Rev Michael T. Malcom, MDiv MBA

“When White Privilege Entered The Room” In the heart of a city that’s seen fire and flowers, where echoes of marching feet and soulful tunes linger in the air like the scent of magnolia blooms, we gathered. Journalists, poets, storytellers—voices of the unheard, the unyielding, the unbroken. It was a convention of black ink on white pages, telling truths that refuse to fade. But in walked a specter of privilege, wrapped in arrogance and a suit that reeked of ignorance. He strutted through the doors of our sanctuary, uninvited, unwelcomed, yet unperturbed. He came to tell us about jobs, about blackness, about ourselves. A man who’s never known the weight of our histories, the rhythm of our struggles, dared to speak over us, to us, about us. “Black jobs,” he said, as if they were some artifact to be displayed, some trinket of a bygone era. “Real jobs,” he proclaimed, his voice a blunt instrument, cutting through our dignified air. What does he know of the labor of our ancestors, who built this land with hands roughened by hope and despair? What does he know of the resilience that courses through our veins, a legacy of endurance and grace? And then, the audacity—a pointed finger, a dismissive wave. Kamala Harris, a beacon of possibility, was reduced to a mere shadow in his monologue of mediocrity. A Black woman, running to lead a nation that’s never fully acknowledged the weight of her stride. Disrespected, disregarded, but not diminished. For her strength is not a question but a statement, a testament to the power that lies in our blood, our bones, our being. White privilege is a veil, a cloak, a shield. It allows one to walk into spaces not meant for them, to speak on matters they barely comprehend, to pontificate on lives they’ve never truly seen. It’s the audacity to rewrite our stories while silencing our voices, to redefine our existence with a lexicon of lies. But we, the bearers of the true narrative, see through the facade. We know that our worth is not defined by the whims of the privileged but by the wisdom of our ancestors and the promises we carry forward. In this room, where the walls have witnessed the births of revolutions and the deaths of dreams deferred, we stand unyielding. His words, sharp as they aimed to be, fell bluntly against our collective armor. We are the descendants of Baldwins and Angelou’s, of warriors and scholars. We are not to be told who we are, for we already know. We have always known. He came to our convention, not to listen, not to learn, but to lecture. Yet, in his ignorance, he revealed the truth of his own impotence. For power is not in the title one holds but in the legacy one leaves. And our legacy is one of survival, of thriving against the odds, of transforming pain into poetry, and struggle into song. So, let him speak. Let him spill his misconceptions onto the floor of our sacred space. For we will gather them, turn them into ink, and write the truths that his privilege blinds him to. We will tell the stories of our heroes, our heroines, our everyday warriors. We will lift up Kamala and all the Black women who’ve been told they are not enough, who’ve been overlooked, underestimated, and scorned. We will lift them up because they are the heart of our narrative, the soul of our future. In the end, his presence was a footnote in our history, a fleeting intrusion quickly overshadowed by the brilliance of our own voices. We are not defined by the judgments of those who cannot see us; we are defined by the light we cast, the shadows we dispel, the truths we uphold. White privilege may allow a man to enter our house and attempt to dictate our worth, but it cannot strip us of our dignity, our identity, our power. We are the narrators of our own destiny, the architects of our own future. And in the face of ignorance, we stand unbowed, unbroken, and unapologetically Black. ©️MustafaSantisgoAli #Poetry #NABJ24 #Trump #BlackExcellence #ProudBlue #KamalaHarris #BlackTwitter #BlackWomen

“Why Black Folks Should Vote” In whispers of our forebears, in the echo of their strides,
Lies the power of a vote, a storm brewing in the tides.
For black folks, it's a lifeline, a beacon in the night,
A fight against the shadows, wielding ballots as our light. In the hum of urban landscapes, in neighborhoods we tread,
Each vote's a seed of hope, in gardens long left dead.
Disproportioned impacts linger, in the air we breathe,
Maternal health in jeopardy, in the truths we weave. With hands upraised in protests, against brutality's face,
Our votes cast shadows on unfair judges, our community's disgrace.
Economic justice teeters, on a scale unfairly tipped,
Our ballots are the weights, in this crucial manuscript. Environmental injustice, a silent thief in our midst,
Stealing breaths from our children, with a poisonous kiss.
Histories erased from classrooms, our stories left untold,
Our votes can be the scribes, making our narratives bold. The wealth gap yawns wider, a chasm deep and stark,
Our votes are bridges, lighting candles in the dark.
In every corner of our community, in every injustice faced,
Our power lies in voting, in the disparities we've traced. For every voice that's silenced, for every dream deferred,
Our votes are declarations, that we will be heard.
In the legacy of our ancestors, in the future we foresee,
Our ballots are the promise, of what is yet to be. So let us rise, united, in this call to arms,
Embracing our power, to right these wrongs and harms.
For in the act of voting, in the choice to make a stand,
Lies the path to justice, in the palm of our hand. ©️MustafaSantiagoAli #poetry #BlackVotesMatter #WomensDay #Voting #SOTU #BlackExcellence

