ROOTS. Magazine Issue I: GENESIS

By Arrington Grant.

I

watched them lower the matte silver casket as I held someone’s handkerchief just in case I burst into tears. This was the last place I would ever want to be and crying in front of all of these people was outright embarrassing. I tried convincing myself that I would remain strong throughout the service but that all went out of the window when I saw his body.

I contemplated not attending the funeral for days, but I knew that if it were me, he would be in attendance.

We had so much mutual respect for one another that it would be crazy for me to abandon him at this moment. I smiled slightly at the thought of him always being there for me. I loved him so much. If only I could go back and change what happened earlier this summer and he would still be here with me.

I didn’t notice I was in the middle of a breakdown until someone took me into their embrace to console me. The more I felt like crying, the harder it felt for me to avoid doing so.

My chest felt heavy, my eyes were glassy and my stomach, queasy.

Seeing his face for the last time did something to me. At this moment, there was no one else who could take his place.

“I am so sorry Dior. I know how much you loved him.” the voice said.

My best friend was gone and there was nothing anyone could do.

He was irreplaceable to me. He was everything to me. I continued crying for what seemed like forever. I sat in the chair in front of the gravesite with my head hung low. My driver Harrison walked up behind me and put his hand on my shoulder.

Are you ready to go Ms. Sinclair?

I can wait a little while longer if you are-,” he started to say. “No, we can go now. I don’t want to hold you up any longer,” I said while shaking my head and grabbing my purse off of the chair beside me. I searched through my purse for my shades and put them on my face before we started walking to the car. Harrison was an amazing person but he kept trying to make conversation with me.

I sighed in response, hoping that he would get the message. Once we arrived at my house, Harrison let me out. Before I stepped inside, he stopped me to say something.

“I knew how much he meant to you. I am sorry that you lost him. If you need anything I am always here.”

“Thank you, Harrison. I will let you know.” I said trying to sound as convincing as possible.

I went inside and got settled in after the emotionally exhausting day that I just had. My eyes were only closed for a minute before my phone rang and my mother’s name popped up on the caller ID. I groaned before answering the phone.

“Hey.” “Hey sweetie, everything okay?” she asked.

“I am managing I guess,” I told her lowly.

“Awe D. Everything is going to get better soon,” she said empathetically.

“But how do you know that?” I said as my voice started to crack as I choked back tears.

“Trust me. I know it hurts right now but he wouldn’t want you moping around.”

We talked for a little while longer before she told me that she had to go. It didn’t make me feel any better knowing that she was in another country on business.

Being alone was the last thing that I wanted but that has always been my life.

The more I thought about what happened today the harder it was to contain my tears. I screamed and cried for what felt like forever. Deep down inside I knew that my tears would do nothing. The tears did not reverse the pain I felt in my chest every time I thought about the recent memories that we had shared.

Authenticity in Music

By Arrington Grant

W

S

hat exactly is authenticity in

o in that aspect, the

regards to music? Is it the mannerisms of the artist? Is it the producer’s sound? Is it the

connection between an artist and their fans is vital for the duration of the artist’s career.

artist’s tone? Perhaps it can be a host of

An issue I feel exists for some Hip Hop

factors, but my definition of authenticity in music would be the element of songwriting.

To me, an artist is a storyteller. The songwriting process can be conducted in a

artists is a genuine connection with their audience. When the genuity does not exist, the connection begins deteriorating.

multitude of ways however, the most authentic way to me is when an artist is accredited for composing their own lyrics.

I like to think from the perspective that there is potential for me to connect with an artist as long as I get a genuine vibe from them. If the audience is as passionate about music as I am, it could be disheartening to have to acknowledge a number of contributors for their favorite songs.

D

and more accolades than someone who has none or a lower amount. As I understand it, the difference in perceived success amongst the artists may erupt from how the audience feels and interacts with the music. I for one think that an artist’s fandom could be the main contributor to their success because they find nd their music relatable and enjoyable and without fans, they have no streams.

rake, for example, has been accused of using five to six other people to write songs like “Legend” and “Know Yourself ”. As he became increasingly transparent about using ghostwriters, some of his audience, like myself, felt as if the relationship that they have with his music had changed. I find it harder to listen to his music in recent times because I subconsciously remind myself that there is cites es to not ot potential forr the lyrics that he recites be his own.

