15041611Voices: A World Forum for Music Therapy1504-1611GAMUT - Grieg Academy Music Therapy Research Centre (NORCE &
University of Bergen)10.15845/voices.v21i1.3227EssayTracks on RepeatAn Autoethnographic PoessayWilliamsBrittonbrittonmwill@gmail.comDrama Therapy, New York University, USANorrisMarisolGipsonLeahMhondeRochelle Davidson204202121115120211522021Copyright: 2021 The Author(s)2021This is an open-access article distributed under the terms of the
http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/4.0/, which permits
unrestricted use, distribution, and reproduction in any medium, provided the
original work is properly cited.https://voices.no/index.php/voices/article/view/3227
At the time of this writing, the world is in the throes of a global pandemic.
COVID-19 has reached every corner of the world. The impact has been devastating
across individual and collective contexts. This autoethnographic poessay is a
creative exploration of a Black woman’s experience(s) of living in and through
COVID-19 and enduring racial oppression. It weaves between time, space and place
recognizing the interconnectedness of the personal, professional, and
social-cultural. This piece intentionally amplifies, and grapples with, emergent and
conflicting tensions without seeking to resolve them.
Black aestheticsBlack clientsBlack cliniciansBlack expression(s)Black creative resistanceracial oppressionracialized violence(re)imagining careIntroduction
Racial and economic disparities, which existed before COVID-19, have swelled to a
disturbing degree. Cities, states and countries across the world have mandated
quarantine and shelter-in-place orders. Deaths are devastatingly numerous and fear is
rampant. Several months into contending with this virus, it became evident that Black
and Brown communities were disproportionately impacted. In many places, Black and Brown
people comprise(d) the majority of severe illness, hospitalizations, deaths and
complications connected to COVID-19. These disparities, while exacerbated, are not
new.
Leaving home requires a hyper-awareness to safety protocols and thoughtful consideration
to where and how one travels. There is increased concern for maintaining safety,
especially for vulnerable populations. People fear for those they love
who must venture out and even worry that harm might befall them at home. The detrimental
impact of the assaults that this virus can wield on the body is unpredictable in who and
how it targets. While the context (the COVID-19 pandemic) of heightened and even
hyper concern is new, the feeling is familiar. In fact, the
references at the start of this paragraph could just as easily be referring to police
killings of Black people, environmental racism, ICE raids, racial profiling, the school
to prison pipeline, and a litany of other social-cultural terrors. This is the everyday
terror that exists as a variable hum against the backdrop of Black everyday living. As a
Black woman living in the United States, I am in all moments keenly aware of the
precarity of my safety; that at any moment, for a myriad of reasons, my life could be
(up)ended.
The Production of Black Agony
Black people have suffered racial trauma since the birth of the United States as we
currently know it. Trauma situates itself in the body (van der Kolk, 2015) and passes through generations (DeGruy, 2017). These experiences live in the Black body. Racism
has a detrimental impact on physical health (Trent
et al., 2019) and mental wellbeing (Williams & William-Morris, 2000); racial oppression is so injurious that
studies have noted when Black people are vicariously exposed to racialized violence,
they may experience trauma symptoms (Downs,
2016). In Afropessimism, Wilderson (2020) asks:
Why is anti-Black violence not a form of racist hatred but the genome of Human
renewal; a therapeutic balm that the Human race needs to know and heal itself? Why
must the world reproduce this violence, this social death, so that social life can
regenerate Humans and prevent them from suffering the catastrophe of psychic
incoherence-absence? Why must the world find its nourishment in Black flesh? (p.
16)
These are indeed important and necessary questions with which to grapple. The scope of
this piece does not allow for that exploration. Yet, implicit in Wilderson’s (2020) questions is the assertion that
anti-Blackness is core, not addendum, to Human being. It suggests that
racialized violence against Black people exists on a cellular level. These questions
challenge the default origin stories that are attributed to anti-Blackness. This is
further underscored in Wilderson’s declaration that “slavery is a relational dynamic […]
just as colonialism is a relational dynamic”; therefore, bigger and deeper than a
particular time or set of individuals (p. 40).
