what is the architecture of Black liberated futures

text that reads: I know that I won’t see the liberation of Black people in my lifetime. I don’t know why I feel the need to remind myself of that constantly - as if looking around sometimes isn’t soul crushing enough in itself. I heard the question: What if Black people didn’t have to spend so much energy piecing ourselves back together after facing constant harm? What are the things that we’d be able to do? What would it feel like to have that weight off our shoulders? How would we get to see ourselves? I tell myself that I don’t know the answers to any of these questions. I have no idea. And it makes me upset. I get angry at myself for not being able to imagine. I think that I’m too tired to imagine. I’m exhausted. But when facing the question of what the architecture of Black liberated futures looks like, I realized: I don’t have to imagine. The architecture of Black liberated futures already exists. It’s just not recognized as architecture.

text that reads: When I think of the architecture of Black liberated futures, I think of: markets in Jamaica made up of mazes of wooden stalls underneath suspended blue tarps and zinc roofs, (with an illustration of a packed market)

grass patches cleared by the feet of people dancing (accompanied by a picture of two people in a circle frozen mid dance move) church services under trees, (and hush harbors - where bushes and tree branches would be used to create churches where enslaved folks could worship and where preachers could utilize bible stories as vehicles for preaching liberation) (with an image of a church service taken place at night under a large tree - a preacher is pictured mid sentence)

my mom’s garden where there are no neat rows - her strategy is “wherever it falls, that’s where it’ll grow”- so scotch bonnet peppers find their homes in 5 gallon buckets and scallions are allowed to randomly pop up around the tomato plants, (I also think of the random structures my mom builds to prop her flowers that grow too tall - specifically crepe myrtle, my mom and grandma’s favorite - because she cares for them so much) (a picture of my mom holding a bunch of greens, smiling, with an illustration of a plant being held up by a stake) the random plastic chair and stool to hold a rattail comb and jar of hair oil that serves as a hair salon, (a picture of cornrows being done, with an illustration of a stool with a jar of oil and a rattail comb)

the careful arrangement of candles, flowers, and photo frames on our ancestors’ altars, (an image of a table overflowing with framed pictures, dried flowers, candles and incense sticks leaving trails of smoke) family barbecue setups - the careful balancing of fruit punch around the DJ’s equipment and the way 15 chairs can gather around one table during a game of dominoes, (a DJ setup and hands holding a row of dominoes, accompanied by illustrations of folding chairs)

and the mango tree that my grandparents rest under. (accompanied by and image of a large, established, mango tree) more text reads: The first step of imagining the architecture of Black liberated futures is to define what architecture actually is and what it can do. We should ask ourselves: what gets recognized as architecture currently? Architecture as it is widely defined and taught are spaces designed to leave some sort of large lasting impact - possibly through elements like scale, material, form, proximity, and movement. From what we’re taught, it seems like architecture that just provides shelter or fulfills a basic need isn’t enough - it has to be something larger than that. (When you think of architecture, is the first thing you think of your home? Do you think of the bus stop on the corner or the dollar store next door? And if not, why do you think that is?) To be a ‘successful’ piece of architecture, it seems like it has to be ‘art’ or it has to solve a large problem - and who gets to define the problems and the success of the space anyway? It should never just be the architect (as it famously can be, with the mythology of the master builder). Let’s not get it twisted - a building alone will not lead us to liberation. We can’t put the responsibility of change on a single building - a building cannot do what people can. But if you define architecture as a tool, then these spaces can help us get there.

text that reads: The spaces that I described earlier are spaces that are constantly changing and reacting, whether that’s through people constantly adjusting the space to best fit their needs or even plants growing and flowering. They were created by an individual or collectively as a community that recognized a need, had ideas of how to address it, and put those ideas to action. There is a communal sense of ownership - either between individuals or between individuals and land (and I’d still call my mom yelling at the deer who uses her flowers as a salad bar as communal ownership). Most of the spaces I described weren’t even buildings. It’s not about the form or the materiality of these spaces, but what these spaces allow people to do, or even just that they allow people to do nothing special or monumental - just exist. These spaces don’t always have to make logical sense. To outsiders looking in, they might even look difficult to navigate (thinking about my mom’s kitchen where the curry powder lives in a yellow Nesquik container and leftovers are found in margarine containers). Blackness - Black joy, Black survival - doesn’t really make sense in that it seems impossible. After constant attempts at crushing Black folks’ spirits and beings, I’m always in awe about how we always find ways to smile and laugh - and Black people laughing is one of the best, most comforting sounds in the world - it bounces off the walls and cuts through space unlike anything else I know. Black people have always been good at creating and claiming space. Denying someone control over their own space and body is a tool of oppression that’s been used for hundreds of years. Therefore taking up space is an act of resistance - whether it’s sitting around a counter in a restaurant or making sure the neighborhood can hear you blasting dancehall as you drive by (bonus points if the bass is so intense that it makes apartment windows vibrate). Paired with the claiming of space is a Black awareness of space we carry - the ability to recognize the subtle (and sometimes not so subtle) ways a room shifts or how someone’s posture changes when you walk by. These skills have come out of the necessity of survival - the need to constantly adapt and be aware of your surroundings at all times. But I don’t think about survival in the future. I don’t think about having to describe us as resilient either. I want us to move past the point of just wishing that Black kids get the chance to grow up.

text that reads: The architecture of Black liberated futures has always existed. We haven’t always existed juxtaposed to whiteness. We haven’t existed to only process trauma. We weren’t always exploited for capitalism, our bodies weren’t seen as disposable objects, our existence wasn’t criminalized, and we had access to the resources we needed to live. Remember that erasure attempts to not only bury histories that reveal how the U.S. inflicted harm, but also buries experiences of liberation before colonization. Because if these stories of a liberated past were widely shared, we wouldn’t have to strain ourselves to imagine liberated futures. I don’t see architecture of Black futures as spaces named after Black folks yet built on top of their bodies (what happens when Black people are brutalized on MLK Boulevard?). I don’t see the architecture of Black futures as spaces that rely only on metaphors or symbols. I don’t see the architecture of Black futures being any one definitive thing. I don’t even see the architecture of Black futures as being something I have the answers to. I don’t claim to have many answers, just a lot of observations and questions. But when I often tell myself I won’t see liberation in my lifetime, I can remind myself that I’ve actually seen glimpses - and this is at least something for me to grab onto for now.

a photo of Kami's mom on the back cover, smiling, with skin glowing, looking absolutely radiant

What is the architecture of Black, liberated futures?
Zine, saddle stitch bound

Inspired by the Black Reconstruction Collective’s lectures in winter of 2020 where they posed and responded to the following questions: What is the architecture of reparations? What does it mean to imagine Black reconstruction today? What is the architecture of Black futures?