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Part 1: Casa de Tami: Shevone

By Tamela Gordon

鈥淚鈥檓 telling you right now, Tamela! Make me take another step, and I鈥檓a punch you in your fuckin鈥� gut!鈥� 

Shevone Torres and I were on her second day at Casa de Tami. It had been going great鈥攁t first. But the moment we hit the sand, she started getting weird. 

鈥淚鈥檓 not gettin鈥� in that water,鈥� she kept repeating as we searched for the ideal spot to spread out our blankets and beach bags. Her hair, jet black and super curly, was pushed back with a headband, and she was rocking a really cute blue-and-pink bathing suit. 

鈥淩elax. You鈥檙e going to love it,鈥� I assured her. Looking back, I probably should have taken her declaration more seriously. However, she checked the 鈥淵es, I鈥檇 like to add beach and swimming to my wellness itinerary鈥� box on her assessment form. She was also from Jersey, so I assumed she鈥檇 spent a weekend or two at the Jersey Shore. 

I couldn鈥檛 have been more wrong. It took 15 minutes just to convince her to get knee-deep in the water. 

鈥淟et鈥檚 just take a breath and a step at a time,鈥� I kept encouraging. I lightly held onto her fingertips, slowly taking baby steps so tiny I was sure she wouldn鈥檛 notice. She noticed. 

鈥淣igga, you can breathe all you want! I, Shevone, am not gettin鈥� deeper in this water! Hoe.鈥� 

It would have been hard to tell at this moment, but Shevone and I were, and still are, very good friends. We met on social media, but our friendship evolved into an in-person dynamic soon after. If I wasn鈥檛 going to Jersey to check in with her, she was coming to New York to see me. She even helped moderate several online spaces I facilitated, helping me navigate the nuances of holding equitable and safe spaces for people. 

Through her, I learned the importance of being self-aware of the privileges and energy I bring into a room. Despite being a person who navigates a marginalized intersection, I embody a unique combination of privileges, such as two supportive parents who have always provided shelter and resources when I lacked, as well as the societal perk of assimilating, moving through mainstream and white spaces that are more abundant with access to valuable resources. Understanding these privileges doesn鈥檛 invalidate my life experience or make me less. 

For as long as I鈥檇 known her, Shevone鈥檚 life was centered around two things: her two sons and activism. And not the keyboard activism that takes place in the comment section. The real frontline shit鈥攖he dangerous part of the movement that leads to direct interaction with the pigs, getting doxxed, and incarceration. 

When she wasn鈥檛 flying around the country for random protests or injustices that any given Black person faced, she was collaborating with a local Black organization that regularly held protests against their county鈥檚 police force as well as state officials. She鈥檇 been arrested in the four years that I鈥檇 known her.

I have been a staunch believer that Black people should stay as far away from anybody鈥檚 鈥渇ront lines鈥� as humanly possible鈥攎ost especially Black marginalized genders. I believe that the dangers we face on a regular basis, the perpetual fear of murder and incarceration, has put too much strain on our already compromised well-beings. 

This couldn鈥檛 be truer for Shevone, who lives with sickle cell anemia and idiopathic chronic pancreatitis. When she wasn鈥檛 fighting for justice in the streets, she was fighting for her life in the emergency room.

Like me, Shevone had been programmed to believe that joy, rest, and adventure had to be 鈥榚arned.鈥欌�櫬�

In February 2019, after a series of complications and medical neglect, Shevone was hospitalized and in need of expensive medication along with financial assistance to help cover her bills, as she was immobile to hustle as she normally did. I, along with a collective of other Black marginalized genders, fundraised the money through social media. It was a small action as far as we were concerned, but it was also the kind that helped people like Shevone get the medical treatment and resources she needed, as well as people like me maintain housing.

I鈥檝e never been the kind of person who references the acts of kindness I鈥檝e done for someone else. However, when scrolling through my Facebook feed and seeing a video of Shevone screaming through a bullhorn while marching down the street less than one week after getting discharged from the hospital, I felt some kind of way.

鈥淲as that a throwback video of you protesting in the street?鈥� I intentionally Facetimed instead of our normal text message mode, knowing it would throw her off.

鈥淵eah.鈥� She sighed. She went on to explain the situation that led to the protest.

