I was relatively quiet during Black History Month, because I realized I didn’t need to be as loud.

Loud about making sure Black Lives Matter and even Black history. 

You know, because we live in a world where power companies ruin lives, but have time to make Black history posts on social media.

When LinkedIN (and so many other corporate logos) were the colors of the Pan-African flag, but the actual Black and African people were routinely silenced and shadowbanned during one of the most important liberation movement moments in our lifetime.

When Audre Lorde is the Google Doodle on her birthday (that she shares with Toni Morrison and my paternal grandmother), but that same company proved her point that the masters tools can’t dismantle the masters house, when a Stanford-educated, award-winning  contemporary Black woman employee that they asked to challenge them on equity, gets fired because of a hot email. 

I think that’s exactly why I’ve been quiet this month, relatively. Because we are in need of hot, piping emails. 

Like this one.

Because I grieve and I mourn that all this equity we’ve gotten so enamored with lately, is honestly just seats at the table and check boxes, and clout chasing, and not restitution and reparations and co-conspiritorship and healing.

Because I never knew that my grandmother was born on the same day as Audre and Toni. She died in a cloud of trauma 11 years before I was born and I’ve only ever seen two pictures of her.

Yet, in those pictures, I still saw a woman who despite everything she lived though up until those points, she had a quiet dignity. 

I was told by my dad and his siblings that her table was never empty and if someone needed a bite to eat, there was always one at her house. Much like my maternal grandmother, who’s also recently set up an eternal kitchen on the other side, leaving us to the memory of the physical one that never closed and didn’t cost anything to drop in.

It’s on the strength of my grandmothers who knew how to create spaces in spite of the deepest days of segregation and Jim Crow, who broke barriers (my maternal grandmother was one of the first Black cafeteria managers in Alamance County, NC), that I have sought to make this a space where other Black womyn, and Black queer, trans and non-binary folks, can be at home, both in the active built environment and land use industry and period, in those communities that have been created by those spaces.

I want to first thank the 23 Black womyn-identified folks who took my survey last year, as well as those of you who fall under the Black womyn-identified, trans, queer and nonbinary community from this year’s survey (and especially those who took it twice). You sharing this information will make it better for all of us. I will be digging deeper into those answers, especially with the pandemic and its effects. I’ll also be reaching out to you later this year for some focus groups (that will be paid!).

Secondly, allies and accomplices who got access to the survey this year, your opinions have been especially valuable as I compare and contrast perception of what spaces are friendly to us as Black queer people, and especially those of us women/femme identified. A couple of you highlighted how as non-Black POC, there are still disparities in how you’re treated and how your neighborhoods are fairing. Plus, you helped put several metro areas higher on the list of myself and Les’s rankings of our personal happy places. Here are those metro areas listed in alphabetical order:

Atlanta

Chicago

Dallas-Fort Worth

Detroit

Los Angeles

New York (Tri-State)

Philadelphia

Piedmont Triad, NC (Greensboro, Winston-Salem, High Point)

Pittsburgh

Research Triangle, NC (Raleigh, Durham, Chapel Hill, Cary)

San Francisco Bay Area (Oakland, Silicon Valley)

Minneapolis/ St. Paul

Washington, DC (inclusive of Northern Virginia, and the adjacent Maryland Counties)

I know deep in my heart that this list is incomplete. These cities listed above have at least 100,000 Black woman-identified people. Several of you passed our personal likes tests, but you have less than 100,000 Black women. Know that we’ll be calling up those of you who reped and campaigned really hard for us to move to your smaller cities. And I know Baltimore, New Orleans, Charlotte and Birmingham can check all these boxes, but I only had one or none responses, so based on this very small sample of folks, this is where we are.

So head over to the main survey and  please keep sharing(or come back and finish)  because I know some of these metro areas do have those spaces and some of you who haven’t had a chance to share do have the keys to that information. Also, Black woman-identified and non-binary femme folks, the orginal survey is open and I would love to get your open-ended answers on our personal “happy place” questions and include you in that paid focus group if you’re interested.

Oh, and the contest winner has received a separate message from me, with information on how to claim their prize.

Finally, those of you who are in The Black Queer Feminist Urbanist School pilot have a new lesson from a slightly hidden, but very relevant historical figure, Mary Ann Shadd Cary. 

Plus, for those of you in the Mighty Networks pilot and who are pledged at at least the $10 level on Patreon will be treated to a conversation with the authors of Retrofitting Suburbia, Ellen Dunham-Jones and June Wilkerson, that we will be recording next week and releasing towards the middle of the month, to honor Women’s History Month and to continue our everyday celebration of Black History Month. 

Those of you subscribed at the new Public Lecture level(and who are in our special BIPOC community on Mighty Networks)  will get new interviews like this, a deep dive into my survey methodology(also coming later in March) and instant access to old podcast episodes.

You’ll also be supporting the creation of spaces where being unapologetically Black and woman-identified and/or queer, trans and nonbinary are joys and culture adds, not a nuisance.

