(ambient upbeat music) - [Sueann] There are events that happen to our parents, maybe even to you, that impact the way you see the world.

In this episode of Traverse Talks, a conversation about generational trauma and how to have difficult conversations with elders, with Nikkita Oliver, a genderfluid femme abolitionist, community organizer, educator, poet, and attorney.

Nikkita also explains their thoughts on the gender binary and offers advice on how to resist productivity culture.

Their advice, sleep.

I'm Sueann Ramella, and this is Traverse Talks.

(music continues) - [Sueann] We have so much to discuss about your work and who you are, but first, can you tell us about this building?

- [Nikkita] Yeah.

Washington Hall is a very special place.

I don't know all the really deep history, but the present history is...

Most of the anchor tenants are all organizations of color, Native artists, Black artists, other POC communities.

So we're really excited to be here in this historical building and to get to bring so much life to this space.

- [Sueann] This is true.

In here, we have a artwork, it's a quilt, and I believe it's Black Panther's.

- [Nikkita] It is.

The 50th anniversary of the Black Panther Party was celebrated here.

It was an incredible multi-day extravaganza, and I got to interview Ericka Huggins, so I was pretty excited about that myself.

- [Sueann] What did you learn?

- [Nikkita] You know, probably the most important thing she said to me was not to romanticize the work of the Black Panther Party.

And, you know, I think some people might think that's strange, but what I found so enlightening about that was I think we can miss the things that we can learn when we romanticize a period of history or a group that we idolize.

And she was just very big about young organizers who look at the Black Panther Party Ten Point Plan or the work that was done by the Black Panther Party and encouraging us to critique and figure out what do we bring forward, but also what lessons do we learn to do things differently?

So it was a very enlightening conversation.

- [Sueann] Oh, that's deep, I like that, because oftentimes you just take the cream at the top and consider that all it, right?

But there is so much more going on, including what happens when you bring a group of people together to organize.

There's personalities.

- [Nikkita] There are personalities, and the 1960s were very different.

I think a lot of folks know the Black Panther Party for the cop watching that they did, for the Free Breakfast program, for having a pretty strong and disciplined education piece.

And, you know, the 1960s, in terms of context, was very different than 2021.

And so a big part of our conversation was her talking about how does organizing and revolution, and the work that we're doing look different, just simply because of the time period that we're in and the different context that we're living through.

- [Sueann] Mm-hmm.

So for our listener, can you describe what Creative Justice is?

- [Nikkita] So we were birthed in 2014 out of the No New Youth Jail movement.

So in King County in 2012, voters approved, at that time $180 million, new jail and court, specifically for children.

And some young folks and organizers started organizing the community in 2012 to say, "We don't want this."

So in 2014, when the 1% for arts which is...

It's county funding for arts that comes off of every capital project in King County, came through.

This woman who saw the No New Youth Jail movement and was in support of it said, "How about, instead of doing what we typically do with public art dollars, she decided, "how about we invest $250,000 in incubating a program that is art base, but is working to dismantle the school to prison pipeline?"

And so they brought together a community stakeholder table that included young people who had been in the juvenile detention center, included family members, artists, public defender, a prosecutor, a judge, and they all got together and talked about, "What could this look like?"

And they first settled on a diversion program.

I was a part of the first cohort of artists.

I had just finished law school.

And lots of people were like, "This job is perfect for you," because they all know I hate being a lawyer, but I wanted to find a way to use (laughs) my legal skills and my art skills, and my desire to dismantle the school to prison pipeline all together.

So it kind of miraculously seemed like this job appeared.

And so I served as one of the first teaching artists with the cohort and then was brought on as an advocacy director after that.

But we started to see that you don't end a court case in 12 weeks, nor do you solve the material conditions or the systemic conditions that are forcing young people into the school to prison pipeline.

And we were like, "We actually need to think bigger than a diversion program."

Because in some ways, being a diversion program legitimates the system that young people got pushed into in the first place.

