Remembering Myself with Dr. LeConté Dill

[00:00:00] What's good, family? I'm Nikesha Elise Williams, the host of Black & Published Podcast, and the author of the novel The Seven Daughters of Dupree. This historical fiction novel is about the secrets kept between mothers and daughters over the course of seven generations, and is told backwards in time from 1995 to 1860. The Seven Daughters of Dupree was published January 27, 2026, and is available everywhere books are sold.

[00:00:28] So if you can, please consider getting a copy of The Seven Daughters of Dupree today. This is the Mahogany Books Podcast Network. I literally gasped when I was like looking at their YouTube interview and was like, this is a book of poetry! Again, it's like, duh, you're a poet. What's good? I'm Nikesha Elise Williams, and this is Black & Published,

[00:00:56] bringing you the journeys of writers, poets, playwrights, and storytellers of all kinds. Today's guest is Dr. LeConté Dill, author of the poetry collection, Soul Survivors. It's a project born out of 15 years of research, data, and analysis from working with young Black girls across the country and how they navigate violence while still proudly repping their hood.

[00:01:21] My academic research is violence management, the ways that we, you know, like, across race and gender, like as women told to put keys between our fingers, our thumbs, when we're walking down the street. Like, we've learned that really young, but as a violence management strategy. Dr. Dill's work is a physical manifestation of who she is as a Black feminist scholar and poet.

[00:01:45] In our conversation, she explains how external validation gave her permission to be more of herself. Plus, the two authors she watched in a YouTube conversation that inspired the form of her book. And, in her research, how she is amplifying what it means to be a Black girl, a Black woman, between good and ghetto. That and more is next, when Black & Published continues.

[00:02:32] Dr. Dill, first question, when did you know that you were a writer? I knew in elementary school. I am from South Central LA. I went to a private Christian school in my neighborhood and had Black women teachers and really felt nurtured as a writer. We were in plays. We were always, like, performing and reading voraciously and writing. And so I was writing my first fiction and first poetry in elementary school. What drew you to poetry specifically?

[00:03:02] I feel like I was writing fiction and poetry throughout my early adulthood. But why poetry has sustained is, I think, the immediacy, it being short and accessible, a way to kind of play in a way that feels more immediate. What is the story of this collection, Soul Survivors? I know it's based off of, like, 15 years of work and research. Yeah, so I'm a professor. I'm trained in public health and I currently teach in the Department of Black Studies.

[00:03:31] I've always been a Black scholar and a Black feminist scholar, but was always interdisciplinary or transdisciplinary. So I was always a poet, a creative writer. And particularly when I was getting my doctorate, was blending kind of my various interests. And a mentor and friend of mine, before I started my doctoral program, she knew I was a poet. She knew I was pursuing this career in public health. And she was like, if you bring these together, it'll be amazing.

[00:03:57] And so in my dissertation, but also as a professor, I was integrating poetry as research, poetry in research, but also bringing my health analyses to poems. And I've done work with young people across the country, particularly young people of color, more specifically Black girls, and used poetry to co-analyze research with them.

[00:04:24] They might have had hour-long conversations with me in an interview, and then we made, like, research poems or found poems from their interview text. And they were like, oh! Like, they were able to touch their data. But then we would also read other poets of color who were talking about similar themes. So what is Gwendolyn Brooks talking about violence in Chicago in the 1950s? And how does that relate to Oakland in 2010? Or what is Luis Rodriguez talking about violence in LA?

[00:04:52] And how does that relate to New York? What are the similarities and what are the differences? I got them reading a lot of poetry. Some of them were already poets. Some of them saw themselves as poets in, like, the found poetry. And when I first started doing this during my dissertation work, I did one workshop, and I'm like, okay, good. This was participatory. I'm done. And they were like, oh, no, now you're a poetry teacher. And had me do, like, a six-session poetry class.

[00:05:20] And we created, like, 80 pages of poetry. And we published it. But after I did that, I realized that this wasn't just, like, a one-time thing or a fluke. That I'm doing that in my classes, even if it's not a poetry class. I'm doing that in my neighborhood research. So this book, Soul Survivors, to get back to your question, is based on me doing that in Oakland, in Atlanta, in Brooklyn.

[00:05:44] And me writing about that in the scholarly academic literature, me even incorporating poetry into the academic literature, but also me feeling like there were some other stories that I hadn't published about. It's persona poems. So it's not exactly like, Tanisha said this, and Shay said this. It's kind of an amalgamation of different girls that I've met. It's a little bit of fiction or critical fabulation.