Because we are a wildfire. Not of destruction, but of live-giving energy.

Roaring into March like the lions we are.

Thanks for being here and I’m happy I can be here for you,

Kristen

This is The Black Urbanist Monthly. I’m Kristen Jeffers and I’m making this monthly digital newsletter to share my Black, Spiritual, Diasporic North Carolinian, Working/Lower Middle-Class, Educated, Queer, CisFemme thoughts on how places and communities work. Think of this as my monthly column, the one that flaps open as you start browsing that coffee table magazine or printed alt-weekly newspaper or as so many other of your favorite newsletters do, in your inbox. This is a special edition!

Hello everyone! I wanted to drop back onto the site in the middle of the month, because this is a very special month. 

I am a proud Black Queer Feminist Urbanist non-binary femme person. And I’m dedicating my work and platforms to asking if the spaces I like to inhabit are safe, affirming and secure for me and those like me.

This month in the United States, as we reflect on Black people’s past present and future, I want to take this opportunity to ask you, all of you, to reflect on a series of questions I first presented last year, strictly to other Black womxn-identified people who reside in what is known as the United States, to comment on both whether or not things I love are available ,if they’ve experienced certain land-use and development challenges, and if they are thriving in spite of all the things that challenge us.

The pandemic paused our first survey, but now I’m reopening the survey to everyone, so I can build a body of data to measure how Black Queer Feminist folx can thrive in spaces in general and as urbanists! 

This data will be available for all who need it so we can have better measures around how urbanist theory and practices intersect with Black Queer Feminism. 

The survey is also shorter this year and can be anonymous or you can choose to tell me who you are and contribute more ideas in a future survey.

And yes, there will be a reward! One lucky person will receive a $25 digital gift card! I’ll announce the winner in my regular newsletter at the end of the month.

Several of you did last year’s pre-pandemic survey and I’m grateful. Others of you have done this year’s survey and shared it far and wide, and I’m also grateful for you too.

I’m finding out some very interesting things with these surveys and in my usual end/beginning of the month newsletter for February/March, I’ll share a few of those findings, plus, an invite to a special conversation that you won’t want to miss and for those of you enrolled in the school pilot/online circles, two new lessons centered on Black women’s political power, will also drop on February 28th.

In the meantime,

Fill out the survey

Share the survey on Twitter:

I’ll be back in your inbox on February 28th with some findings and more announcements.

See you soon,

Kristen

Starting tomorrow, we will enter our normal period of mass celebrations and acknowledgement of Black history. 

However, for those of us who have started to and always live our lives inside and out around the principle that Black lives, all of them, matter, this month is a challenge and a call to us to usher in the Black future.

Time does not stand still, so it is coming anyway. 

Holding back parts of that future was never acceptable, but now it is no longer tolerable or humane. 

For me, my first step in this process was welcoming the future in my mind and imaging joy and abundance for myself and others.

I grew up with all the threats of violence and famine, the scary dystopian prophecies that spread far across galaxies and others that stayed close to home.

Often those fears flood back. In 2019 it was right after I read  Butler’s Parable of the Sower for the first time and sat in fear of so many people knowing who I really was and failing to provide me with the income and resources I needed or stripping those resources away.

That was rooted in fears I’ve had since childhood and that showed up in my early adulthood years in North Carolina of not having control, of being a sin, of never being good enough, of being too good. 

In my nomadic and diasporic years of late, the feeling that I’ve never be good enough bumps up against the cost of living and doing business in places that are further along on the measures of my humanity as it comes out of the box. 

This pandemic time has been a grounding and healing force. More people have began to understand that we do not have time to waste to get things right when it comes to civil and human rights. 

And yes, those of us who are place-keepers and makers are the front lines of ensuring positive futures.

I’ve elected to ensure that future is Black, Queer and Feminist, coupled with Urbanist, in its purest sense of supporting a transect of development and support of people and places.

You of course can be part of that vision! Here’s how:

• Share this newsletter
• Join us in one of my online circles as we pilot becoming a full school
• Fill out my survey on if your city is supportive to Black Queer Feminist Urbanists, either like me or similar to me.
• Mark your calendars and watch your social feeds for several virtual conversations with me and others, as well as more opportunities to learn about the school and online circles.

Thank you for filling out existing surveys, participating and getting value out of the circles, inviting me for keynotes and to contribute articles and and for facilitating my Black Queer Feminist Urbanist Future!

This is The Black Urbanist Monthly. I’m Kristen Jeffers and I’m making this monthly digital newsletter to share my Black, Spiritual, Diasporic North Carolinian, Working/Lower Middle-Class, Educated, Queer, CisFemme thoughts on how places and communities work. Think of this as my monthly column, the one that flaps open as you start browsing that coffee table magazine or printed alt-weekly newspaper or as so many other of your favorite newsletters do, in your inbox. This is the one that will transition us from December 2020 to January 2021.

