Peace or It’s So Cool to be Anti-American

I want to say so many things.  While 2003 started off calm enough, it has evolved into a wild ride.  I have been travelling between Amsterdam and London conducting writing and poetry workshops with some wonderful high school students. They remind me of why I write and why, even when it looks dire, I have to stay hopeful and keep working toward a better world. (Kingsland represent!) This latest war has been heavy on my mind.  I marched in anti war protests in London and Barcelona and am getting ready to participate in a Poets for Peace program here in Amsterdam.  Being outside of the States means that I have gotten to see huge numbers of  people from all over the world struggling for peace, but it has also meant realizing that many people I encounter equate “American” with “pro-war.”  Many people don’t know that we, United States citizens, have been building coalitions for peace since before this war.  When I tell folks that thousands of us marched in the Bay Area just weeks after September 11^th in an attempt to stop the war in Afghanistan, people are surprised. When I say that people in just about every major American city marched to try and stop this war in Iraq, people say, “really?”  Hell, there are still people outside of the United States who think Bush was elected. You can imagine their surprise when I debunk that myth. More and more  being a peaceful holder of a United States passport means that I am criticizing my government with one hand and using the other to defend myself against those who think I represent George W.  Can’t we all just get… (oh, damn)

Transitions

In the midst of all this nonsense, we have lost many beautiful people.  My cousin, Caroly O’ Meally McKewn, died of breast cancer back in January.  Carolyn was a writer, a visual artist and a light to everyone who knew her.  She had an article published in Essence magazine about her struggle with cancer.  I thought it was beautiful and brave to write that piece and when I told her she was so humble about it. She fought the disease, wrote and even got married. To see her at her wedding, I thought we could sit back and chill. I kinda thought she had banished cancer forever. That was the way she carried herself. My cousin and I didn’t call each other so we could go kick it, we would just bump into each other at readings, concerts and family functions. We would talk about writing, performance and art and encourage each other to keep at it. To hear she was gone was a surprise.  Rest in peace, Cuz.

A few weeks after I found out about my cousin’s death, my good friend and mentor Zoë Anglesey died.  Something had been telling me to call Zoë since the beginning of February.  She had been struggling with lung cancer for over a year.  Oddly, she never smoked.  On Feb 5^th, I write these words in my journal,  “ I miss Zoë.  When I get back to NY I want to spend a day a week at her place.  If it’s sending out her work or just chilling it doesn’t matter. She has shared so much of herself with me and I have been gone since she got sick.  Since before even.  Zoë, how could you be sick? It’s not fair.  Don’t give up! I sent her an email yesterday but I must call.”  It’s funny how we know what we need to do but sometimes just don’t do it.  I did call Zoë nine days later.  But it was two days too late.

Zoë loved jazz, cooking, poetry and her Brooklyn garden. We met in 1996 at the Brooklyn Moon Café.  She was putting together a piece for Bomb magazine about the young poets flocking to the café, which was right down the block from her. We talked for about five minutes. Zoë gave me her phone and fax numbers saying, “If you send me some work tomorrow, I’ll be able to include it.” I sent her the work the next morning. At the time I wondered, ‘Who is this woman?  Is she really going to put my work in the magazine?  Was I actually going to be in Bomb? What if she doesn’t like my work?’ When the magazine came out I remember me, T’Kalla, Tyren GRFX and Jessica Moore all gathered around tables at the Moon staring at our names and our work proudly.  That is one of those moments etched in my writing life as a highlight.  Zoë was responsible for a lot of those: the book, “Listen Up!,” a place on a panel at the Fifth annual National Black Writers Conference, a trip to DC to read.  She took a genuine interest in my work and she was generous with her time, energy and advice.  I can’t stress how meaningful having someone in my life like that was.  But more than that, Zoë was a friend. We spent a lot of time on the phone. Whenever I called her, I’d say, “What are you doing” and she’d laugh and say “working.” Then she’d put her work aside and we’d talk about life, travel, love, the government, cooking and- of course-poetry.  My favourite Zoë story is the one where at eight months pregnant with twins, Ms. Thing climbed a live volcano in South America.  When she told me this she added, “Well maybe I shouldn’t have but I had to show those men (her travelling companions) that I could do it too!”  

Yes, that was Zoë.  She knew about every good thing happening in the city too.  We went to art exhibits, poetry readings and jazz concerts together.  When I left New York for graduate school in Oakland Zoë and I emailed regularly.  But you know, I wasn’t ready for the email she sent me in Dec 2001 saying that they’d found tumors in her lungs.  Zoë had been an adjunct professor, she coordinated literary events, she edited anthologies in English and Spanish but for all her hard work she didn’t have any health insurance.  In the United States, this is a fate too common among artists. It’s one common among many people who don’t work for corporations or have steady work. It’s even common for folk who work to be uninsured. Affordable health care is yet another thing we have to fight for.  In one of our last conversations, Zoë told me, “Ekere, make sure you take care of your health.” That goes for you too. While we are in the midst of our metaphors, similes, trumpet solos, stretched canvas masterpieces, it is easy to forget about things like our health.  Every time I am tempted to not deal with mine, I hear echoes of Zoë’s advice. Zoë, wherever you are, I hope that there is light, jazz, peace and poetry. Thank you for everything. I miss you.

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