Dear SBG Friends,

I remember walking down the New York City streets with friends in high school. I grew up in Queens, NY, one of the most diverse communities in the world, and my friends were from every corner of the world, from Korea to Ghana, from Pakistan to Puerto Rico. We were all different shades, spoke different languages at home, and practiced different religions, but we were bonded by our experiences as young people, many of us first-generation Americans. As we explored the city together, I always noticed when anyone was left out, being talked over, or ignored. I would talk to that person, slow down if they were being left behind, and just hear them out. I know what it feels like to be ignored or overlooked and I never wanted anyone else to feel that way.

It never mattered if someone was different from me. We’re all human and I always try to look for what we have in common rather than what separates us.

Over the years, that compassion hasn’t stopped other people from treating me differently as a Black woman, and although sometimes I wanted to stay angry and close myself off and do only what was comfortable and safe, I realized that it’s better and braver to be vulnerable instead of letting the hate in the world make me cold and hard. It only hurts more when I let hate consume me. You just have to keep taking chances on people and hoping they will show up in love and support.

The past year has been so full of hardship and fear and I’m afraid a lot of people have lost the ability to take a look to the side or to the back of them and see who has been left behind. The pandemic has made everyday choices a matter of life or death and we have had to choose ourselves above all else. In the Black community, we still have so many divisions. We want to and should move forward but healing, or the process of, is so unfamiliar to us. We want Black unity but won’t admit to ourselves where we have hurt each other with domestic violence, colorism, homophobia, transphobia, and misogyny. There needs to be forgiveness and reparations. What future can we aspire to without healing first?

When I came up with the theme of “Diaspora” for the Spoken Black Girl Magazine, I wasn’t sure what that word would mean to me by the end of this journey to publication. But when you ask a question, the universe will give you an answer. Stories started flooding in from all different directions: stories of migration, of lost ancestry, of missing loved ones, of love, of hope, and cultural misunderstandings. Stories of longing for stability, safety, and home. Stories of identity that are positive and not riddled with bias, stigma, and hate. The only conclusion I can make from the submissions I’ve read is that we still have a long way to go.

We’re still working through trauma – waking up, and trying to find a safe place to lick our wounds. But even as we are wounded, we can’t continue to live in that place of hurt. Pain perpetuates pain. What plant can grow in barren soil? We need Joy with a capital J, and that comes from love and connection but how do we keep that in a world of virtual church services, canceled family cookouts, and socially distanced funerals? It will take time to water and nourish us, to restore us after centuries of injustice and learned self-hate, because all we know is trying to thrive when we don’t even have the certainty of survival.

Because Breonna Taylor and Botham Jean can be killed in their own homes. Police brutality is killing us. Every day there’s another Black person’s name turned into a hashtag uplift. Exhausted, we still demand justice and declare, “Black Lives Matter” to affirm our humanity. Because we’re still dying in childbirth. Because we’re still underpaid and overworked.

That’s tough soil to till, beloved. How can we overcome our past when we’re still fighting in the present?

When is the time to breathe?

When is the time to recover?

We have to take it now because it will never be given.

I hope this magazine, Diaspora, will allow you to pause, breathe, and refill. You deserve it. Let these pages be your home, your stable ground to stand on, or an escape if you need one.

Asé, Be Well

Rowana Abbensetts-Dobson

Letter from the Editor - Issue 3: Diaspora

Dear SBG Friends,