"Jeg har mennesker i mig." Sådan sang den afdøde Abbey Lincoln. Jeg bruger den tekst som mantra. "Jeg har mennesker i mig." Jomama Jones er personen i mig som jeg bruger som en guide. Hun er mit alter-ego. Jeg har personificeret hende i optrædelser siden 1995, og hun dukker op når hun har noget indsigt at give folk. I disse tider med radikale ændringer, er jeg glad for at være beholderen til hendes beskeder til jer.
"I've got people in me." So sang the late Abbey Lincoln. I take that lyric as mantra. "I've got people in me." Jomama Jones is the person in me I turn to as a guide. She's my alter ego. I've been embodying her in performance since 1995, and she comes around when she has some insight to offer folks. At this time of radical change, I'm glad to be the vessel for her message to you.
Jomama Jones: Hvad hvis jeg sagde at det nok skal blive okay ... men hvad hvis jeg sagde ikke endnu? Hvad hvis jeg sagde der er prøvelser forud udover din værste frygt? Hvad hvis jeg sagde at du vil falde ... ned, ned, ned? Men hvad hvis jeg sagde at du ville overraske dig selv? Hvad hvis jeg sagde du ville være modig nok? Hvad hvis jeg sagde vi ikke alle vil nå igennem? Men hvad hvis jeg sagde at det er sådan det må være? Hvad hvis jeg sagde at jeg har set ind i fremtiden?
Jomama Jones: What if I told you it's going to be alright ... but what if I told you not yet? What if I told you there are trials ahead beyond your deepest fears? What if I told you will you fall ... down, down, down? But what if I told you you will surprise yourself? What if I told you will be brave enough? What if I told you we won't all make it through? But what if I told you that is as it must be? What if I told you I've seen the future?
Kan du lide mine hænder? De er udtryksfulde, ikke? Nu, kig på dine hænder -- nu, kom så. Der er så meget historie optaget gennem deres berøringer og tegn på fremtiden tegnet på deres håndflader. Nogle gange griber hænder hårdt, nogle gange giver hænder slip. Hvad hvis jeg sagde at det hele bliver trevlet op? Hm.
Do you like my hands? They're expressive, yeah? Now look at your hands -- now go on. There's so much history recorded through their touches and marks of the future sketched on their palms. Sometimes hands grip tight, sometimes hands let go. What if I told you it's all going to come undone? Hm.
Damer og herrer og ellers beskrevet, jeg er Jomama Jones. Nogle kalder mig en sjælsonisk superstjerne, og jeg er enig, dog selv i min fortid var det fra fremtiden.
Ladies and gentlemen and otherwise described, I am Jomama Jones. Some call me a soul sonic superstar, and I agree, though even in my past that was from the future.
Lad mig tage jer tilbage til barndommen. Forestil jer det her: Det var Plante Dag, hvilket var en højtid jeg havde opfundet for den Sorte ungdomsgruppe jeg havde stiftet. Jeg løb hjem for at tage mit havearbejde udstyr på da jeg fangede min onkel Freeman på fersk gerning. Han stod over min sparegris med hans hammer hævet højt. Han ville stjæle mine mønter.
Let me take you back to girlhood. Picture this: it was Planting Day, which was a holiday I invented for the Black youth community group I founded. I dashed home to put on my gardening ensemble when I caught my uncle Freeman red-handed. He was standing over my piggy bank with his hammer raised high. He was fixing to steal my coins.
Og ser du, min onkel Freeman var en gør-det-selv mand. Han kunne fikse alt -- en ødelagt stol, en knust krukke -- endda få liv tilbage i bedstemor's planter. Han havde det magiske tag med ødelagte ting ... og ødelagte mennesker. Han ville tage mig med på hans jobs og sige "Kom nu Jo, Lad os gå ud og gøre noget for at gøre verdenen til et bedre sted." Hans hænder var brede og hårdhudet, og de mindede mig altid om blottede trærødder.
And you see, my uncle Freeman was a handyman. He could fix anything -- a broken chair, a shattered pot -- even bring grandmother's plants back to life. He had that magic touch with broken things ... and broken people. He would take me with him on his jobs and say, "C'mon Jo, let's go do something to make this world a better place." His hands were wide and calloused, and they always reminded me of displaced tree roots.
Når vi arbejdede ville han tale med folk om den forandring han var sikker på var lige om hjørnet. Jeg så ham hele svækkede håb og forlade folk med deres hoveder holdt højt. Hans hænder rørte solskinnet.
