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Our voice is BUILDing

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Write something about yourself. No need to be fancy, just an overview.

BUILD's 2025 newsletter centering Juneteenth

6/18/2025

 
Read the latest edition of BUILD's newsletter!
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Weaponizing Memory: Reclaiming the Past, Preserving Black Voices, Reshaping the Future

6/9/2025

 

Author: Elizabeth Porter
​Learner | Deliberative | Restorative | Includer | Relator 

Growing up in Tacoma, Washington, as the oldest of five children, my identity has always been shaped by a legacy larger than myself. My family’s history is rooted in community — in feeding it, serving it, and standing with it. My father owned Porters Place BBQ, a beacon in Tacoma until 2012. It wasn’t just a restaurant; it was a place where generations gathered, where people found comfort in food and in the warmth of our family. It was Black-owned, Black-built, and deeply rooted in the belief that community care is radical and revolutionary.
After my father passed, I returned from college to a Tacoma that had changed in many ways — gentrified, more polished on the surface, but still carrying the same spirit I knew as a child. It looked different, but it still felt like home. The echoes of my family’s legacy lived on, and I felt a responsibility to honor that legacy — not through BBQ, but through social work.
Today, I stand not behind a counter, but in community clinics, churches, meetings, and advocacy spaces — doing the same work my family taught me to do: to serve, to fight, to heal. I am a Black social worker, and I carry my parent’s voice in everything I do. They taught me that dignity matters. That showing up for people is the work. That feeding bodies and feeding souls are not so different after all.
But my path has not been easy. Being Black in the social work field — especially as a Black woman who also lives with a disability — has meant navigating a system that often tries to define me by what it misunderstands. During the height of COVID-19, I experienced racism in its most raw and violent forms: I had objects thrown at me. The police were called on me — not because I posed a threat, but because my presence in certain spaces as a disabled Black woman disrupted the narrow boxes people expect us to fit into.
It was dehumanizing. It was terrifying. But it was not the end of my story.
​Instead, it became the fuel for a new chapter — one where I use my lived experience as expertise. Where I speak up for others who’ve been silenced or stereotyped. Where I create space for disabled, Black, educated professionals who are not anomalies, but part of a rich legacy of resilience. I do this work in a city that raised me, in memory of a father who poured love into ribs and cornbread, and in defiance of systems that once tried to erase me.
Now, I work for an agency that not only sees me but amplifies me. I'm part of programmatic and policy efforts that seek equity, not as a buzzword but as a practice. I get to help shape services that center clients' lived realities, advocate for anti-racist healthcare, and mentor the next generation of social workers — particularly those who’ve never seen themselves reflected in power before.
Now, I work for an agency that not only sees me but amplifies me. I'm part of programmatic and policy efforts that seek equity, not as a buzzword but as a practice. I get to help shape services that center clients' lived realities, advocate for anti-racist healthcare, and mentor the next generation of social workers — particularly those who’ve never seen themselves reflected in power before.
In many ways, I’ve learned that weaponizing memory is about more than remembering; it’s about using memory to build. It’s about reclaiming our family stories as roadmaps for the future. It’s about holding space for Black voices — past and present — so that we don’t just survive but lead.
I am my father’s daughter. I am my community’s hope. I am a Black, disabled, educated woman — and I am exactly who I was meant to be.

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An essay on "Master Slave, Husband Wife: An Epic Journey from Slavery to Freedom" by Ilyon Woo

6/9/2025

 
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Author: Laura Lagerstedt 

BUILD Member 

Reading about the incredible journey of William and Ellen Craft, I realized how much of U.S. history I had either forgotten or, more likely, never learned. The incredible way in which they escaped together, with Ellen disguised as a white male slaveholder and her husband William as her slave, via public transportation, "…they moved in full view of the world, harnessing the latest technologies of their day: steamboats, stagecoaches, and above all, an actual railroad…" (pg. 4)

The book had me on the edge of my seat, rooting for the couple throughout their ordeal, and particularly disappointed and heartbroken by Woo's description of the passage of the Fugitive Slave Act of 1850. (pg. 204) Passed in the 31st United States Congress, years after the Crafts had escaped to the north and had been on the lecture circuit with other abolitionists, after they had settled down and started their lives anew with profitable businesses and plans for their futures in Boston, their struggle was reignited.

​The book had me on the edge of my seat, rooting for the couple throughout their ordeal, and particularly disappointed and heartbroken by Woo's description of the passage of the Fugitive Slave Act of 1850.

Later, Woo had me laughing out loud and cheering for the couple when the slave catchers sent to return the Crafts to Georgia, and back to the bonds of slavery were thwarted by the courts, Craft's legal team, and a large crowd of protesters in the north disgusted with the institution in the south. Instead of apprehending the fugitive slaves, the slave catchers were themselves arrested, "Hughes and Knight were charged with slander for having called William Craft a slave and thus "causing damage to his business and character, and for carrying dangerous weapons with the intent to assault William." After they were let out on bail, "…new posters were made up to alert all of Boston. "SLAVE HUNTERS IN BOSTON!!!" the handbills screamed. They included unflattering physical descriptions of the Georgians, with the kinds of information about size and color usually found on public notices for escaped slaves." (pg. 230)
​
Later, Woo had me laughing out loud and cheering for the couple when the slave catchers sent to return the Crafts to Georgia, and back to the bonds of slavery were thwarted by the courts, Craft's legal team, and a large crowd of protesters in the north disgusted with the institution in the south. 

Eventually, the couple was forced to flee to England, from where Ellen and William wrote the second half of their lives, which included publishing the narrative of their escape, "Running A Thousand Miles for Freedom." Their journey continued, sometimes together and sometimes apart, and included a long-awaited reunion of Ellen and her mother Maria shortly after June 19th, 1865, when, “…on a hot day in July,…”, a letter was read to Maria in Macon, Georgia from her daughter in London by, “…a young Union General, James Harrison Wilson,...” (pg. 327)
With hope for the future while keeping ourselves grounded in the truth of our past, wishing everyone a Happy Juneteenth 2025!

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