O

n the other hand, I have

I

feel as if today’s artists and

better relationships with music from people like J. Cole because his artistry

label companies are not concerned with producing music that is complex

is better aligned with what I perceive to

and timeless. Their concerns lie with

be authentic.

J.Cole is accredited as thee only o l songwriter for popular songs like ikee “ATM” and “Deja Vu” which contribute ntrribute to my view of him. I couldn’t help p but notice the disconnect in accolades adees amongst the artists and what I understand to be their songwriting itin ng contributions.

who could be the best for the time

From my understanding, g, someone who I perceive to be more mo ore es and a authentic earns fewer accolades recognition than someone who o iss not as authentic. For example, J. Cole ole has 1 Grammy Award out of the 12 that hatt he has been nominated for since 2012.

20112.

Conversely, Drake has earned 4 Grammy Awards out of the 44 nominations that he has obtained ned d since 2010.

Some may turn a blind eye ye at a the re fact that the artist who has more contributing composers in their ir music, m obtains the most accolades. That at trend demonstrates the unruly shift in n music m culture of abandoning the typical cal focus on the enjoyment of music in its ts entirety.

being and who will proceed thereafter.

The value of music and its entirety has taken a hit altogether but it is up to newer generations to restore this craft back to what was once its; focus authenticiy.

PHOTO BY: COURTNEY THEOPHIN

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((During During A Glob Global bal P Pandemic) an ndemic) By: Deja Williams

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Death Row

By Hanna h

Thomas Where th e angel of where the death has melodic s no mercy ound of g u n s h ots filll the where dea air th reeks and taints e v erything it a young b touches, lack man looks ove r hiss shou lder.

He counts his footst e ps.

One. Two .

One. Two .

Three. Fou r .

An unfam iliar step. ny Pierre y Wallyah Desti b em o p A He quicke ns his pac r e.

Heart pou to be thankful fo ew n g in h et m n so d ing.

He can't h There’s always ide his sk A new car in color, nor his te A new deal rror. ip A new relationsh To be blac k is to fea nity r for your A new opportu To be blac ? life. k is to mo k the old things an th e w o d dify your en Yet, how oft speech for the wh iend ite man.

To be blac The same old fr k is to hat ome e your skin The same old h the world because and tells you t The same old h o.

To be blac en k is to die The same old p that . the new things y b d te ac tr is d It’s easy to be Hood up. our attention. and flash and catch at don’t change th gs Pop. in th se o th Death row n?

But what about ur own reflectio from the w o as s u io it et p omb. are as re er, things ings to rememb th e th t u o ab et We forg nce new. that also was o e country rst inhaled in th fi e w en h w ay Like the d ed you. you know birth ithout the newer things w e th to n o ve o You can’t m ur backbone. old things as yo you to trust to keep gh u o en ld o n io It’s a foundat like stone. standing strong ents’ semble our par re l il st e w s, n Even in our daw victories. ity teries, our hered ys m e b ay m ey And although th histories. at is as old as our re the origins th lo p ex d an n o ove So before we m are now new ows that e same old shad th r fo re ca to u..

Remember osen to follow yo have always ch

ning An Old Begin

Center 1701

By Ashley Ducloseille Father Clarence Stands on the corner of a street Whispering to the ears of a community.

On a sunny day, a piece of sky drifts down.

The softest shade of blue bordered with royal blue trim.

It sits there on 8th Ave like a promise.

A building is its simplest form.

There is a playground on the right side Where the wind dances, A basketball beats against the concrete And shrieks of joy and laughter are singing an echo.

The young tress in the sky are round With round cheeks, smiles, noses, and eyes.

They are shades of earthy brown, midnight black, or somewhere in between.

Forever should their eyes sparkle with a glimmer of being.

A Sense of Dispair Written by Brittney Louis A sense of despair has filled the air.

Go back a century, and it was found nd everywhere.

Assumptions made, due to theories shared For African Americans, they did not care.

For Blacks themselves, became prepared They worked quite hard and said a prayer.

Their strength and ability, thus repaired This power, most of whom were unaware.