What we're saying is, when we're existing as a diversion program, is that it's okay that young people got pushed into the school to prison pipeline.

It's okay that they're getting prosecuted, just as long as we divert them through this other way of "Juvenile Justice."

And we really came to a point of being like, "Is this actually abolitionist?

Or are we just being reformists about a system we have very strong critiques about?"

And so what we did is we shifted, and instead of young people coming just for diversion, young people could self-refer, or they could refer their friends and it would just be a safe space to make art, it would be a safe space to talk about what's happening in your community, what's happening at home?

What are you seeing systemically?

Build a shared language, have a healing engaged space where we pay young people.

I mean, I know that some people think that's wild, but we pay young people for their time and making art because we know that economics is such a big part of why young people are pushed into the school to prison pipeline.

And we started to see the program really grow.

So young people still got the benefit of diversion who needed it.

But for young folks who just wanted a place to be a part of doing movement work through arts, we were also a place for that.

It has really evolved into having multiple parts where there is still a diversion component, because we know the school to prison pipeline still exists and we don't wanna see young people in cages, but there's also a huge element of the work that is about imagining a world beyond prisons and a world beyond police, and using art and building community as a way of doing that.

- [Sueann] You mentioned earlier that you hate being an attorney.

- [Nikkita] I do.

- [Sueann] Why did you go to school for it?

- [Nikkita] I was working at this school called Seattle Urban Academy.

I was a part-time educator and a part-time administrator, often feeling what would be a traditional kind of like a vice principal role.

So I was like head of detention, which was maybe not the smartest thing because I would regularly be like, "look, is there another way we could deal with what you got detention for?

Because having you sit in my classroom for forty five minutes, I actually don't think is gonna respond to the underlying thing.

So very few students started getting detention (laughs), but I also had a lot of young folks who had active court cases.

And they would go to court, they'd come back to school and I'd say, "What's going on with court?"

And they would say, "I don't know."

And so then I started going to court with young people.

I was also a King County Chaplain at the youth detention center.

So regularly talking to young people who were, at the moment incarcerated and they would share things with me.

And often again it was, I don't know what's going on with my court case.

I don't understand where I'm at in the process.

I don't know if I'm going to jail.

I don't know if I've been charged.

And that just continued to be a theme where oftentimes people did not understand what was happening in their cases.

And I had heard about this program called a Street Law program, which essentially you would have lawyers or law students going to schools and they would do basically legal education.

So people could have access to the tools.

And the law is very jargony.

I still sometimes have to read things 10 times before I'm like, "Oh yes, I know what this says."

But I went to law school because, as I told UW Law, "I want to come in and get your knowledge, and take it back to our most marginalized communities."

And that's really what I went to law school for.

I think the law, in a lot of ways, is constructed to keep things in place.

Literally the first concept you learn in law school is stare decisis.

It is that court cases or holdings, they build on theirselves, rather than actually changing or evolving, and it just build on the base.

So if the base is already bad, the base is already racist, or classist, or sexist, what comes afterwards it's probably gonna continue to be bad.

And so you know what I learned in law school is the law is built to preserve itself rather than change itself when it's wrong or unjust, it is built to preserve itself.

That's why I hate being a lawyer because you go to court with someone and you know that the law that they're having to deal with is not good in the first place, it's ineffective or it's unjust, and you have to fight something that's already fucked up from the jump.

And often honestly, if that person comes from a marginalized community or has, you know, an intersectional identity that is dealing with multiple compounding oppressions, you're probably going to lose.

So the route that I decided to go was more of the systems change.

How do you help people navigate systems, but also how do you build power in community?

So we can change these fucked up systems rather than just being like, "This is the way it is."

I would rather fight to change it.

I have a lot of friends that are public defenders or do public law work, and I'm so grateful for them.

I send people to them all the time, but I just personally, when you're doing that one-to-one in a courtroom and you know the basis of what you're fighting is already unjust, it really tears me apart.

So I find a lot more power in being an organizer, being an artist and helping dismantle systems than I do, you know, litigating or going to court.

