Welcome to the very first edition of work in progress, a newsletter about antiracism and other things, delivered twice a month to your inbox. I’m so glad you’re here. Sending a gigantic heartfelt thank you to the paying subscribers who are supporting this new endeavor, and to everyone who’s shared work in progress far and wide! If you like what you read here today, consider subscribing or sending to a friend.
Hello 💘
Welcome to the first edition of work in progress!
Before we start, thank you so much for following along here for this new endeavor. If you’re new to Substack, a few things: to make sure this newsletter doesn’t end up in Spam or your Promotions tab, add my email, norajmaxwell@substack.com, to your contact list. You can comment on newsletters at the bottom of this post, and if you go to norajmaxwell.substack.com you can see all past newsletters in one place. You can also send me feedback on this newsletter (and please do, because I’m a feedback fiend and rely on it to survive). And if you haven’t had the chance yet, you can read more about why I decided to launch work in progress and what to expect here (or just keep reading, and you’ll get the gist of it soon).
And with that, let’s get into it.
I remember waiting in line for a roller coaster in the sticky mid-April Florida heat with my dad and two sisters. The line for the ride zig-zagged back and forth, herding along sweaty, sneakered feet and cranky, sunburnt children. At some point in our wait, we passed another Black dad in line with his children.
When my dad and the man locked eyes — both middle-aged Black men in ball caps — they smiled, reached across the line and tightly clasped each other’s hands. Then they both pulled back from the handshake, still holding tightly onto the other’s hands, almost like their hands were stuck together. Finally, when they pulled their hands out of each other’s grips, they each shook their fingers up and down, like they’d just burned their fingers on a hot stove, nodded and smiled, and kept moving.
My dad shepherded us along as if nothing had happened, but I was shook. “Why wouldn’t that man let go of your hand, Daddy?” I remember asking. He laughed hard, the way my dad always does. He told me it was “a special handshake.”
“But how did you both know to do it?” I continued. Not a single word had been exchanged, and the whole encounter lasted just a few seconds.
“Sometimes, you just know,” my dad replied. “And we just knew.”
Moments like these were Dad things back then.
Like our favorite story my dad would tell and retell about the time he, a young Black boy in Chicago, fell asleep on the bus and got off at the wrong stop. He tells us that he watched people in their windows gasp and pull down their blinds when they saw him walk past. He tells us that he walked and walked until he stumbled into a pawn shop, that he only realized before it was too late that there were swastikas everywhere. He tells us that both he and the shop owner stared at each other with their jaws on the floor, that he didn’t know which one of them was more scared of the other.
I didn’t understand the story’s punchline back then. But now I know: this story, like Cherry Almond Jergens, Lipton iced tea after work, whistling along to Sade in the kitchen as he made fried catfish, the handshake — these weren’t just Dad things. They were Black things. Though I didn’t define those moments in terms of race back then, these very first encounters with my Dad’s and family’s race informed my perception of my own, unique version of Blackness.
I find it’s becoming more difficult with age to define Blackness, to suss out my own opinions and experiences and perspectives from the opinions of others, the reading, the research. Defining Blackness as an adult has become an academic exercise. And I find myself returning to these early, hazy memories — the way I felt in those moments — as the clearest teachers of my own identity.
We like things to be explicit, well-defined, measurable. My conceptions of Blackness don’t fit neatly into those boxes. I can’t land on a single definition, a feeling, a theme — sometimes, you just know.
To do: Subscribe to Antiracism Daily, a “daily email to dismantle white supremacy” that encourages you to “read the news and do something about it” (you might recognize them from their IG account). If you’ve been trying to figure out how to incorporate more doing alongside your learning, this is a great resource. Plus, it’s led by Nicole Cardoza and, from what I can tell, an entirely POC team of contributors.
To listen: Nice White Parents, a podcast by Chana Joffe-Walt (you can also listen on Spotify or Apple Podcasts). I know I’m late to the game on this one (it was released last July), but it’s a doozy. Long story short: Joffe-Walt digs into how “white progressives undermine school integration” and “the relationship between race, social class and a quality education” (and a bonus, this podcast was created by the same production company that released Serial). Also check out the accompanying reading list and discussion guide if you’re itching to set up a White Fragility-esque book club.
To donate: Choose at least one of these 68 organizations and funds that support Asian, South Asian, and Pacific Islander communities to donate to. If you choose to contribute to an organization instead of a one-time fundraiser, consider opting in to recurring donations.
My boyfriend Rex and I have been very into this show about Formula One racing. It’s called Drive to Survive which, to be honest, feels a little dramatic. Neither of us knows anything about Formula One racing, but we can’t look away. I think it’s a mix of the heavy-handed symbolism they try to drive home through the (not great) editing, the hard-to-place European accents, and the fact that the Formula One drivers practice their reaction times using a piece of equipment that looks like a glorified Whack-A-Mole arcade game. I can’t in good faith recommend this show to you, but if you’re looking for something oddly niche that you’ll probably get sucked into, have at it.
One of my favorite comics by @ebbandflood resurfaced on my Instagram feed this week; even if you’ve already seen it, it’s worth clicking through again.
This tweet from a person who accidentally gave themselves the COVID vaccine l i t e r a l l y killed me; this Twitter thread explains what it means when people say social media algorithms are racist; and this tweet about a millennial therapist led to me restarting Bojack Horseman from the beginning for the 4th time (all of my favorite shows are animated; I will not be taking questions at this time).
Here’s a personal dashboard template I created on Notion that you can use for work things or personal things, because list-making and progress-tracking are both my vices and copes (some of the features of this template are specific to my role/organization, but they’re easily customizable). Just duplicate and start editing to make the dashboard of your dreams. If you’ve never heard of Notion, just imagine that Google Docs + Asana + Trello + Evernote + a bunch of other work and productivity tools had a minimalistic baby.
My dad finally got his first dose of the COVID vaccine and all is right with the world.
That’s all for this Sunday — and for this very first edition of work in progress. Loved it? Hated it? I’d love you forever if you added a comment below or sent me some feedback. And if you liked today’s newsletter, consider sharing it with a friend.
I’ll see you back here on April 25th for the next edition of work in progress. In the meantime, you always know where to find me.
xoxo for real,
Nora
so ecstatic and grateful to be receiving these letters! <3 <3 <3
great first issue - storytelling was on point and i know exactly what i'm getting into. also loved the 5 MORE THINGS. excited to follow along.