I expected this year to be special, because it was my 10th anniversary year creating this platform. I expected to have this big 10th anniversary party with a big cake and all my family and friends surrounding me and reading from the finished A Black Urbanist and preparing to go on book tour.

But the year I got was good too. How?

• Coming out publicly and to family, which has allowed me to breathe in a way I’ve not been able to in years. Also, reconnecting with family in general, thanks to check-in Zooms.
• Having major interviews and bylines in Sierra Magazine and Streetsblog, along with those Zoom panels and keynotes despite working on a tray table in my bed.
• Collaborating with several pro-Black planners and urbanists to start building up a Black urbanist media and thought-leadership collective, plus drafting a curriculum and support network of my own, that honors Black queer feminist people and their work in the canon of urbanism and placemaking.
• Helping Les start podcasting, work-from-home in defiance of her office’s declaration of essential work and taking her advocacy work to the next level with endoQueer.
• Using my sadness at the loss of beloved people, stores, institutions and the ability to go out to eat and to concerts, to get better at my crochet, go on lots of harbor trail walks and drive around the metro region and get a sense of how vast the suburban areas are on both sides of the Potomac.
• And, because a lot of the wishes from prior years came true.

In fact, let’s revisit some of those wishes…

2011

I want to make it clear right now, that I do not see myself as THE Black Urbanist. As in the only and the best and the most important one. I want this site and it’s companion Twitter to inspire more theses, Twitter accounts, conversations and real-life solutions. I want to see other cultures represented in building styles, businesses and on bikes. The urban fabric would not be where it is without the culture that infuses its transit-oriented bones. If you are interested to contributing to this site in some way, let me know, I’ll be glad to have you!

2012

Reducing My Dependence on Chain Retail

This one is hard. I am a mall rat. Also, if I fail to support my local mall, we will lose some of the good remaining retail near my home. However, I realize more and more that the possessions I have do not matter as much as the people I have and that I share said possessions with. I think that I can make the most of being in a suburban area, by reducing my car trips to shopping areas and taking up more DIY projects. Also, when I can, I want to carpool. My belly will love it when I stop going to Bojangles as much and I’ll begin to use the things I already have more and save for travel.

Becoming More Competitive In a Glocal Market

Yes, I used the word Glocal. I am hoping to become location-independent in the next few years. This way, I could pick areas that are walkable/bikeable, but reasonably priced. Many bastions of walkability area are too affluent and pricey for the space provided. However, a nice small town with a lot of downtown stock (Sanford, NC and many New England towns come to mind), would be perfect. I could even set up a more permanent shop such as a coffee shop or fruit stand if I wanted, because I have an income stream that allows me to contribute to an area that needs it. I am still open to being somewhere large and already vibrant, but without commuting expenses. I would like to start a family. Unfortunately, there is a great fight for urbanist and family friendly areas that are affordable. I want to set roots so that I can help ease that transition for myself and others.

2013

This year, my wish manifests in one word:

Maintain.

It’s nice to have brand new town center neighborhoods, but let’s not forget to maintain the old ones, especially those that were already town centers.

It’s nice to have brand new transit lines, but lets not forget to maintain the old buses and trains, so they won’t fall apart and stop coming on time.

It’s nice to have new civic centers, but let’s not forget to maintain the old recreation centers that serve so many children and their parents who need a nice community place, for a reasonable cost.

It’s nice to have new markets, but let’s not forget to maintain the old ones, lest they start to sell moldy or old food, because they don’t believe they have the clientele or the money to support good food.

It’s nice to have new homes, but let’s not forget the old ones, the ones that are well made, with unique, authentic features. Also, let’s not forget those who live in these older homes, that may have paid off their homes and have lived honest lives. Let’s help them maintain their American Dream, especially if they’ve been there for 30 years, fought for this country, endured racism, sexism, classism and any other isms. Sometimes, gradual change is good enough.

2014

More opportunities for youth to learn good citizenship

I’ve bled a lot of ink and blurred a lot of pixels about the cost of not engaging all of our youth and our citizens. The issue is near and dear to my heart, because I became engaged in placemaking and civic governance as a young child. My parents made sure I went to the library and they encouraged me to learn. So many people don’t have parents that do that, but there’s plenty of people in our community who can serve in that role for our youth. I want to find a way to do more of this myself, in a more productive and proactive way. I also think that if we don’t engage our youth, we will never be able to realize our placemaking dreams.

2015

Truly Open Streets

Remember this picture of me? I was playing on a B-cycle demonstration bike on the street that I helped paint, to have an open streets event there. Yet, from then to now, not just in Greensboro, but in many other cities, the streets haven’t been so open. In fact, many have been hostile. My wish is that we can start looking at people on our streets, not as threats, not as people to shake money out of, not as places to speculate our real estate futures and to shoot to kill, but as places where we can celebrate our achievements and what it means to be human. I might be wishing this every year, but I’m going to get us started there. If we block the streets in 2015, I pray that it’s to have a party, be at peace and be better neighbors.