- [Sueann] Can you tell us a story of a young person that you saw go through the program and what happened to them?

- [Nikkita] Yeah.

The story that I often use most is people think that there is a point in time where you go from not doing well to suddenly doing well.

And that's actually not how life works.

We tend to move through like circles of transformation.

And so we had a young person who came to Creative Justice and all they did for their first session with us was sleep.

They would come every class (laughs) they would eat and they would sleep.

They never touched any art supplies (laughs), they never did an art exercise.

And then we got through the session where they slept and we got to a session where they stayed awake the whole time.

So they would eat, they'd stay awake, they'd sit on the sidelines and they'd just watch.

And after that session, we got to the place where then they started to get into making the art.

And, you know, we would report back to the courts about what was happening, and they'd be like, "Well, that doesn't sound like a lot of progress."

And I'd be like, "Wait, hold up.

Didn't you just tell me this young person never goes to school?

That they often don't show up places on time.

They don't stick with an opportunity.

And yet here we are, nine months into this.

Not only have they gone from a phase of needing to sleep when they're here, but now they're actually participating.

I think that's growth.

It's huge growth.

It's actually immense growth."

And over time that youth ended up getting their GED, they became a youth leadership board member with Creative Justice, and now they've been with us for almost four years and, you know, they live in an apartment that they sustain on their own.

They keep a job, they take care of theirself and their child.

And so for me, what maybe wasn't the big growth that the "Prosecutor's office wanted to see in three months."

Over a course of four years, actually was a lot of transformation.

And one thing I've learned and partnered with young people for almost 17 years now is you can't force anyone into anything.

We all are actively making choices about how we need to live our lives.

I think if you come from a place of privilege, you think it's a want to live your life.

But if you don't understand the context around someone's life like, "Do they get to sleep at night?"

Like, "Is where they're staying a safe place where they can actually get a solid eight hours of rest?

Do they know where they're gonna sleep every night?

Do they know what meal they're going to get?

Do they know they're gonna be around safe people?

Are they struggling to figure out how they survive?

Do they know that they're gonna have bus fair the next day?"

And so many of our young people in Creative Justice, those are answers to questions they don't know.

And so we can provide two meals, $60, a safe space, bus fair, every week for a youth, and over a course of four years, they do have a little more space to make that transformation.

Now we can't change all the material or systemic conditions, but we can be a partner in saying, "Hey, look, you've made so many gains."

There are a lot of barriers in front of you and we're here to help you navigate them, and those gains will not happen overnight, but it is really powerful to be four years down the line, partnering with a young person and to see that they have actively been able to make changes for theirself.

And I don't wanna take any credit for that young person's growth.

We just so happened to be a space for them to be able to rest, get a little rejuvenation and then do the work that they needed and wanted to do for theirself.

- [Sueann] In that moment did you, or were part of you like, "Oh no, this one's not gonna make it."

- [Nikkita] Not at all, you know.

I'm so fortunate that I've had mentors who have taught me to be open to the felt needs that exist around us.

And if that felt need in the immediate moment, is I need to sleep, instead of seeing it as this young person doesn't want to be productive, it's actually seeing it as this young person knows what they need.

And this is not school.

This is not a place where I'm trying to be your authority.

And in fact, even when I was teaching in schools, I often told my students, I'm not your authority.

If you wanna participate (laughs) and get what's happening in this space, your choice.

And some people would say, "Well, that's just too lax, Nikkita, that's not how the world works."

But when we think about what Creative Justice is doing, I'm not actually... Like we're not trying to create a space that's like how the world works, that's part of the problem.

That the world works the way it does that not every young person has a safe home or healthy food, or a school that recognizes them for who they are, holistically, including their culture and identity.

In fact, so many of the young people in Creative Justice face barrier after barrier, after barrier, every single day, that the last thing I need to do is create more barriers to entry in this space.

You know, I've just learned time after time that when you allow a young person to actually make decisions about what is best for them, oftentimes in the long run, it actually is best for them.

