Kwanzaa: Umoja / Unity

Habari gani, friends?

Today is the first day of Kwanzaa, a completely made-up holiday meant to be celebrated by the African diaspora — but nowadays is mostly the butt of jokes about what a silly and mysterious holiday it is. To be fair, it IS a silly and mysterious holiday! Over the past several years, though, I’ve cultivated it into a time of self-reflection and a way to mark my evolving thoughts about the Seven Principles. Even if the holiday was created as a Black American separatist activity by a convicted domestic abuser (or political prisoner, whoever you ask), I believe there’s a worthwhile tradition here. Black Americans don’t often get a space to contemplate their blackness, or express what it means as part of a community. As we’re so fond of saying, we’re not a monolith, and taking the time to express the breadth of the Black American experience does a lot to normalize the idea that blackness is a whole spectrum.

So, what the fuck is Kwanzaa? It was designed in 1966 by Maulana Karenga as an annual celebration of Black American culture and history. The specifics of the holiday are inspired by the “first fruits” festivals celebrated in Africa during the solstice (summer, for much of the continent), but also come from a distinctly American symbolism I’m not sure comes through for others in the diaspora. There’s the kinara, a holder for seven candles that are meant to be lit each of the seven days — the black candle today, then alternating red on days 2, 4, and 6 with green on days 3, 5, and 7. The colors are those of the Pan-African flag, created in 1920 in response to the racist song “Every Race Has a Flag But the Coon“.

There’s no denying that Kwanzaa — like most traditions — has a lot of associations with it that aren’t great. But for me, it’s an excellent chance to re-examine what blackness means to me as a Fur of Color and reflect on my ever-evolving relationship with the broader Black American community. How are the Seven Principles expressed by the community at large? Am I aligned with that, or do I have a separate interpretation I feel is more useful? In the new year, how can I incorporate these Seven Principles more fully and positively in my life? 

I completely understand why most folks see Kwanzaa as a joke. It’s a tradition that’s “only” been around 50 years or so and here in the United States we tend to dismiss any serious attempt to process the deep scars left by racism on both a personal and societal level. This sounds a little passive-aggressive in writing and I don’t mean it that way. These are serious topics to wrestle with, and that doesn’t feel like a natural fit for a joyous celebration, you know? Is it possible to celebrate a history filled with so much pain, one that most in the dominant culture refuse to acknowledge, let alone observe?

I’m not entirely sure how feasible it is to observe the unique history and culture of Black America in today’s socio-political climate, but I aim to try. It’s important that I take a moment to absorb this part of my story and see how it influences how I see the world, how I respond to what I see, and what kind of changes I’d like to see in myself and the world around me. So, in this week between Christmas and New Year’s, that’s precisely what I’ll do.

Today we celebrate the first of the Nguzo Saba (Seven Principles), Unity — or Umoja in Swahili. It’s the first principle because we can’t do much as a community if we’re not united by a common vision and the will to enact that vision. So much of Black American history is marked by struggle against a hostile dominant culture that has forced us to seek refuge in our extended families, neighbors, spiritual brothers and sisters. In the past our ancestors united as a matter of survival. We had to help each other or else we simply wouldn’t make it. The hard-won pieces of our collective memory and the torn, fuzzy bonds of our ancestry wouldn’t exist today without that united effort.

Even though we’re not slaves in this country, we still exist under the capricious whims of a state designed for inequality. We don’t have to worry about collapsing in a field anymore, but there could still be a boot on our neck at any time, for any reason, with little repercussions. We might not have to worry about a racist mob destroying the capital we’ve built for ourselves — against all odds — but we still face an uphill climb to avoid poverty. There’s less blackface on television, fewer songs like “Every Race Has a Flag But The Coon”; but we still suffer the echoes of this racism in almost every aspect of modern American life. 