2016 into 2017

Steady Rents and Mortgages

Every city that has at least a major employer; homes that resemble craftsman bungalows, art deco apartments or colonial row houses; has a college or two or three; and has reasonable diversity in population is seeing some form of gentrification, proportional to the average median household income. Every city has people who can’t make ends meet and in some places, it’s worse than others, because salaries are holding steady for a lot of industries, especially at the minimum wage and entry levels. But, if the housing market could as a whole lower their costs by maybe 10% on services, rents and the like (as well as themselves start to rely less on bank loans and a bit more on cash), maybe we could fix this. This will be a continuing wish, because I know what I just proposed isn’t practical. What however is practical, is empowering people to create craft and trade guilds and turn neighborhood association funds into a means to fund labor and supplies for these maintenance and building crews. My friend John Anderson has a great argument for continuing to mentor and cultivate tradesmen, especially in underserved communities who need lots of housework done, but may not have what it takes to hire outside workers.

Understanding of How Housing Policy and some Transportation Policy Has Created A Number of Social Ills.

Again, this combines elements of the two wishes above. People need to know the history of their neighborhoods, their states and their country. If you don’t like not having public transit, find out where the stops are and why your system exists. Same with your neighborhood and why you may have seen a restrictive covenant in the deed, even though technically those are illegal. At the very least understand why your Realtor still may have suggested a certain group of neighborhoods and why certain neighborhoods command high values (It’s not just because of proximity to Trader Joe’s). I want to use this space and other forums to help people understand why so many of our urban and suburban racial battles have roots back even further than the greater civil rights movements of the 1950s and 1960s. Maybe you weren’t aware of the origins of Oregon, but this post touches on that and how in least one state, capturing the American Dream was completely banned well into the 20th Century. (I’m also aware of the irony of this link in the light of the other link from wish 1.)

2017

That I wasn’t so afraid of the future and neither were so many other people

This is the linchpin to me of the most recent round of elections in the United States, as well as the last few election cycles. We’re afraid to die. We’re afraid of losing control. We’re afraid of never being in control. This is just a portion of the phenomenon that allows evil to raise up through our civic spaces, but it’s worth looking at by itself.

On a more personal level, I’ve been more afraid since the election. Mostly because I was afraid long before the election. I feel safe to say that I left both my hometown and the one I adopted from June 2015-September 2016 because I was afraid of being myself in the spaces I conducted myself in. I feared that I wasn’t square enough to be in elected and appointed politics. I felt super black, and not in a good, fists up, I matter kind of way. I felt smaller and smaller. I felt like I had to be involved in small town nitpicky things. I felt like I was running out of people. And energy. And time. So I’m in the D.C. Metro finally. I can’t say that it’s for good, only because life happens and life happens outside of me.

For our greater populace, we may not like each other. We may feel like people are invading our personal space and messing with our ego, but the world needs some of that. We need all kinds of spaces, safe, and unsafe. We need dense and open spaces. May we continue headfirst to the transect and may we look at everyone first and foremost as worthy of love and worthy of the best. Then stop building bad things, taking away good social programs that work and condemning folks to judgment places that probably don’t look like what you think they do in your head.

2017’s epic lessons learned post and my opening wishes for 2018

A lot has changed, but the forward motion of being myself, partnering with someone who loves me and supports me and raising money has come true. Still working on the marginalized peoples part.

2018 going into 2019

I couldn’t write it at the time, because I wasn’t ready, but much of what I did write in drafting this post became my coming out day post of this past year.

2019 into 2020

Everything I said last year is still true and in the wish column. Media, North Carolina, mask it up and get it together.

And now, going from 2020 into 2021, here’s what I can add:

• Kristpattern and the Black Queer Feminist Urbanist School create the passive income I need for me to be comfortably location-independent and that allows me to do the work I want to do, when I want to do it and take care of my family, my friends and my partner.
• The industry continues to do the work it promised to do to increase racial equity. This means being pro-Black, pro-gender non-conformity, pro-all class levels, paying equitably and retroactively, understanding when it’s time to pass the baton and restoring the legacies and work of those it stole or suppressed in route to catering to a white supremacist, whiteness first ideal. Oh and those of us who are Black — never stop using our radical imaginations, claim our space and heal on the inside and heal our communities.
• I can finally release A Black Urbanist Journey, with audiobook, e-book and in print and on tour.
• I continue to love, nourish and cherish my Black Queer Feminist Urbanist Southern self and know that I have everything I need, if only on the inside.

After all, I’ve learned over the last decade that the best wishes capture feelings, not so much specific items. If anything, those feelings create the action items and goals.

And in this time, where I can’t guarantee I’ll be alive next year, let alone next week, my biggest wish for 2021, is to be sitting in front of a computer, writing out 2022’s wishes, in good health and at peace.

