Coffee with angela

Mid-November 2021

I was having coffee with Angela Davis. As the waves crashed on the rocky shores and the sun began to yawn over the ocean in Punta de Mita, Angela and I, both early risers, enjoyed our intimate time together. The first couple of days, we simply listened to the ocean’s music while savoring our coffee. It was nice. Though we didn’t know each other well on a personal level, we were familiar. We eased into conversation the same way one would make their way into the ocean—deeper and deeper each morning, drinking coffee and watching the sun stretch across the sky.

Our conversations flowed in waves that mimicked the ocean we were staring at. We discussed many things, as I am a curious man and she a curious woman. Mostly, we talked about our lives, our pasts as individuals and as black people. James Baldwin. Civil rights. Revolution. Cartoons. Music. Kung Fu. She was intrigued by how different my brother Mike and I are. Mike was the reason we were in Punta de Mita; it was his birthday, and we all flew in to celebrate him. This was her first time meeting me and my first time meeting her in person. We talked about how my wife and I met, my daughter, what we enjoyed reading, our ambitions, and so much more.

Although we talked a lot, we shared many moments of silence. These moments, I believe, I will remember the most. There was something enchanting about sitting in silence with someone you had so many questions and thoughts to share with.

One morning, I felt the need to make a confession to Angela. I stared at the palm trees swaying in the breeze, searching for the right words to convey what I was thinking. I took a deep breath and said, “You know, Angela, sometimes I feel bad as a black man because I’m not really into the past; I care about the future. But there’s this weight that I feel by not participating in the conversation of the past. I’m more concerned with tomorrow than yesterday. Looking back is an easy way to crash, and I feel that it is an anchor that keeps us behind. I understand that it’s important to have a foundational understanding of where we come from and who has made today possible, but who is building tomorrow?

When do we start thinking about being black in the future?

What is our future?

I have watched generations of our people march for many versions of liberation. We took a knee when I was in the NFL to protest against racial injustice and police brutality by kneeling during the national anthem. This movement sparked widespread debate and brought attention to systemic racism. But we didn’t do anything really. I am not sure the gesture really created progress, at least none that is tangible. We did all of that without a real plan of where to go. And that eats me up.”

I shared that I had written op-eds about liberation, children’s books, and drawn political cartoons for ESPN the Magazine and The Washington Post. I had participated in countless marches and other demonstrations of protest and liberation. Yet, despite all this, I felt a disconnect.

There was a moment of silence.

The waves pounded the rocks.

My coffee was now cold.

I leaned back in my chair and folded my arms not sure what to do with my hands.

Here I was, telling Angela Davis, the Angela Davis who has been a prominent activist, scholar, and author known for her unwavering commitment to social justice, racial equality, and gender liberation.  Angela Davis, who was arrested and charged in connection with the armed takeover of a courtroom in 1970 and later acquitted of all charges. Angela Davis, who has published influential works like "Women, Race, and Class" and "Freedom Is a Constant Struggle". Angela Davis, who has been a vocal critic of the prison-industrial complex and an advocate for prison abolition. Angela Davis, who has inspired generations with her intellectual contributions and courageous activism. I was telling her that the past she played a huge role in shaping wasn't a focal point of interest for me.

"Would you like a fresh cup of coffee Mr. Marty?"

"Sí, por favor." I had been working on my Spanish.

My coffee was hot again.

The waves felt closer than they were five minutes ago.

The sun was no longer yawning.

The birds had taken the sky.

The hermit crabs had begun to scurry across the dewy lawn.

The jacuzzi bubbles kicked on.

We sat in silence.

It wasn't an awkward silence; it was the type of silence that only occurs when in nature.

The kind of silence that allows thoughts to settle and new ideas to emerge.

My favorite type of silence.

Angela gazed out into what seemed to be the future and then back at me. She said, “Marty, we need people like you to build the future. We’re all marching, but where are we marching to? Someone needs to be in the future while the rest organize the masses to get there. Everything we’ve done has been about the future. Someone needs to build the future that we are marching to.” She emphasized that both roles were important: “We need people marching today, protesting today, but we also need the great thinkers operating in tomorrow.”

Her words resonated deeply with me. I realized that my focus on the future did not diminish the importance of the past; rather, it complemented it. The past provided the foundation, the lessons, and the context, while the future held the promise, the innovation, and the progress.

In that moment, Angela liberated me with her words as she had done for many others before. A weight was lifted from my consciousness. I let go of the guilt I felt for not being as engaged with the past and began focusing exclusively on the future.

This was the day that I became a Black American Futurist.

We sipped our coffee in a moment of reflection.

As we set our cups down, the past and the future collided, and we were in sync.

Angela then asked, “What is the future that you imagine, Marty?”

with love + imagination

-MR. TOMONOSHi!