[00:06:11] Maybe the girls that I didn't exactly work with, but were in the hallway, like, peeking into our sessions. I was working with neighborhood organizations, youth-serving organizations, violence prevention programs, schools, different programs and partners. And the young people I work with might talk about a young person that was in the school or in the neighborhood, but they weren't in our weekly sessions. And so me wondering about what they were going through, or me just walking around like my neighborhood in Bed-Stuy and seeing Black girls

[00:06:38] and seeing the scenes that they're creating on the street just by walking, just trying to navigate the neighborhood, just by playing. And so the poetry allowed me to play. It allowed me to take what I saw, remembering my own Black girl self too, growing up in South Central as a researcher and a poet scholar, and kind of tell this story in ways that I hadn't told it as an ethnographer, as a public health practitioner, or someone doing research poetry.

[00:07:06] What is research as poetry? What does that look like? I knew I wanted to combine my art with my academic scholarship, but sometimes it takes me a while to come back to myself. And I happened upon an article written by a scholar, Rich Furman, who's a poet and a social work professor. And he had used research poetry, taking again, like the data that he was collected and analyzing it with poetry.

[00:07:34] And I actually just hit him up when I was in my doctoral program. He was at a whole different state. And I emailed him about his articles and he was like, can you talk right now? And we had a one hour conversation and that like gave me like the permission. And I took it and adapted it.

[00:07:51] I invited young people to do it with me and not just me as a scholar creating poetry, but that was the reminder that I needed to just like do me and play and experiment and then collect the receipts. So the form of research poetry is having some data, some transcripts, some narrative, and taking chunks of it and just arranging on the page. So it looks like a poem. So thinking about line breaks, but not changing any words.

[00:08:17] And then what we call interpretive poetry is say we have a conversation about like the young people in Oakland were talking about like, I pray every time before I go outside. And they weren't necessarily, all of them weren't religious, but they talked about, you know, as black people, that spirituality, that protection we have.

[00:08:34] And so we might read Blessing the Boats, we might read Ruth Forman, Prayer Like Shoes, and read other poets talking about spirituality or protection, and then write some poetry kind of based on their themes or maybe even taking some of their form and copying that. And so generating a lot of that is research and poetry. So again, as scholars who are also artists, like not separating that.

[00:09:02] And sometimes that means like doing a workshop with community members, but bringing them to like accessing our university resources to have poetry workshops. Sometimes that means going to the poetry slam. Sometimes that means doing the poetry slam at an academic conference. It's a lot of play experimentation and a lot of reading and writing.

[00:09:25] Why do you think you needed that permission or that co-sign from someone to come back to yourself to do this work that you had already been doing? I think sometimes we are like looking for external validation. He wasn't like, go do this, but I think it was the permission that I don't have to choose. We can have it all right. My former supervisor who worked in youth development and is an entrepreneur and is a biostatistician and a scholar and a poet.

[00:09:52] She saw me and she was like, ooh, do you more? Sometimes we need that fairy godmother. We need a reminder. But I've been working hard, like with my own healing journey, with therapy, with journaling of not seeking that external validation. I'll even find some notes in my journals and I was like, oh, I already said that to myself. Like I said it five years ago, but I re-found that page because I needed it right in this moment. Mm hmm.

[00:10:22] So then what is the publication story for Soul Survivors after doing so many years of research across these different places from Oakland to Atlanta to Brooklyn to putting these three movements of persona poems together in this collection? Yeah. So again, it takes me a minute to come back to myself. So originally Soul Survivors, I was trying to write it like an ethnographic, like an academic book that still would have poetry, but it wasn't just solely a poetry book.

[00:10:47] And then I was like, okay, maybe it's a research poetry, kind of like a methods book. But I had already published articles like that. And Mahogany Brown, who's a dear friend and sister friend and mentor and dope, dope, dope, dope poet and writer. Went into the show she's been on. Yeah, I've heard.

[00:11:05] And she was in a conversation with Lori Edom and was talking about in her work, particularly her like novels and verse of creating a world for every kind of Black girl. And I literally gasped when I was like looking at their YouTube interview and was like, oh, this is a book of poetry. Again, it's like, duh, you're a poet. I also think it was like the right time.

[00:11:32] I'm in a department of African-American studies that is unapologetically Black feminist that is filled with other scholars who are artists as scholars and scholars. And I'm in a college of arts and letters. And so also like the metrics in the academy where I currently am at Michigan State sees my poetry as scholarship. So I think it was like great timing. But when I finally like gave myself the permission that this is a poetry book, the writing kind of like flowed effortlessly.

[00:11:59] And I was invited to a conference in 2024. And I was like, OK, I have a few poems from each of the sections. Like, let me like play by like reading some of the poems and see how it lands at this conference. An editor saw the abstract and he like hit me up. He was like, can we meet at the conference? And that's Tim Roberts, who's the editor and publisher of my book of Counterpath and NP. And we had a conversation at the conference.

[00:12:27] We had a conversation on Zoom when I went back home after the conference. I sent him a query letter and sent him some excerpts. And he was like, let's do this. So it happened really quickly after like writing for so long after forgetting myself and remembering myself. But the publishing happened. It was so quick that he was like, OK, I have your edits. I have your notes. OK, I have your page proofs. OK.

