Black domestic servants were forced to enter through backdoors, earn pennies for hours of labor, clean homes they were forbidden to own and prepare food for tables they were not allowed to eat from. Realizing Chicago neighborhoods were just as segregated as Southern lunch counters, my Grandma Lucille was one of the first Blacks to purchase a home in Calumet Heights, a quaint all-White community on Chicago’s South Side. The banking industry’s redlining practices created a racial wealth gap and drew clear racial boundaries around the city’s neighborhoods. Sadly, many of those boundaries still exist today. Lucille challenged those practices, she not only built a home for her family but she laid the foundation to building a strong Black Community.

When the June 2020 uprisings began and folks started breaking into stores in my community, I walked less than a block from home to a nearby strip mall to see what was going on. Standing there in flip-flops and pajamas, empty handed, not knowing what to do — wondering how to keep my community safe, how to hold my community, and stop this destruction from happening.

“As we desperately grasp those moments to replace the pain that now fills the void in our hearts, our minds wander more deeply about the missing patches in the quilt.”

I stood perplexed in front of the shattered glass of the ransacked T-Mobile store. Not only did I feel defeated in protecting the legacies left by our ancestors like my grandmother Lucille, I felt betrayed by the very people this community was built to serve.

A young man approached me asking how he could help? I used his phone to call a neighbor and one by one folks showed up. We cleaned, sang songs, hung old sheets across the shattered window and colorfully painted positive messages. We held our little strip mall down all day, turning folks away, and facing frightening situations as McDonalds, Walgreens, and Kenwood Liquors along with other stores around us got beat or burned down. Sometimes it was simply our presence that made them pick easier targets. Other times, we told our stories and that’s what kept people away.

At one point, I tried to tell my story to someone who had just arrived in a car, but he and his friends — one wielding a hammer! — tried to run me down. I was able to escape by jumping on some concrete dividers to keep from literally getting run down as I’d seen the car bumper on the heels of my feet. The verbal exchange left me lost, again not knowing what to do next. I yelled to the young man wielding the hammer, “You’re trying to kill another Black person!” He quickly retorts with “F**k you B*#ch!” His continued ranting of obscenities lends enough time for me to jump in my sister’s car. I shouted, “I love you,” as we drove away.

Very soon after this incident, I found myself in a very different setting, attending the CSS Advanced Training, learning and gathering online with other changemakers.

Patchwork quilts are a vital part of the life and story of southern Pan African families. Each tells its own story.

One of the first activities was a Story Object Circle — each of us went in turn presenting an object and telling a story to go with it about why we do the work we do. I knew my story had to be about the patchwork quilt nearby on my bed.

I’ve shared the story about my old blanket hundreds of times. It was made by both of my grandmothers, who worked on it and completed it together. This blanket welcomed me, my sister, her children, and my son — all of us — into the world when we were each born. It’s been passed down through generations. This story is often followed by memories of who and what we’ve lost and sacrificed along the way. As we desperately grasp those moments to replace the pain that now fills the void in our hearts, our minds wander more deeply about the missing patches in the quilt.

CSS encouraged me to use my radical imagination and shift the narrative. As I pondered the strip mall event I thought about my community burning down and realized the stories of hardship, loss, and pain are usually the stories we remember to tell. This storytelling exercise helped me to embrace the story I had forgotten to remember.

Don’t forget to remember the “Why”. The Why is the real struggle of our journey — Why we started to carve a new path toward future possibilities and go against the grain — why did we decide to take the leap of faith even though our hands were shaking, knees were knocking, pee running down our legs, and above all our hearts skipping beats with pure joy as we jump from the cliff anyway knowing we could lose it all.

At first glance my blanket looks like a tattered forget-me-not, but it’s so much more. I thought about this quilt that has done so much connecting. Patchwork quilts are a vital part of the life and story of southern Pan African families. Each tells its own story. Usually made of old clothes or rags that kids can’t wear anymore or that the kids have outgrown — cut up and turn ‘em into quilts!

My mom told me stories about how these blankets got made. Men and women alike labored in the fields during the day and cared for their families at night. Men kept watch to protect their community from lynchmen while women gathered to quilt. They sang old hymns and told stories next to the fire. The children gathered at their feet to mind cinders that may spark a flame. A strong large frame made from used wood held the tapestry as they were careful with each stitch. Men provided for several households and women raised their blended families together. Cousins, half - siblings, or step - parents were not recognized as such but rather embraced as sisters, brothers, mother, father, grandmother, grandfather and so on. Even close neighbors were addressed as aunt or uncle. It was one family, one village and one tribe, together. They shared their resources, made transformational connections, and embraced every member of the community.

