A LOVE LETTER FOR MISSING TIMES

It’s the first week in December. And, for the past 15 years during this week, I’ve made the journey to a conference called the People of Color Conference - a family reunion of sorts - to be with practitioners and scholars from all corners of the country. This gathering is known as a few days of “breathing easy” and “celebration” and “convening at the Well.” It’s where Black and Brown educators come to reclaim their joy despite systems that have pushed them down repeatedly.

But, this year is different. This year, since its 30-year founding, the conference was “paused.” And, for the first time, in this first week of December, many of us are feeling the heaviness in our chests. Without the release - even for just a few days - many educators of color are left with the weight of a system that was never meant for us. We are missing the release valve.

For the past few years, I have written “Love Letters” before the conference. I started the Love Letters in 2018 with a three part letter for different populations experiencing the conference. Prior to that, I have written a Love Letter about “Re-entry” - that experience of coming back from PoCC where our identities, experiences, and joy were centered. I followed each of those letters with ones from 2019, 2020, and 2022.

These past few days, I’ve been receiving text messages and photos where people are wearing their PoCC swag (usually some sort of activist t-shirt) and even some folks wearing my brand The Identity-Conscious Educator shirts. While we are not gathering in the same way, people are trying to celebrate in ways that feel good to them.

But, what does this all mean? The organization that hosts the event sent out an email that essentially felt like a “thoughts and prayers” email when people are experiencing hurt and despair. While likely intended to be affirming and validating, many participants felt it hurt (and insulted) by the lack of understanding.

As someone who likes to assume goodness in others, I woke up with a heavy heart wanting to center love. While this year’s love letter hits different, I hope this Love Letter for Missing Times can serve as a window into the experiences of Black and Brown educators who typically gathered at this conference, and an act of love for their colleagues who are looking to support them.

A LOVE LETTER FOR MISSING TIMES

To our colleagues: First, this was never just a conference. This was a reunion. This was a gathering of love. And, to be honest, it was also a time when we remembered those who have left us too early. Yvonne. Linda. Emilia. We spoke their names. We felt their absence. And, this conference was a way for us to give each other physical hugs, hold hands, and remember the love they showered not only us with but the world. So, if by chance, you’re thinking “Why is _____ so upset about a conference?” please know that we aren’t upset about missing a conference. We are deeply sad about missing our loved ones.

This gathering was also a time when we reminded ourselves that we are in community. Justice and equity work are isolating. It is conflict work. And, if we are the ones charged with doing justice and equity work in our schools, this gathering was an opportunity to remind ourselves that we aren’t doing it alone, even though we feel so alone in our schools. Even though we hear the whispers in the hallways that we are being “too much” or that you are “tired of DEI work”, this gathering allowed us to breathe easier for a few days. During this time, we are reminded that the work is hard, the work is conflict-ridden, and that people who do justice and equity work are not always the most liked people at the school. And yet, when we gathered together, we felt loved. Really loved.

Even if we aren’t doing justice and equity work, in these Black and Brown bodies, we are always a target. If we are one of the few in our schools, we are expected to represent an entire population. We carry the weight of the few students of color and families of color on our shoulders - even if it’s not part of our “jobs.” We have to codeswitch all the time just to be accepted, seen as less threatening, or just to be heard. It’s exhausting. When we gathered the first week in December, we actually got to take off these masks. We were able to stop performing for your comfort. We were able to experience a range of emotions — rage, joy, sadness, relief, exhaustion, freedom - without having to explain ourselves.

Being in this space meant, for many of us, the first time we were in the majority. Crowded hotel lobbies, airplanes, restaurants, presentation rooms - there were 6,000 of us in a few city blocks - and for a brief moment, we understood what our white colleagues felt all the time: there were people who looked like you, who smiled at you, who saw you, and who did not stereotype you simply by the color of your skin. We got to live full lives - even if just for a few days.

This week, please be patient. This was never just a conference. It was a few days where we felt truly whole.

TO THE FAM:

Breathe.

I’m trying. With all of my social media memories reminding me what we were doing a year ago, two years ago, ten years ago, my heart is both heavy and joyful. I’m trying to remember the joy that I feel when I’m with you. Yes, almost instantly, my heart also feels sadness. I’m trying. Easier said than done.

I’m trying to look at the photos that pop up and remind myself of how good it felt to be there. I’m trying to carry that same energy - the joy, liberation, freedom, connection - into this week. It’s too easy - way too easy - for me to feel despair and sadness. But, I’m choosing to feel joy. Easier said than done.

Whenever I feel this overwhelming despair, I try to remember people - the Fam. My task the next few days: I’m going to text people (or email or connect) who I usually see and just tell them I love them and I appreciate them. It’s what I would have done if I was in person. I would tell someone how great it was to see them and also, let’s be real, some of y’all have OUTFITS. .. so I know I told people “You look gorgeous” or “You are glowing.” I can still do that. And, I will.

I have to find a way to keep joy at my center these next few days.

Thankfully, I have the opportunity to gather with some PoCC folks from my region. That feels important. If you aren’t able to gather, or if an opportunity wasn’t presented, get folks together online. Start a group chat thread of people you usually see. Experience joy, not just loss.

All those affirmations that we would say to people in the first week of December — say them. Send them your own love letter. Tell them what they mean to you.

If that first week in December has taught me anything over the past few years, it’s that our community loves each other. We see each other. I’m desperately feeling the loss of some of our Fam who have left this world too soon - and their love for us all has inspired me to tell others how much I care about them. To not miss the opportunity.

In a moment of painful transparency, it hurts me to admit that, just a few weeks before her passing, one of our dear friends had left me a voice message just saying she was thinking of me and hoping we could connect. I never called her back. I was “too busy.” I remember thinking “I’ll just see her in December.” While we were at the conference, we all got news she has passed on. I hold sadness in my heart around this - this missed opportunity to hear her voice, to tell her I loved her, to say thank you for all that she has done for me and for this world. But, I can also rest easy knowing I told her that all year - so many times. While I missed connecting with her in the few months prior to her passing, I know she went home with the full knowledge that I loved and appreciated her. So, when I think about this week in December, I also am holding on to the memories of seeing her at the top of the escalator screaming my name and holding her arms out for an anticipated hug. I miss you , Linda. I miss you Emilia. I miss you Yvonne.

My Love Letter to the Fam is to tell people you care about them. Tell them you love them. While we are not in person, send them a message of affirmation, validation, and appreciation. In these moments of sadness and lack, we can choose to fill it with love. I’m choosing love. It’s what we consciously chose this first week in December, and I’m choosing it again today.

Peace, love, and these missing times,

Liza