They know a lot about their daily lives.

I only see them for four to five hours a week.

Who am I to tell them what to do in those four to five hours?

You know, yes, there are boundaries and expectations, like, don't harm other people.

This is not a space where I'm gonna be okay with you harming yourself, you know, let's be respectful and caring for each other.

Let's be about keeping our shared space clean together.

But that's about community building.

That's about relationship.

And I think that those same principles can actually apply to the society at large, is that when we're about people getting the care that they need, we actually start to build much safer, healthier communities.

But when we look at things like policing or prisons, or even courts, oftentimes that is actually so much more about authority than it is about creating safer communities where people can thrive.

If you don't have access to a house, if you don't have access to transportation, or food, or healthcare, the expectation that everyone meets the same standard of behavior is actually false.

We can't all meet that same standard.

We don't all have the same tools in front of us.

I think the very same way here at Creative Justice.

My goal is to provide as many tools and things that exist in this space that we can share as possible.

And then what you need to do with this space, we wanna create a safe way for you to exist.

- [Sueann] Wow.

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(energetic upbeat music) - [Sueann] Nikkita, your mom is white.

- [Nikkita] Mm-hmm.

- [Sueann] Your dad's Black, you're originally from Indianapolis.

- [Nikkita] Mm-hmm.

- [Sueann] You did your higher education here in the Northwest.

How did that influence who you are and how does having a white mom and a Black dad influence you culturally?

- [Nikkita] You know, I think like anyone, my parents and their culture, and their roots, and who they come from has impacted who I am.

I don't know if it's so much that my mom is white and my dad is black as much as it's that it is the way that those two things interact, especially when they come together in one person.

You know, withstanding that we still live in a very white supremacist country where racism is very real.

My father passed in December of last year and medical racism played a huge part in why he did not live longer.

I think the biggest impact has been watching the difference in how my white family and my black family get to move through the world and how I as a light-skinned black mixed person also moves through the world differently than each each of those sides of my family do and looking at how even... You know, when my grandmother was in the hospital, the type of care she received.

And because on my mom's side, my family is poor, there was still a lot of having to fight for the kind of medical attention that was needed, but once that fight was over, my grandmother got good medical care.

And on my father's side, it seemed like no amount of fighting, no amount of pushing doctors or nurses to listen to what he was saying about his own body ever got them to take him seriously.

And so I think that that is what has probably shaped me most and I wanna say, I think that's unfortunate, right?

Because it should actually be the deep beauty of the cultures I come from and our history, and the stories we tell, and the music we make, and the foods that we eat.

You know, those are the things that I would like to talk about shape me, but, you know, if I'm honest, it really is seeing the way in which racism and classism, and sexism have unfolded.

And even just like the difference of longevity of life.

- [Sueann] The struggle and the frustration seem to have more of a impact like that, huh?

- [Nikkita] Mm-hmm.

- [Sueann] Yeah.

Because pain is such an intense teacher.

- [Nikkita] Yeah.

You know, we live in a really fucked up society (laughs).

It's not equitable.

It is still very racist.

And white supremacy is very present and classism, and sexism, and homophobia, and transphobia.

All of those things permeate the many institutions that we move through, and that has deeply shaped my life, my work trajectory, the things that I do.

You know, my dad in particular, he was incarcerated multiple times.

And you say that and people automatically think what crime did that person commit?

Which is problematic in and of itself, right?

But when I tell them he went into jail because he couldn't pay the full amount of child support that he owed, they start to ask more questions.

And in Indiana, they allowed at that time, the prosecutor to have discretion about how they treated a parent who could not pay the full amount of child support or any of the child support that they owed.

And my dad rarely could pay the full 1700.

And as a result, you know, he was in a cycle of 30 days in jail, 30 days out of jail, and then he lost his job and he lost his car.

And you can imagine how that spirals, especially once you find yourself in homelessness.

At one point in time, my dad found himself $20,000 in debt related to child support.

And as a young person, and as a young adult, it was very hard for me to understand how that trajectory was just.