[00:12:53] At the top of 2026 in January, he was like, I'm going to a conference and I want to take your book. And we had page proofs. We had blurbs. We had the cover. But it wasn't like I was thinking more. We were talking about a summer release. And he was like, no, I'm going to a conference in February. Your book's going to be out in February. And I was like, my book? And I wasn't like not wishing it. I was just like, oh, OK, let's go. Like, like change of plans. Let's go. And then collaborator, now a dear friend, Marcus Davis.

[00:13:22] And we created book trailers, which was like a fun experience for me to collaborate with a filmmaker and kind of like what did the scenes that I'm writing about look like? And me living in those three neighborhoods and cities, how can I bring that like visually? So that's been fun. I had a dope launch party that my husband DJed. And we had soul food. And we had majorette dancers. And we had young people who were leading poetry prompts. And so the publication and the rollout like happened quickly.

[00:13:52] And I feel like I was ready. And it's been a fun journey being out in the world. I want to go back just a bit before we get to the reading, because you talked about, you know, your work, your poetry specifically being supported by the institution that you work for at Michigan State University.

[00:14:08] And I've talked to several writers who are in academia and who have said that sometimes their work isn't legible or is not valued for tenure track or whatever the case may be, that it's not at that level. What does it mean to you to be so supported by an institution as your whole self in both your scholarship and in your creative arts? I feel like I'm ready. So even when I was at institutions and it wasn't legible, I was still doing it.

[00:14:35] And I think I worked previously to make myself legible by like, okay, this is still being published in the peer-reviewed academic journal, even though it's poetry. I was publishing across disciplines. So this is in a psychology journal and a sociology journal and a public health journal. So it was like collecting receipts previously. And I'm still getting grants to do this poetry with young Black girls in the hood. Before I was kind of seeking a type of legibility and a receipts.

[00:15:02] And like I was training younger scholars to also do this art as research, but like collect your receipts. But now at Michigan State, I'm not seeking that legibility. I'm not doing anything differently. I'm just doing it even more like unapologetically. I don't have to like sneak in a poem in between like some academic texts. I'm just doing. And so it feels amazing. I'm ready. I feel like now the permission that I'm giving myself is to play even more.

[00:15:30] Like, how does this poem look on the page? Like thinking about multimodal. Like again, like I said, the film, like thinking about dance and poetry. It feels dope to like play and to go back to like, oh yeah, I did do photography in eighth grade. Let me bring back. Like, I don't have to be a photographer in a gallery. But like that sense of play and experimentation, I feel like I'm bringing back and integrating with my poetry. So it feels amazing.

[00:15:58] One more question before the reading. Because you've said it a couple of times about, you know, it takes you a while to remember yourself, to come back to yourself, to grab other parts of yourself from eighth grade or from your young adulthood or things like that. Why do you think that is that like you don't always carry those parts of you and hold on to them that you have to circle back to them? I think I kind of do a dual thing. And I forgot the therapeutic title.

[00:16:26] So I think part of me is carrying it and is like doing it. And people are like, wow, you doing it. And then there's this other part of me that doesn't, that not that I like dismiss that I'm doing it, but that is like, oh, I wrote about this in my master's program about art. So I don't know why that litmus or like why I have to, but it seems like when I come back to it, it feels like divine.

[00:16:51] Like I'll find like, again, like an old story I wrote or an old journal page or an assignment in college. I was like, I wrote this when I was 19. And so it's not like I forgot. And it's not like it was buried. I'm not deeply in the archives. It's like I was cleaning up. And, um, but it's like when I, like, I find the line. So kind of feels like oracular in a way. Like I find the specific line. I didn't forget that I wrote it.

[00:17:18] I didn't forget it was in that drawer, but I needed to see that particular line or talk to that particular person. And so, I don't know. I think part of it is like a knowing. And then the forgetting part, I think I just need maybe to go back. Like, like if it's Oracle, then I just need to pull the card, I guess, so to speak. Okay. So then now can you read three pieces, one from each movement or one from each location? Sure.

[00:17:42] Soul Survivors by Dr. LeConté Dill is a triptych poetry collection featuring Lachelle from East Oakland, April from Southwest Atlanta, and Naima from East Flatbush. In these persona poems, the girls show you around their hood what they love, who they miss, how they wish they would and would not be treated as they grow into themselves as young, Black, and free girls. Here's Dr. Dill.

[00:18:09] So the first section is based in East Oakland. It's narrated by a guy that we call Lachelle. And I read the first poem in that section. It's called Hear, Hear. And throughout the book, I have footnotes that are written in the girl's voice and it's written like them. So Hear, Hear, her footnote says, A writer named Miss Gertrude, Gertrude Stein, who was also from the town. Well, she would probably say that she was from Oakland.

[00:18:39] Anyway, she said that in Oakland, there's no there there. Like it was nothing special or memorable here. Nothing or nowhere to draw you in. What? What? So this poem is a clapback. There is a hear, hear, boo. Yeah, so all those factories left. The ones for the cars. General Motors. Chrysler. Faygo. Durant. And the ones for food.

