In my opinion a strong woman is someone who helps people, someone who fights for what is right in spite of obstacles, and someone who is full of courage. The dictionary definition of strong is having force or authority or having strength greater than average. I believe Dr. Joy DeGruy is a strong woman because she has displayed many of these qualities in her life and most of all through her research and work.

Dr. DeGruy is a nationally and internationally renowned researcher, author, and educator. She is a clinician by training and has a P.H.D in social work research. She is a pioneer in her field, and her research is on “multi generational trauma particularly as it relates to African American people.”

Based on her work and research, she published a book that spoke of Post Traumatic Slave Syndrome (PTSS). In my interview with her, Dr. DeGruy explains that PTSS is “about multi generational trauma that began with the enslavement of African people in the 1600 and the kinds of mental, emotional and physical traumas that they experienced, that they passed along some of those traumas, some of the behaviors or the symptoms of those traumas to their children…”  Her work has helped African American people and people working with African Americans learn about these traumas and understand some of the behaviors without “dismissing or prejudging them.”

According to Dr. DeGruy “PTSS identifies how people (African Americans) have been deeply injured mentally, emotionally, and spiritually for over hundreds of years.” Dr. DeGruy explains that her research on PTSS helps African Americans understand their “intrinsic value, worth, and nobility as human beings” and “helps them move beyond those feelings of low self esteem.”

Dr. DeGruy helps people because she says it’s her strong spiritual belief that as a member of the Baha’i faith it is one of her responsibilities to help people. She also says that she is fulfilling her purpose in life through her work by helping others.

She inspires me because she has opened the way to a new way of thinking about trauma related to African Americans and she is trying to help heal the wounds of African Americans that have happened over many generations.

I am very proud of her.

She is courageous to speak of this subject even though it is very hard for many people to understand especially about what has been going on in the history of African American people. She hasn’t stopped and I don’t think she will stop for a very long time.

Dr. DeGruy is also family and she is one of my favorite great aunts.

-          Akhil

“Right temporarily defeated, is stronger than evil triumphant.”

Martin Luther King Jr.

 It is after midnight and I have returned home from an exhausting but memorable journey.  The day started with a road trip to South Carolina to speak at the Anderson County Ministers Organizations annual MLK celebration.  I volunteered to speak on behalf of the United Negro College Fund.  I listened to the Youth Choir sing and stood with the audience as we sang the Black National Anthem together.  As I waited my turn to speak my thoughts drifted back to earlier in the day and the inauguration of  President Barack Hussein Obama.  I listened to an older and liberated Commander and Chief who, from all appearances, was finally having his say.

I was struck by the hopefulness, the diversity, and united excitement as I watched a spellbound crowd look on in awe at what seemed a frozen moment in history.  An African American man serving a second term as President of the United States was indeed historical.  Yet here I was in South Carolina, the only State that 236 years ago refused to vote to end slavery at the Constitutional Convention of 1787, allowing the enslavement and suffering of millions of Africans to continue, while insisting that they be allowed to count the enslaved as residents in order to garner more political power to continue their barbaric practice.

I wondered how many of the people in this audience of over a thousand were aware of their State’s history.  Somehow I sensed a disconnect; it was as if the several different generations in the room were unaware of what linked them together.  I thought perhaps I could help to bridge the gap by showing a common thread, which bound the past with the present and the future.  A tall order to fulfill in a twenty-minute keynote address and a far greater challenge for me than any talk I had ever delivered.

I felt heaviness in my heart as I looked at the film footage of the late Dr. Martin Luther King Jr.  I wondered how he managed to carry on when he was tired and afraid.  I would be remiss if I did not acknowledged the long fought battles for freedom, the ceaseless struggle and refusal to give up even in the face of death.  Still I have never felt such dissonance; on the one hand I am grateful for those who stood in the rifle cites and on the other hand I am painfully aware of the tenuous tightrope of justice and freedom my children and grandchildren now walk.

Reminiscing, I remembered my grandmother, how her face lit up each time she looked at me as if I were the greatest gift she had ever received and I knew from the start that I was loved and that there was much expected of me.  Now I was being introduced and what I thought was going to be a simple reading of the short bio in the printed program turned into an embarrassing recitation of my resume, the result of way too much information online.  I begged the MC to intervene but I just had to grin and bear it.  It felt pretentious and boastful and I shrank with every extraordinarily long minute.

