Rest is Political

Last week, I stepped back into my political self, something I hadn’t done in a while. I joined a panel for The Arizona Republic and Capital B to discuss schools, Black history, and political power. It felt like trying on an old outfit that no longer fit quite right. For four years, I served as the first Black woman on the Chandler Unified School District board during the pandemic, enduring misogynoir, fatphobia, death threats, and constant questioning of my abilities.

Stepping back into this space last night was daunting. My body remembered the trauma, the fear, and the exhaustion.

I left that role to focus on me—on creating safety for myself and my family. I’ve traveled, joined healing circles with Black women, and committed to rest as a form of resistance. So, stepping back into this space last night was daunting. My body remembered the trauma, the fear, and the exhaustion. But I showed up, took deep breaths, and reminded myself that I would not shrink this time. I spoke the truth—about the misuse of critical race theory, how Black children are denied the freedom to dream in our schools, and how political rhetoric often harms them while funneling resources into private schools. I also reminded the audience that teaching texts like Parable of the Sower by Octavia Butler is just as essential as teaching Orwell or Atwood.

This wasn’t just another panel for me—it was reclaiming my voice and political power on my own terms. And while I’m not ready to throw myself back into the political fire, I walked away proud. I protected my political self, spoke from a place of truth, and left with a newfound sense of freedom. This election season, I’ll participate in ways that align with my values of Black women’s liberation, but I’ll also make sure I’m taking care of me. After all, rest is political too.

View more images from this event at AZ Central.