鈥淒o you feel like being there for those people, for that situation that鈥檚 going to exist whether you鈥檙e dead or alive was more important than your health?鈥� 

As I look back, a small flash of guilt comes over me for being so harsh with my friend. But, also, the memories of praying for her life at my altar touch me too.

Years later, the two of us stood in the water, face-to-face with a fear Shevone didn鈥檛 even know she had.

鈥淲e could just … stand here and let the water splash on our legs!鈥� I suggested. 

When somebody forewarns that they鈥檒l resort to bodily harm, I believe them. I was still determined for Shevone to experience a proper dip in the Atlantic, but I knew not to push too hard.

We stood there in silence. I figured Shevone was still contemplating if she was going to punch me. But then, her vibe shifted from raw fear. Her chin quivered, and the puddles in her eyes grew. The gentle splashes of warm water against her bare skin sent her over the edge.

鈥淵ou know what? Let鈥檚 not even focus on the step part!鈥� I encouraged. 鈥淟et鈥檚 just breathe, girl!鈥�

A gasp of air passed through her mouth, and her shoulders collapsed. I considered walking her back to our beach blanket and calling it a day. Water therapy does wonders for a stressed body, but nothing is therapeutic about being scared to death. I was still debating, and Shevone was still quivering, when two small brown children splashed their way between us. They couldn鈥檛 have been older than 6 or 7. The same waves that splashed against our knees delighted the kids as it practically swallowed them.

鈥淪ee.鈥� I grinned, pointing at the children. 鈥淔un! Swimming is fun. I promise!鈥� 

It would take another 10 minutes of 鈥渁 breath and a step,鈥� but eventually, Shevone was waist-deep in the water. And then, breast-deep. Each time she got a little deeper, it was as if she had amazed herself.

鈥淚 feel like I could float if I wanted to,鈥� she said, bobbing up and down, taking huge gasps of breath before plunging her body to the ocean floor. Soon enough, she was wading around, her head barely poking above the water. 

For hours, we jumped. Swayed. Floated. Splashed. Exhaled. We laughed at nothing at all. We surrendered to the current, allowing us to do the one thing that was too dangerous to do on dry land: Let go. 

I don鈥檛 need bloodshed to be free.鈥�

Hours later, over mojitos and Cuban food, we reflected on how necessary it was to exist in moments not reliant on our sacrifice. We didn鈥檛 have to campaign to have a good time; we could go and have one. Like me, Shevone had been programmed to believe that joy, rest, and adventure had to be 鈥渆arned.鈥� 

Societal and cultural standards expect us to appear as Mammies, mules, and fixers. These tropes have such a significant impact on the lives we live that we inhabit their characteristics without even realizing it. By enjoying nature, air, and life, we鈥檙e resisting in the most radical way possible.

As the mojitos kicked in and our coils bounced back, Shevone opened up about the stress she鈥檇 been carrying from intense community organizing. The never-ending conflicts from a male-led organization constantly challenged her boundaries, skills, and needs.

I told her there was more than one way to pursue liberation and that it should never involve us showing up as a sacrifice. I also reminded her about how many Black marginalized genders have died giving to movements that have yet to protect or even respect them. Marsha Johnson. Erica Garner. Venida Browder. Sandra Bland. Korryn Gaines. Oluwatoyin Salau. To their last breath, each one of them sacrificed all they had for a movement that cost them their life. 

I didn鈥檛 want that for Shevone or anyone. I don鈥檛 need bloodshed to be free.

鈥淭he thing is that I don鈥檛 have a lot of time left,鈥� Shevone responded. 鈥淚t鈥檚 important that I do as much work toward my mission as possible to continue to create change, even when I鈥檓 not here.鈥�

鈥淲hat is your mission?鈥� I asked.

鈥淚 want to open up a space called Imperfect Village that provides resources and aids in building community by collecting its fractured parts.鈥� She started perking up, and her eyes widened as she spoke. She had so many ideas for Imperfect Village, so many resources she was ready to organize and provide for her community.

For the remainder of Shevone鈥檚 stay, we had a really good time. I showed her around Miami, specifically Little Havana. We did some light shopping and sightseeing, but most of our time was spent at the one place where she wanted to be: the beach.

Part 2: I Made a Way

by Shevone Torres

I鈥檓 not one who got into activism because it was cool. I fight for my rights. Literally, it鈥檚 something I鈥檝e had to do my entire life as a Black woman, so there鈥檚 nothing new or strange about doing it now regularly.

