We must first develop an undying love for our people.
When I got my first job in Southeast Asia, I walked into a melting pot of languages, cultures, and worldviews. Russians, Arabs, Persians, Africans, Asians — we were all there, building a new department from scratch. It was a culture shock, but also a crash course in how the world really works when nobody’s pretending.
Naturally, people gravitated toward their own — those who spoke their language, who understood their jokes, who looked like them. And even though it felt unspoken, there were invisible lines being drawn.
But something struck me about the Black people I worked with. Many of us could speak multiple languages — English, French, Arabic, Portuguese. We had learned to navigate, to adjust, to code-switch. We flowed between groups, yet somehow remained unseen. We showed up for others — contributed to their causes, celebrated their wins — but rarely received that same energy in return.
The shift came slowly, then all at once.
Two coworkers had babies. One African, one Middle Eastern. When the African colleague became a father — silence. No envelope passed around. Just congratulations. When the Middle Eastern colleague had his child? A collection was immediately organized — by his “skin mates,” as I began calling them. And it hit me hard.
That was the moment I started reading. Listening. Unlearning, my colonized eyes were starting to remove the bars at my eyes’ windows.
Malcolm X. Martin Luther King. Audre Lorde. James Baldwin. And one quote anchored itself in my heart: “We must have an undying love for our people. Our people.”
It lit a fire in me — not of hatred, but of clarity. I wasn’t mad at others for protecting and supporting their own. I was mad at myself for not doing the same.
All the money I gave in blind charity. All the time I spent lifting others while my own community struggled. It wasn’t generosity — it was unconsciousness. And I decided I wouldn’t do it anymore.
Not because I think we’re better. Not because I hate anyone. But because love — real love — has direction. And mine had to turn inward.
I’ve seen what happens when people move as one. I’ve seen what money can do when it circulates in community. I’ve seen how deeply others believe in their own — even when their own don’t deserve it. And I’ve decided: I will do the same.
My charity will have a name. My support will have a face. And my love will have a spine.
We’re all Humans. But as people we are divided into communities, each with their own story. Their own pain. Their own brilliance and we must build our own legacy.
I love that we all are so different and I believe it makes the world an interesting place because of that. But from this point forward — I choose my own community, I choose us. I will be an ally to those who are my allies but I have an undying love for my people.
Salima
Just me thinking out loud over here