Though Black people have endured racial oppression, historically and presently, we have
also resisted, rebelled and persevered throughout. The arts have been an integral part
of Black survival and thriving. Black people have long used creative processes for
connection, healing and liberatory practice. Enslaved Black people(s) used music as a
coded means to communicate (Berry, 2017) and as
a container to hold and sustain cultural histories (Davis, 1998). Creative process, throughout history, has been a way for Black
people to subvert oppressive systems. Arts-rooted activism has impacted social-cultural
change and Black people have consistently recognized and reified that “creative action
liberates us by reminding ourselves and other that we can come up with new ways to
disrupt” (Chrislene DeJean, as quoted in Esema,
2014). The scope of this poessay does not allow for an outline of the
voluminous ways in which Black people(s) have used creative action as a means to
connect, heal and disrupt. Rather, it is a creative exploration that grapples with the
tensions that Black bodies hold… pain and joy, past and present, trauma and healing,
and… and… and…
Process
Autoethnography examines the self as a way to explore and understand broader relational
and social-cultural dynamics (Jones et al.,
2016; Leavy, 2009). This method
aligns with this poessay, which is rooted in the belief that the personal is inherently
connected to the cultural; similarly, autoethnography recognizes that personal
experience is (in)formed and arises in relationship to one’s social setting(s) (Ellis, 2007). Spieldenner (2014) critiqued autoethnography as a method that “can be
problematic” due to its dependence on “personal perception and memory” (p. 14). For the
purposes of this poessay, using the personal and perceptual is intentional. As a Black
woman writing about my experience, I leaned into Audre Lorde’s (2007) reflections in “Poetry is Not a Luxury.” She
underscored:
When we view living in the european mode only as a problem to be solved, we rely
solely upon our ideas to make us free, for these were what the white fathers told us
were precious. But as we come more into touch with our own ancient, non-european
consciousness of living as a situation to be experienced and interacted with, we
learn more and more to cherish our feelings, and to respect those hidden sources of
our own power from where true knowledge and, therefore, lasting action comes. (p.
75)
Lorde (2007) further articulated poetry “as a
revelatory distillation of experience” (p. 25). Poetry has been used herein as a way to
illuminate emergent themes in my intersectional experience of being a Black woman and a
drama therapist living in the midst of the COVID-19 pandemic, as well as unrest and
uprising in the US. This exploration amplifies the relational dynamics that exist at the
intersection of the personal, professional, and social-cultural. To be clear, the
reflections herein represent a moment in time, a snapshot of my experience(s) against
the backdrop of the current moment. It is not an exhaustive exploration of my experience
nor a reflection of all Black experiences. This work was born out of
contending with the multi-layered contexts and complexities that the present holds. The
present is at once holding the past, the now, and the potential(s) of the future…
Specifically, as a Black woman I recognize my body is holding multiple affective and
connective layers. Living through COVID-19/unrest/uprising, I/my body has at once
registered grief and overwhelm while also feeling deeply and cellularly prepared to face
chaos, upheaval and uncertainty…
Procedure
Two guiding questions informed the exploration herein: 1) What weighs on the Black drama
therapist in the midst of the COVID-19 pandemic and living within the context of
enduring racial oppression? 2) What uplifts the Black drama therapist in the midst of
the COVID-19 pandemic and living within the context of enduring racial oppression? As I
encountered and engaged with personal experiences, memories, news, and historical
resonances that related to the questions, poetic reflection was used to respond. The
poems titled “I’ve Been Here Before” and “The Mo(u)rning After” emerged in a different
manner. “I’ve Been Here Before” was created as part of a creative writing meeting in
response to Arundhati Roy’s (2020) essay “The
Pandemic is a Portal.” The poem, “The Mo(u)rning After” was also
written in a creative writing group in response to the social-cultural climate. Though
these pieces did not follow the structure of poetic journaling, they have been included
for their resonance to this exploration. Once each poem was written, I read and often
re-read the pieces and then chose one reflection/memory/encounter to represent the
threads embedded within each piece. This creative/reflexive/alchemical process of moving
memory/history into poetry and then distilling experience from the poetic emerged
organically and is indicative of the interconnectedness of the personal and the
poetic.
Structure
The poems and reflections are written in the theme of an album and the guiding questions
represent the different sides of the album. A brief explanation precedes each track,
though not all ideas and expressions are expanded upon in order to be legible by all.
This was an intentional choice to allow the experiences and reflections to be shared as
if I am speaking into a mirror (one that reflects me). I am aware that
this means some will read these pieces and, perhaps, find a reflection of themselves.
Others may read the pieces and feel resonances to their own experiences through their
own projections. Still others may find these pieces to be illegible. As a Black woman, I
spend much time translating my thoughts in a way that is legible to dominant
expectations. The following album plays as is and unapologetically in
the Black expressions. The definitions layered throughout were all pulled from
Merriam-Webster (n.d.) and were intentionally chosen to fit each
track.
