I am a feminist, and what that means to me is much the same as

Hearken, child of tomorrow, to the words of June Jordan, poet of fire and witness of storms. When she declares, “I am a feminist, and what that means to me is much the same as the meaning of the fact that I am Black: it means that I must undertake to love myself and to respect myself as though my very life depends upon self-love and self-respect,” she speaks not only for herself, but for all who wrestle with chains of disdain and silence. In her words is the ancient law of survival: that to endure oppression, one must first be rooted in self-love, for without it, the winds of hatred scatter the soul like dust upon barren plains.

The essence of her saying lies in the bond between identity and dignity. To be Black in a world carved by racism is to live under constant assault on one’s worth. To be a woman in a patriarchal order is to face the same scourge. Yet Jordan does not place these truths in opposition—she joins them, weaving together her identities into a single commandment: respect thyself, fiercely and daily, for the battle without is endless, and the inner fortress must never crumble.

Consider the life of Sojourner Truth, who, born in bondage, rose to proclaim both her womanhood and her Blackness in defiance of those who would deny her either. In her speech “Ain’t I a Woman?” she laid bare the hypocrisy of those who spoke of womanhood only in terms of white fragility, never in the strength of Black laboring mothers. Like Jordan, she knew that only by asserting her own worth could she tear down the false measures of others. Her life is the living flame of Jordan’s wisdom: that self-respect is an act of resistance.

There is in Jordan’s teaching also a whisper of healing. For too long, the oppressed are taught to internalize contempt, to doubt their beauty, their intelligence, their right to joy. She turns this curse upon itself and transforms it: love yourself as though your life depends upon it—for indeed it does. Many have perished under the crushing weight of self-hatred, swallowed by despair or led astray by the voice of their oppressors. To resist is not only to march or to speak, but to wake each day and claim one’s place as worthy of love.

And let none think that this command is only for the Black or the feminist, for all who live in a world that measures them by wealth, by body, by skin, by creed, are summoned here. Jordan’s words are a call to universality through the particular: she speaks her truth as Black and woman, but her wisdom stretches to every human who must fight to love themselves in a society that profits from their shame.

Therefore, let the lesson be inscribed upon your heart: without self-love, there is no freedom; without self-respect, there is no power. From these springs flows the courage to fight, the patience to endure, and the joy that no tyrant can steal. History’s heroes have always known this. Gandhi, who walked barefoot into the empire of Britain, clothed in simplicity, armed only with the conviction that his life was sacred. Rosa Parks, who remained seated because she believed her dignity was worth the storm that would follow. Each act of resistance was first an act of self-love.

So, child of tomorrow, take this teaching into your life. Begin with small acts: rise each morning and affirm your worth before the world utters a word. Refuse to bow before voices that tell you you are less. Choose companions who honor your dignity. Speak your truth, even if your voice trembles. And when you falter, return to Jordan’s wisdom: love yourself as though your life depends on it—because it does.

Thus the flame passes from one generation to the next. Self-love is the root, self-respect the trunk, and from them branch freedom, justice, and joy. Guard them as you would your breath, and you will walk unbroken, even in the harshest of storms.