[00:19:09] Sunshine Biscuits. Del Monte. Granny Goose. And businesses came and left. And money really came and left. But we here. Still here. Been here. Nana Grace. Aunt Sue. Aunt Ethel. Uncle Son and them. Came first. Held it down. Us down. Made us matter. And we go hard for the town. And the town has always gone hard for us. I got so much love for the town.

[00:19:38] And the town loves me back. Like hella cousins and hella neighbors we know. And some new ones we don't. And always some sunshine on this side of the bay. And always a winning sports team. Or at the very least diehard fans. And the lake. Man made but pretty for pictures. Or walk. Or just to clear your mind or something.

[00:20:05] Like it helps to clear our minds from time to time. When we've seen what we've seen. And been where we've been. And from where we've from. Here. Then I say let's travel in our caddy. Like the caddy on the front cover of the book. Designed by Shaniqua Gay. Shout out to her. To Atlanta. And this is narrated by April. In the Pittsburgh neighborhood in southwest Atlanta. This is abandoned. For those of you following along.

[00:20:35] Page 47. Kinya was my best friend. I cried and cried when her granny died. As if my granny died. Kenya mama named down bad. Crying. Cussing. Fighting. Puffing more than ever. Can't find no paperwork. Can't keep Kenya's granny's house. They moved. They gone. I ran after they car. Till I couldn't run no more. They three counties over.

[00:21:03] Act like they forgot they selves. Forgot they house. Forgot they hood. Forgot about us. Key! I loud whispered. Knowing she can't hear me. Hoping she can. Now they house a bando. Boarded up. Empty. Broken into. Kinda like my heart. Mama. What's foreclosure? And last but not least.

[00:21:31] Riding the caddy up north to Brooklyn. Shout out to East Flatbush. Crown Heights. Ben Stye. And this is narrated by Naima. I'm going to read. Check in. Page 92. And the poem is just one line. Five words. But it has footnotes that create the rest of the poem. I don't want to cry today. It's my turn.

[00:21:59] We go around the room at the beginning of each session to talk about our day. Roses and thorns they call it. It feels like it's always my turn. So many thorns. Make the roses bleed red. Don't. Don't got nothing to say. Don't got no attitude. Wanna. Wanna be skipped. Wanna be left alone. Wanna step back.

[00:22:28] Wanna really want something for once. Really know what I want. Know a want. Cry. Cry for the living and the dead. Just cry. That's what Baby Suge said to the women in Beloved when she was preaching in the cut. We read it in AP Lit. And guess what? The women did cry. But that was fiction. You heard. Today. Today I'm tight.

[00:22:57] I hate every time I get mad. Hear my eyes go. Trying to water. Like today. Thank you. So as you mentioned, you're from South Central LA. From the South Side of Chicago. All right. So. Right. But in your acknowledgments, you thank Dr. Nikki Jones for documenting the daily rounds of all of the Black girls who are between good and ghetto. What does it mean to be between good and ghetto?

[00:23:26] Shout out to Dr. Nikki Jones. Professor currently at UC Berkeley. Dope Black feminist ethnographer. It was on my dissertation committee. And who encouraged me. Again, that encouragement or permission. To ask similar questions to all the cities that I moved to. Like she said this when I was in the Bay Area. And then I moved back to Atlanta for my postdoc. And moved to New York. And now I'm in Michigan. And asking similar questions.

[00:23:52] Which is why I like have these like similarities throughout the book. But also seeing the differences in the different neighborhoods. So her first book is called Between Good and Ghetto. And it's based on her work with Black girls in Philly. And what does it mean to be between good and ghetto? I think like you and like me. That's like what I always wanted to amplify. Because so much in research. In media. In popular culture. Nature is either, you know, the Black or white. The good or the ghetto.

[00:24:22] And there's so much in between. Dr. Amy Meredith Cox talks about the middle. And sometimes we miss the middle. And so I think between good and ghetto is like what. Like we don't miss it. The people that live in that middle. But what's in that middle. It's so like vast and nuanced. Like it's not a code switch. I think it's like sometimes we refuse to code switch. But it's a switch that's in us. That's just a natural. Like when an accent comes back when you down south.

[00:24:51] Even if you never live down south. Because the south is always in us. It's the voice that we call the code switch. When the bill collector calls. It is a performance. But not like in a negative performative. So I think the in between is this like. It's like a vast land to play. And again it reminds me of home south. Like when I think about home. I think about the playground at my school. And so I often when I'm meditating. Or thinking about like joy.

[00:25:20] I'm thinking about like the playground. As an in between good and ghetto. Because the playground was in the ghettos. On the corner of Normandy and Gage. Close to Normandy. Florence and Normandy. Where the LA Uprising started in 1992. And it like was like protected. And enshrouded in safety. Like I felt safe in that playground. Even if a block away was like okay. This might not be safe. And so I feel like between good and ghetto. Is that like play space.

