I just read an excellent book entitled What The Blues Is All About:
Black
Women Overcoming Stress & Depression by Angela Mitchell
and Kennise
Herring. It is a detailed analysis of the mental and emotional tolls
taken by racism
and sexism. This book explains how we can all triumph over our trials.
This book was flawless, until I read my friend Terri Jewell’s name included
in a
brief list of renown suicides. Reading this wounded me and increased
my own
stress and depression. I will never believe that Terri committed suicide.
Terri is a poet, an author, a legendary researcher, and an eternal kindred
lesbian
warrior spirit. Her work has appeared in over 300 magazines, journals,
and
anthologies. She won numerous literary awards.
Terri was a dear friend. She gave me the honor of penning a blurb on
the cover of
her first major book, The Black Woman’s Gumbo Ya-Ya: Quotations
By
Black Women. She also published a superior book of passionate
poetry entitled
The Succulent Heretic. Terri was a gifted inspiration
to me and everyone else who
was blessed to meet her or experience her work.
I knew Terri. We shared our hopes, dreams, heartaches, and fears. Terri
was
suicidal. She was an incest survivor. She fought constantly to heal
her emotional
scars. She had finally begun to conquer them.
Terri was thrilled about a new lover. She was also elated about having
just sealed a
three book deal with a major publisher. Terri had more to be happy
about than ever
before.
Terri loved to write outdoors. One of her favorite spaces was a Michigan
state park.
On, November 30, 1995, Terri’s corpse was found frozen in the snow
in that park.
She had been dead at least 48 hours from a gunshot wound to the head...
For years, Terri had received death threats from the Klu Klux Klan.
She had joined
the KKK by mail as a teenager. She bravely spied on them as a veteran
member of
Klanwatch. These threats had intensified and increased just before
her death.
Such threats were one of the many bonds I shared with Terri. I still
receive regular
death threats from the KKK. I am hated for my rebel radio work in Dixie,
my
afrocentric columns (especially those exposing the framing of Wayne
Williams for
serial murders by Klansmen), and for my homosexuality. Thus far, I
have been
protected by legions of African angels. If ever I perish, I hope my
death will not be
written off as a suicide. I hope authors will not slander my memory
as they continue
to slander Terri’s.
Michigan is renown for its racism and KKK factions. Its police force
is typically
racist and corrupt. Many police officers moonlight as Klansmen. This
fuels the
questions that continue to haunt Terri’s death: Why were the initial
reports
constantly being changed? Why were her hands never dusted for gunpowder?
Where is the gun? Who is it registered to? Why were the gun and her
car never
dusted for fingerprints? What are the encrypted messages left on Terri’s
computer at
her state job, which no one can decipher? Why was there no suicide
note? How
many suicides shoot themselves behind the left ear?...
Terri would never have killed herself at such a joyful time in her life.
Her literary
vanity would never have passed on such a unique opportunity to pen
one final
masterpiece. She had overcome suicidal urges during so many bleaker
times.
The diva within her would have exited with far more drama.
Terri was unusually open about her trials and traumas. I KNOW that Terri
would
have said goodbye to me and others whom she loved. Even if after her
death...
Terri and I were spiritually connected. I am certain that Terri was
murdered. I will
always stress over all of the unanswered questions. Most of all, I
will be forever
haunted by the vivid nightmare I had just hours before the early morning,
long
distance phone call that alerted me of her death:
Terri and I were walking in the snow in a state
park. All around us were bloody,
dead frozen rabbits. We were upset and perplexed.
We were frightened and
curious. I awoke as we talked about trailing
the corpses to find the morbid
hunters...
To my eternal sistah Terri Jewell: I miss you so...I will love you always.
May your
weary soul be blessed with eternal peace. I know you are in a superior
place; where
there are no haunts and no hunters...
1998