“The Forgotten Commandment” In the shadowed alleys of our discourse, whispers linger,
"Whatever happened to ‘Thou Shalt Not Kill’?"
A commandment etched in the stones of ancient times,
Now blurred, obscured by the march of progress and will. In the clamor of the world, where power holds sway,
This sacred edict frays, unravels, thread by silken thread.
In lands where drones dance their deadly ballet,
And streets where the innocent too often tread. We've traded olive branches for the steel of guns,
Turned plowshares into bombs, in the name of peace.
Justified the end, until the means becomes
A beast we feed, yet wonder why it does not cease. In boardrooms and war rooms, decisions made,
Where "Thou Shalt Not Kill" is but a bargaining chip.
And on screens, violence is paraded, displayed,
A spectacle, from which we sip and quip. Yet, amidst the cacophony, a whisper grows,
A chorus of the weary, the forgotten, the scorned.
Clamoring for a world where compassion shows,
Where "Thou Shalt Not Kill" is reborn, adorned. For in each heart, the commandment still beats,
A drum, soft but steady, beneath the din.
A reminder that with each act, one repeats
The choice to end or begin again within. So let us pause, in the rush of our days,
To heed the whisper, ancient and profound.
To choose life, in a thousand small ways,
Until "Thou Shalt Not Kill" is the only sound. ©️MustafaSantiagoAli #Protectlife

“IN 2024” Those Who Love #Peace Must Organize As Effectively As Those Who Love #War! Those Who Love Truth Must Organize As Effectively As Those Who Love #Misinformation! Those Who Love #Equality Must Organize As Effectively As Those Who Love #Discrimination! Those Who Love #Justice Must Organize As Effectively As Those Who #Love Oppression! Those Who Love #ClimateJustice Must Organize As Effectively As Those Who Love Exploitation! Those Who Love Inclusivity Must Organize As Effectively As Those Who Love Exclusion! Those Who Love #Education Must Organize As Effectively As Those Who Love Ignorance! Those Who Love Voting Rights Must Organize As Effectively As Those Who Love Voter Suppression! By:#MustafaSantiagoAli

“2024: The Year of Radically Loving Yourself” As we embark on the journey of 2024, it's imperative to remember the power of showing ourselves love and grace. In a world that often demands perfection and endless striving, it’s a revolutionary act to embrace our own humanity with kindness. Love, in its truest sense, is an acknowledgement of our own worth. It's the gentle acceptance of our flaws, the celebration of our strengths, and the quiet recognition that we are deserving of joy and peace. This year, let us commit to loving ourselves in ways both big and small. It’s in the morning affirmations, the forgiveness for our mistakes, and the courage to pursue what brings us fulfillment. Grace is equally significant. It's the soft landing when the world feels hard. It whispers to us that it's okay to fall, to fail, and to be less than what we or others expect. Grace is the pause between self-criticism and self-improvement, a space where we can breathe and acknowledge our efforts. In 2024, let us give ourselves the gift of grace, allowing it to cushion our journey through the year. This year is ripe with potential, a canvas awaiting our unique strokes. Amazing things are indeed on the horizon, but they begin within us. By showing ourselves love and grace, we open doors to endless possibilities. Our self-compassion becomes a source of strength, propelling us toward our dreams with a heart full of courage and a spirit undeterred by the inevitable challenges. As we navigate this year, let’s remember that the journey towards self-love and grace is ongoing. It's a path filled with learning and growth, and it's okay to stumble along the way. Each step, each act of kindness towards ourselves, is a stitch in the beautiful tapestry of our lives. In 2024, let us embrace ourselves with all the love and grace we possess. For in doing so, we don’t just transform our own lives; we radiate that love and grace outward, becoming beacons of light in a world that so desperately needs it. ©️MustafaSantiagoAli #selfcare #selflove #Grace #MustafaSantiagoAli

