I am loving the process of creating these short videos with the aunties who share Garvey Wisdom in twenty-five-second sound bites. Each one feels like a visit to an older relative’s kitchen or porch, where truth is offered plain and steady. They remind me that Garvey’s philosophy was never meant to stay locked in books or speeches. It was meant to live in the rhythm of ordinary conversation, the kind that teaches you how to move through the world without losing yourself.
When Elder Ruth sits at her kitchen table, Bible nearby, and says, “Garvey told us never fear man, but understand him,” you can hear more than advice. You hear training. It is a survival code wrapped in tenderness. She is not saying do not feel fear. She is saying do not build your life around it. Understanding, she insists, is the real defense. It keeps you from being surprised by the world or by your own reactions to it.
That distinction matters. Fear tightens the chest and makes you small. Understanding expands the lungs. It gives you room to breathe and think before you act. In Garvey’s language, that is what mental freedom looks like: knowing the nature of the world so it cannot make you flinch. That is how Courage works in our tradition. It is not noise. It is discernment. The quiet that comes when you know who you are and what you are facing.
These aunties carry that kind of clarity. They do not quote Garvey for decoration. They live by his principles in how they move. Every gesture and every pause between their sentences feels earned. They have seen life’s sharp edges and decided to stay soft anyway. That, too, is a kind of courage. One born of understanding rather than bravado.
Working on these pieces has also reminded me how much wisdom hides in the familiar. The ticking clock, the hum of the refrigerator, the bird outside the window. All of it frames her voice like a hymn to daily life. These are the sounds of our classrooms now. Not chalk dust and bells, but kitchens and porches turned into spaces of instruction. The work of freedom begins right there, inside the places where we feel most human and most seen.
This week, as we move toward the Paul Robeson episode, I am holding on to Elder Ruth’s words. They feel like preparation. Robeson’s courage was not a reaction. It was the result of deep understanding of himself, of the system he was up against, and of the people he sang for. He did not walk around afraid. He walked around awake.
Maybe that is the real work of freedom: to stay awake in a world that profits from our sleep. To see clearly, to act with dignity, and to let understanding, not fear, shape our next move.
Until next time, walk good.