You know, like I understand the value of economically supporting your children, but if someone ends up relationally absent, because of the way that the system we live in functions to actually remove them, rather than find ways to support them in being more stable, more present, more economically viable, then I think we've actually done harm to the children and the families we say we care for.

And a lot of that had to do with my dad being a Black man.

The application of that law was very racially, disparate.

They were not treating white men in the same way.

And as a result, I think that experience alone has deeply shaped even my work in wanting to transform the way systems work, to be more restorative and not be so punitive and retributive because that actually doesn't make people more whole.

- [Sueann] And you were young, I'm gonna...

I just guess at that time, still a teenager developing who you are, this is happening to you.

And that's when the seeds were taking root then for this type of activism that you do.

- [Nikkita] Yeah.

And I don't even think then I would've called it activism.

I think it was just... You know, you're looking at the world around you and you're like, "This is fucked up.

It doesn't make sense.

Like why is this happening in this way?"

And I don't even think I fully understood the context of the law that was happening until, you know, I was probably 22, when my mom and I finally had an opportunity to really unpack.

And when she realized the impact that the court was having in the process, she asked for them to stop requesting child support.

- [Sueann] Did that help?

- [Nikkita] I don't know if it helped, but at least for me, and my relationship with my mom, it helped (laughs).

You know, I don't think my mom would've called that restorative justice, or abolition, or any of the things I call the work I do now.

But I think in that moment, my mom was looking for what actually fixes this relationship.

And she made a choice, you know, when I was 22, and we were having a conversation about what happened and why it happened.

My mom's choice spoke volumes to me about what she really cared about and what she thought me and my sister needed in that process.

- [Sueann] Well, you know, for just a moment for somebody who may be going through something similar, like maybe their relationship with their parents is not going well, and they have these questions, how would you recommend they start having those conversations with their loved ones?

- [Nikkita] I think courageous conversations are really hard.

I told my mom I was queer in the middle of New York City and my mom and I yelled at each other through New York about it (laughs).

So I'm not gonna pretend every conversation my mom and I have goes well, like I'm still trying to get my mom to understand pronouns.

And like, "I use, they, them pronouns mom."

You know, (laughs) and no matter how many times she's like, "I understand.

This is my daughter.

She/her."

You know, so it's not perfect.

But what I will say is my mom is a lifelong learner and she really does try to hear what I'm saying.

And so I think that makes... Having those courageous conversations easier.

I don't think everyone has parents that are in the space, to hear those things and have those conversations.

And so, you know, I just acknowledge how fortunate I am.

Like even when it is hard, like even when those conversations are challenging, it takes two people.

It is an active choice for my mom to be open to those dialogues.

And like I said, she didn't necessarily take me, telling her I was queer, like in the most positive way in the moment when we yelled at each other (laughs) in the middle of New York City.

But the foundation was there to be able to continue that conversation.

And I know a lot of queer folks and a lot of, you know, folks who have struggles with their parents don't have that same opportunity, you know.

A lot of people are hurt.

A lot of our parents are hurt.

Generational trauma is real, and we put that back on our children and other people we're in community with and I just don't take that for granted.

- [Sueann] I find it so interesting that we have a hard time with that knowledge of generational trauma to see that in some of our elders, right?

Because we are just so mad that they don't see us for who we are, but just, it's never even been an option for a whole group of people.

So then the burden of this relationship moving forward seems to fall on the younger generation.

I think it's exhausting.

- [Nikkita] You know, honestly, I think it's exhausting on all sides.

You know this last election, some of my own elders in my community chose to endorse my opponent.

And I'm not gonna pretend that as a Black community member, watching black elders endorse, you know, a white woman who I actually don't think has the best intentions for all communities in our city didn't hurt.

And at the same time, I can recognize that so many of the experience of our elders in the Black community has been, How do you get proximity to power?

And it's probably not gonna be this 35 year old running for office who's, you know, talking about abolition or who's saying in single family zoning, or who wants to cut the police budget by 50% and build in community, you know, safety hubs.