Album: Black on Both Sides
Side A: What weighs on the Black drama therapist in the midst of the
COVID-19 pandemic and living within the context of enduring racial oppression?
[track: a path made by or as if by repeated footfalls]
I was sitting in a team meeting, some time ago, while a colleague expressed her
frustration about a patient who, in her opinion, “should not have been admitted. He is
here for two hots and cot.” She repeated that phrase, “two hots and a cot,” several
times as she rolled her eyes at the audacity of this person seeking safety. My
colleague, a white woman, was casually dismissing our patient, a Black man. Her words
spoke to the elusive truth that what we call health care systems are often devoid of
care. Care would recognize that not having basic needs met, including
food and shelter, is distressing. Being food and housing insecure is distressing, which
is a mental health concern. However, white supremacy culture and its
parent (capitalism–which is inherently racialized) have socialized us to affix value and
worth to care. This meeting is one of so many where I have heard
colleagues dismiss the needs of Black people across intersection(s) of class, gender,
ability, size, sexuality and {…}. The oppressive systems in those
comments/sentiments/thoughts that seep into action/behaviors are the same ones that fuel
the swelled disparities that COVID-19 has amplified. They are intertwined.
Track 1: A Wound That Never HealsThis is not an ouch that can be kissed awayThis is not a hurt that aches the same for each of usAnd this feeling, suffering, is not new to someThis suffering is not all encompassing for allFor some, pain and grief existed as daily companions beforeAnd now this COVID weight rests atop the mournful moundThis is not a boo-boo that will heal on its ownThis is not a wound that will heal with timeNo, recovery will require actionA recovery will require careA tending to the open injuriesA reckoning with the parts that acheFrom centuries of disregardAnd the parts that bleedFrom the persistent bludgeoning In the same unhealed woundThe soul of this country Has a wound that has never been cared forA rupture that has never closedA wound left untendedWill rotAnd spreadThe flesh will fall apartThings have indeed fallen apartThe heart and very soul of this countryHas rotted at its coreBecause of refusal to lookAt the deep tearsTo stare in the abyss Of a dark cavernous divideThat holds the true origin storyOf a country stolenBuilt on the blood and backsOf Native AmericansOf Black folxThe real hoaxIs the re-scriptingOf a true life horror storyThe birth of this nationThe condition of this worldAnti-Black hatredThe soup for non-Black soulsBlack social deathBlack deathBlackBlack gets removed from the personAnd assumed as something for your consumptionThis is here and nowAnd there and thenAnd there and then Is here and now We are living historyThere is no mystery hereBut I ask you this questionWhat makes you think I belong to youWhy do you believe the world is yoursDo you know who you is[track: the parallel rails of a railroad]
I recall being a new drama therapist running a group (as an outside facilitator) at a
residential treatment facility that housed predominantly Black and Brown youth. One
particular day two Black youth, one who had dark skin (J) and the other who had a
lighter complexion (P), began to argue. A staff member stepped in to break up the fight.
However, this staff member specifically targeted J, the darker complected youth, saying,
“You’re always causing problems. Why can’t you just sit down and chill? You are always
doing too much.” His rebuke went on from there and had an underlying tone of disdain.
While my co-facilitator and I were able to redirect the moment, the harm/violence had
been done. I watched as J was publicly shamed and disproportionately targeted. This
occurrence emerged as a consistent pattern during my time at this site. J’s actions were
consistently judged and responded to more harshly by many staff members. This is not, of
course, an anomaly. It was, however, devastating to witness this beautiful Black child
be so openly mistreated. Moments such as this are so common that they are normalized.
This makes the sinkage into complicity so seamless and elusive that even those
clinicians who, perhaps, consciously oppose such behavior are likely consistently
complicit with it. As you take in that last sentence, I ask you to consider if you have
witnessed (or participated in) similar moments. If discussion and understanding of
anti-Blackness is not central to training, we can be sure that therapists will
consciously and unconsciously be strong arms of it. If Black students do not have
necessary support in training, we can be sure they will be asked to hold grief they
should not have to carry alone. I also recognize that though the grief is heavy, it is
important that I, as a Black woman, let it in. It is this grief that fuels my fire to
consistently fight. And yet…
Track 2: Grief Crept InYou came close Snuggled next to meWrapped your arms around me Then climbed on top of meAnd released your full weight into meI hate you And yet, I need youAnd yet, you feel so badAnd yet, you feel so goodAnd yetAndYet[track: a way of life, conduct, or action]
My second internship experience, when I was in graduate school, was on a forensics unit.
