Black Feminist Love: An Open Letter to my Children

October 2020

Dear Sweet Ones,

It seems like yesterday I wrote another letter to you. It was the evening of November 9, 2016, and, like many in the United States, I was stunned and heavy hearted by the surprising results of the presidential election. One day, history books may describe the collective grief we awoke to after the winning candidate clinched the electoral vote despite open misogyny, racism, ableism, anti-immigrant rhetoric, and the promotion of policies fundamentally opposed to democracy. Such a public political paradigm felt wholly counter to the world I hope both of you know. In solidarity and grief, I shared a letter to you on Instagram, naming a continued commitment to working each day toward a more just world. I remember the one sense of relief I felt was not having to explain to you the implications of the election.

For you, it was just another Wednesday. I took you to preschool on my way to work. We drove our long commute home in time to have dinner with friends. Late that evening, you sang “Go, Tell It on the Mountain!” at the top of your lungs on the car ride home. As far as you knew, the world was full of music and joy and naptime and trail mix and friends. At that time, it was hard to imagine you, as 6-year-old twins, looking ahead to the next presidential election. Four fast years later, here we are. This letter is quite different. It is 2020, we live in a new state, you are first-graders, and you are fairly aware that it is election season. In the next couple of weeks, your dad and I will take you with us to the polls to cast our votes during a pandemic.