Kwanzaa is getting ready to come to an end, and as it does I keep thinking about this recent tragedy in Baltimore where a young woman was murdered in her own beauty salon over a stolen $3000 worth of weave.

Destiny Harrison, a 21 year old mom and the owner of MadamD Beauty Bar, was attacked and robbed early in December and reported this to police, noting to them that she was afraid for her “life and business.” She was granted a peace order against the man she said broke into her salon, but 2 days later, on December 21st, someone came into her shop and shot her in the head.

I don’t know that the murder suspect has officially been found, but it’s said that those who robbed and assaulted Destiny were people she knew, I’m assuming from her own neighborhood.

Before I keep writing, I have to point out – I don’t believe in “Black on Black” crime because crime generally takes place against the people with whom you’re in proximity. So, if you live in a Black neighborhood and there’s a crime – of course that crime is likely to be committed against other Black people. The same goes if you live in a White neighborhood, Hispanic neighborhood, Indian neighborhood, Korean neighborhood – wherever. But no one says “White on White crime” or “Korean on Korean crime.” I think “Black on Black crime” is a created phrase to make our crimes sound worse. To make it sound like it’s okay not to care when crimes – both personal and institutional – are committed against us, because we commit crimes against ourselves. I think it’s BS.

And yet, there’s a lot of truth to the notion that if we want Black lives to matter to America, Black lives have to matter to us (Black people) first. Who is going to love us like we do? Who is going to care about our communities like we do? Who is going to understand us like we do? Who needs us like we do?

And what does this have to do with Kwanzaa?

I remember being introduced to Kwanzaa by a woman named Mama Joan, a member of my childhood church. She pushed for the celebration of Kwanzaa in church, and sometimes it felt like she got a lot of side eye. But she pushed on, and she was given opportunities to lead all of the church kids in Kwanzaa and Black History Month celebrations. Growing up, I didn’t know very many Black people who celebrated Kwanzaa. It was an eye rolled holiday, viewed with contempt at worst – and suspicion at best. But I am so grateful to Mama Joan (who has since passed) for what she taught us about Kwanzaa, and I think if the principles of Kwanzaa were taken more seriously and taught more adamantly in our communities (which I believe is beginning to happen), Black people in the USA could come together to rise up and be free in ways we’ve never seen before. I know our pain gets in the way, but can you imagine what it could be like if all Black life mattered, really mattered, to us first?

And that’s what Kwanzaa is about.

If you’re unfamiliar with the Kwanzaa holiday, I’ll do the quick run down.

Kwanzaa was created by Dr. Maulenga (“Ron”) Karenga and was first celebrated in 1966. It’s a holiday for Afrikans in America (the spelling indicates Africans in diaspora – or Black people who don’t live on the African continent), but can also be celebrated by Afrikans in other parts of the world. It lasts from December 26 through January 1, and for each day of Kwanzaa there is a principle taught that centers on the building up of Black community. Each day we ask, “Habari Gani?” (What’s the news?) and respond with one of these seven principles.

Unity – in the family, community, race, and nation.
Self Determination – defining ourselves, naming ourselves, creating for ourselves, and speaking for ourselves.
Collective Work and Responsibility – building our communities ourselves and collective problem solving.
Cooperative Economics – maintaining our own businesses and profiting from them together.
Purpose – making our collective vocation about building and developing our community.
Creativity – leaving our communities more beautiful and beneficial than we inherited them.
Faith – belief in our people, parents, teachers, leaders, and in the righteousness of our struggle.

Each day, these principles are discussed. Red, black, and green candles are lit on the Kinara. Educational, hand-made, or Black-business-purchased gifts can be exchanged. At the end, there is a shared meal with others who are celebrating Kwanzaa. You can read more here.

I have to make some assumptions, since investigations are ongoing. But what if Destiny’s attackers/murderers (who I assume were Black) lived by these Kwanzaa principles?

What if they lived by unity – refusing to be divided against anyone in their hood? What if they lived by self-determination – refusing to let others define their existence as being Black being synonymous with criminality? What if they lived by collective work and responsibility – making sure the whole hood eats and not simply fending for themselves? What if they lived by cooperative economics – financially supporting -or at the very least not stealing from – a good Black business in their neighborhood? What if they lived by purpose – looking to achieve personal goals that bring benefits to their Black community and the Black community at large? What if they lived by creativity – in how they showed up and cared for the people and spaces in their city? What if they lived with faith in the incredible resilience of Black people, leaning on our rich history for encouragement and working together to carve out a better future? What if we all lived that way? I know it is so much easier written than done, especially when you’re trapped and desperate. I know.

But I’m sad for Destiny. I’m sad for the loss of a Black daughter, a Black mother, a Black business owner, and for all the lost aspirations of this young Black queen.

If Black lives mattered to us first, many of the lost “Destinies” of our communities might still be here. But now, we’ll never know what kind of good their businesses, passions, and creative pursuits might have done for the diaspora in this nation.

Let’s get it together, fam. We need us.

Happy Kwanzaa.