Folding Hatred into Beauty

Some fragmented thoughts on these troubled times, the spiritual practice of wrapping wonton, and the wondrous gifts of Black creatives

The 3rd Day after Coronatide*
Grand Rapids, Michigan

Hey, friend.

My heart is heavier this week than it has been in a long time, and this has already been a heavy season. I know I’m not alone in this. I water my plants, but it’s been hard to focus on growing things right now. I try to find some music to put on, just for a little sung solace, but I quickly find myself tuning out. When my sister sent me a photo of my youngest nephew at a protest, I was so proud. He’s adorable. But then I thought: What is this world, where a kid is growing up with such grievous things to protest?

As those of you who follow me on Instagram know, I did find myself wrapping wonton last weekend. My mother taught my sister and me to make these dumplings when we were kids. To bite into a plump dumpling, to feel the still-springy resistance of the just-cooked pork (and shrimp, if you want to add those), to taste the brightness of scallion and the warmth of ginger, to feel that little bit of broth run down my chin—it’s the most comforting of Chinese comfort food. 

So amid the sorrows of the nation and the world, I found myself at the dining-room table with a stack of wonton skins, plopping some seasoned meat into the center of each, folding the corners together, and then forming the rectangle into a tidy bonnet. (My sister was always a superior wonton maker, but I like to think that I’ve caught up a bit over the years.)

The significance of the wonton wrapping at a time like this has something to do with one of the legends that’s told about the dumpling’s origin. The English word “wonton” derives from the Cantonese, which is pronounced more like “wuntun,” which in turn comes from the Mandarin “huntun.” The story goes that, in ancient times, there was a particularly cruel and oppressive regime, and two of that regime’s particularly cruel and oppressive leaders were named Hun and Tun. The people suffered mightily at the hands of these two and their henchmen. Call it an act of culinary resistance: The people took pork and wrapped it in fresh dough, a gesture of enfolding their hatred. They boiled the small parcels, and they ate them. In doing so, they processed their rage into something nourishing and life-giving. In doing so, they fueled themselves to work toward justice, toward claiming their worth, toward hard-won peace.

This is the work before us now—to take our righteous rage, our legitimate anger, and to turn it into something that feeds us and our neighbors, that propels us toward common good, that equips us for the days, weeks, and months ahead. I want to say something especially to my friends who are people of color, and particularly to my Black friends: So many of you are carrying an unnameable weight right now. Make time and space, if you can, for the food that will nourish not just your body but also your soul. The food of our peoples carries the courage of our ancestors and the resilience of the generations. If you can’t do it for yourself, reach out to someone who can—even me, if you don’t know where else to turn. See if others might be able to help you set a table where you can find the tiniest bit of rest and rejuvenation.

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Some of you marked this past Tuesday by posting a simple black box on your social media. For most, it was a well-meaning, if fraught, exercise in solidarity. The intent of the music-industry folks who started this initiative was, I think, to clear space to amplify the work and lift up the voices of Black creatives. Somewhere along the way, much of that intent was lost. But in that spirit, I want to devote the rest of this letter to highlighting Black thinkers and creatives who bless the world with their hope, their wisdom, and their beauty with the world. Buy their work. Support their efforts. Absorb their ideas. Learn from them. Buy their work. (Yeah, I said that twice.)

James Baldwin
This might seem obvious, but many people have never read any Baldwin. Which is a shame, because his writing remains some of the most masterful deployment of the English language I’ve ever read. In my lifetime, I’d like to write just one sentence as powerful, evocative, lyrical, scythe-like in their ability to cut to the truth, as many, many, many of his do. The Fire Next Time is the book that introduced many of us to his work. But his short story “Sonny’s Blues” is also a wonderful place to start.

Wil Gafney
Last time I saw her, she told me to call her “Wil.” But a part of me will always feel wrong addressing her as anything other than Dr. Gafney. That’s just the way I was brought up; we honor our elders—and that is not a statement about her age so much as her scholarship and wisdom. A professor at Brite Divinity School in Texas, she is the author of Womanist Midrash, a work that has transformed my understanding of the Hebrew Bible and sharpened my knowledge of the women in its stories. She is also just a tremendously fascinating person: Episcopal priest; former Army chaplain; expert on vampires... You can also follow her on Twitter at @wilgafney.