Eventually, this pest was no longer there Wow, such inspirations! I declare.

Y Yet, we still face issues here and there Working hard h to rid that sense of dispair..

A Selfish Light

By Hannah Thomas

III Death

By Amia Davis He rides in darkness.

His steed, a white knight.

Hooves pounding bones to white dust.

In death, he lives A jockey of execution.

He rides in silence.

Stealing breaths rising from the earth Until nothing but the jangle of his bones, And the shuffle of his horse fill thine ears.

He rides in peace.

His presence, an omen of ending.

A wave of stillness, washing o’er his ground, Dousing the remains of yester.

He rides no more.

The fruits of his labor, Sprouting from the deep.

A vast wasteland transformed, Lively and vibrant in his wake.

We need not fear Death.

For, in his embodiment, There is transition.

A renaissance anew: Life.

Skin like ivory. Like caramel.

Like silk. Large lips. Small eyes.

Flat nose. Barcodes that label the other.

Refugees from lands of turmoil.

Rising from the ashes into the light.

A light that does not welcome them.

A selfish light.

Exodus.

They move together: Immigrants.

Mother. Daughter. Son. With hope filling up their glossy eyes.

With sadness engraved into the grooves of their skin.

What will they bring with them?

What will they discard?

They leave their identity to be Replaced by one that does not want them.

A selfish light.

Look as they go.

Away.

Away.

Away.

Towards what?

Hope they say.

Freedom they say.

A selfish light.

ILLUSTRATION BY: STACEY SAYEGH @sketches.by.stace

“Endless Insomnia” PHOTO BY: Jandrice Nacier @iconnac

“The Mind Cannot Be Tamed” PHOTO BY: Jandrice Nacier @iconnac

“Modern Apollo” PHOTO BY: Jandrice Nacier @iconnac

“TAKE A TRIP” PHOTO BY: Jandrice Nacier @iconnac

“Don’t touch my hair” Illustration by: AlexANDRA MARIE HAIRSTON

The Real Truth About Reconciliation (the truth about reconciliation)

By Yasmine Adams

It was a Friday evening, and out of all of the things I could have possibly done, I had decided to spend it at a memorial service for lynching victims. I didn’t know what to expect as I walked into the packed church, but I was surprised to see that the majority of the people with their heads turned away from me were white. I made my way in, stood in the back and surveyed the room carefully; a lot of older white folks were there quietly listening to the speaker before them, as if they were waiting for him to take the weight of their guilt from off of their shoulders. I couldn’t help but wonder in between the slave hymnals, poetry readings, sermons, and calling of the victims’ names, if that’s why they were really there, to finally wash their hands clean of the sins of slavery and Jim Crow.

I remember leaving the memorial service that night unsure of how to feel; I wanted so badly to feel content with the events of that night. I was ecstatic that the victims and their families were finally getting the recognition and the apologies they rightfully deserved but lighting candles and saying their names wasn’t enough. However, this was only the beginning of Alachua County’s journey towards truth and more importantly, reconciliation. That night was about truth; acknowledging the names of those brutalized, bringing a light to a past people love to forget, and opening a door for a much-needed discussion. I wondered if the others left the service with a similar question to my own, where do we go from here? One of the biggest issues with revisiting racial trauma is our lack of ability to properly deal with it, so I was excited when they announced that there would be a workshop discussing the process and Alachua’s next steps.

R.I.P. Rev. Josh J. Baskins, George Bibbon, Willey Bradley, Brother Eli, Reconciliation can be defined as the restoration of friendly relations, or the action of making one view or belief compatible with another. In relation to the project, reconciliation seems to be more about awareness and righting the wrongs of the past by facing them head on. Alachua County and the Equal Justice Initiative (EJI) are working hand in hand to help bring Alachua’s lynching monument here to Gainesville.

EJI is a nonprofit organization that specializes in providing legal representation to people who have been illegally convicted, unfairly sentenced, or abused in state jails and prisons, while also working with communities that have been marginalized by poverty and discouraged by unequal treatment. Their recent Community Remembrance Project is what sparked Alachua’s Truth and Reconciliation one. The point is to not only bring awareness to the lynching victims, but put up historical markers at possible lynching sights, and collect soil from these areas to put in EJI’s lynching museum in Montgomery, Alabama. The goal is to get the different counties where lynching took place involved, so they can then bring their lynching monuments home; a sign that they’ve acknowledged their past and have ultimately reconciled with the victims’ families. Alachua County is hoping to add themselves to that list.