I approached the podium looked out into the crowd and knew instantly that I was not going to show a single slide of my fully prepared power point presentation.  This night I was going to simply share my story.  It is no mystery how I became a story teller and it all began one hot summer day when we were playing baseball in our back yard. I was too small to hold the bat so daddy would bat for me and I would run the bases. We were taking a break, mama brought out lemonade and daddy was standing in the sun leaning on his bat when he suddenly began to recite the famous baseball poem “Casey at the Bat.” I lost all awareness of anything or anyone, I could only see Daddy, Casey, and all of the people in the stands.  I was transported to another place and time and in that moment the trajectory of my life changed and the rest is history.

It has been a long and amazing day and I am empty.  I look forward to a restful sleep  that will replenish my strength and spirit so that tomorrow I will be fit to serve with distinction and courage, whatever the challenge.

Some say, and many believe, that with this presidential election America has been granted a brief reprieve, a second chance to get it right, and to heal; to keep at bay retribution for her unresolved sins. . . I suppose that remains to be seen.

Remembering. . .

Joy

December 9^th 2012 would be the first time I had ever attended the Oregon Symphony’s Gospel Christmas program.  This was also the first year that African American families participating in a local Portland program focused on healing the black family, were invited to attend. Although  most of the families we had invited to the Arlene Schnitzer Concert Hall had likely passed by the venue at one time or another, most of the families had never had the opportunity to attend an event there or witness the Oregon Symphony live.  The black families most likely had seen the lines of mostly white people herding in from all directions, neatly attired in sparkly dresses and tuxedos purchased just for such occasions.  They may have even been bumped into by more than a few of the symphony goers hurrying into the grand hall oblivious of the passers by.

Tonight however they were among the invited guests to the symphony. And they arrived beautifully dressed, excited, and with anticipation of a wonderful evening. Still one could detect uneasiness in them as they looked around at the blank gazes coming from people that seemed surprised to see them there.  Some more regular Symphony attendees even appeared  startled by the presence of these black families;looking confused as if they were seeing a picture out of place.  The discomfort the families were feeling began to wane asmore familiar faces arrived. One by one the families began to warmly greet, laugh, and talk – hardly conscious of  the droves of regular attendees among them, some with diamond necklaces and rings with stones so large, they could hardly go unobserved; much the point I imagine.

Once inside, the music started everyone drifted into  quiet listening.  The Conductor was the accomplished composer and performer Charles Floyd, an African American man originally from Chicago.  He lifted his baton in the customary fashion and the repertoire of gospel classics that followed would take the audience on a magical journey.

Mr. Floyd had enlisted some of the local black talent of Portland many of whom were very accomplished vocalists, composers and musicians in their own right and their performance was nothing short of amazing and brilliant!

Now our black families felt very much at home; the music transported them to a familiar and safe place so they stood up from their seats, closed their eyes and held their hands high as they listened, unconcerned and scarcely aware of those around them.  Soon I began to see more of them sprinkled throughout the hall standing like the only remaining trees that had survived a major storm, bending and swaying with the wind instead of being broken by it.  They clapped and shouted in the customary black call and response tradition.

My family sat together in the balcony, where my 2 year old granddaughter and my 9 month old grandson delighted in joining in with everyone by clapping their tiny little hands at the conclusion of each song.  more people continued to rise from their seats to rock back and forth to the music.  When my family stood and clapped during, not after, the songs, people seated in the row ahead would often look back as if puzzled by our spontaneous applause and began nervously whispering back and forth to one another.

At first I thought  they were becoming annoyed with the animation coming from our row, but I noticed that they were cautiously looking about the room and after a while they each slowly began to stand up and clap, some even began to sing along.  It appeared their nervous looks and chatter was their search for “permission” to act outside of their norm. They were hoping for something that would sanction them to express outwardly, what they were feeling inwardly.  No doubt for many, this was both a cultural and religious anomaly, a huge departure from their typical Sunday worship service where one’s demeanor is to reflect a quiet coolness of manner especially when the choir sings.

About midway through “Go Tell it on the Mountain” nearly everyone was on their feet clapping, singing, and swaying.  The soloist knew how to bring us all home and that is precisely what she did! Even the unusually ‘composed’ Conductor could not conceal his emotions as he struggled to speak.

We in that room shared a truth that evening, a truth which challenged the rhetoric of inferiority and superiority, of belief and unbelief, of fear and of courage. Yet it will likely go undisclosed and remain a secret held by the seasoned ticket holders still wary of the disapproval of their kith and kin.