As I’ve said throughout this pandemic, I hope you’ll be there with me too. Thank you for being here with me today and be sure to keep in touch via @blackurbanist or @kristpattern. And if you can, support this venture financially for the cost of a trip to the coffee house, via Patreon.

That’s all for 2020!

Love,

Kristen

This is The Black Urbanist Monthly. I’m Kristen Jeffers and I’m making this monthly digital newsletter to share my Black, Spiritual, Diasporic North Carolinian, Working/Lower Middle-Class, Educated, Queer, CisFemme thoughts on how places and communities work. Think of this as my monthly column, the one that flaps open as you start browsing that coffee table magazine or printed alt-weekly newspaper or as so many other of your favorite newsletters do, in your inbox. This is the one that will transition us from November to December of 2020.

When I originally sat down to write this letter, I couldn’t think of a single thing to be thankful for. After all, this year continues to be this year. 

But, when I look back over this year, I can honestly say I achieved exactly the intention I set for this year — to amplify the voices, work and and witness of Black women-identified & queer folks in the greater urbanism world. 

Did it happen exactly as I spelled out in my goals newsletter back in early January? No, but 2020 didn’t go as planned, period.

Yet, I’ve heard from so many of you that despite the calamities of this year, there was a lot of awesome and extraordinary. Same with me!

You’ve invited me to keynote and share thought leadership on several wonderful industry panels, podcasts and at virtual design days and class meetings across the world.

You’ve allowed me to mentor you as you create planning and urbanism platforms of your own and helped me curate one of many safe spaces for us as non-white urbanists on and off the internet.

Black women specifically — you gave such excellent feedback in my survey on your experiences in various metro areas and work various elements of place and urbanism (and it’s not too late to share or amend your thoughts!)

And I’m in the early stages of creating the educational media platform of my dreams, thanks to those of you on Patreon who donate at any level, and especially those of you who are receiving the Book Club/School videos directly. 

All those other goals are coming, but need a little more time to incubate. This year could be its own chapter in my book. However I’m so happy I got done what I got done and thus far have been relatively healthy. 

And of course, I’m still here period. We’ve lost so many folks to COVID-19 complications and other sicknesses and sudden deaths. 

I can’t end this without thinking about how Octavia Butler, who many of us have drawn wisdom from this year and I see as one of our great Black woman urbanists, set a goal to be a bestseller.

She wasn’t a New York Times bestseller until recently, but she sold enough in her lifetime to attract the attention of the MacArthur Foundation, who gave her one of their “genius” grants. The grants vary in amount, but their purpose is to make sure you don’t have to worry about expenses.

To me, that counts and I believe she believed it counted too. You can see the words straight out of her journal and check out the bus route and library where she wrote several of those bestsellers in this wonderful interactive map the Los Angeles Times put together of her writing world in the  Los Angeles Metro region. 

Let’s let her intuition and grit and flexibility around her intention, my gratitude towards you and the fact you survived to this point of the year, ignite your radical imagination as placemakers, policy builders, mentors, makers and designers to continue to improve our world.

After all, we had an election miracle. And a Black woman vice-president elect. Don’t tell me what’s impossible.

See you back here on New Year’s Eve with my annual dose of urbanist wishes and goals!

P.S. : As a gift to you, I’m opening up and sharing this video of the Black Queer Femnist Urbanist Book Club/School, on the Black maps created by the scholar authors of Chocolate Cities: A Black Map of American Life. Existing Patreons and folks in the Mighty Networks group, you have a new chapter upload and more to come very soon! Purchase the book via my Bookshop.org store and support the site and get free shipping until the end of today (11/30/2020).

(Image: Me on the National Mall on a nice quiet Sunday afternoon a couple of weeks ago. Les did a great job taking this picture).

This is The Black Urbanist Monthly. I’m Kristen Jeffers and I’m making this monthly digital newsletter to share my Black, Spiritual, Diasporic North Carolinian, Working/Lower Middle-Class, Educated, Queer, CisFemme thoughts on how places and communities work. Think of this as my monthly column, the one that flaps open as you start browsing that coffee table magazine or printed alt-weekly newspaper or as so many other of your favorite newsletters do, in your inbox. This is the one that will transition us from October to November of 2020.

This time of year has always been full of spookiness. This year is overdelivering.

But, I still have that hope I talked about as we started this month because as I stare down my own fears, I’ve been able to pull up many at the root and replace them with fulfilling fibers and fruit.

I could have been afraid to address industry and academic disparities ten years ago this month, and not launched this platform.

I could have stayed afraid to address many of the things I talked about on National Coming Out Day, but I’m glad I did because spiritual bondage and failure to be intersectional in how we make policy will create goblins we’ll never be able to settle.

I could be mourning at the feet of my beloved, but now dead online-only suburban clothier New York and Company, but instead, I picked up my crochet hooks and I’ve gotten re-acquainted with both my local yarn shops and the still remaining big-box craft suppliers and the wonderful community of folks I’ve encountered as I’ve breathed new life and fiber into Kristpattern.