R.I.P. Brother Stephens, George Buddington, Tony Champion, Jumbo Clark,

It was now Monday evening; I had spent all weekend thinking about what was instore. Who was I going to see there? What input were they going to have? Did Alachua already have a plan, or were they going to figure things out as they went along? The turnout for the workshop was quite small compared to the memorial service, and many of the people there seemed to be media or journalists, and not concerned citizens. Walking in, I made my way to the last row of chairs. I looked around the room again, this time noticing more black faces, and although I was happy, the room was still overwhelmingly white.

R.I.P. Christopher Cummings, Alfred(o) Daniels, Bert Dennis, Jim Dennis, Commissioners, mayors, UF professors, NAACP representatives, and community leaders came to the front of the room and spoke about their involvement in the project, and the importance of uprooting the truth about Alachua County’s dark past. They constantly made points about recognizing the victims and telling their stories, so they could move on and heal. Again, I found myself questioning who was all of this for? Who was actually getting the chance to heal? The families, or those feeling slightly guilty for their ancestors’ sins? I didn’t realize that many of the other black people around me shared the same concerns until it was time for questions.

R.I.P. Mary Dennis, Andrew Ford, Harry Franklin, Sandy Hacock, After a few moments, a young black woman stood up, I could tell she was a little upset and even more concerned as she asked, “I’ve heard a lot about truth, but what are we doing about reconciliation? How are we helping these people deal with the trauma they’ve endured?” For this woman, reconciliation had less to do with monuments and more to do with helping the families heal. She had brought to light an issue that many hadn’t thought of, the reoccurring trauma that comes with telling stories of racial injustice over and over again. Were these families sacrificing their mental health for the sake of Alachua County’s conquest of the “truth”?

While it did seem that many of the family members who attended didn’t mind sharing, it was the secondhand sadness and anger, that made homes in the hearts of the younger people in the room. You could feel the tension rise as the commissioner struggled to answer her question. He spoke in circles, waiting for his answer to arrive, it never did. An older woman then stood up and walked to the front of the room. “I am trauma.” She said, and then spoke of her loved ones being made into that bitter, strange fruit. It hurt as she recalled going back home and not being able to do anything but lay in bed, because she couldn’t breathe at the thought of what her family had experienced, an invisible noose around her neck.

R.I.P. Harold, Son of Harry; John Haskins, Henry Hinson, Henry (Harry) Hurl,

The woman’s question struck a nerve, because soon after, others felt compelled to give their input. We weren’t being given anything tangible and at times it felt as if the commissioners were putting the responsibility of getting the monument and the historical markers solely in the hands of the citizens. If they wanted these things, it was up to them to get the ball rolling, but how? There were more questions than answers, but more importantly, the people who were going to be affected by this process the most were being left out of the conversation.

The few black folks that spoke, not only addressed concerns for getting the monument, but real issues plaguing Gainesville’s black community. There were schools named after Confederates, and high percentages of students not on their proper reading levels. There were black school board representatives who felt that they had no support when it was time to vote for policies that could help many students in lower income neighborhoods. This was their version of reconciliation.

R.I.P. Joseph Hurl, Jim Jenkins, Cooley (Mitchel) Johnson, Dick Johnson, After a few rounds of questions and statements, another black woman stood up and said, “I have five questions: What does proper reconciliation look like? Who gets to decide? Who isn’t here that can help us with this process? How do we get them here and involved? How do we respect them if they say no?” The room was silent, everyone was trying to process what they had just heard; I myself wondered how I would answer those questions if they had been presented to me. Again, the commissioner struggled to answer, and asked someone else to come up and speak. The black preacher didn’t have the answers either, and repeated everything the commissioner said, “this project isn’t just about truth or reconciliation, it’s really about the process in the middle.”

“

What does proper reconciliation look like? Who gets to decide?

Who isn’t here that can help us with this process? How do we get them here and involved? How do we respect them if they say no?