[00:25:48] In the collection you talk a lot about place. About hoods. The town Oakland. East Oakland specifically. Southwest Atlanta. And Flatbush. East Flatbush in Brooklyn. And in one of the poems that you read. In Abandon. As you talk about Kenya's moving. And that you know. They act like they forgot their sales. Forgot their house. Forgot their hood. Why is it important. No matter where you go. To always remember your hood.

[00:26:16] It feels grounding to me. Like even when I go back home. In addition to like missing. Or seeing family members. It's like important for me to like hear home. So hear K-Day radio station. Or roll down the window. And like hear the sounds of Crenshaw. Or Vermont. Like hear. See the palm trees. Even in the hood. That has palm trees. Like that. So that like it's a grounding. And again. Even in moving in different places.

[00:26:46] Or going to visit different places. Like there's like a familiarity. Of a hood. And I think so much because. Like hoods have been stigmatized. Like I said. Like in research. In media. In the press. I never was ashamed. From being from the hood. Even when I like went to private school. Outside of my neighborhood. Like from middle school and high school. And was in the most prestigious parts. Of LA County. I never was ashamed. I was very glad that I came home every night. To home. And so.

[00:27:15] It's like a proud repping. That I like always rep. And that's like. I have it in my bio. That's from South Central. And I remember a few years ago. I was introducing myself. And I said that. And my homegirl. Who's also a scholar. And from Englewood. She gasped. But she's like. I didn't know we could do that. Like I didn't know we could rep. Like we're at an academic conference. And I think it's just. I've always repped. And so. It's important for me. And I think like. My mom would throw up the W. Like.

[00:27:45] And she would not. You know. Like she's not. Hood. But she. Would throw up the W. And C walk. Like. At my baby shower. Literally. So it's like a. A. It's a. It's a grounding. It's a familiarity. It's a. You know. The hood could be the rule. The hood can be like. Even black folks. When we're in our like. Our refuge places. We make. Like a familiar. Like. There's a chicken shack. In Idyllwild.

[00:28:15] You know. Like. There's like always a chicken shack. There's always gonna be. A. Electric slide. A second line. A sea walk. A jet. That feels. Like place. Like home. One of my favorite poems. I don't know if it's my favorite. But one that stands out. In the collection. Is in. The first section. In Lachelle's section. Fallen fruit. After Billie Holiday's. Strange fruit. Fruit. And then. You also have. Other poems. In the other sections. That are tributes.

[00:28:45] Or in memorances of. Like Oscar Grant. And other people who have. Died and gone too soon. Which is also part of. Hood culture. Where you know. There. There is violence. And the way that we remember them. You talk about. You know. The white t-shirt. And the old English. Airbrush font. And the picture on the t-shirt. And everything like that. Why. Was it. Important for you. To lift up. The thorns. Of the hood. As well as the roses. I think just because it's a reality. And it's like. Something we know.

[00:29:15] But it was important for me. To tell the story. As a black woman. And to lift up the. Like the personas in the book. The black girls. To tell the story. So like. It's not media. It's not an academic. That's not from the neighborhood. Trying to learn. And tell the story. It's like. No. We're the reporters. We're accounting it. To testify. Or to talk about it. Or to do a tribute. I think. When I was in my doctoral program. I really.

[00:29:44] Did not want to focus on violence. And violence prevention. Because it just felt. It felt cliche. It felt like. Tired. It felt stereotyped. I'm like. There's so much more. And. When I began talking to young people. In East Oakland. Like. Like. They talked about the joy. And the prayer. And the amusement parks. And the laughing. And the leadership. And they had to talk about violence. Because they. Worked to navigate it every day. And I think that. It was important for me to talk about.

[00:30:13] Like the nuanced ways. That like young people. Black folks. Navigated. And not just. Again. The black or white. The red or blue. The cryptic bloods. The. It was like. Oh. We don't go down that way. But this park is safe. Like literal. I talk about in my academic research. Is violence management. The ways that we. You know. Like. Across race and gender. Like. As women. Told to put keys. Between our fingers. Our thumbs. When we're walking down the street. Like.

[00:30:43] We learned that really young. But as a violence management strategy. And so. I wanted to. Uplift. Like. Yeah. There's violence. But there's also these safe zones. There's these strategies. There's these. Oh. We don't ride the bus. Because there's fights on the bus. We get a ride. Like. But how does that look like. In a New York. Where people don't have cars. So. We walk to the train station. But it's 10 deep. And 10 deep is not. You know. The cops might see that. As dangerous. Or a gang.

[00:31:12] Or you can't gather. But black folks know. That that's always been. A safety strategy. In Atlanta. Where my public health colleagues. Wanted kids to walk to school. To prevent obesity. But if the houses are banned though. It's foreclosures. And five houses on the block. Are foreclosed upon. Like they a trap house. That's not safe to walk to school. So. I think it was important for me. To like. Uplift the nuance. Of violence. But also the ways that like. Communities are like. Working to manage. Or prevent.