My grandmother Lucille was more than a domestic worker; she was an educator, artist, activist, and missionary. My maternal grandmother, Vinnie, worked old farms and plantations down south, an Alabama native. Her mother, a formerly enslaved Indigenous child, taught her quilting, Negro Spirituals, and how to protect her family. Vinnie was more than a sharecropper, she was a builder of tribes and nations.

“...create a platform for Black people to tell stories in their own neighborhoods about how we were changing them for the better. Give power to voice by demonstrating we have the ability to name ourselves, shape our stories, and shift the trajectory of our lives.”

Now I start my story by saying, “I have a magical blanket that heals and protects. Wherever I take it, I stand boldly in my truth. It's torn in some places and scorned in others but it’s still beautiful, heavy, comforting, and warm. It was made by two African high priestesses.” This quilt was made in a time and place where there was a high value of everyone taking care of each other — very different from the nuclear family and all that stuff. Each patch, cut from different clothes, represents someone; everyone was represented. Clothes from mom, grandmothers, father, so many patches that represent everybody within the village. Even across so much difference, this blanket reminds me that conflict is meant to bring us together not divide us. And even that difference, when woven together, can make us stronger and more beautiful.

This view about community, made tangible by the quilt, grounds me even today, reminding me to call people in, instead of calling them out; that as long as you are in my presence, you are my family. We as people are inextricably woven together. The quilt is a visible manifestation of connectedness.

“Fire breathing dragons began to burn our village,” is now the climax of my story. This is a reflection of the moment that me and the young man wielding the hammer became more than two individuals behind flawed eyes. And as the old African proverb goes, “the child who is not embraced by his village will burn it down just to feel the warmth.” I knew that that's what was happening in those strip mall moments, as I now know those missing patches are to welcome all children to a space and place where they belong that they may feel the warmth of our village.

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These two experiences combined to crystallize a project I’d been thinking about for a long time into what I now call the Black Cornerstones Project (BCP). I knew I wanted to use story to shape and reshape my community for the better. And I had a concrete idea for how to do it: create a platform for Black people to tell stories in their own neighborhoods about how we were changing them for the better. Give power to voice by demonstrating we have the ability to name ourselves, shape our stories, and shift the trajectory of our lives.

I decided to try and move towards this platform for one year. I knew if I was going to do that, I’d need funding and some other support, so I reached back out to Lawrence, the Network Engagement Manager, at CSS.

As we engaged in conversations about BCP, we discussed that a mission, vision, and values would be in service to the work. When I went to dig in on them, I had a breakthrough: they’re each about different time horizons!

What links us to our past? Our elders and ancestors. Blood or not, any folks who have paved the road before can serve as examples. Many of them have opened doors we wouldn't have been able to access otherwise. Their principles and ways of moving become our values.

What informs your present? Can you fully accept who you are? Do you know the difference between fact and the truth? Facts change, truths remain constant. Based on the truth of who you are and what is needed in the world, what are you doing about it? That’s your mission.

And what grounds us in the future? We can do and be anything we want. We design and take ownership of and agency of our lives. But how do we know what to act on if we don’t know where we’re going? Vision is what grounds us in the future.

So here I am, running the Black Cornerstones Project and proud to share our Vision, Mission, and Values:

Vision - Shaping Our Tomorrow: Black voices transforming radical dreams of freedom to construct new realities of liberation

Mission - Transforming Our Today: Black People co-creating bold spaces for truth, healing, & transformation in places where communities connect

Values - Honoring Our Yesterday: Love & Courageous Curiosity. Creativity & Radical Imagination. Collective Leadership & Righteous Rage.

We have recently been funded by Voqal and in-kind donations from community members. In three short months we raised $63,000 of our $150,000 project budget. Over the next six months we have set some ambitious goals. We plan to collect 120 stories to launch our online story bank called the Story Quilt and raise an additional $87,000 to develop an online organizing app for Black and Pan-African communities and hire two local residents in the capacity of Organizing Directors. If you would like to support the work of BCP, you can check out our website Blackcornerstones.com

Community is Love in Action

Patchwork Quilt: Holding past, present & future with the Black Cornerstones Project