As we worked he would talk with folks about the change he was sure was just around the corner. I saw him mend flagging hopes and leave folks with their heads held high. His hands stirred the sunshine.
Og nu var han ved at smadre min sparegris. Jeg sagde "Tag et skridt tilbage, mand, og vis mig dine hænder." Du ved, ironien var at han plejede at give mig alle de gamle mønter han fandt under gulvet på arbejde. Og jeg puttede dem i sparegrisen sammen med de penge jeg tjente gennem mine barndoms sidejobs.
And now he was about to break my piggy bank. I said "Step back, man, and show me your hands." You know the irony was he used to give me all the old coins he'd find under floorboards while working. And I put them in the piggy bank along with the money I earned through my childhood side hustles.
Men i foråret af 1970, havde Onkel Freeman mistet hans evne ... sammen med de fleste af hans jobs. Han så en hård fremtid af civile og race uretfærdigheder i hans håndflader. Det sidste skub var kommet den forrige vinter da de havde skudt Fred Hampton. Overvældet af frygt og vrede og sorg, prøvede Onkel Freeman at spille på hans fremtid. Han greb fat for hårdt, og han begyndte at spille på tallene.
But by the spring of 1970, Uncle Freeman had lost his touch ... along with most of his jobs. He saw a heavy future of civil wrongs and Black power outages in his palms. The last straw had come the previous winter when they had gunned down Fred Hampton. Overwhelmed with fear and rage and grief, Uncle Freeman tried to game his future. He gripped too tight, and he started playing the numbers.
"Jamen, en af disse tal vil ramme rigtigt, lille tøs. Har du en 50 øre til din onkel Free --" Nu, nogle af jer kender sådan et familiemedlem. Men jeg vidste med det samme at jeg blev nødt til at gøre noget. Jeg hoppede op og tog hammeren og jeg hammerede den ned på den gris. Og onkel Freeman begyndte at græde da jeg samlede alle mønterne. "Vi køber ikke en lotto kupon, Onkel Freeman. Kom så."
"Well, one of these numbers is gonna hit, little girl. You got a quarter for your uncle Free -- " Now some of y'all have that relative. But I knew right then and there I had to do something. I jumped up and I grabbed that hammer and I brought it crashing down on that pig. And Uncle Freeman started to weep as I gathered up all the coins. "We're not buying no lottery ticket, Uncle Freeman. C'mon."
Vi brugte hver eneste krone på frø i havecenteret. Du ved, de børn i min havegruppe? De blinkede ikke et øje da jeg fik onkel Freeman ned og fik hans hænder i jorden igen og begyndte at gøre jorden klar til vores frø. Og min lille ven Taesha kom endda over og begyndte at klappe ham på ryggen og sagde, "Græd ud, onkel Freeman. Græd ud."
We spent every last cent at the seed store. You know, the kids in my gardening group? They didn't bat an eye when I had Uncle Freeman get down and put his hands in the earth again and start breaking up that soil for our seeds. And my little friend Taesha even came over and started slapping him on the back saying, "Cry it out, Uncle Freeman. Cry it out."
"Jeg kan ikke fikse det," hulkede han. Det er en gammel-fremtids selvfølgelighed. Han var ikke den første som følte sådan, og han ville ikke være den sidste. Lige nu, det føles som om at alt er fuldstændig ødelagt. Det er det. Men den nedbrydning kan lede til at bryde åben, uanset hvor voldelig og usikker og frygtsom det føles. Tingen er ... vi kan ikke gøre det alene.
"I can't fix this," he sobbed. It's an ancient-future truism, that. He wasn't the first to feel that way, and he wouldn't be the last. Right now, it feels as though everything is breaking beyond repair. It is. But that breaking apart can be a breaking open, no matter how violent and uncertain and fearsome it seems. The thing is ... we can't do it alone.
Onkel Freeman græd så meget den dag da vi såede vores frø, han var vores helt eget overrislingsystem. "Jeg ved ikke hvem jeg er længere, lille tøs," sagde han til mig ved solnedgang. "Godt, onkel Freeman. Godt. Du er ny igen, og det er lige sådan vi har brug for dig."
Uncle Freeman cried so much that day as we planted our seeds, he was our very own irrigation system. "I don't know who I am anymore, little girl," he said to me at sundown. "Good, Uncle Freeman. Good. You're new again, and that's just how we need you."