[00:31:42] The violence. Granny's on the porch. Watching the kids. Walk 10 deep to school. In Atlanta. Or. You know. The uncle that I've got a job. But now he the crossing guard. You know. I think it was important for me. To. To yeah. Uplift those nuanced stories. But also the. In memorance of like. Not just prevention. Or strategies. Like some people have been murdered. By the cops. By other black folks. By. Vigilantes. and the different types of deaths.

[00:32:12] That we mourn. And to. Talk about like. The stories. Like even beyond the headlines. The stories. Another theme. And what's actually happening. In each of these places. Is the consistent creep. Of gentrification. And you have. In Flatbush fights back. You have the line. When I see bikes and puppies. It's a wrap. They come in. Chris Columbus and them. Found another Caribbean. Which I love. Because everybody knows. As soon as you see white joggers. With their dogs. And their running strollers.

[00:32:41] Especially the ladies. With their running strollers. With the toddlers. And with no shoes on their baby. Outside running. You know. It's a wrap. It's a wrap. Your neighborhood is gone. How has. And I'm not sure. If you can even speak to this. But how has Flatbush. Resisted gentrification. Compared to the rest of Brooklyn. Yeah. So. It was really interesting. Like watching it. Onika LeBennett. A scholar. Talks about. Caribbeanization. And so. The huge. Caribbean population. I think. In central Brooklyn.

[00:33:11] She says. And I feel. And I saw. Felt like. A prevention. Of. Or at least. It slowed down. The gentrification. So. Where in other places. Even in New York. Or across the country. It was like. Bam. It's a wrap. It was already happening. Something around the like. Huge Caribbean. Like there's always going to be this. Caribbean Day Parade. Down the street. Labor Day weekend. Right. Right. And so. It was like. The unapologetic. Like the flags. The music. The noise. The like. These are different countries. So like.

[00:33:41] The like. We're coming together. The. It's a patty shop. And there's a roti shop. And there's a. Like the. The diversity. Seemed to. At least stave it off. A little bit. Then the city. Like. Like. Named. A part of East Flatbush. Little Caribbean. And it was like. Uh oh. I mean we want things. Named and memorialized. But sometimes. When certain jurisdictions do it. Then it's like. Oh. That's a wrap too. Like. The community should name themselves. Yeah. Exactly.

[00:34:11] And then it's like. Then. You know. We see this around. Like even if it's not like. The little Caribbean. Right. Like. If it's the city doing it. Or developer. Then they create a name. That don't even make no sense. Like. This is South Central. Not Sola. Not. You know. South. Whatever. You know. They make up names. Everywhere. But even. I was in New York. For book stuff. In March. And. Crown Heights. Like. There's still areas. That like. Okay. We still here. With the motorcycles. With the loud music. Like.

[00:34:41] I kind of love that. Like. It feels like resistance. You know. The gentrification is creeping in. But there's still like. Somebody selling ice cream. And popsicles. On a corner. In a shopping cart. I love that. Another theme. That I saw. And I don't know if it's necessarily a theme. But it was repetition. In each of the sections. And with each of the speakers. Is. Growing ourselves back. And the. In laughter. In freedom. What is the importance of blooming. And growing yourself back. I think that goes back to like. You know.

[00:35:11] Me even like. Remembering myself to me. Right. And so. I think it's the. Like. The ways that. Like our family reunions. Are a strategy. A ritual. To grow ourselves back. Teaching one another. There are rituals. Like. Where is the electric slide. Or spades. Feels like a growing ourselves back. It's finding. You know. Great grandma's old bible. And then. Like. All these things are tumbling out. Like notes. Bills. Obituaries. Money.

[00:35:40] That feels like. It. It feels like a growing ourselves back. It's. I called my mom last night. And I had some questions. I was like. What was your great grandma. Because I was on Ancestry.com. Going down a rabbit hole. For better or worse. And. You know. And even the ways. Again. Going back to like. How we name ourselves. And then who names us. Like. Even in like. The census. Like. It's exciting. But then. They don't get it right either. Like. No. Her name was Cindy. Not. Lucille. Like. You know. Like.

[00:36:10] The ways that are. Especially at black folks. Right. Like. Our records are not. We didn't always control it. Right. Even if we can find them. And so. It is like. Growing ourselves back. Is having those conversations. Which I've always done that. I've always been the kid. And that had the. Again. Permission to ask all the questions. I just always was curious. But I didn't realize like. Everybody didn't ask the questions. I think a lot of writers did. But if you weren't. An apologetic writer. In a family. I'm like. You don't know your great grandmother's middle name? Like.

[00:36:39] I was talking to my husband. He was like. No. Like. Like. So I guess my curiosity. Feels like a growing myself back. And it feels like a growing ourselves back. So even with like. In the book. Like the poem I read. Mama. What is foreclosure? Like that. There's this big word. Foreclosure. Gentrification. Maybe I heard it on the news. But like. That curiosity. The question asking. And then that. That becomes a conversation. Between mother and child. And maybe intergenerationally.