I can imagine that for folks who have already been through so much turmoil in their lives.

You know, there are probably routes that are a lot easier (laughs).

- [Sueann] Well, that's really wise of you to recognize that, but internally, how does that assist you with your activism or your thoughts and philosophies of moving forward?

- [Nikkita] You know, it's a constant reminder that no community is a monolith.

No community is monolithic.

Whether we're talking about white communities or Black communities, or that Asian diaspora, or Native communities, there is disagreement around a lot of things, gender, age, class.

And so going back to Erica Huggins, that conversation was very formative for me, because I asked her, "How do I interact with elders I disagree with?"

And she said, "You know, I had elders I disagreed with this is a tale as old as time and is not a new thing, but are you moving in a principled way?

Are you moving transparently?

Are you being accountable?

Is it really coming from a place that is grounded in a bigger vision of community care and wellbeing, then keep moving in that way, if you're not causing harm.

And what is being built is actually transformative.

That will come out in the long run."

But no community is a monolith.

There will always be disagreements.

And I think we live in a society that really desires to boil things down to clear boxes, and absolutely nothing is that clear-cut.

- [Sueann] I almost wonder if it relates back to our desire to be comfortable and easy thinking, right?

Because it's more comfortable just to avoid it than to actually step in and be vulnerable, and have these moments of learning together and tripping over things.

Also opening yourself up to being wrong or having your perspective change freaks people out it's uncomfortable.

- [Nikkita] And I think if you're a person of privilege who hasn't had to think very deeply about the way you move through the world, you get up in the morning, you put your clothes on, you go to the store comfortably, you ride the bus comfortably, you go to school comfortably, you go to work comfortably.

And now you're having to think about how you might actually be bringing about discomfort for someone else in the world.

You know, we have to all get comfortable being uncomfortable.

Like we're not gonna get to a place of change or transformation if we only want to engage in things that make us comfortable.

And, you know, as a non-binary person, very little about like, I don't know, going to buy clothes feels comfortable, you know, like, am I shopping in the right section?

Or if I wanna wear these earrings with this button up that this store said is a men's shirt, or with these shoes, or if today I wanna wear eyeliner and tomorrow I don't, am I somehow moving outside of like, what is acceptable?

Even for me as a non-binary person.

I think people miss how much time folks that are gender-diverse and have, you know, busted open the gender binary, how much time we spend thinking about that?

You know, the dysmorphia that creates in your body when really, actually in my opinion (laughs), those of us who are busting open that binary were actually doing everyone a favor.

Who decided that because you had X genitals that you needed to do X thing or act X way.

I spent a lot of my life very uncomfortable in my body and very uncomfortable with what I was told was the expectation for me as a "woman."

When I finally came to the understanding like that is actually not who or what I am and chose to move honestly, I started to feel more free, but also other people felt more uncomfortable.

And so I just wanna invite folks, be comfortable being uncomfortable because people who move through the world without the privilege you have are uncomfortable, probably every minute of the day, but are actively choosing to be their liberated self.

And they're actually creating more space for the rest of us to be liberated, like literally leading the way.

So I have a lot of deep gratitude for our trans siblings who live their full truth in the world because they make it more possible for everyone else to live more honestly, even if that means we live more uncomfortably.

- [Sueann] There's always that little moment I feel as we're reeducating ourselves, to allow people to be who they are and human, and identify with themselves is the judgment.

These interesting things we've created is symbolism for what you wear, right?

That's frustrating (laughs).

- [Nikkita] I mean, I think part of it is actually training ourselves, not to determine who a person is based on what they're wearing.

I have a lot of tattoos and I remember being in law school and folks being like, "How do you think you're gonna get a job like that?"

And I'm like, "What does a tattoo have to do with my ability to litigate your case?

Other than you've chosen to believe that people who have tattoos think or do X, Y, Z."

And I actually think we need to stop trying to be able to look at people based on what they're wearing or what we think they do and make determinations.