Gregory Gourdet
We’re big fans of Top Chef in our house, and Chef Gregory is on the current season, which features chefs who have competed in past seasons. I’m glad I don’t live in Portland, where his restaurant, Departure, is (there used to be one in Denver, but sadly, that has closed); I’d probably spend way too much of my money eating his extraordinarily delicious food. His first cookbook, Everyone’s Table, comes out next year. You can follow him on Instagram: @gg30000.

Yaa Gyasi
Ghana-born, Alabama-reared Gyasi’s book Homegoing may have been the best novel I read last year. It’s a stunning work that spans cultures and centuries, chronicling the painful, dehumanizing, and enduring legacy of slavery. Her follow-up, Transcendent Kingdom, is due out in August. It’s high on my to-read list.

Willie James Jennings
A brilliant theologian who teaches systematic theology and Africana studies at Yale, Jennings is the author of The Christian Imagination: Theology and the Origins of Race. This is not an easy read. The prose can be dense at times, but the ideas are so powerful. Jennings explores what Christianity has forged and what it has forgotten. He takes his scholarly scalpel to the structures and systems some of us would rather leave uninterrogated but which, to varying degrees, have harmed us all.

China Moses
Moses spends most of her time performing in Europe, which is a shame for those of us on this side of the ocean. She’s usually classified as a soul/jazz singer (her mom is the jazz legend Dee Dee Bridgewater). Yes, she’s soulful, and yes, her music is jazzy, but anyone who has spent time with her can testify that she’s really a genre unto her own. Probably my favorite song of hers is “Breaking Point” (the name doesn’t refer to the events of the current moment, but whatever works for you).

If you like a little house mixed with your soul and your jazz, the French duo Mochi Men recently did a remix that I find entrancing.

I also love a good cover. Here’s Moses’s reimagination of Donna Summer’s Hot Stuff:

Addye Nieves
It’s hard to sum up Nieves’s multifaceted work—or the woman herself. She’s a brilliant abstract artist, an advocate for women of color, an organizer, a survivor of abuse, a storyteller who speaks candidly about her chronic illness, and a person who has channeled her own trauma into helping others find healing and joy. You can see some of her paintings online and read the story of the Philadelphia organization she founded, the Tessera Arts Collective. Better yet, support the collective on Patreon.

Leah Penniman
You didn’t think I’d get through this without including a farmer, did you? Penniman co-directs and manages Soul Fire Farm, in Grafton, New York. Her 2018 book Farming While Black: Soul Fire Farm’s Practical Guide to Decolonizing Land, Food, and Agriculture, challenged me. Honestly, at times it made me uncomfortable—and necessarily so. Her vision is bold, even radical. She hosts a Facebook Live show called Ask a Sista Farmer every Friday afternoon. You can also follow her on Instagram at @leahpenniman.

R. Eric Thomas
Thomas is one of the funniest writers out there, whether he’s writing about Stanley Tucci looking hot while making a Negroni or a dog show. But more than that, his writing is infused with heart and soul. Take his bracingly candid column on being a black man in today’s America. Or his book, Here for It, which elegantly weaves together faith and memory, identity and laughter. He is a gift, on Twitter (as @oureric) and off.

Bryan Washington
Washington is a Houstonian, and it was his writing about my husband’s hometown that first lured me in. To read his writing is to sit at a hospitable table, but one where you’ll be invited not just to feast but also to think. He writes gorgeous, incisive essays about identity, culture, and especially food. Here’s a piece from the New Yorker about Friendsgiving, and here’s one from Catapult about the meaning of food in today’s Houston (which, I promise you, is one of the greatest food cities in America).

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A final ask, based on what I’ve seen happen sometimes on social media: Please don’t treat these humans—or any!—as mere resources that exist for your education or for your edification or really for your anything. (Jennings has something to say about the tragic costs and consequences of that.) They have graced the world with their work. Yes, I commend that work to you, but receive that commendation as an invitation to honor the beautiful, multidimensional people that they are, both the parts that they offer to the world and the ones they don’t. 

I’d love to know whom you learn from and why; post something in the comments section. And as always, I’m so glad we can stumble through all this together. I’ll try to write more soon.

Much love,
Jeff

*My governor, Gretchen Whitmer—also known as That Woman in Michigan, First of Her Name, “Big Gretch”—lifted our stay-at-home order on Monday. I’m a little nervous about this. It’s not like COVID-19 just vanished. So, for the love of God and the sake of our neighbors, may we continue to #StaySafe.