We have made progress in our quest to be equal partners in the American Dream, but that progress is not permanent as we’ve been made painfully aware. We still have to fight to preserve it. There are still more fights to be waged as we seek to dismantle institutional racism in all its forms. Previous generations have struggled, bled, and died for the freedoms we now enjoy. It’s important that we’re united in our gratitude and appreciation for that struggle while also being aware of the work our brothers and sisters are still doing.

But what does that look like in 2024? That’s a question I’ve been thinking a lot about. The current era of American politics has fostered a community of people willing to draw a line against unacceptable behavior and abhorrent views, and I’m happy to see that. We’ve called out folks like Bill Cosby, Kanye West, and Clarence Thomas for the ways they’ve failed us by abandoning our collective values. I don’t care how talented you are, or how many doors you’ve opened for the rest of your community, hypocrisy, bigotry, and coercive behavior are unacceptable. We don’t unite around our luminaries because they’re just people, like us, who are susceptible to all the evils of power and ego that have plagued humankind since we learned to conceptualize them. We unite around the shared ideals we strive toward, the principles that guide us to our best selves.

That being said, I think we’ve focused so much on the breaking of our principles that we’ve become hyper-sensitive to it. Sometimes we excise those who are on different parts of their journey, or assume bad intent when ignorance is the true culprit. Ignorance is definitely a problem, but one that requires a different solution. We can’t kick out everyone who doesn’t get the logic behind what we’ve deemed acceptable or taboo; sometimes, we have to educate those who need to learn these things. Teaching others help us to absorb the lessons we’re giving them on a deeper level; it makes them personal to us, shows us how to adapt and mold them to different circumstances and perspectives, allows us to put these principles into action. If we’re not actively working to preserve the unity of our friend groups, communities, families, and institutions, what good is reflecting on the principle?

I’ve recently shifted careers into community management and I’ve developed a keen interest in the intentional cultivation of communities through it. What I’ve learned is that communities are at their healthiest when they learn positive expressions for their values instead of punishing those who fall short. Instead of shunning those who focus on division in our communities, or calling folks out who don’t align with our shared values, it’s much more productive to foster a culture of unity and celebrating the things that bring us together. It’s harder work, because it takes concentrated effort over an extended period of time, but it’s worth it. The small decisions, the ones we make day after day, are the truly life-changing ones. Through that consistency, we train our brains to see the world in a new perspective. And that, in turn, allows us to see better responses we couldn’t otherwise.

Moving into 2024, I aim to expand my view of “community”. The rise of populist fascism in the United States has done considerable damage to the idea we could ever be a community, but in order to preserve it we must mindfully build the unity we’d like to see. And this could be done with one weird trick: by stating, with your full attention, that the people you meet in your daily travels are part of your community.

The baristas you see at your favorite coffee shop? They’re a part of your community. The bus or train driver who makes announcements for your stop? Part of your community. The homeless person you see on the sidewalk several times a week? Part of your community. Your coworkers. Your neighbors. Even that one guy with the MAGA hat you see in the parking lot a few times a month? Yes, even him. He’s a part of your community.

It’s possible to have someone in your community you’d like nothing to do with, and it’s well within your rights to decide that you’ll never interact with them. But a small shift happens when you allow the thought that they, too, are part of the community with just as much right to be here and live their lives as you do. We stop thinking that our lives will only be better if those people are “eliminated” because, let’s be honest, that’s very unlikely to happen. Instead, we move closer to seeing the world as it is — the space we share, the space we’re trapped in. And while there are those who would make it a living hell with all of their will, we can use OUR will to make it as much of a heaven as possible.

So that’s my goal for the year — to foster a sense of unity with everyone I meet, even when it’s hard. It moves me closer to the person I want to be, and the best expression of Umoja that I can envision. 

Tomorrow, let’s talk about self-determination. While it’s important to be united with our brothers and sisters, we must also be our own people. Learning who we are as individuals is actually a great way to strengthen our unity. See you then, fam.