I often think and talk about community as someone who has always felt a tug toward community-building, an intense sensitivity to injustice, and a willingness to throw myself to the lions in the name of solidarity. Seeking true meanings of community, belonging, and inclusion are central to my search of self, and trying desperately to live authentically in my values of truth, justice, courage, and love orients me on the path I walk. But today, on International Women’s Day, I’m thinking about the people who have instilled these values in me and who have modeled them for me.
Community
In high school, I’d built a network of people who looked out for me, were interested in my success and were willing to go to bat for me. This happened by way of the slightly traumatic experience of petitioning to change the name of my protected-confederate-monument-high-school, but I still think often of the people who came to every one of my protests, spoke up at school board and county council meetings, connected me to historians and lawyers and news contacts, and even those who battled it out with unreachable random white guys in the Facebook comments. I was lucky to keep up with a number of these connections, many of them women who would later run for local and state office, lead advocacy campaigns in our city, and be ultimate role models for what investing in your community looks like. I don’t remember how I met Lindsey Jacobs, but I do remember watching her absolutely destroy her opponent for city council in debate with so much grace that all I remember thinking is, man, I wanna be like her when I grow up. Lindsey would go on not to win that seat, in my opinion, just because of how deep traditional Southern connections can be, but watching the way she handled that race taught me a lot about what it means to be a leader, especially in a community where any progressive action is like trying to run through knee-deep water.
Lindsey later came into my life as a supervisor for a cool consulting role I got to hold with a local non-profit. In that role, I experienced her visionary leadership, the way she practiced courageous self-advocacy, and offered me intentional mentorship. Lindsey left Greenville to move back to her hometown about a year ago. It was devastating to me, partly because I got to pet sit for her and I am in love with her babies, but mostly because I saw the effects of constantly running through knee-deep water in real-time with her.
In looking back, though, I admire greatly her act of choosing to return home— especially to another “difficult” Southern state with its own challenges. We have talked about the importance of not engaging in the tempting “progressive runaway”1 because we know this is when our communities need us the most. This is not an easy choice. Actually, it is almost certainly a choice that will require sacrifice and lead to disappointment and loneliness. But it’s also a choice that can give us purpose and sense of community and belonging. Investing in community through advocacy and activism is a fight, but it’s also a celebration of all the things we love about our community, our neighbors, and our shared identities, cultures, and values. Lindsey has written about her community activism on her blog, which you can read here.
Lindsey says at the end of her blog, “Don’t worry about me. I’m going down swinging.” And I love that because it is so her, but it also reminds me of what she has taught me through all of her intentional checking in and support through difficult situations (*cough-institutionally-backed-false-allegations-of-harassment-that-threatened-my-future-cough*): that we should worry about each other, especially the ones who are going down swinging. Just because they are our truth-tellers and our freedom fighters, the ones who are first to put on a brave face and never let it waver, does not mean that they are not feeling the heavy, heavy weight of those roles.
Belonging
Even though I went to college in the same town I’d grown up in, I still struggled, like every other first-year student, to find what felt like my place and my people at school. Little did I know that three of the most important, chapter-defining, and truly life-changing people would be found in the same office.
I met Emilee before I was even a student at Furman. She was the only white person (besides my mom) at my table for the scholarship reception breakfast for the award that would make Furman a no-brainer. She was a recent grad working as a post-bac fellow in the Center for Inclusive Communities, and she would be one of my first true allies, helping me connect with others across campus, encouraging me to get involved in extracurriculars and to go after leadership opportunities, and most of all: to advocate and push for positive change, even as someone new to the campus community. I looked up to Emilee, and still do, because of her own legacies of leadership and change on campus as a student. And in the years that I’ve gotten to know her, I’ve watched her, a few steps ahead of me in our young-adult life chapters, growing as a model for committed community leadership, cultivating a work-life-balance that prioritizes and celebrates joys (big and small), and showing how community can be built even in the places we least expect it. *cough Sparkle City, South Carolina! Who knew! cough*
Deborah served as the director of the Center for Inclusive Communities. She would quickly become one of my most trusted mentors because of how generously and intentionally she held space for students. Deborah did not have an easy or fair job, but I admired her deeply for the way she never steered away from honesty and truth-telling. Where other administrators and faculty with power intentionally left students in the dark or did not value student perspectives, voices, and actions, Deborah specifically created space for us. She supported student initiatives that allowed the most marginalized of students on campus to take up space and call the rest of the community into dialogue or action. And she constantly advocated on our behalf and for our best interests behind the scenes. Even as Deborah left, I often thought of her and the way she prioritized truth in my last year as a leader when I was criticized or in difficult positions with administration. I admired the way Deborah stood steadfastly in solidarity with students, championed hard conversations with people in power, and always spoke up, even when it wasn’t what they might want to hear. She modeled what many in administration and positions of power at Furman did not have: integrity.