The unit was comprised of predominantly Black men. I recall an encounter where I was
speaking with a Black patient as we were waiting to go to recreational (rec) time. As we
were talking, a correctional officer (CO) came over and began to cuff his hands and
feet. It was hard for me, in that moment, to sustain eye contact with my patient. As he
was being so aggressively and dismissively handled, I could not bear to witness it… to
witness him. I felt ashamed to be an extension of a system that refused
to see him as human. This tension, being part of systems that are harmful to Black
people, is constant. Carceral logics do not just exist in forensics units; they are
embedded across all systems of care and steeped in anti-Blackness.
Elemental change and a (re)imagining of care are required with/in
mental health care, including the creative arts therapies, to uproot plantation and
carceral logics from its/our core(s). We must understand that the storms are not just
outside and ask ourselves if we recognize how/where the unrest
exists inside.
Track 3: The StormIt is reigning terrorIt is hard to see throughThe Snow White supremacyLet it pass, this hail of colonizationThe lightening breaks throughThe dark of her skinRevealing the self-hate she has taken inHere comes the sonStripped from his mother’s armsOn the plantationAt the border The earth quakes The sky criesThe wind ragesFor the kids who cryAfraid in cages
The Flip Side: What (up)lifts the Black drama therapist in the midst of the
COVID-19 pandemic and living within the context of enduring racial oppression?
[track: detectable evidence (such as the wake of a ship, a line of footprints, or a wheel rut) that something has passed]
During the COVID-19 pandemic, I have worked more, across every context, than ever
before. While I have certainly felt drained and, at times, overwhelmed; I have also felt
prepared to meet the chaos, unrest and uncertainty. I [we] have long understood the
precarity of life, the fragility of a moment, and the fluidity of experience… it is
historical and ancestral. I have been surprised (and also not) by how much loss, grief,
hope/lessness, dis/ruption, and {…} I have been able to hold while
carrying on. And yet, this is something Black people have long
known… have long done. A Black colleague of mine mentioned recently that they were not
only surviving, but thriving, during this time because they know intimately how to live
in and through turbulence. We, Black people, have been here before.
Track 1: I’ve Been Here BeforeThe mightiest opponent is the one you can’t seeIt sneaks up and attacksYou don’t even know you’ve been caughtUntil you are deep in its gripsYour chest burns with fireYour throat swells with heatYou summon all your internal defenses to fightAware that something is trying to take you outAnd then you rememberI know this fightI [my ancestors] have fought similar battlesVictory courses through my veinsI may not make it but my fighting is not in vainThis is a dark night that will be longI know there is no knight coming to save meThere will be lossThere will be mourningAnd yet, this dawn will breakMorning will comeThe powerful who have fallenWill remain on their kneesBattered and bruisedBut the mighty are thoseWho have been dismissed and discardedFor years…centuries…counted as outAnd yet, we remainThe mighty are the marginalized And the mighty will standYou see, I’ve been here beforeIn a fight against erasureViruses of many sorts have sought to end meMy body knows survivalIt is coded in my DNAThe mighty are the marginalizedAnd the mighty will stand[track: to leave tracks]
It’s that the creative arts therapies struggle to hold its Black clinicians for me.
Across the modalities there are wounds that have been unattended and consistently
(re)opened. The creative arts therapies are not exempt from white supremacy, racial
capitalism, heteropatriarchy and {…}… this must be named and faced directly for change
to occur. I am concerned about the degree to which the foundation(s) of the creative
arts therapies are inherently appropriative. For example, the foundational writings
with/in the creative arts therapies are predominantly written by white
men and white women, while white women are the predominant
practitioners. This sets the conditions that predominantly
white people who often work with predominantly Black and Brown patients are
selling/mandating/offering treatment to communities that have inherent
cultural/ancestral knowing to the very arts-based practices upon which the field(s)
stand. Yet, the acknowledgement and attribution of that knowledge is largely missing
with/in the field.
It’s the power and protection of my ancestors for me…. enduring legacy that refuses to
be removed from the record no matter the tools of erasure they might face. I recall the
first (and only) time I met Cliff Joseph, who is/was/is a leader in the field of art
therapy, an incredible artist and activist with enduring work rooted in anti-racism and
anti-imperialism. It was in 2019 when the Critical Pedagogies in the Arts Therapies
(CPAT) Alliance awarded him with the inaugural Cliff Joseph Award for his profound
breadth of work and service. The award ceremony was part of a larger conference event
and those of us in attendance were gifted with the opportunity to hear his wisdom
directly that day. His colleagues, mentees and past students spoke to the mighty impact
that he had on their lives. I felt an indescribable energy in his presence. This moment
amplified the importance and necessity of representation/reflection/cultural
connection/history/lineage. Cliff Joseph’s work, presence and perseverance paved the way
for others. And, in coming to know his work and being in his presence, his light shined
on my own path and travels with me. I am grateful for this moment; I am grateful for
Cliff Joseph. I am thankful to my ancestors and their ever-presence.
