On a personal note, as many know (and as I’ve often spoken and written of), I owe a great deal to Assotto. Maybe we all do. As I’ve stated, I was there in the church that day in 1992 at the funeral of Donald Woods. I was one of many attendees from Donald’s activist family. I was one of many who read the program and saw the glaring omission of Donald’s poetry and activist work. The program also stated Donald had died of heart failure. I was one of many who witnessed Assotto speed down the aisle and take over the pulpit mid-service, declaring, “Donald Woods did not die of heart failure; he died of AIDS and he was a proud Black gay man. If you agree with me, stand up.” Half the church stood. Half didn’t. I stood up, as did Donald’s sister, Yvonne. I count that moment as one of a few where my path as an artist was revealed to me.
The second most defining moment in my life happened in 1990, when I attended the “I Am Your Sister Conference” in Boston, a celebration of the work of Audre Lorde. In her first appearance on stage, the self-described warrior poet Audre emerged, spread open the arms of her dashiki, and told a crowded room of followers of her battle with cancer. She said, “I began on this journey as a coward.” Witnessing the courage of Assotto and Audre shaped me as a poet, a person, teacher, performer. I want everyone I encounter to experience that sense of exhilaration and freedom when the truth is told bare-naked, and to feel the power of standing up for their lives at whatever cost.
Recently, I helped lead a Last Address Tribute Walk in Harlem with several organizations and individuals (the walk was originally developed by Alex Fialho). We went to Harlem at my insistence. In tribute, we went to the addresses of Black gay men who died of AIDS. We went to the address of Bert Michael Hunter, who was part of the Black gay writers group Other Countries, of which Assotto was also a charter member. Donald Woods, Colin Robinson, and Essex Hemphill, among others, were members as well. At Hunter’s address, the filmmaker and writer Robert E. Penn and the writer, archivist, and activist Sur Rodney (Sur) spoke of Bert and belonging to Other Countries. Sur recalled a story of running into Assotto in the late eighties, when Assotto urged him to join Other Countries. They said, “Sur, don’t abandon your brothers.” I think that statement encapsulates Assotto and what their convictions were.
The title of this collection, Sacred Spells, very much refers to Assotto’s powerful Haitian ancestry. I was thrilled to learn here that the person born Yves Lubin renamed themself “Assotto,” after a drum used in voodoo, and “Saint” after the great Haitian revolutionary fighter Toussaint Louverture. “Saint” also embodies their queerness, claiming self-ownership as a poet and magician whose language conjures, casts spells, and offers protection and healing. No name could be more fitting.
I know in certain Latinx ceremonies they call the names of the dead and fallen warriors, and the crowd responds “presente,” to mean present.
Assotto’s work speaks to us throughout time.
I imagine in the Black Baptist tradition, where I’m from, Assotto’s name is called out and with all of my heart and conviction I yell back “PRESENT” to say, he is here, always among us.
Still An introduction to our Assotto Saint folio by Pamela Sneed
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