God)

I can no longer enter the state where I was born. If I leave the country, will I be allowed back in? Or will they disappear me? Us?

How does one prepare for this? How does one stay ready?

Last month my partner and I toured the Aiken-Rhett House in Charleston, North Carolina. The tour was designed to first, intentionally, lead us through the site of torture of the enslaved Africans that were shipped there, labored there, and were trapped there.

We walked silently through their rooms, hearing their names, honoring each one, even those whose names are lost to history, glancing toward the remnants of spiked walls preventing their escape. The soil screamed of violence, when I paused to listen. The screams were similar to those we heard ringing in our ears as we toured the gas chambers of Dachau years ago.

We watched other white folks practically run through the living spaces of the enslaved people, like they were trying to escape. They raced through the dark, sparse, rundown rooms to arrive in the opulent quarters. Attempting to not see the violence, they rushed toward high ceilings, grand art, unending dining rooms, ballrooms, and wide porches. In the USA we'll do almost anything to not see, not feel, not look, not know.

I was struck by the way we hide our sites of torture here in the USA. Claiming to the be the land of the free. We tell on ourselves over and over. 

A year and a half ago, I clarified my personal and professional goals as love and liberation.

Goodness, aren’t those as true as ever? Did I expect them to be so counter-cultural? I've helped people, and people have helped me for years, to see oppression clearly in country that gaslights us into believing it isn't embedded everywhere.

For example, and there are TOO MANY fresh examples, the EO language used to describe and exclude trans and non-binary people is horrific, disgusting, and an outright effing lie. (I'm intentionally NOT linking it here.)

They attempt to vilify us by calling our very existence explicit. They dehumanize us in an attempt to make us the perpetrator. They say they're protecting women, and elected a convicted rapist who bragged about "grabbing women by the pu$$y."

Deflection, dehumanization, and propaganda truly work on millions of people, don't they?

Building walls is violent. Literally and figuratively. No person is illegal on stolen land.

They’ve invented an enemy of people just like you...and me. I feel that it’s absurd to be in the position of justifcation of people's humanity. Dehumanization is too present. 

So for now, I will do what I know to do:

• Keep my therapy appointment this morning
• Support those more vulnerable and excluded than I am
• Reach out to family and friends whose love aligns with liberation
• Relish moments of love and liberation
• Do my small part to show love and work for liberation, individually and collectively

But shit, ya'll.

This is real.

Fellow leaders and learners, I wish you courage, rest, and Beloved Community for the journey. Together we catalyze a brave, bold, and liberatory future.

Peace to you,

PS. Because mems are my love language, here are a couple of those I love. Will you share yours too?  

@browngirlart

in this beautiful library, bats guard the books