[00:37:09] That feels like a. A growing ourselves back to. Okay. The speakers of the poems. Are all black girls. And. They note. How they are treated. Within. Organizations. That are supposed to. Keep them safe. Allow them to have safe spaces. Brave places. To like. Share their stories. And yet. They still feel. Sometimes. Second class. To the boys. In. Telling that story. Of how.

[00:37:39] Sexism. And patriarchy. Still reign. In. Organizations. That are supposed to be trying to. You know. Save the at risk. Youth. So to speak. What do you want. Young black girls. Who may be in those programs. To see about themselves. In this book. That they matter. That they're here. I mean. The first poem in the book. Is called. Here here. Like. We here. And we here. And we'll repeat it. I mean. Because I was working. With these programs. In these spaces. And.

[00:38:08] I had some privilege. And access. Because of my degree. Because of my. My age. Because of my. Professional badge. Or my business card. Sometimes I felt like. I was like. Witnessing something. Like flying above. And like. Does anybody else see this? I mean. Other people. And saw it. But. I remember like. People kind of even. Walking in the middle. Of the girl. Our session. And like. Maybe to get to. Another part of the school. But like. As if. These 15 girls. Are not sitting here. I remember sometimes. Like getting even. Like pushed out of spaces. Like.

[00:38:38] This is our regular. Workshop space. Like. We here every Thursday. Like. Why do you need to take this over? We here every Thursday. This is not. And. So it's like a reminder. That they're here. Me and some colleagues. Were presenting at a conference. About. Some of the data. That we were finding. Because we were. Collecting data. Every Thursday. And that wasn't always. It's like published. It's like published. Or evaluated. But we're at a conference. With other folks. That were doing work. With young people of color. Around violence. And violence prevention. And we're presenting. PowerPoint slide. And.

[00:39:08] Somebody yells from the audience. A black man. Yells from the audience. But they ain't dying though. Talking about black girls. In the middle of my presentation. And this is like. Academic conference. Like. And that just stuck with. Like. That was a violent. Phrase to say. And. Why does our death. Why does death. Have to like. Make us matter. But also. It's not true. Black women are dying. Thanks to Kimberly Crenshaw. And others.

[00:39:38] Monique Kufson. And others. Me. Who've documented. Like. No. Black girls and women. Are dying. Sometimes at the hands of our. Would be beloved. Right. And by. The state. The cops. Like. It's just not always counted. It's not always disclosed. It's not always talked about. It's often erased. And so. But. The death. Shouldn't be the metric. Of like. This matters. And this is how we should talk. Because so much of my work. Particularly in New York. The girls was like. There's so many other types of violence.

[00:40:07] The incest in families. That we can't always talk about. Particularly. I was. Again. Working with West Indian. Caribbean girls. The violence of this school. Is violent. I have to go through metal detectors. And I. I would have to go through it. Every Thursday. But these girls. These kids are going through it. Every day. And then sometimes. Oh. Now you're late. I was late. Because I was in line. For the metal detector. Now I have a mark against me. Because I'm late to school. Even though I was here on time. And so. I think that. Like. The different types of violence.

[00:40:37] Against the nuanced violence. Not just death. But the different types of violence. I wanted to uplift that. And so. I wanted the girls to know. That like. I see that. The girls. Were talking about like. Self-harm. And. I feel like. Like. The. Gen Z. Gen Alpha. Are just more. They were like. This is not. I'm not ashamed. I'm hurting. And I want you to know. Where I feel like. Other older generations. Were like. This is a secret. And so.

[00:41:06] They were like. No. I'm hurt. Like. I cut myself. I say. It's a poem. And she's like. I cut. I cut myself. And. As adult facilitators. Millennials. Gen X. We were like. Oh. You cut class. And. And I think in the poem. Like. The girls were like. We know what she really means. And so. That was. And I. And at the time. I was like. Who's talking about this. In like. The research literature. We're supposed to be doing. I mean. Public health. Violence prevention. And the one article. That talked about. Black girls and self-harm. Was actually from Essence.

[00:41:36] Shout out Essence. And they quoted. Some academics. In the UK. Shout out to the black people. In the UK. But nobody. Like from a. Academic or research. Makes it legit. Even though that's not the only. Way to make things legit. Like no one. This is 2013. 2014. There were. No. Recorded. Data. On black girls. In the US. And self-harm. And so. Again. I just don't want to sit with the violence. But part of the book is like. We're here.

[00:42:06] We're here hurting. We're here wounded. We're here harmed. And we're here. With our. You know. Fresh bust down after Christmas. We're here. Sucking our thumbs. Even though we's. 17 years old. We're here. For the pizza. That y'all adults are going to bring. Every Thursday. We're here. All right. So I want to move into a speed round. And a game. Before I let you go. For the morning. What is your favorite book? The Salt Eaters. Who is your favorite author? Toni Morrison. Who is your favorite poet?