And then Morgan came. I didn’t really know who Morgan was or what she was doing until she was hired full-time in the position that Emilee built and left to pursue graduate education, I just knew that I liked her. I have never been so tenderly called out by anyone more than Morgan.2 Morgan, my Passion Planner, and affirmation card queen, was always the first to call me on my Enneagram 3 bullshit. "What are you doing to take care of yourself?" "What are you doing that brings yourself joy this week?" "How are you slowing down?" Morgan's superpower is intentional reflection. She might be one of the most self-aware people I've ever met, and because I think she was once living a very go-go-go life, as I was in my last years at Furman, she could read me like an index card, and she always had just the right advice. I would not really come to learn and put into practice the values and practice of balance, self-care, boundaries, and rest that she was teaching me until after she'd left Furman (a move that to this day represents a hugely admirable act of setting personal boundaries and going where you are celebrated, not tolerated), but I still carry these lessons and fall back on them often as I'm continuing to find my way.
Deborah, Emilee, and Morgan, as a team, represented just how beautiful, tender, and revolutionary a friendship, mentorship, and professional partnership can be, especially between women. Even as their paths and roles connected in different ways, I have never seen three people have each other’s backs the way Deborah, Emilee, and Morgan did, and I think about them often and what I can do to be more like them when working in partnership with others. They had a way of making sure I felt like I belonged by connecting me to the larger campus community, making sure I understood the value of my voice even in difficult and stifling conversations with people in power, and claiming time for myself even as I was rushing around and filling my schedule with things to do for other people.
Inclusion
I have never really had a “friend group” in the way that other kids have seemed to have. My friends often are a motley of people from very different scenes. I like this. But it sometimes has meant that I haven’t always felt as included as other people might have because of the security of a group. In my junior year, though, I was brought into a group of girls at my college who all had a similar background with friend groups. These girls, all so different, and people I likely wouldn’t have maintained close friendships with without the nudge of the group, taught me so much about inclusion. It is difficult to write about this now because the group has since fractured under the weight of changing times and conflict wounds (as many friend groups experience), but even as relationships grow, change, and distance, I appreciate what this group meant to me in that time of life. These girls became some of my fiercest advocates, my most sincere and intentional supports, and the people who I genuinely saw being my friends for life. They taught me so much about meeting others where they are and being met where you are, understanding the unique needs and love languages of people who are different from you, loyalty and trust, and showing up when you are needed. They also have taught me a lot about my soft spots in friendships, where I can be selfish and need improvement, and how to be a better person generally. I think even as some of the relationships have fractured or fallen to the wayside, some we may never recover or at least not ever in the same ways, I will always consider them important people in my life, who I admire, and hope the best for.
Truth
My family and I have talked about how actually revolutionary our nontraditional structure has been and continues to be. My sister and I were raised by our single mother, who had us at 19, and who has lived with chronic illness our entire lives. Because of this, we lived with our grandparents on our mom’s side for the majority of our childhood and spent summers with our grandparents on our dad’s side. And after moving to South Carolina where we would spend the rest of our adolescence (and me, the beginning of my “adulthood”) to live with the man we now full-heartedly call our father, we have continued to be very close and very in touch with our grandparents and extended family.
Our family is predominately women and it is absolutely a matriarchy. And I love it. On both sides of my family, my grandmothers are fierce and really, what they say goes. But I love what they have to say.
