Hatshepsut
Though there had been female rulers of Egypt as Queens, Hatshepsut stands out for proclaiming herself Pharaoh of Egypt with a rule spanning across 21 years. Pharaohs were typically men and therefore Hatshepsut had to legitimize her thrown in numerous ways such as creating mythology of her birth between a god and her mother. She slowly came into power as regent to co-ruler to eventually pharaoh upon which she took on masculine dress, adorning herself with a fake beard, changing her name to drop the female gender identifiers, and wearing male gender clothing as seen in statues. (There’s a deity piece in here- that of Osiris/Horus. The King becomes male god Horus, when he dies, he then becomes Osiris and the new King is Horus). Hatshepsut had also been preparing his daughter to become prince, unfortunately his daughter died at a young age. (Could have dialogue for DAYS on this)
During his reign as pharaoh, a war ended and Egypt remained peaceful for many years, amazing architecture was built and he improved trading relations by ordering his army on a long expedition to the Land of Punt by the Red Sea in which they brought back incense, grand obelisks, and other goods.
Unfortunately after she passed away, many of her images were defaced and her name practically erased from history ensuing kingships. It wasn’t until a few years ago that her remains were discovered and she got a tiny bit of recognition for her leadership.
So I’m taking a moment to give respect to King Hatshepsut for making way in a male dominated world. It’s pretty dope to see that over 3,500 years ago this woman took power into her own hands and paved a path specifically her own. (I bounced back between gender pronouns, as yet another example of the non-rigidity of gender and paying respect to Hatshepsut’s strides to become who s/he was.) And to think, I never heard of Hatshepsut in any history class…
Lalin
To a Sista in The System
There was something in those eyes that moved me. I fell deeply into them seeing the stories and paths that have led you here behind bars with impending homelessness and papers and applications and benefits/no benefits, etc.
It wasn’t the tears. It was the depth of those dark pools of eyes, the pain centuries-in-the-making. Feels as old as earth, doesn’t it? When you feel that recollection it is overwhelming. I don’t think we can even fathom the whole thing; the vastness and the depth of our history. From time to time I feel it so sharply in a moment that I’m taken aback, I may even gasp…because every day it seems to be the same and then it becomes normal, awful but normal, and sometimes I’m complacent and other times angry, active and sorrowful. Like in that moment when I met you and I saw deeply into you and I wanted to look away, I didn’t want to see your pain, my pain, our pain… because what do we do with all of it? I wanted to hold your hand but I couldn’t. Glass separated us because you are caged in for your transgressions against the law which are all part of a bigger, deeper picture but it’s the picture so many of us block out, cross out, color in, fade out. These systems interlock and
fuck
us
UP.
We then operate from places of confusion, hurts, and loss and what do we do with all this? How can we resist when many of us don’t even know what we’re resisting? When ideologies, patterns of behavior and thought, operated from the aforementioned places of confusion, hurts, and loss, derived from various oppressions to create a legacy of historical trauma, are so deeply embedded around us and within us that we know of nothing else?
But I digress.
Beautiful, powerful Black woman I see you. I hear you. And though life may seem not worth living, though you’ve tried to exit this world to exit your pain and have recently tried again, keep holding on even though it seems like there’s nothing to hold on to. Never mind the image of the “strong Black woman,” that, at times, can be more inhibiting than liberating, rather, let yourself mourn so that you can begin to let yourself heal. Countless struggles await your release but I hope you will be able to call on community or some kind of family…ancestry, even. You will be in my thoughts and meditation. Don’t give up, sis, just don’t give up.
FYI
Since the late 80s incarceration rates for women in have increased by 400%. For Black women specifically it has increased by 800%.
~Lalin~
Anacaona
Today I’d like to remember an important figure in Haitian/Caribbean history. Anacaona (which is Arawak for ‘Golden Flower’) was a leader amongst the Taino people on the island once called Quisqueya, meaning “mother of the earth,” and what we now call Hispaniola. In Taino culture, leadership was passed down to the eldest daughters of sisters (if there were none, it’d be passed to the brothers) making Anacaona a cacique (chief) of Xaragua, which was the western plains of Haiti.
Unfortunately, most of what we know about her is from the non-indigenous people (the Spanish, mostly), however, what we do know is Anacaona’s legacy is one of resistance. She is cited for being an advocate for peace between the Spaniards and the Taino people as well as a warrior; Xaragua was the last territory to be taken by Spanish conquest. (Anacaona’s husband, Caonabo, was kidnapped by Columbus and put on ship headed to Spain, however, it is told that in a last attempt against Spanish oppression, the Tainos on board sank the ship, resulting in their deaths). In 1503 a new Spansih govenor named Nicholas Ovando arrived with 2500 troops…apparently he was displeased with the independence of Anacaona’s Xaragua and ordered a massacre and killed around 80 Tainos (according to Bartolome de las Casas, they were tied to poles and stabbed with swords and those who tried to escape had their legs cut off). Anacaona escaped the massacre but was later captured a few months later. She was taken to what is now the Dominican Republic and hung.
So today I give thanks to this woman, this leader, this Queen and poet who provided an example of resistance, who paved the way for such revolutionaries like Toussaint Louverture, Jean-Jacques Dessalines, and others. Her legacy remains and can be seen in freedom fighters like So Ann.
I give thanks to this beautiful ancestor.
Ase
Umoja Village and Rebecca Lolosoli
Today I have been thinking about women who inspire me, who stand up for what they believe in and fight for equality, safety, and freedom. In this post I’m giving high regards to a woman I deem a high priestess, Rebecca Lolosoli. She is the matriarch of Umoja* Village in Kenya, an all women community for women who are survivors of intimate partner violence, rape and those who seek to escape forced marriage and female genital circumcision. Over ten years ago a group of women who had been survivors of rape but were then abandoned by their husbands due to the perceived shame of the crime decided to start a village for themselves. It is now inhabited by dozens of women who run a camping site for tourists and have a cultural center where they sell crafts they have created. Lolosoli is a tireless advocate for women whether it be going door to door to inform women of their rights or fighting against the forced marriage of a 13 year old girl to a man three times her age. Despite criticism, spying, death threats, court cases against the village, and men throwing stones at the women, Lolosi and Umoja village thrives. It continues to bear witness to strength of these women, their courage, resourcefulness and resiliency.
*the word ‘umoja’ means unity in Swahili
