We Do This 'Til We Free Us: Abolitionist Organizing and Transforming Justice

Kaba comes from a family of activists, as her father was part of the struggle to liberate Guinea from French colonialism, until he had a falling out with its first president as the president asserted dictatorial control. From her father she learned “the importance of collectivity. WE can’t do anything alone that’s worth it” (177), and while her mother was not political, she demonstrated extraordinary kindness to members of their community and taught Kaba not to impose borders between herself and other people.

Kaba is interested in relationships, not narratives, and because so much of learning comes through narratives, people need to get out and actually engage with others if they want to be a part of the movement. Individuals can be activists, focusing on specific issues and engaging as they see fit, while organizing is an intensely social activity with a broader strategic vision. Kaba has struggled with the question of whether and how to place herself publicly in her activism, whether a public presence would distract from the movement or, as a friend once told her, would be “erasing herself from history” (182). She thinks of the people who have inspired her, like James Baldwin, Ida Wells-Barnett, and Angela Davis, and while she seems reluctant to be considered someone else’s hero, she does appreciate when her writing and action has a positive impact on others.

Kaba also frankly acknowledges how war can be an engine of social progress, just as the Civil War helped destroy slavery and World War II laid the groundwork for the civil rights movement. Despite this sobering thought, Kaba considers herself an optimistic person, especially because she realizes that success or failure does not rest on her shoulders alone.

Kaba has been involved in activism since she was a teenager, beginning with protests against the killing of an elderly Black woman at the hands of the NYPD, with the officer facing no consequences. At first Kaba thought of herself as a Black activist, but developed a sense of herself as a Black woman later in life, inspired in large part by the Philadelphia police’s terror bombing of the MOVE compound in 1985.

People tend to count the casualties of attacks, but Kaba thinks more in terms of accumulation, of atrocity after atrocity that reveals a systemic problem. Once people come to understand “policing as a system that’s actually about harassment, violence, and surveillance […] you’re going to understand from the beginning that we’re talking about is the horizon of abolition. It’s the only way” (188).

Now that calls to defund the police have entered the mainstream, there is a danger of bad-faith actors trying to defang the movement, but Kaba also wants to be patient with the fact that there are various groups involved with their own priorities. As long as they focus on the abolition of “premature death and organized abandonment” there is room for a big tent (190). Abolitionists can work with non-abolitionists to advance meaningful reforms, so long as it does not foreclose the abolitionist vision. All those who are “willing to be transformed in the service of the work” will find themselves welcome (191).

Kaba is honored to speak at an event commemorating June Jordan, who was a major influence on her as a young activist. She thinks of a man she knew named Michael who had been shot, that even though he survived the wound, his life remains precarious. He once took pride in making himself uncomfortable, and so he reminded Kaba of Jordan’s poem with its line: “I must become a menace to my enemies” (194). Michael is emblematic of the failures of the American state to provide for its Black youth, only for the state to then turn the troubles Black youth face into evidence of personal and racial pathology. Michael was not part of a movement, “because his struggle is to live day to day” (196). He is courageous in this respect, as are the many young Black people who have stood down police in their fight for dignity and justice. The example of June Jordan, who died in 2002, is a needed reminder that love is at the center of struggle, that “hope is a discipline” (196).