Where fear tries to live, I replace it with clear analysis, action, and hope.

As we go into this month where we express gratitude, let us not forget the folks who originally claimed the lands many of us sit on. Let us not be afraid of continuing to dismantle the terrors of anti-Blackness, queer and transphobia, sexism and misogyny/misogynoir,  xenophobia, classism, colonialism, ableism and ageism and so many others that are felt but in-descriable.

Now, to the candy and enjoying my Lovecraft Country/Josephine Baker/Roaring 20s but make it 2020 Pandemic inspired costume, which you’ll see on all of my socials later today. 

Keep up with my socials so you’ll know when I drop things and consider supporting me at any level via Patreon.

And yes, the book is still coming.  

Take care of yourselves and I look forward to seeing you all soon!

P.S.  In my most recent chapter breakdown of Chocolate Cities: A Black Map of American Life, live today in both my Patreon and Mighty Networks book clubs, I break down how many cis-masculine Black men create villages, and I promise, I recorded these videos before the recent news around certain Black male celebrities endorsing our sitting president).

(Post image by Ben Cheung via Pexels).

This is The Black Urbanist Monthly. I’m Kristen Jeffers and I’m making this monthly digital newsletter to share my Black, Spiritual, Diasporic North Carolinian, Working/Lower Middle-Class, Educated, Queer, CisFemme thoughts on how places and communities work. Think of this as my monthly column, the one that flaps open as you start browsing that coffee table magazine or printed alt-weekly newspaper or as so many other of your favorite newsletters do, in your inbox. This is the one that will transition us from September to October of 2020.

We’ve made it to the end of another month. Not much has changed on my end. Other than garnering a little more hope through the depressions and anxieties.

Hope because many of us work on issues at the local level and so much of what is broken is local. 

Police violence is local. 

Lack of medical capacity is local. 

Voting is local

Discrimination and prejudice of all kinds is local.

Eviction laws are local.

Pre-K-12 education is local 

Higher Education is local

Zoning and development is local

Your home is local

Your family is local

You are local.

If you’ve been spinning your wheels trying to find the solution, it’s right in front of you. And since we’ve been in this pandemic world for the last six months, right in front of you is your family, your roommates, your own health and in some cases your job security, and ability to pay bills and keep a roof over your head.

When you do venture out your front door, the solutions come around to who gets to stay in business. Who got and who gets the toilet paper. Who can vote safely. Who gets covered properly in the press.

And depending on what kind of municipal government and state government you have (or work for), you have the power to feed, clothe, protect, insure and so many other things that are only enhanced or fully funded by the federal government.

It’s why in several of the talks I’ve had this year, in this post, in my full ten-year body of work and counting, I encourage and encouraged us to remember and know what kind of government is at our front door. And what kind of front doors do we and the people we claim to serve, even get to have.

Les and I recently binged the show Greenleaf, which just ended after five seasons. It addresses a lot of issues around the Black church, namely how it’s a resource and a refuge for so many, but for many others, there are issues around morality and respectability and even danger. The show doesn’t shy away from any of those things and doesn’t leave very many stones unturned. 

It challenges you to think about ways that we do and don’t protect institutions that celebrate culture, without that celebration being at the expense of others. It also challenges you to think about how secrecy and respectability can ruin or slow down progress on the local level. When one is getting life decisions from their Higher Power or faith connections (or lack thereof), no matter what you do as a builder or designer or government official, you may not break through.

However, there are ways. Those of you who are still joining me for the book club, the latest chapter of Chocolate Cities: A Black Map of American Life, also goes into how churches and other civic institutions deem people as unrespectable, even while claiming to be beacons of light for marginalized people. In both sections, I delve into how we can examine ourselves for internalized prejudices and we can do better about creating better environments. Join us in the section that’s right for you.

Finally, you’ll be hearing a bit more from me during this anniversary month. Some dates and projects have changed, but what hasn’t changed for all of us this year? I’m reaching in the air, tapping into that hope and I look forward to continuing to deliver it through my work and projects. 

Take care of yourselves and I look forward to seeing you all soon!

(Watch me share a version of these words above or you can skim and read the script I started with below, which has links to several of the things I talked about in the video).

Hey folks. Kristen here and as I come to the end of another month and  the end of another calendar season, I wanted to check in and reflect a bit over the last month.

First of all, I think I do best with doing these newsletters monthly and then giving more time and energy to my virtual classrooms and offline design and art projects. So, if you want to hear more from me, you’ll want to join me in one of my online circles/schools. I’ll talk more about updates to those in a moment. 

If you’re reading (or watching) this and you’re already in a circle, I’ll be sending special versions of this message for you on September 1. If you’re reading or watching this on September 1, then go there first! It’s in your email! Share this one with folks who need and want to join a circle!

—

The actions taken this summer in regards to the racism and other marginalization in the design world were long overdue. 