[00:42:35] Lucille Clifton. Name a poet you think people don't know enough. Janice Miller. What's the difference between poetry and spoken word? If you think there is a difference? I think like 20 years ago. When I was deeply committed. Started being intentionally committed to my craft. There was a difference. Or people were making distinctions. But I feel like. I mean. All respect to folks that are slamming regularly. And in slam teams. And scores. But also. Like some of my friends have been like.

[00:43:04] We don't. Even though we were part of it. We don't like this competition. And this scoring. And we kind of never did. So I think that there is less and less distinction. I think that I learned very early from Ruth Foreman. That poetry is meant to be spoken. If money were no object. Where would you go? What would you do? And where would you live? Johannesburg. I often say it's my Blacksit location. I like. Love it. I've been there like six times. I've considered moving there. And just like the art. The poetry.

[00:43:32] I've done research poetry there. I've met people that have felt like homegirls for decades. Even though I just met them. They love 80s R&B out there. And so I feel. And you know. Good, good wine in South Africa. It's felt very familiar. So definitely Johannesburg. Name three things on your bucket list. I was listening to some of your other articles. And Danika Kelly was talking about like. I don't know my bucket list until I'm doing the thing. And I think.

[00:44:02] Ma can you say that too? In a similar vein. I think. I just. I do the thing I want to do. So like. I don't. If I want to do it. Then like. Let's go. I don't know if that's because I have Aquarius. And four placements. But like. I'm right now. At an artist residency. On this island off of Michigan. That I went to once last year. Mackinac Island. I spent a day here with my family. And I was like. I want to spend some more time there. It's beautiful. It's so many beautiful flowers.

[00:44:31] It's off the water. And I googled artist residency. And applied. So I think that like. I. Yeah. I don't know if I have a bucket list. I just do the things. What brings you joy? Water. Being by water. Naps. Bring me joy. Music. And I. Again. This might be my Gen X. But I can be sitting down. Like I love to dance. But I also love a good. Like. I can just groove. Like in my car. Or in a chair. Just like being surrounded by good music. My husband's a DJ. So that helps too.

[00:45:02] What brings you peace? What I just did. A deep breath. Deeply breathing. So our game is called. Rewriting the classics. Classic is however you define it. Oh. Name one book. You wish you would have written. Beloved. Name one book. Where you want to change the ending. And how would you do it? That's a hard one. And I know. Everybody always gets stumped by this. I don't know. Oh. It's okay. Can I skip that one? Yeah. It's fine. All right. And name a book that you think is overrated.

[00:45:32] Or overtaught. Professor. And why? All those books I had to read. In like. My white private prep school. Catcher in the Rye. That book has caught so many strays. Not even strays. It's like people aim directly for Catcher in the Rye. Every season. Like. Yeah. Everybody's got smoke for Catcher in the Rye. Mediocre. Mediocre white boy. I'm good.

[00:46:01] My final question for you today is. When you are dead and gone. And among the ancestors. What would you like someone to write. About the legacy of words. And work that you left behind. She was here. Unapologetically. Big thank you to Dr. LaConte Dill. For being here today on Black and Published. You can follow Dr. Dill. On Instagram and threads. At Doc Dill Taught Em. And make sure you check out Soul Survivors. Out now. From MP and Counterpath Press.

[00:46:30] You can get a copy of the collection. From Mahogany Books. And get 10% off your first purchase. Using code BlackPub. At checkout. That's B-L-K-P-U-B. That's our show for the week. If you like this episode. And want more Black and Published. Head to our Instagram. Or YouTube page. It's at Black and Published. And that's B-L-K and Published. There you can watch a bonus clip. From my interview with Dr. Dill.

[00:46:59] About what it means to be a free Black girl. Make sure you check it out. And let me know what you think. In the comments. I'll holla at y'all next week. When our guest will be T Clark. Author of the short story collection. All this want. And I can't get none. When you don't have a lot of your basic needs. Easily and unthinkably met. It's really hard to want things besides like. A nice place to sleep. A nice meal.

[00:47:28] Like basic love and nurturing. You know. And so it was an active realization that. Characters and myself as a person. Had desires that were just kind of like. Unearthed or unnameable. Or like messy. Or challenging. That's next week on Black and Published. I'll talk to you then. Peace. What's going on family?

[00:47:58] This is Derek Young. And Ramonda Young. Owners of both Mahogany Books. And the Mahogany Books Podcast Network. We really want to thank each and every one of you. For listening to this episode. And if you enjoyed what you just heard. Drop us a review. And rate us on whatever platform you download podcasts on. We truly appreciate each and every one of you. For supporting us. And making us your go-to for Black books. And we look forward to connecting with you all. Sometime in the future. Thank you again fam. And always remember. Black books matter. Black books matter.