— By Trinice McNally

November 1st, 2020

In Machete, Trinice McNally writes about her physical, spiritual, and historical connection to her Machete. The tool’s roots and uses throughout history of the diaspora are still relevant today, in a time of heightened Black struggle.

For centuries the machete has been universally known as a weapon and tool. It is significant especially across the African diaspora. In the Caribbean, it has harbored the labor and exploitation of enslaved Africans through the cutting of sugar cane and been transformed into a tool of warfare, resistance and uprising. Growing up, my grandad would have them all over the yard, giving us easy access to chop coconuts, bush or fruits. I can remember him saying “Gwan an pick up de cutlass fi me” as I anticipated delicious coconut water during the summer. There was always one secretly behind the door in case of an intruder, as Caribbean folks wielded it for defense instantly. The machete was his weapon of choice and something I watched him sharpen and meticulously use often. 

Being a Black woman with my traceable roots to Jamaica directly from the continent, my spiritual practices are deeply embedded in my organizing as a fighter for Black liberation. As a descendant of chattel slavery, I understand that I come from a long line of Black people who were rebels & fighters, and believe I have a responsibility as their offspring and Ifa practitioner to honor and revere their history and practices. I don't find it coincidental that over the last few decades there has been a resurgence of Black people engaging in practices connected to our ancestors and orishas. As Black bodies continue to be under attack, it’s more important than ever for us to be rooted in our indigenous traditions for survival and, ultimately, resilience.

For over 400 years, Black women, femmes, girls, non-binary and gender non-conforming people have been exploited, assaulted, violated, oppressed and murdered at the hands of the police, the state, and our own communities. At the root of all of that is Patriarchal Violence, systemically entrenched in our culture and reinforced and replicated through the power of patriarchy in our relationships and community. 

I had the honor of co-leading the 2020 Juneteenth mobilization  “Defend Black Women'' rally and march in collaboration with the DC Contingent of the Movement For Black Lives (M4BL) in honor and defense of victims and survivors of  gender-based violence alongside Black Feminist Futures founder, Paris Hatcher. Our march to “Defend Black Women '' was a declaration, in the midst of the continued outrage at the killings of Black men, that Black women, specifically transgender & femme-identified folks are also being murdered and assaulted and deserve to be protected, defended and fought for. Breonna Taylor, Korryn Gaines, Brayla Stone, Merci Mack, Rekia Boyd, Shakiie Peters, Draya McCary, Tatiana Hall, Bree Black, Sandra Bland, and Oluwatoyin Ruth "Toyin" Salau, to name a few, should all be here. But, because of the nature of Patriarchy and its inherent connection to white supremacy and anti-Blackness, they are not. 

The march was a part of M4BL’s mass call to action during 2020’s Juneteenth weekend. Black people in the U.S. have been commemorating the holiday, which celebrates the end of slavery, since our freedom was learned in 1863. In honor of that, and in spite of the continued murders of Black people by the police during the heightened COVID-19 global pandemic, Black organizers and allies all over the United States took part in uprisings all over the country in record numbers, demanding divestment from police departments and investment in Black communities.

Paris and I were clear that this wasn't just a march, but it was a demand and declaration that follows in the tradition of our most revered ancestors. Black women rebels, fighters, strategists, conjurors and priestesses: Nanny of the Maroons, Carlotta Lucumi and also Mother Harriet “Moses” Tubman to name a few. All powerful Black women leaders who were mostly stolen from their homeland, brought to the Americas and forced into enslavement. They were all freedom fighters and guides for Black liberation. From the first Maroon War in 1728 led by Queen Nanny in Jamaica, to Triunvirato’s Rebellion in Cuba led by Carlotta Lucumi, and the Combahee River Raid in 1863, which freed over 700 enslaved Black folks and was orchestrated by Harriet Tubman, Black women have always been essential to the survival and strategic defense of rebellion and freedom. 

It was for these reasons that on the morning of June 19, 2020, in the midst of the police shooting rubber bullets, throwing tear-gas and making use of endless intimidation tactics, I decided to anoint my machete in a protection oil and pray at my altar with my friend, Juju Bae before we left my home to prepare for the day. The machete is a powerful tool in African Traditions. On one hand, it was an essential tool for enslaved Africans to harvest sugar cane and crops. On the other hand, it serves as representation of the great courage and strength one requires to wield rebellion. 

Freedom fighters, like Carlota Lucumi in Cuba, cut down many white slave owners as retribution during rebellion. Nanny of the Maroons is said to have cut down invaders who attempted to enter into Maroon space to capture and seize Black people who had escaped from the plantations. Imagine these two African women who were enslaved in the Caribbean, using this tool to cut down the enemies of their people, in acts of vengeance and protection that would lead to the freedom of Black people. 

While our conditions today are different than they were 200-300 years ago, our struggles are still related. They were fighting their owners, colonizers, and slave masters. We are fighting the state. The same state that responded to peaceful protests with violence and the same state that continues to sanction violence on our lives and bodies. I knew that leading the march in such a scary time for Black organizers, I needed some protection. Knowing I wouldn't have the capacity to wield it in my hand for the entire day, given my role I went to my altar to pray and cover myself. I put on my all-white outfit (white cleanses and purifies), intending to clear away negative energies/spirits I would encounter that day and contemplated how I would carry my symbol and ancestral reminder of protection, my machete, channeling those brave and fearless women who had fought against these same systems hundreds of years ago. For some reason, I grabbed my Off-White™ belt immediately and made it into a carrier. I instantly felt clarity and confidence because of the protection, but also the aesthetic. Toni Cade Bambara’s quote, “As a culture worker who belongs to an oppressed people my job is to make revolution irresistible” played in my head over and over, and I was finally ready to head out to set up the march.

Once we arrived, my comrades and I were met with harassment and intimidation from police officers, claiming we didn't have a permit and that we needed to leave. It was scorching hot outside, and streets were blocked off all over downtown with militia trucks and police cars. Some of the rally speakers got lost and I was becoming overwhelmed at all of the chaos taking place. 

It felt like everything was against us, but we pushed through as hundreds of people began to show up in White, grabbing picket signs, “Defund Police” masks, and water while dancing to the live go-go band we had to escort us on the march. Paris and I welcomed all of the attendees with a call to action to “Defend Black Women” as we wielded our machetes in our hands while Juju Bae grounded us in prayer.  

About 10-12 local DC organizations also addressed the crowd, and as the temperature began to increase, so did the threats from the police. Our march wound through the streets with hundreds of people chanting “Say Her Name”, “Defend Black Women,” and singing freedom songs. Megaphone in one hand and machete in the other, I was dripping wet with sweat and rain, but beaming with pride and honor. When we finally reached Black Lives Matter Plaza, CNN asked us to share why we were marching and our perspectives on Juneteenth. As fate would have it, Virgil Abloh would see me on the evening CNN news highlights and we began a friendship rooted in creatively directing projects committed to societal change in the name of Black liberation. 

This solidified and renewed my commitment to honoring my ancestors, spiritual practices and religion. To never be ashamed of who I am, where I come from and how I carry myself as Black woman. We live in a world that shames and rips us apart, but I know when I spoke about patriarchal violence on live tv in front of millions, that it wasn't just about me, but women like Queen Nanny, Carlota Lucumi and Harriet Tubman. Women like my grandmother, Valletta McNally and her mother Louise Stewart, Black women who were born in Jamaica with very little, butleft such an impact in this world. 

I hope everyone reading this is moved to embody Sankofa, to return and get it. To learn those stories from your elders, practice and initiate into those African Traditions, and to join the fight for Black liberation. It is your birthright and responsibility, and so many generations will be looking to us.