I have to admit that I didn’t realize that despite all the work I’ve had online for over a decade, along with the speeches and some of the online activism, there were still a lot of places that weren’t listening, weren’t changing and were sadly oblivious to all that’s been going on.

But then again, I didn’t realize, because I’ve known. I’ve known for a long time and I thought more people knew too.

I realized in the Spring of 2010, when I saw how one bad manic mental health episode of my Dad’s could shatter his mobility and that of so many other people thanks to one run red light. Even though he shouldn’t have crashed his car, he shouldn’t have had to be punished by one-hour bus headways, lack of public bathrooms to help him as he walked around town and so few sidewalks and so many six lane thoroughfares in our hometown of Greensboro, NC.

And as I mentioned earlier this summer, upon hearing the news of George Floyd’s death, my dad’s death wasn’t from police violence, but it was violent and without knowing exactly who did it, I didn’t want to speculate and nail a suspect on a rumor.  I’d learned that lesson back in August of 2008 when I was robbed at gunpoint in the parking lot of a “luxury” apartment complex in South Durham and I could only see his masked face after he turned and tapped me on the head with the barrel of his gun. The person was prosecuted two years later, but not from me naming him in the line up they wanted me to do that night.

So in October of 2010, when I saw a lack of care and diversity and inclusion in how Black people were portrayed in academic materials in my public administration and policy graduate program in a public university, I went back to those moments and decided that it wasn’t enough to write a blog about urban planning, education, media and other miscellaneous topics under a name that could have been anyone.

Hence, the name The Black Urbanist.

I saw a stat earlier today that said that less than 5% of all owned  media outlets are Black-owned. It was on an Instagram post about one of the handful of design-focused Black-owned media outlets, AprhoChic, which I hadn’t even realized was still publishing, but I’m glad they are. One of the founders shared in another Instagram post that before they were able to focus on design and media full-time, they were a policy attorney. 

That’s the story of a lot of us, working one job during the day and doing design and art at night, suffering through working in offices or on committees or somewhere else without adequate pay or support. as the funding and support for Black media, Black art and design and building and sustaining Black neighborhoods and resources for Black folks is miniscule.

It’s why I’m proud to have had the mentorship of the Maynard Institute for Journalism Education in their inaugural Maynard 200 program.

It’s why the recent statement of Black planners I signed was powerful, not just as a show of planners, but as a show of Black-owned design media outlets.

The Black-owned, operated and underfunded equivalents of Planetizen, Next City, Streetsblog and others that may have Black board members, donors,  and columnists but not ownership, creative and editorial control,— which is key in this moment of asserting Black power and liberation.

If you’ve seen my byline in a publication or if you’ve read my expert commentary, I can tell you right now only a quarter, if not half of those opportunities have been paid. 

I’ve been getting honoraria for most of my speeches and appearances over the past two years, but that wasn’t always the case and I didn’t always have a guarantee.

Yet, I’ve watched many urbanist and non-urbanist media outlets, sprout up, expand and grow. I’ve been part of some media projects that I have absolutely no creative control over and have not seen a penny for my labors and my words.

And with a similar dearth of Queer-led media outlets, being able to uplift my partner Les’s vision on her recent podcast to bring the design world and everyone else in the LGBTQIA+ world together, specifically other Black masculine of center lesbian and queer women was vital.

Like I said last month, the recent spate of media attention on Black designers and planners and urbanists and community activists has been great, but what happens when the cameras and the pens and clicks go away from these White-led and profit and image driven publications, that think that doing the one story or takeover or painting is enough? What happens when you can’t be on social media 24/7 pumping up your community, your cause and your work?

I know many of us have been wrestling with the word urbanist this summer. However I’ve been worried for years that in a world that thinks it’s ok to call Black music and black culture and even Black neighborhoods no matter their typology urban, would take the the words Black urbanist together and run roughshod, shutting out Black voices and creating further misinformation.

I had that fear again when googling the word urbanist recently yielded one of my posts on page four, after sifting through lots of white cis male urbanist blogs, articles and academic papers. Only one focused on queer issues and only one other focused on feminism of any kind.

All of this is why, once again, I am in full solidarity with the Design as Protest, BlackSpace and the full Movement for Black Lives platform along with all grassroots and mutual aid efforts.

I’ve also been complicit and I’ve held isms, attitudes and performed actions that I’m not proud of and that didn’t help the cause of Black liberation, Queer and Trans liberation and ensuring access across all economic classes. This note only exists in writing and audio, but without American Sign Language, which is ableist by default.

That has to change.

That’s why I’m creating and teaching a curriculum that centers the stories and scholarship of Black Queer Feminist Urbanist womxn and non-binary people, with the kinds of affinity group and identity caucuses that allow people to learn, process, transform and come together in a way that’s aligned with justice. 

