Black communities are still in immense pain individually and collectively despite global uprisings against racism, corporate dollars in the name of racial equity, and an influx of pandemic government funding. In this love letter, I want to talk about "where it hurts" as it relates to Black health in the City of Richmond. I will also outline "medicine" that has and continues to mend, as Aya Educational Institute would say, "our wounds of oppression," so we can feel better as we do better. I caution that this essay is emotionally heavy, so please take care of yourself as you read.

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Where does it hurt? In the numbers.

Richmond Henrico Health District (RHHD) reported that in 2021 compared to White peers, Black people in Richmond City died from COVID-19 at a higher rate. Black individuals also experienced the highest rate of death from opioid overdose in comparison to their White and Latino peers. Additionally, Black families experienced the highest rates of infant mortality and simultaneously the highest rate of firearm-related deaths. Many of the firearm-related deaths were youth ages 14-24. Take a deep breath here.

Each data point shared here represents human beings. A mother. An auntie. A big cuz. A best friend. A neighbor. An artist. The list goes on. 

Furthermore, RHHD reveals that residents experience a shorter life expectancy and higher rates of certain chronic diseases in Richmond in the same neighborhoods where the 1930s redlining and urban renewal occurred. These are predominantly Black and Latino communities. Let's meditate on the ripple effects this has and will continue to have on community health overall.

I remember the first time I sat through presentations revealing this information. I felt my chest tighten and my jaw clench. My heart raced. My stomach was in knots. I still experience these sensations as I write this. I have just learned to breathe through these sensations.

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In the words of my mother, "I say this with a heart full of love..." We have to get healthier y'all.

I refer to the collective hurt that results from community-level traumatic events as "community pain." We need to consistently make the connection that community pain hurts activism and advocacy movements. Many folks involved in creating metaphorical balms, tonics, and salves for the wounds in the Black community are themselves in pain. They, and we, are dealing with varying mental illnesses, anxiety, high blood pressure, and diabetes to name a few. Many of the community's healers and strategists are trusted because of our ability to relate to the traumatic situations we are assisting with. They, and we, have lived through numerous adverse childhood experiences (ACEs). The CDC has directly linked ACEs to higher rates of chronic disease, mental illness, and substance use disorder. The connection between toxic stress from ACEs and its impact on social justice leaders is an urgent conversation that needs to be had.

As social justice practitioners, we also see ourselves and our relatives reflected when we see public health data related to the Black community. We directly experience the waterfall of emotions when a community member has transitioned, experienced trauma, or is facing a barrier, even if we do not know that person directly. Empowerment models of community organizing and the concept of "use of self" means that the best "medicine" for a community ailment is often that the people closest to the social justice issues are the ones doing the healing. However, this puts that community leader closer to the community wound thus subjecting them to secondary traumatic stress. Therefore, community advocates are not only dealing with their own toxic stress but it is being doubled every time they show up at the scene of the latest community shooting or some other traumatic community event.

I reject the saying "If you knew better, you'd do better." 

No, sometimes we do know better, we just don't feel better, so we are less likely to do better. I want every advocate, activist, volunteer, and policymaker reading this to know that you are enough. We can, however, only effectively participate in "mending wounds" if we are well or on a solid road to wellness. I have witnessed countless moments when amazing community projects have been stalled, halted, rerouted, or denied despite having all the right people in the room, the right amount of investment at the right time, and the prime political climate. The main issue is often that those doing the work were unable to work through hard moments with a clear mind and body. If we continue to do this work, knowing that we are not healthy or on the road to being healthy, we will undoubtedly poison the very communities that we set out to support and advocate with. For us, self-care cannot be just a buzzword or a social media hashtag. We must seek the help that we need because there is much work to do and we all need to feel better while we do it.

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Liberation means being healthier.

During an earlier time in my nonprofit career, I remember scrambling to write a grant that took about 2-3 weeks to pull together, while simultaneously stopping to console a teen experiencing a domestic violence issue. This is the reality of small nonprofits doing the deeper healing work while trying to please corporate sponsors and remain funded. This is another example of how stress shows up in this work and can affect our health. I felt like I needed to be "tied" to my desk and display the "numbers" of people we were helping. That didn't feel like liberation. I remember the awkwardness of corporate sponsors wanting to "tour the hood" as if it were a zoo before they decided to invest. I remember the eyes of community members I'd been building a relationship with staring at me looking as if to say "damn, I thought I could trust you." I vowed to never do that again. That tour negatively affected the relationship that was forming with a community member. Our program, which was a protective factor against community ACEs, was now viewed as a place where this particular community member no longer felt safe and free. The hoops we jump through and the political circus we are encouraged to play to get funded create unnecessary friction in the community. In turn, it perpetuates harm which causes stress and ultimately impacts our health.

While working inside local government, I saw firsthand that when government agencies say yes to supporting our programs and movements, funding is almost always very restrictive. There are cumbersome reporting requirements and unnecessary restrictions on the use of funds. Dollars often take too long to hit the community organization's bank account due to procurement policies and processes. Again, I have witnessed the stress this puts on community leaders and the way this process strains relationships between community partners. There is nothing liberatory about this funding model.

We need to move away from solely relying on government, foundations, and corporate systems to fund our work while also holding them accountable. I am not saying that governments or large donors should not invest boldly in community resources. There has been and continues to be impactful programming due to this kind of investment. However, let's keep it real. If healing is supposed to be freeing, then getting the majority of restrictive funding from the government or large corporate sponsors is taking an organization in the opposite direction. The stress and strain that come from these systems are not helpful to people who are already experiencing high stress and on a journey toward freedom.

Instead, I urge us to practice Sankofa, "to go back and fetch it." Where possible, we should balance grants with practicing older ways of community sustainability like barter systems, knowledge sharing, taking turns volunteering, and sou sous for example. We should also generate revenue for ourselves. Of course, this will take time and require us to constantly train up the next league of community leaders and investors. It will also require us to get and remain healthy.

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Mending wounds.

As so many gun violence incidents and other community traumas have plagued Richmond, I look around to see how we are rebalancing the pain with joy. I give thanks for the skillfully crafted green spaces in our city that youth and families can run through freely. I give thanks for the afterschool program. I appreciate seeing people pick up the phone to have that difficult conversation to move the group past a disagreement. Black people spending time at the river fills me with hope. I remember the time in Mosby Court when I witnessed an older man teach youth how to make a dessert of fresh peaches and cream. The community mother's trunk full of afterschool snacks is the balm we need to cover where it hurts. This is a plea for all of us to get healthier so we can experience these emotions consistently and more often than community pain. We can do this, I know, ultimately because deep down we love this city and one another.

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