“Twas The Night Before Climate Change" It was the night before #climatechange altered our fate, Not a GOP rep stirred, they said, “It can wait.” The reports were hung by the Congress with care, In hopes that logic soon would be there. The children nestled, all snug in their beds, While visions of clean oceans danced in their heads. And mamma with her Prius, and I with my App, Had just settled our brains for a long winter's nap. When out on the lawn there arose such a clatter, I sprang from the bed to see what was the matter. Away to the window I flew like a flash, Tore open the shutters and threw up the sash. The moon on the breast of the new-fallen snow, Gave a lustre of midday to objects below. When what to my wondering eyes did appear, But a renewable energy sleigh and eight tiny reindeer. With a little old driver so lively and quick, I knew in a moment he must be St. Nick. More rapid than eagles his coursers they came, And he whistled, and shouted, and called them by name: “Now, Dasher! now, Dancer! now, Prancer and Vixen! On, Comet! on, Cupid! on, Donner and Blitzen! To the top of the porch! to the top of the wall! Now dash away! dash away! dash away all!" As dry leaves that before the wild hurricane fly, When they meet with an obstacle, mount to the sky; So up to the house-top the coursers they flew With the sleigh full of toys, and St. Nicholas too. And then, in a twinkling, I heard on the roof The prancing and pawing of each little hoof. As I drew in my head, and was turning around, Down the chimney St. Nicholas came with a bound. He was dressed all in faux fur, from his head to his foot, And his clothes were all tarnished with ashes and soot; A bundle of plastic-free toys he had flung on his back, And he looked like a peddler just opening his pack. His eyes—how they twinkled! his dimples, how merry! His cheeks were like roses, his nose like a cherry! His droll little mouth was drawn up like a bow, And the beard on his chin was as white as the snow; The stump of a pipe he held tight in his teeth, And the smoke, it encircled his head like a wreath; He had a broad face and a little round belly That shook when he laughed, like a bowl full of jelly. He was chubby and plump, a right jolly old elf, And I laughed when I saw him, in spite of myself; A wink of his eye and a twist of his head Soon gave me to know I had nothing to dread; He spoke not a word, but went straight to his work, And filled all the eco-stockings; then turned with a jerk, And laying his finger aside of his nose, And giving a nod, up the chimney he rose; He sprang to his sleigh, to his team gave a whistle, And away they all flew like the down of a thistle. But I heard him exclaim, ere he drove out of sight— “Happy #ClimateAction to all, and to all a good night!” ©️MustafaSantiagoAli #HappyHolidays #Poetry #MerryChristmas, #PeaceOnEarth #Love #Family

” Breaking The Fossil Fuel Addiction” In the depths of our veins, black blood flows, A crude addiction, our unspoken woe. We dig and drill, a relentless quest, For the fossil heart in Earth's ancient chest. Our hands, stained with a million years, Clutch the future, steeped in silent fears. We burn and breathe this ancient night, Blind to the dawn, the coming light. We've pawned the sky, the land, the sea, For a fleeting fix, a false decree. The ice weeps, the forests mourn, For the addiction we've sworn. The cost is high, the toll untold, Vulnerable souls, futures sold. Wildlife fading, as we chase this flame, An endless cycle, our ruthless game. But deep within, a stirring thought, A glimmer of what cannot be bought. The steps are steep, the path unclear, To break free from this toxic sphere. Physically, it demands our might, To leave behind the endless night. Mentally, a shift of tide, From self to all, to cast aside. And spiritually, a deeper call, To connect, protect, embrace it all. To see the Earth, not as a mine, But as a sacred, living shrine. Together we stand, a united front, In the face of a habit, so blunt. For the light at the end, a hopeful gleam, Lives in action, not in dream. It's a battle, fierce and long, To right what we've made wrong. The journey's hard, the climb is steep, But the Earth's soul is ours to keep. So rise, and join this crucial fight, For a world of balance, of day and night. Where fossil chains no longer bind, And a harmonious path, we all find. ©️MustafaSantiagoAli #ClimateActionNow #ClimateJustice #EndFossilFuels #Sustainability #COP28 #LossAndDamage #RestoreNature #Poetry