And why I don’t believe in making Black, Indigenous and other marginalized/colonized people pay for opportunity and their healing spaces if they can’t do so reasonably. But I also believe in brave spaces. Hence why the Mighty Networks space is invitation only, because at the moment, that’s the only way I can ensure that. And if you as a fellow BIPOC design or media (or both) world individual are able to pitch in financially to help me hold this space, you can absolutely do so via Patreon or my Cash App or my Venmo.

And I believe our White colleagues can step up and pay the price for this work, both individually and  at the corporate and institutional level, to practice direct reparations for this work. Hence the Patreon campaign and my new Teachable school, which will launch next month. 

Existing Patreons at the $40 level will get first access to this school, along with everyone in the BIPOC space.

I want to give a special shout-out to everyone whose been stepping up in your workplaces, professional organizations, schools, families and out in the streets to make it known that Black Lives Matter all across the board.

Not Black Lives Matter, as long as you don’t ask for equal power and pay. Black Lives Matter, as long as buildings aren’t destroyed even though they represent slavery, segregation and classism. Black Lives Matter, until it’s time to abolish the police, reorganize both secular and faith-based charity and governmental systems in favor of grassroots action and mutual aid and include all genders, sexualities, economic classes and abilities.

I am making The Black Urbanist to be synonymous with Black Queer Feminist liberation that’s not intentionally ableist, classist, fatphobic and every other marginalization that is against all people being their full and healthy selves.

And while I can’t guarantee that 100% of the time because I’m an imperfect human, I can at least hold the trademarks and the online handles and the website addresses and keep Heteropatriarical, capitalistic, imperialistic thought away from family, village, community and pod creation.

Those villages, communities, pods and families that form the foundation of human urbanization. That anyone can create. And has created.

Finally, You can comment below, reply back to this email, @blackurbanist and if you have the phone number, text or call me. 

Also, I am in the hunt for volunteer advisory board members, social media ambassadors and research assistants. I want to pay every last one of these people, especially if they are Black.

I am on the shoulders of my elders and ancestors and indwelled by Spirit and I hold all of them in great reverence and gratitude. 

This is The Black Urbanist Weekly. I’m Kristen Jeffers and I’m making this ideally weekly but realistically monthlyish digital newsletter to share my Black, Spiritual, Diasporic North Carolinian, Working/Lower Middle-Class, Educated, Queer, CisFemme thoughts on how places and communities work. Think of this as my weekly column, sitting on your proverbial print paper’s editorial page or as so many other of your favorite newsletters do, in your inbox. This is the 34th regular edition.

Your timeline is probably full of black and white images just like the one I decided to lead this newsletter with, that uplift women and continue to keep our eyes on how women and non-binary folks, as well as trans folk, are still not heard, seen and even erased from these movements.

However, I’m highly doubtful that you’re witnessing an eviction of a neighbor right outside the doors and windows of your apartment building.

In fact, its the unit above us and the last I saw of that neighbor, they were working an “essential” job at the drugstore. However, like so many people, it was already barely enough to live on and now that we are back to “normal”, so many other things are too.

I’m grateful for a partner who still has a job, but her hours were cut back, just because she decided that her safety and well-being were more important during this once in a lifetime medical pandemic, that compounds all other pandemics and chronic illnesses, including the one she’s raising money for, to advocate for queer-centric care in, full-time.

We went to IKEA over the weekend, and we did a distanced porch visit, via the car we can still pay for and that can get us out and around, without transit and having to incur that risk. We’ve both done grocery shopping and haircuts, fully masked and shielded on all fronts.

But we we rarely both go inside a building. I still prefer grocery and other curbside pickups and deliveries. 

And of course, when it comes to white supremacy, racism, all the other isms and issues and their role in general society and specifically how the greater urbanism world have shaped and produced them.

I’ve already known.

In 2012. In 2013. In 2013 again, reflecting back on 2004-2012 when I was doing my undergrad and graduate studies.

I’m in deep solidarity with this recent piece  and I hope this isn’t the last time this magazine is this Black and I can’t wait to share an all Black Queer Womxn conversation we did last night that touches on all these things and more.

And in my book clubs, I first get to encourage my Black and Other folks of color, free-of-charge, through yet another round of this violence and marginalization, so we can find and cultivate our own safety, transformation and joy.

Secondly, White allies can start the process of coming off the sidelines, andpractice both small-scale reparations to Black-led scholarship and camaraderie and center Black queer feminist urbanist thought as they reshape how they approach life going forward. And yes, life, not just urbanism. In fact, here’s how one person has already shifted perspective and just in the first few chapters of our first book.

If you want to get in on these experiences, it’s not too late and everything is recorded so you can go back and watch as much as you want and at your leisure. You can get signed up over here.

And finally, while I tend to be quieter than I used to be and my soul feels weary and I grieve and sometimes I lash out and freak out, the spirit and witness of my Black queer elders keeps me going and I heal. 

(And keep working on my book, which is still forthcoming, because I still do have a lot to say).

Until next time,

Kristen

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