My grandmother on my mom’s side, Grandmommy, as we lovingly call her, is an artist, a chef, a genealogist, a botanist, and so much more. Grandmommy has raised the toughest, most tender-hearted, headstrong, questioning, and cute-things-loving women. To me, she represents someone who does it all, and does it well. She is the definition of “follow your heart” and “cultivate joy.” In her house, there is never something we can’t do. She will go out of her way to buy us crafts to do, journal subscriptions to read the news, take us to trails to explore, rock hunt, and admire the world around us. She has taught us to be curious, to be passionate, and to invest in our passions. I think she’s the reason we all have problems with investing in just one hobby, but if there’s a lesson I’ve learned from her, it’s that a life-well lived is a life spent doing all the things. I love the way she loves us, too. There is nothing she would not do for us. She is the first to answer my daily group video call, always responding to our unruly group chat threads about everything and nothing, and the first to go out of her way to help us with whatever we need. The way she has cultivated such a connected extended family shows me exactly the kind of parent and grandparent I want to be when I am one day, too, Grandmommy.
My grandmother on my bio-dad’s side, Granny, is… there is simply no other word: Queen. She is stylish, opinionated, and so sassy. Whenever my sister and I go to visit, we are quick to check out her closet for any clothes we might be taking home for ourselves. And sometimes, when we come to visit, she’ll notice we’re wearing something she hasn’t seen in years, only to give us a scowl when we say we got it from her closet. But besides her style, what I love most about her, and what I’ve seen over the past few years as our family has grappled with loss, is how tender she is with those she loves. It’s in the way she has cooked for my great-grandparents and dropped it off every week to make sure they still have delicious home-cooked meals as they are not able to do it themselves anymore. It’s in the way she FaceTime's (at the same time every couple of days because she only knows one time I’m usually home with the time difference) to check in and ask if I’ve eaten anything good and if I’m feeling good because she was thinking about me. It’s in the way she curates pretty arrangements of flowers for my uncle’s grave and brings up memories with him as we drive around town. It’s in the way she’s making quilts out of my great-grandfather’s old ties as a way to remember him. And how she lights up when she remembers a story about her favorite Aunt or her summers spent growing up with her cousins. I love how she intentionally keeps the memory of those who have passed, keeping them a part of our family’s day-to-day, honoring and celebrating them. She teaches me, maybe wihtout realizing it or meaning to, about what it means to carry your loved ones with you. I listen to her stories carefully, even the ones she’s told me many times before, because I want to be able to tell my kids about all of our loved ones, even the ones I did not get to know personally.
My grandmothers, in particular, represent a kind of commitment to truth: staying true to yourself and your family.
Justice
To know Charnise Mangle is to know a force to be reckoned with. If “truth-to-power” was a brand, Charnise would be the face of it. And boy, is our community and world better for it. I knew of Char when I was at Wade Hampton High School, but I didn’t know her. She was one of few Black teachers at said protected-confederate-monument-high-school, and everyone said we should meet, but our paths just never crossed. I met her almost a year after I’d graduated at a random event at Furman, where she was finishing her master’s. We sat and talked outside the event for over an hour until it was past 9pm. How could I have missed someone who could have (and would have) been such an ally, a support, and who truly understood my experience advocating for the name change as a teacher experiencing the same kinds of things? We were shocked and vowed not to miss each other again. And through the past four years, she has not let me.
My relationship with Charnise, outside of just being genuinely life-giving, is so meaningful because she feels like a reflection of me a decade ahead. She is truly a walk-the-talk kind of lady. Extremely involved in the local community, serving in numerous public leadership roles, working with students through local nonprofits to teach leadership, advocacy, and local history, consulting with individuals about social justice, diversity, equity, and inclusion— all while being the coolest high school social studies teacher with an engaging social media presence. I mean, Char literally does it all. But she’s so intentional about her time and energy while she’s pouring into the community. Char is not afraid to tell it how it is, and she’s not afraid to call people and things that aren’t right out, but she’s also optimistic and has a vision of the future that I admire. She’s involved in the change because she believes in change, and I admire her for this.
I also admire her for the way she cultivates community. Outside of work and leadership roles, Char is the queen of house parties, a good home-cooked meal and a glass of wine, and you’ll see her enjoying a lil’ getaway with the girls on the ‘gram. She teaches me how important it is to tend to your social, emotional, and spiritual life, especially in doing justice and community work. And how live giving both, investing in your community and investing in your community of friends can be when they are balanced and intentional.
