Local writer and fourth-generation Black American feminist-activist Reagan Jackson describes herself as an “unexpected journalist.” That label is all-too-relatable to me, another writer who “fell” into reviewing. That similarity with Jackson began my journey through her new memoir “Still True: The Evolution of an Unexpected Journalist.”
“Still True” is a fascinating retrospective of the 2010s to now in the Seattle area. Jackson takes her readers from Rainier Beach to CHOP to the theaters of Seattle, all with a candidness that is nothing short of admirable.
The book is a collection of essays split into several sections. As I dove into Jackson’s world, I realized how much it mirrored my own. In a city like Seattle, being seen and understood is not easily attainable — especially not as a fat, Black and Indigenous woman with other marginalizations stacked on. Seeking community is an intentional effort, and Jackson’s writing shows how beautiful that community is.
In “The Hood,” Jackson details her complicated relationship with home ownership and living in Rainier Beach. She talks about issues we are all aware of — in this case, gentrification — but without holding back. As Jackson writes on the fallacy of safety, she manages to put into words the same feeling I had when I finally moved out of my room rental in one suburb to a not-yet-gentrified one elsewhere.
“The numbers are not how I know I am vulnerable. I know I am vulnerable because I have the lived experience of harm. I exist in a community that holds a generational memory of lived experiences of a broad spectrum of ongoing, daily harm and trauma.”
In my new place, almost every night, I get a Ring Community notification from someone thinking they heard bullets being fired. I even had a neighbor — the only white woman in my building — call the police because she thought there was a gunshot from my apartment. It was a startling experience waking up from my couch-nap, standing in my bonnet with a large, disgruntled cat in my arms, talking to an officer making sure “nothing was wrong.” My neighborhood is full of BIPOC folks, and I love the sound of my neighbors’ laughter and cooking as they move about our shared walls. This is not a detriment to me, but a reminder that we are not alone in the world. We’ve knocked on each other’s doors to let each other know about potential issues but never called the police.
In “The Struggle #BlackLivesMatter,” Jackson’s writing acts as a time capsule for those months between George Floyd’s state-sponsored murder and today, exploring the fraught idea of allyship in the city and at large. Through Jackson’s work, readers are able to reflect on where they were during different events. Her take is refreshing and open, talking about the complexities of how what should have been a healing space away from oppression became further complicated by white supremacy’s need to be at the center of every conversation.
Jackson’s essay “The Scariest Thing about ‘Get Out’ Is Black Trauma” was particularly enlightening. She dives into the uncomfortable ways in which white supremacy affects our relationship as BIPOC with white people. She sums it up perfectly with the line, “white people inviting you to white spaces with other white people that may or may not be cool is actually an everyday kind of thing,” and later, “I wondered if Jordan Peele had secretly followed me around Two Rivers to write down the things white kids and their parents said to me. Then I realized, no, this is actually a universal Black American experience, but one that for the most part goes unsaid.”
Reading this essay, I saw myself in Jackosn’s words. That is why representation and community is so important in ways that those in power will never really understand.
Jackson’s writing also comes with some curious questions about journalism in particular. There were many familiar names to me in “Still True,” but it was jarring to read about someone I know, Howie Echo-Hawk, but with the wrong pronouns used throughout the essay.
Jackson is very open and honest about not being queer, but this misgendering took me out of the moment. I knew the article republished in the book was written years before, but I’m unsure about where in the publishing process this should have been caught. All I know is that the book must have gone through multiple rounds of editing, only to leave an incredible member of Seattle’s BIPOC queer community misgendered for everyone to see.
Earlier in “Still True,” Jackson makes a statement about journalism: “People are always claiming that the reason newsrooms are so white is because there aren’t qualified candidates of color, but to me it seemed that in the same way most study abroad programs were not created with people of color in mind, neither are most newsrooms.”
The same is true in terms of queerness in publishing — even more so for genderqueer and gender divergent folks. According to The Associated Press guidelines, best practice when republishing articles is to revise pronouns that may have changed. By not updating Echo-Hawk’s pronouns, “Still True” highlights the issues that pervade all marginalized people’s lives. The system is failing queer BIPOC because the system was never made with queer BIPOC in mind.
When reached for comment, Hinton Publishing, the local publisher behind “Still True,” gave this statement: “At the time of the article’s publication Howie Echo-Hawk was using he/him; we did not update the pronouns for ‘Still True.’”
However, by not making these updates, this article was no longer still true. When I asked Echo-Hawk about the situation, she said, “Oh Seattle,” adding that she is moving for a reason.
Seattle is a city of displacement, whether through the supplanting of Indigenous peoples and tribes, the enforcement of Executive Order 9066 (which forcibly removed Japanese Americans from their homes) or the ongoing gentrification of Brown and Black communities. This displacement is evident in the lifeless five-over-ones that spring up in every newly developed space or the queer spaces priced out of long-standing homes. Despite being seen as a liberal haven, Seattle has a veneer of respectability and acceptance simply overlaying a settler mentality.
Seattle is also my home and one that I love. It’s the home of Indigiqueer and the Sunday Night Shuga Shaq. The home of Taking B(l)ack Pride, El Centro de la Raza and the Wing Luke Museum. Jackson and I occupy some of the same and also different spaces in the city, but the common thread is, in spite of everything, the BIPOC community continues to carve out beautiful homes.
The best part of “Still True” is its authenticity. Jackson’s experiences in Seattle are more similar to mine than those of the figures of whiteness she named her essay “Brad And Becky Are Coming To Rainier Beach” after. Jackson’s words are a refreshing narrative that holds a mirror to our white neighbors. Whether you’re looking for affirmation or a new perspective, “Still True” offers a real, raw look into one woman’s lived experiences.
Leinani Lucas is an Indigenous and Black writer from the Pacific Northwest. She can be found on Twitter @LeinaniLucas
Read more of the May 8–14, 2024 issue.