Track 2: My Body is a Full HouseMy Black Bones are laced with historyMy ancestors’ legaciesNarratives told and untoldKnown and unknownTrial and tribulationJubilation...Across the generations of this nationI hold a multitude...I hold my historyI hold meI hold youMy body is a full houseMy body is fullMy body isMy body…[track: a sequence of events: a train of ideas]
I remember the young Black man on the forensics unit, incarcerated for a minor crime,
who barely came to my groups. On the last day of my internship, he looked me in my eyes
and said, “I wish you all the best. I hope when you graduate you get a good paying job.”
He was still waiting to find out the fate of his future and yet he was invested in the
success of mine. I remember the Black gender queer person who worried for their own
bodily safety but persisted in their activism and protest even when they faced harsh
criticism and pushback. I remember the Black man who knew he was facing life in prison
who looked me in the eyes to assure me he would be okay and that our work together made
a meaningful difference in his life. I didn’t have the words then to let him know how
our work together made a deeply meaningful difference in mine. I
remember the Black man who tried to tell the psychiatrist about the abuse he suffered as
a young boy. The psychiatrist cut him off to say, “Shh… no no… that is not what we are
here to talk about. We are here to talk about your medicine.” And then I watched as the
staff wondered about this patient’s “violent outbursts.” I remember the Black woman with
a traumatic brain injury who came to all of my groups and smiled the sweetest smile and
would always say, “Hey, I’m here.” I remember the trans Black woman who came to every
single group and supported every single group member. She reminded herself and all of us
how the more we shine the more others will want to find a way to dim/inish us. I
remember. Remember. Re/member.
Track 3: The Mo(u)rning AfterHistory keeps on happeningThis repetitionThis disturbing loopThis track on repeatIf it’s not a whip that beatsIt’s a gun shot ringThe bell of freedom has no sound‘Cause the bell can’t ringIt’s being drowned outThis track is tiredThe master copyHas replicated so many timesThat the original versionHides behind all its duplicatesThe duplicates are so close to the original That they might as well be the masterI escape to my sleep to taste freedomAnd even there Black life does not matterThe track never stopsIt just plays onI am weighted But I won’t be undone by this sad songFor I know that the master(’s) design was to erase usAnd yet we are still here And yet..Conclusion
To be Black in the United States is to experience moments of racialized oppression on a
daily and persistent basis. In 1961, when James Baldwin was asked about the experience
of being Black in America by a radio host, he replied:
To be a Negro in this country and to be relatively conscious is to be in a state of
rage almost, almost all of the time—and in one's work. And part of the rage is this:
It isn't only what is happening to you. But it's what's happening all around you and
all of the time in the face of the most extraordinary and criminal indifference,
indifference of most white people in this country, and their ignorance. (Baldwin et al., 1961)
The moments I have recalled in this poessay (both spoken and those that live in the
undercurrents of poetic distillation) have happened to me and
around me. The moments call up rage and pain; the poetry is a space
(and practice) of holding and healing…salve to my wounds.
In this poessay, I am unapologetically taking up space in my Blackness and re/claiming
my time (past and present). I am intentionally naming pains wounds and re/harnessing my
own stories. Each of these recalled moments exist as part of a colonial legacy; within
this context, these manifestations seek to cause irreparable harm and dis/member me.
This poessay is an act of re/membering myself against the backdrop of hostile
environments and histories. This poessay intentionally does not seek to resolve, explain
or defend the tensions explored herein. Rather, I have brought my body (at a moment in
time) to the page because my body is inextricably connected to my body
of work. And, in so doing, I am following the wisdom of Toni Morrison and writing Black
in; I am writing what I have wanted and needed to read in my journey as a therapist. I
write this for me and for those who may see themselves reflected…
About the Author
Britton Williams is a Black woman. Drama Therapist. A myriad of hyphens and ands. She is
a teacher and student. A thinker and dreamer. She is urgently concerned with the
possibilities that live with/in radical (re)imagining and the inextricable connectedness
of healing and liberation. And...
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