Activism is essential to me because there are so many racist, ableist, queer-hating systems of oppression that need to be dismantled, and we don鈥檛 all have the capacity to stand up against them. I鈥檓 one of the people with the capacity, so I rarely stay seated.

Before I got to Casa de Tami, I knew the problems I had with leadership at the organization I was a member of were severe, but I didn鈥檛 want to admit how bad it was. A lot of infighting, patriarchal bullshit, and toxic dynamics made it hard to focus on the work and center liberation. How can we get liberated if we鈥檙e constantly coming at each other?

I鈥檇 been so consumed with death that living was just happening before death for most of my life.鈥�

I know how serious Tami is about self-care and mindfulness, so I was ready for meditation and hydration. I needed it, so it was welcome. But I wasn鈥檛 expecting to have my comfort level pushed the way it was at the beach. I said I was interested in the ocean but didn鈥檛 realize how uninterested I thought I was until the plane started flying over Florida and I saw all that blue water. No thank you was my first thought. It looked pretty, but that鈥檚 because you can鈥檛 see the sharks and undercurrent.

Looking at that body of water reminded me of when I was a kid and went swimming with friends and family. At one point, I almost drowned. Thankfully, there was someone around who could swim, and they saved me. I must have buried that memory deep in the back of my mind because I didn鈥檛 remember it until I was on that plane.

By the time we reached the beach, I was in full PTSD mode from that near-drowning. I love Tam to death, but I was serious when I said I wasn鈥檛 taking another step. It wasn鈥檛 until those kids started splashing around and Tam said, 鈥淐ome on, let鈥檚 live!鈥� that I realized something. 

I get emotional admitting this, but I鈥檇 been so consumed with death that living was just happening before death for most of my life. When you鈥檝e got a severe and life-threatening illness, you are not thinking about where you鈥檙e going to be when you鈥檙e 80; you get to work on what you want from life right now. 

When I finally let go and went into the deep part of the ocean, I let go of all those fears and thoughts of death. I was alive, and I was well. The high I got from being in that water was unlike anything I had ever hit off a blunt. My body felt healthy too!

I鈥檝e always had someone push me into leading something, taking over something. I never really had anyone push me to do something fun for me. It was such a thrill. 

I need to be a part of communities serious about caring for each other.鈥�

When I returned to Jersey, I could only think about the beach. I started Googling all these different cities and countries with amazing beaches鈥攖he Caribbean, Mexico, Central America. I wanted more of that experience. The thought of going somewhere exotic and tropical excited me for a while, but life got in the way. I went back to protesting and organizing and the same old routine. 

But then, about three months after I returned home, something changed. There was a conflict in the organization I was a part of. It wasn鈥檛 even a big deal, but it was something that proved to me that their objective and mine had become totally different. So when somebody asked me to do something, I said, 鈥淣ah, I鈥檓 out.鈥� 

Just like that! I didn鈥檛 even feel sorry about it. I felt like, seeing as I don鈥檛 know how much time I have left, I can鈥檛 be playing around in spaces that take up time but don鈥檛 offer any real change. I need to be a part of communities serious about caring for each other. I realize now that my time and my spirit are best served in spaces where I am offering direct care and support to my people. 

I will always be Shevone, an activist. But I will also be Shevone, the human. I understand now that my activism can change and expand over the years and shouldn鈥檛 come at the expense of my happiness or livelihood.

That鈥檚 what inspired me to get Imperfect Village Org finally started. I finally did it鈥擨 am the proud founder and president of a nonprofit that provides for the community everything from holiday meals to book bags and school supplies. 

I also work as a drug outreach volunteer helping people who struggle with substance abuse. It鈥檚 not easy, and even when I can help someone off the brink of death, I still worry about them and hope they鈥檒l be OK. But, at least in that moment, I鈥檓 there for them, and it鈥檚 help that I know they need, whether they want to take it or not.

Since I鈥檝e taken a big step back from frontline activism, my health has stabilized. I haven鈥檛 been in the hospital in almost a year, and for the most part, I feel healthy. Of course, my illnesses aren鈥檛 curable, but at least, at this point, they鈥檙e managed, which is the most I can ask.

Life still isn鈥檛 easy, but at least I鈥檓 not afraid to live anymore.

This excerpt from  (Simon & Schuster, 2024) appears by permission of the publisher.