What was that process? Why put so much emphasis on truth, if you aren’t going to do the same for reconciliation? I would be lying if I said I didn’t have an issue with that response, but it’s important to recognize the complexities of the situation. Many of the people at that meeting were not there to add anything valuable to the conversation, they were taking up space, space that Alachua County’s black community needed to fill.

R.I.P. Michael Kelly, Jacob Lee, Jack Long, W.M. (s/b M.H.) Lucy, Andrew McHenry, It was amazing to see so many white people wanting to get involved and wanting to learn, because they are a crucial part of the process. However, getting up at a meeting where people are expressing genuine concerns, just to say you finally understand white privilege, or that black people and Jewish people have experienced the same things, is an issue. It takes the attention away from the actual problems, and inherently centers it around white people. That meeting wasn’t a time to compare struggles, nor was it a time to share epiphanies; it was a time to sit back, be quiet, and allow the black people in the room to have the floor.

We see this time, and time again, where discussions about marginalized groups take place, and leave said group out of the discussion completely. This allows room for misconceptions, biases, preconceived notions, and unhelpful commentary to run rampant. How can you help a group, if you don’t ask them what it is that they need? How can you make better judgements, if you don’t allow yourself the opportunity to see things through their eyes?

R.I.P. Alexander Morris, Manny Price, William Rawls, Robert (Bob) Scruggs,

Those last five questions ran circles around my thoughts, but they expressed the underlying need for the black community to have a voice in all of this. They expressed the need to be at the forefront, to make a majority of the decisions, and to be understood. So, what does proper reconciliation look like? Who does get to decide? The answer to the second question is easy, the black community. We should be allowed to decide when we feel that we have been properly reconciled. For years we have been given weak apologies and have been told by pandering, white politicians, what it is that we need to do to help fix and rebuild the black community. For years, we have accepted promises of change, from people who we thought were “for us.” For years, we have been ignored by people on the outside looking in, never bothering to knock on the wide-open door, or even peeking through a window! So, if we deserve to have a voice in anything, it should be this.

R.I.P. Harry Simonton, Moses Smith, Cesar (Caesar) Sullivan, Henry Washington, I have come to the realization that reconciliation for black people, comes in many different forms. It depends on who you ask, and that night at the workshop proved that to me. However, it isn’t our fault; we have been wronged in so many ways, that there isn’t just one form of reconciliation that could possibly right them all. We want memorials and historical markers; we want apologies and for our relatives’ names to be heard; we want our history to be displayed in museums and told in classrooms, without the fear of them being whitewashed to fit someone else’s narrative. We want representation, not only in media, but in politics, in our schools, in STEM. We want people to hear us and understand us; we want to rid ourselves of negative stereotypes and overgeneralizations; we want safe spaces to be ourselves unapologetically. Nevertheless, we also want better funding for our schools, less mass incarceration, better policing policies, health professionals that take our pain seriously, higher employment rates, higher graduation rates, the list goes on.

We are tired, and we want more. We deserve more; our ancestor’s blood did not water the very ground that we walk on to have other people reap the benefits of their labor and then scold us for having nothing.

Reconciliation for black people is taking back our right to live with the same freedoms as everyone else; the freedom to get angry without being viewed as aggressive, the freedom to express our concerns without being viewed as argumentative or complaining, the freedom to mess up without having the weight of our entire race on our shoulders, the freedom to just be black.

R.I.P. Henry White, Tom Williams, Charles Willis, Abraham Wilson, Stella Young, To the representatives of Alachua County, I ask that on your journey of truth and reconciliation you take the time to listen; listen to Alachua’s black population, hear their stories, pay attention to their concerns, and most importantly, allow them to lead the way. Be their support, be there to answer any questions or direct them to the proper resources, let them know that this project is about them. Let Alachua’s black population know that you care about them, and that you will do everything that you can to make this process run as smooth as possible. Allow them to have creative freedom, a platform to speak up, and your undying support, they deserve it.

R.I.P. Unknown Male Child, Unknown, Unknown, and Unknown, *Names of victims curtesy of “Memorial Service for the Victims of Lynching in Alachua County” website

ILLUSTRATION BY: STACEY SAYEGH @sketches.by.stace