what you hear in my voice is fury, not suffering. Anger, not moral authority

I have come to believe over and over again that what is most important to me must be spoken, made verbal and shared, even at the risk of having it bruised or misunderstood.

I am a bleak heroism of words that refuse to be buried alive with the liars.

Battling racism and battling heterosexism and battling apartheid share the same urgency inside me as battling cancer.

From my membership in all of these groups I have learned that oppression and the intolerance of difference come in all shapes and sizes and colors and sexualities; and that among those of us who share the goals of liberation and a workable future for our children, there can be no hierarchies of oppression.

Raising Black children-female and male-in the mouth of a racist, sexist, suicidal dragon is perilous and chancy. If they cannot love and resist at the same time, they will probably not survive.

Those of us forged in the crucibles of difference know that survival is not an academic skill.