Courage
Courage is my favorite value in myself and in others. I admire it so deeply because I think it is the root of all goodness, including love, but also because it is not easy to practice. I seek out intentional ways to be courageous in my day-to-day, but I also seek out friends who are naturally courageous and who practice courage in their daily lives.
I admire people like my friend Maya, who does a lot of organizing work with Student Voice to teach other young people about social justice and advocacy and how to make a difference in their own communities, among other really cool hot-scholar things. I admire Hali and Maddie B., who are practicing intentional space-making by hosting cute gatherings centered around gratitude, presence, and community-building. I admire my sister, who is abroad in South Korea right now, for getting out of her comfort zone and doing it so well. I admire my friends (hello Hali and Maddie B. again, but also Farris and Savannah and Savannah and Mary Shelley and Carly!!!) who are starting their own newsletter-meets-blogs and practicing vulnerability and truth-telling in their own words. I admire my friend, Emily, who is writing, beading, and doing so many cool things, always finding ways to stay in touch with her creative process while following other callings. I admire my new friend Jess who is, first of all, the only person who can rock that Utah Mormon Mommy denim skirt, but who is also fiercely advocating for endometriosis awareness and abortion rights.
And there are so many more! I am in awe by the ways in which leading with tenderness, vulnerability, and courage can transform our communities, and I see that in the ways my friends lead their lives. I am constantly challenged in the best ways to keep up with them and to be true to myself because of the ways in which they commit to being true to themselves. I see them scared, anxious, and unsure, but still, they do what’s right, push the boundaries in pursuit of better futures, and they create beautiful things.
Love
There is but one friend who has seen me through it all. One friend who has been my ride-or-die since we were fourteen. One friend who is truly more like a sister than a friend, and who, even if a meteor crashed into the earth, will always be my best friend. And that’s Katie. Katie is my true experience in liberating girl-friendship. She has taught me what it means to love, to challenge, to apologize, to know my self-worth, to go after my dreams, and how to give thanks.
I met Katie when we were fourteen at a hippie-Jesus-camp retreat that we would go on to organize and lead together for two years. She was someone so different than me— a white girl from suburban Georgia, an actual Christian who read the Bible and took it seriously, and at first, she didn’t like me. But as we got to know each other, through long, vulnerable dialogues about the world, our thoughts and experiences as young girls growing up in the south, our worlds began to shrink, and we didn’t feel so different at all. Through the four years of church camp, we quickly became close friends. Even though we lived in different states, it felt like we only lived a couple of blocks away because of how often we saw each other. And after we graduated, I somehow convinced her to go to the same college as me! We have experienced so many coming-of-age moments together, and it’s hard to imagine more life-defining ones without her.
Katie is my hype-woman, my fiercest supporter and advocate— she has ripped people apart for saying unkind things about me, and I haven’t been given the chance to do the same for her, but I assure you that I would if anyone could come up with one bad thing to say about her. Sometimes I even think she believes in my capabilities and dreams more than I do. But really, what I admire most about Katie is the ways she has overcome hardship in her own life. Her stories are not mine to tell, but when I tell you, I have watched her be knocked down, just to stand up and be knocked down again, and still stand on shaky ground and uncertainty with the commitment to making it through by any means necessary… I have no words for the kind of strength Katie has shown through some of the toughest challenges, especially through some of the most strenuous semesters of college.
Katie has taught me the power of believing in your own direction, staying true to the voice that is guiding you, and trusting in divine timing. Patience, trust, courage, and leading with love, these are all the values she represents to me. I first learned leadership and partnership working with her, and in the least cheesy way, I’m constantly learning how to be a better person because of her.
These are just a few of the women who have played significant roles in my life. I owe many thank you’s to those who have made me who I am, and I am proud to say that amazing women have and are constantly shaping me and my life. <3
A quick Google has led me to other people calling this the “big sort” and the “leftugee crisis” (lol)
Okay, maybe the only person who comes close is Robyn Andrews. Those of you who have been blessed to know Robyn will understand this! Ha!
well this is simply beautiful, asha! i adore you!!!!!! MWAH!
In a future better world, these women are our rulers!