No one wants to be prejudged, but we all complicitly participate in this whole judgment game.

I think we do a disservice to each other when we do that.

We force people into boxes that cause mental health crises or cause people to feel suicidal because that's not a box they wanna be in, or that's not who they are.

And because we seem to have this weird societal agreement about what these boxes are, people feel like they can't break out of them.

So if they choose whatever means of escape, that they need to survive something that was not built honestly for most people.

And if we could get to a place where we agree, whether it's the gender binary or it's the way we view jobs in 40 hour work weeks and different abilities, our ableism that exist in our society, if we could get to a place where we could be really honest about those things, I really think we could build communities that are much more sustainable and healthy.

And instead of people surviving their job, or surviving school, or surviving their daily life, we could actually be building spaces where people can thrive.

You know, I really do believe artists are a trans community, folks who choose the pathway that actually feels best to them, even if it's maybe not the pathway their parents wanted for them.

Folks who break open boxes really do set the stage for the rest of us to have opportunities to live in more liberated ways.

You know, I'm really grateful for that.

And when I think about, you know, our conversation about elders, who I disagree with now in their time, they were the ones busting open the boxes so that I can live the way that I live now.

And so I feel a certain sense of responsibility to keep pushing those boundaries.

So that 10, 20, 30 years from now the generations that come, yeah, they can live in those more liberated spaces.

We are really daily doing the work of liberation and restorative justice.

When we create space for people to live in ways that they feel comfortable in their body and comfortable in who they are and feeling like they can live those things out loud, it really is a very powerful thing.

- [Sueann] Yeah.

What do people misunderstand about Nikkita Oliver?

- [Nikkita] A lot of folks think that I'm mean or bullheaded.

I think because I am Black.

I think because I do a lot of organizing and activism work, I think, because I'm not afraid to say, you know, abolish the police and abolish prisons.

Like that is my long-term vision of dismantling oppressive systems and hopefully building thriving communities that people will hear that as I can't listen, I don't know how to engage in conversation.

I'm not open to critique because I've heard it so many times after folks sit down and talk with me.

They're like, "Wow, you're nothing like what I thought."

And I always ask, "Well, what did you think?"

And they're like, "Well, you know, you're an activist.

I guess I thought you would just yell at me."

And I'm like, "People who do organizing work, we don't show up to it."

Well, I don't show up to it because I wanna yell at people.

I show up to it because I want people to be politicized and engaged, and inspired to actually build a society where everyone can live in a thriving way and that doesn't happen.

Sometimes it happens by yelling in the streets, but that's not the only way that it happens.

And, you know, I had a conversation with a very wealthy, older white man who told me I need to have better PR for myself so that people know I'm more than just an activist.

And I had to say to him, "Is being an activist a bad thing?

Because there's lots of people we celebrate for it."

And I think that people choose not to know all these other sides of me.

They choose to enter a conversation, assuming that I don't listen, or I can't have conversation, or even sometimes assuming I'm not smart.

If I had a dollar for every time I've been told how articulate I am, I would be very wealthy.

And all of those things are racialized, they're gendered, there's class assumptions and, you know, to go full circle with our conversation, I just really encourage people come to spaces with some openness.

If I entered every space assuming that wealthy white people have no interest in changing society, I would never be able to move around Seattle.

So why is it that folks enter the room, assuming maybe the opposite but similar things about me.

We could all use a lot more openness around breaking open these boxes, but that requires those of us who have privilege.

And that includes me to be willing to leave some of our assumptions behind, and enter spaces and conversations with a little more openness and willingness to learn with and from each other.

- [Sueann] Nikkita Oliver, thank you so much.

This has been an incredible conversation.

- [Nikkita] Thank you.

(energetic upbeat music) - [Sueann] Well, thanks for listening to this conversation with Nikkita Oliver, they started Creative Justice.

I hope you'll have a chance to look that up.

It's quite extraordinary.

And learn more about Nikkita by checking out their TED talk.

This is Traverse Talks.

I'm Sueann Ramella.