But not to worry, as MLK said:

“Truth temporarily defeated will always be stronger than evil triumphant”

Today I reflect on that wonderful shared experience of music and spirit in light of tragedies occurring at home and abroad and I am grateful for that evening, where the ravages of disease, the defilement of women and girls, the murder of little children, and all the harsh ugliness of the world, was kept at bay. . . if only for a short while.

Your Sister

Joy

Joy is a keynote speaker at the Courageous Conversations Summit 2012 happening today!

The Odd Woman and the Dragon Fly

Two very distinctly different yet moving things happened to me today, I was on my way back home and to avoid the freeway traffic, I took the streets. It was a wise decision. The streets were clear for the most part, the sun was going down, and I enjoyed the cool breeze flowing in from the windows as I drove.

There were about two cars in front of me so I slowed down slightly and suddenly to my right was a woman that looked to be middle aged with a weathered face as red as a beet glaring at me. She seemed enraged and extended her middle finger in my window followed by the profane word that defined her gesture. I was startled but un-moved by her behavior as it was quite clear even, in the brief moment of passing her, that she was not ‘all there.’ It was obvious that she was directing her anger toward me, but her eyes seemed fixed on something else as if she was looking through me at an adversary just beyond or behind me.

I would describe her glare as a look of madness as opposed to anger. After about a block or so I decided to turn around to observe if she continued to be agitated and indeed she was. Only now she was babbling to herself and walking rapidly. Just ahead I saw a group of children moving in her direction so I slowed and distracted her long enough for the children to pass escaping her attention.

I wasn’t sure what more I should do, after all, she could have been inebriated or simply peeved at someone. But maybe it was something more, something that might lead her to step in front of a car or the light rail track, or push someone else in front of one. I decided to call the police and share what I had witnessed and leave it to their discretion to act or not. I was not trying to “be a good citizen” and report any unusual activity or behavior.I was acting out of my gut, advice may father gave me long ago. “Trust your gut Joy,” he would say, “it might save your life one day.”

I was thinking about what had just occurred as I arrived home. I was deciding whether to write about it when I noticed a huge dragon fly on the sidewalk directly in front of me. This was not my first close encounter with a dragon fly; last summer one had flown into my car window and frantically zoomed around my head until I pulled the car over jumped out and spent the next ten minutes trying to shoo it out of any one of my four open doors.

This one was struggling and buzzing around on the ground but unable to fly. It wasn’t nearly as large as the one that graced my Camry, but is was far more beautiful with brightly colored yellow, green and black markings. I tried to startle it into flight so no one would step on it, but it tumbled over and over until once again landing on its tiny legs fluttering nervously. I leaned down to see if it had broken a wing but they seemed to be moving perfectly. Then it dawned on me, what possible difference would it make whether the wings were injured or the legs were broken? There was absolutely nothing I could or likely would do about it either way.

I saw two small boys just on the other side of the street and I considered calling them so they could come and see the beautiful and quite spectacular but wounded dragon fly. Then I remembered what the small boys in my neighborhood did to little defenseless creatures and I decided to pass on that idea. As I walked away I felt – albeit only slightly- ‘defeated.’

Pondering the two events now I am startled by my presumptuousness. Who am I to assume that the angry woman had no justifiable right to her own anger? And even if her anger toward me didn’t seem reasonable, it is still her right. As for the beautiful and delicate dragon fly, everything that lives ultimately dies. The dragon fly, unlike humans, cannot act outside of the bounds of nature, so things were as they should be in the world of my little winged friend and how arrogant of me to even imagine that I had any power or need to change the course of the life of even this tiny creature.

I have joined the ranks of what is considered “mature adults” and I am accorded the respect and privileges that is culturally due someone of my age due to a conferred accumulated learning. There is a familiar saying that youth is often wasted on the young; perhaps an equal truth is that wisdom is sometimes wasted on the old.

No worries though, there’s also room for those like me who fall somewhere between youth and wisdom, glad I had today… one more day… to learn and grow!

Peace…

Today those of us able to see through the sterile manufactured “diversity” misled populace, have begun to challenge the conventional thinking regarding institutional racism and its attendant destructiveness.  Glenn Singleton has addressed the issue through the program he has developed called “Courageous Conversation” with a specific focus upon building effective approaches and skills to eliminate racial disparities in education.

We are a long way from achieving equity and social justice so let’s all join the conversation!

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*In October 2012, Dr. Joy will be a keynote speaker at “The Summit for Courageous Conversation 2012″ in San Antonio, Texas.

For more information, please see go to this site: http://atlantablackstar.com/2012/08/22/atlanta-cyclorama-presents-slavery-the-civil-war-and-african-american-mental-health-video/