On celebration (and fascism)
In this blog post, we wanted to spend some time looking at how histories inform our present movement work. This month is Black History Month, and today is Elizabeth Peratrovich day, a day honoring the Tlingit civil rights leader. On these days or months that focus on looking back and honoring specific histories or people, what can we learn? Often such events can feel performative or superficial, especially since they can be opportunities for businesses or individuals to whitewash harm. Because of the prevalence of this kind of co-option, it can sometimes feel like it’s easier or better to just ignore them altogether.
But if we suspend our cynicism, we can also see them as a ritual of sorts. Can we use these opportunities to consider the people that are our movement ancestors, to honor their work, their bravery, and their successes but especially, to consider how we can bring reverence into our celebration (and to actually take these days/months AS a celebration), by reflecting on the lessons they passed on to us?
In “Joy Is a Strategy: The White Leftist Struggle with Spirit,” Jamila Bradley talks about what it means to approach movement work “not just from a place of resistance or critique, but from a place of reverence, ritual, and joy. What it means to orient toward life. Toward safety, healing, and spirit. Toward thriving, not just surviving.” They go on to say: “I’ve found that a lot of white leftists don’t know how to do that. They don't know how to move from spirit. And more than that—they’re suspicious of those of us who do.”
Jamila uses the example of white leftists discussing the Haitian revolution, but only talking about it in purely materialist terms, ignoring the fact that it began in ritual. They say of the Bois Caïman ceremony, the ritual that preceded the uprisings, “That ritual didn’t just launch a rebellion—it sanctified it. It declared that liberation was not only political, but cosmological. It wasn’t just a battle for freedom—it was a battle for the soul.”
What if we allowed ourselves to approach these holidays of remembrance from that perspective? What if we truly celebrated and honored our movement ancestors, and really took into our spirits the messages they have passed on to us?
If we need any further motivation to embrace this perspective, let us follow the example of Bad Bunny, who used the Super Bowl halftime show to showcase resistance as unbridled joy and reverence for the history of his culture, community, and movement. This kind of joy and reverence as resistance is so powerful that it prompted Turning Point USA to spend untold millions to host an alternate show, transparently demonstrating the inherent power in that kind of celebratory resistance that connects to history and culture.
So what can we learn from the movement ancestors we’ve been called on to celebrate in this moment?
Elizabeth Peratrovich and the power of words
Elizabeth Peratrovich (Tlingit name Ḵaax̲gal.aat) was a Tlingit civil rights leader. She was known as a skilled and calm orator, whose persuasive speeches were instrumental in the passing of Alaska's Anti-Discrimination Act of 1945, the first state or territorial anti-discrimination law enacted in the United States.
Peratrovich’s life has been a major focus for Petersburg resident, playwright and actor Diane Benson (Tlingit name L’xeis’), whose research led to her play entitled “When My Spirit Raised its Hands," and a 2009 film “For the Rights of All: Ending Jim Crow in Alaska.” Although Benson never met Peratrovich, she has gotten to know Peratrovich’s husband and son, and got to read many of her letters through her research.
Benson says that learning about Peratrovich’s life changed her, and made her consider the power of words. “We see the state of our nation today, the way words are thrown around, very carelessly and in very harmful ways,” she said. “And I think if we could revisit Elizabeth’s style, and remind ourselves that we can put principles before personality, and address the principles rather than attacking personalities, we might just get a little further and be more successful.”
Although many of Elizabeth’s words have been lost to history, one of her most famous quotes shines as a powerful example of her expert use of words as a tool. In her fight for civil rights, she said, “Asking you to give me equal rights implies that they are yours to give. Instead, I must demand that you stop trying to deny me the rights all people deserve." How does it change the story we believe if we see rights as something inherent and not something we have to beg for? How does that live in our bodies in a different way?
And for us now in this moment - how can we use Peratrovich’s lessons as a way to consider our use of words? Every word carries a whole story with it, based on the cultural baggage we’ve assigned to it. What story does it tell when thousands of “Minnesota nice” people get together with hundreds of clergy to chant “fuck ice?” What story does it tell when Bad Bunny holds up a football that says, "together, we are America” in front of the flags of all of the countries that make up the American continent? These are examples of a powerful and calculated use of words that carry with them so much more than what they say on the surface.
How can we reflect on the words we’re using and think more deeply about the stories they carry with them?
Anti-fascist lessons from Black history
And as we move deeper into Black History Month, what are the lessons we want to remember and hold closely from our Black movement ancestors?
In this moment where many of us are shocked to see the rise of fascism in the United States, it seems one of the most important lessons to be taking in right now comes from the Black movement leaders who pointed out in the 1930’s and beyond that fascism is not new to America - Black people were (and still are) living it every day. In his address to the Second International Writers Conference, Langston Hughes said, “We are the people who have long known in actual practice the meaning of the word fascism. In many states Negroes are not permitted to vote or hold office…freedom of movement is greatly hindered…we know what it is to be refused admission to schools and colleges, to theaters and concert halls, to hotels and restaurants…In America, Negroes do not have to be told what fascism is in action. We know.”
Hughes’ message holds just as true now as it did then. We witness wanton state violence against peaceful citizens and rightfully, we weep for the lack of justice. But this is not the start of fascism - wanton state violence has been destroying Black and Brown lives since before the founding of this country. Fascism has always been alive and well, from colonization to enslavement, from Jim Crow to boarding schools, from Obama era detention centers to the modern murder of Black bodies at the hands of police.
As Andre Henry says in a Jan 15 Instagram post, “If you’re from the U.S., you’ve always lived in a fascist country. And, strangely enough, that’s good news… because it means that we don’t have to start from scratch. It means that so many of the freedom movements in our history – civil rights, labor, Black power – were actually anti-fascist movements; which means we can look to our past victories and defeats for wisdom in today’s battles.”
What we are witnessing now is absolutely a tragedy. And for some of us, this kind of tragedy is new. Whenever you first come to this realization, it may be painful or embarrassing. But let it instead be the good news that Henry tells us it is. And let it be a homecoming.
In adrienne maree brown’s poem “new to it,” she writes:
“It is ok to be speechless / the first time you experience / death by state / paired with a shock of familiarity / whatever someone like you means / they took someone like you / killed someone like you”
And then…
“Some people will ask / what has taken you so long / forgetting their own before / exhausted by the telling / the pain in their teeth
I offer nothing but welcome / this first blood is real / the wringing of your center is true / it will make your whole life clear / resistance is being born in you / all resistance comes from this pain / that is why the whole built world / is designed to keep you from feeling it”
What beautiful and heart-wrenching words to welcome in anyone who has not known fascism as connected to “someone like you.” These modern black movement and thought leaders ask us to step into a lineage that has been moving, learning, and growing more powerful for ages. You aren’t alone, and you don’t have to invent the solutions - you only have to find your role in an unbroken movement rooted in deep history.
So on this day - a day celebrating one of our Alaskan civil rights heroes, and this month, a month celebrating Black history, let us stand in reverence before the leaders and lessons who have come before us, and let their lessons move and find a home in our bodies - of ritual, celebration, oration, and a deep lineage of anti-fascism.
