“The reason many of our Black girls and boys are fleeing and running from homes is that they’re being abused and neglected. That can be everything from not eating regularly to being responsible for caring for small siblings, to not getting enough expectations around school. As a result, children go looking for someone, someplace, some entity to have their needs met. We have to start being more honest about the fact that many of those reasons start with us. It’s really important for Black men to be mindful of how and what space we take up in our home, how we use our authority, how we provide, how we show collaboration, how we give love and receive love. How we listen, how we act. In my opinion, Black men who are in the lives of children and adolescents, but who aren’t routinely holding themselves accountable and responsible for those children’s safety at all times, are doing our community a disservice. It’s not about the Ku Klux Klan or neo-Nazis in the Black community. If you are an uncle, brother, father, or a neighbor—I’m all of those things—who is crossing boundaries and harming children, then you need to be rooted out of the community and held accountable. The rest of us, as a community, need to make sure that those kinds of things don’t happen moving forward. I take very seriously that we create spaces and environments and families and homes where Black children are not being made vulnerable to violence that some Black men are perpetrating against them.
“We, as Black men, must always be accountable to Black girls and women and their safety, and to make sure that we’re not just surviving as a community, but that we get to a place where we’re thriving. The expectation is that, at all times, a Black child is most safe in the presence of Black adults.”
As an adult who has worked in the gender-based violence movement for over fifteen years, I have very rarely shared that I am a survivor of child sexual abuse; however, during my conversation with Neil, my inner girl-child was seen, heard, and affirmed. Through Neil’s accountability as a Black man, my childhood Black girl self who had been taken advantage of by a male family friend, feels comfort and safety.
STORY 3
Liberated Parenting Strategy
This conversation with Neil counteracts an ongoing myth around Black fathers as absent or inactive in their children’s lives. A Center for Disease Control report3 issued in December 2013 found that Black fathers had the most daily involvement with their children compared to any other group of fathers. Because Black fathers are engaged and active in Black children’s lives, Neil is inviting us into a deeper, more intimate reflection about the role, responsibilities, and engagement of these very active Black fathers. Please note this reflection isn’t limited only to fathers—anyone who has relationships and contacts with Black children can reflect on this.
During our conversation, Neil spoke on the disproportionately high number of missing Black girls in his hometown of Washington, DC, which garnered a spike in media attention in spring 2017. While there was controversy over whether the Black girls were kidnapped and trafficked or had run away, Neil’s invitation here is for us to do the simultaneous reflections on the personal and political factors leading to missing Black girls—exploring both the systems outside the home while interrogating the family structure within the home.
Reflect
Neil calls for us in our multiple roles as fathers (mothers), uncles (aunties), brothers (sisters), neighbors, etc. in the lives of Black children to be accountable to ensuring Black children are safe. Reflecting on your own idea of safety: Did you feel safe as a child? Who kept you safe? How does your experience of safety impact how you see your adult role and responsibilities to keep Black children—not only our own but all Black children—safe?
Practice
Listen or watch the music video for “Runaway Love,” a hip hop song by Ludacris featuring Mary J. Blige. In this song, Ludacris and Mary J. Blige tell the stories of girls between the ages of nine and ten who are living abusive, empty lives with emotionally absent and violent parents. Going through such violence in their homes, the girls are each “trying to figure why the world is so cold … Forced to think that hell is a place called home.”
At the close of the song, Ludacris makes an empathetic plea to the girls:
“Close your eyes
And picture us running away together,
When we come back everything is gonna to be okay,
Open your eyes”
Reflecting on your own experiences of childhood challenges: Who were the people in your life who affirmed your experiences? What kinds of support does your inner child now need to hear from you? Remind your inner child that you are safe.
STORY 4
Finding a Village: How to Build a Black Community
Malesha Taylor, classically trained opera singer; founder of museSalon Collaborative
As I was building up Parenting for Liberation, I was searching for conferences and learning opportunities to nurture this idea I had given birth to. In fall 2017 I attended the Brioxy Summit in Los Angeles, where attendees were invited to develop our skills as leaders, strategize around the work we were building, and deepen our toolkit in self-care. It was there that I met so many amazing leaders, artists, and entrepreneurs of color—one of whom was Malesha Taylor, a classically trained opera singer and mother of three, residing in San Diego, a suburban community in Southern California. At the summit, we swapped business cards to discuss collaborating and supporting one another as mothers of color parenting in suburbia. During our discussion, Malesha reflected on the trauma of her own childhood, growing up in California’s suburbs as the only Black kid. She shares tips on how to manifest and build community in spaces that feel isolating, through the use of arts and culture. With a commitment to “never be the only,” Malesha advocates for centering Black voices and other marginalized communities in the arts, through her organization, museSalon Collaborative and through her work as a vanguard Black opera singer. Here’s an excerpt of our conversation:
Growing Up “Different”
“I grew up in Los Angeles County, in the suburbs. I didn’t really have an idea of a Black community here, other than the Black church. I didn’t really have a sense of culture or Black Liberation.
“When I was growing up, I was almost always the only Black person in every environment (except when I was with family). However, my family didn’t go out of their way to make sure I had Black friends, so I felt a lot of discomfort, including psychological discomfort. When I reflect on it, I always knew that I was different.
“It didn’t help that I had to explain myself everywhere I went. From questions about my hair (‘Oh Malesha, you have braids and your hair is long this week, but last week you had a ponytail. What’s up with that?’) to dating (when it was time for a school dance, I had to hope some white guy was going to invite me). As a young girl, I often felt kind of different and undesirable. Now, as a parent, I think it’s important that my kids have some relief and not have to experience that all the time. I am creating spaces for them where they are bonding and building relationships with other Black kids and other Black leaders, elders, aunties, and uncles. We are building and filling that village so that they always have a village to identify with and to fall back on.”
Finding Home in a Different World
“As a young adult, when I lived in Brooklyn,