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When Hope Ain't Enough.


"It is in the knowledge of the genuine conditions of our lives that we must draw our strength to live and our reasons for acting."

-Simone de Beauvoir

When Hope Ain' t Enough.


Woooooowww, wooooooooooowwwww, and wow (Flava Flav voice). I have confidence the holiday season did what it needed to do! Has everyone had a chance to get much-needed rest, reflection, and reconnection this past holiday!?! Whatever the season has brought forth for you all — I’m here for it! With the confidence I find in us to embrace the holidays for all that it could have been, it’s time for us to roll into yet another Black History Month.

This year, to celebrate Black History Month, I want to have a red-table talk. I’ve been thinking about how much has changed since January 20th, 2025. Lately, I find myself grappling with the reality of institutional power vs. cultural power. I have been considering what it really means to obtain power as an autonomous being under oppressive systems. In doing so, the concepts of Hope vs. Despair have been present. I found myself evaluating if our (Black Folks) collective efforts are just punching the air or if it's safe to hold a sense of pride in perceived “rewarded sacrifices” from Black-led activism and community work!


Allow me to share:


Hope can be defined as an “expectation and desire for a certain thing to happen” (Oxford Learning Dictionaries). It’s an internal resource that expands one's capacity for change. Hope can be seen as fuel to sustain resilience. The question then becomes: what happens when hope runs thin and the demands of everyday life erode one's sense of optimism? What do we make of life when the policies of a tyrannical government beat down on our spirits — is hope even enough!?


One Night with Angela


Last year, I had the privilege of sitting in the audience at the Paramount Theater while Angela Davis headlined a conversation. As the Mother of All Activists, Davis highlighted the importance of holding firm to the vision of the world we want to live in. She encouraged us to hold tight to hope, knowing there will be setbacks and moments of retreat while striving towards liberation! Davis assured each of us in the audience that what we are seeing in current political times are not uncommon to the efforts of struggle and resistance.


Hearing Davis' words was like a punch to the chin. Enamored by how transparent Davis was in the dispelling of her truth, I found the stillness in her demeanor to be most profound. Seeing the demonstration of her calmness, I learned that she anchored her sense of hope to her faith in movement work and the power held by everyday people. Davis expressed being grounded in incremental-transformative change, explicitly stating the steps we take toward liberation today are not for us but for future generations. As extremely selfless as her statements were, I can honestly say I’m not that good of a person. I can’t tell you all HOW icky that felt for me to hear! Yet, her perspective pushed me to think past hope and into the realms of long-suffering.


Walking in the Ways of the Elders

Long-suffering — a forgotten tenant of survival. It is different from resilience; it doesn't prioritize recovery and adaptability. Resilience is absolutely beautiful, dynamic, and ever evolving, yet it can place the responsibility of change on the shoulders of those most affected by oppression. As I write this out, it sounds so horrible to reject the notion of resilience. Easing into a state of long-suffering may sound like defeat when spelled out, but all I can think of is my best friend’s granny screaming, “Hold YOUR LANE, HOLD YOUR LANE.” What does that mean??? Simple: when you see the cars speeding around you with aggression and force, you stay the course. In other words — acknowledge reality for what it is without giving up your humanity and fighting to prove it.


An example of long-suffering that comes to my mind is the Harlem Renaissance. During the 1920s–1930s, Black people did just as my bestie’s granny would say: “hold your lane.” It was a time of collective flow and cultural exploration. Unintentionally birthed as a response to racial violence, economic inequality, and disempowerment, Harlem became the Black Mecca for thousands of Southern Black folks seeking safety and newness! A time when the risk of advocating against injustice through direct action work was too high. Figures like Josephine Baker, Langston Hughes, Zora Neale Hurston, and many more found their footing and sense of autonomy through their art. They directed their energy into creativity to anchor them into their stillness.


Committed entertainers like Josephine Baker danced to encourage, strengthen, and uplift the everyday Black person. Josephine, like many notable figures during the Harlem Renaissance, used their platform to gatekeep their art and to preserve it for those who shared the same values as them. This anchored them into community and visibility and provoked critical thought across the country.


For me, their example taught the usefulness of leaning into personal passions as a tool of resistance and grounding. Their life experiences revealed to me long-suffering as the hidden gem of active endurance when faced with oppression — revealing that when HOPE ain’t enough, our passions become the spiritual source of fulfillment and encouragement to live life!


Acknowledgement and Permission

Oppression is used as a shapeshifter. There is nothing intrinsically different about the systematic oppression we face today than in the past. When we were in chains, slavery was justified with science and religion, then solidified through institutional power (laws, policy, and economics), leaving our nation morally and politically split on matters related to human dignity and autonomy. When I say…Hope AIN’T enough! Understand, institutional power continues to strip the dignity of Black bodies and limits our autonomy in the present day.

Over the years, we've seen the play and the shape inequality shifted in! 2025 should have been clear as day. We are 60 years post-Civil Rights era: WE banged down doors, marched down all the roads, created all the programs possible to empower, inspire, enhance access, educate, and resist inequity — all for those things to be dismantled.


I can acknowledge my despair and overwhelm with all that is taking place. I am willing to say I’m no longer available to engage in temporary change to cope with oppression. I can give myself permission to redirect efforts and energy into sustainability and not direct action or living with the pressure of how to bounce back after the violent dismantling of equitable change efforts. I can give myself permission to acknowledge the limitations found in my individual power, and in the collective power Black people hold in this nation. I can give myself permission to do these things without dismissing the wisdom and strength found within the capacity of those limitations.


I give myself permission to long-suffer — recognizing that the exploration of cultural power in the community can become my pasture of reflective affirmation, restoration, justice, and freedom. Noting: when hope ain’t enough, at least we got each other. This concludes my red-table talk!


"Without community there is no liberation" -Audre Lorde


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