“Our children need a sense of specialness that comes from participating in a known and loved ritual. They need the mastery of self-discipline that comes from order. They need the self-awareness that comes from a knowledge of their past. They need Kwanzaa as a tool for building their future and our own.”
—Jessica B. Harris

The first Kwanzaa workshop I ever gave was in the first grade for all my classmates. By the age of six, I’d had plenty of experience celebrating Kwanzaa and accompanying my mother to churches, schools, libraries, and community centers where she gave presentations on this special tradition. Kwanzaa started in 1966—my family started observing it in our home in 1967—so I’ve never lived a year of my life without the gift and brilliance of this holiday.

When I was really little, it was like magic: we’d go to bed one evening and wake up to a beautiful Kwanzaa table set up in our living room that my parents had worked on overnight. In my family we talked about the Nguzo Saba—Kwanzaa’s seven principles—all year round and in December, we gathered to reflect and celebrate!

At Kwanzaa, part of the ritual each day is to pass around the Kikombe cha Umoja (unity cup). Everybody talks about what they did to honor that day’s principle throughout the year, and the commitment that they’re making for next year. That was a big deal as a kid. When you get gifts at Kwanzaa, they’re supposed to be reminders of your heritage and culture and to honor the commitments that you made throughout the year. This meant gifts were always tied to meaningful stuff.

So when you’re a little kid, you might say, “For Umoja, I’m really going to try to fight less with my siblings this year.” And when Kwanzaa rolls around, your mother has given you a boardgame to share with your brother and sister and written you a beautiful card that says, “I saw you trying hard this year to get along better with your siblings, and Mommy and Daddy are so proud of you.” That recognition and celebration of who I was and what I’d done made me feel affirmed and supported.

Now, it could also be a little embarrassing: you’d go back to school and kids would ask, “What’d you get for the holidays?” Some kids got a Nintendo; I got a piece of Kente cloth and books from my grandmother. But it was important and empowering–and as an adult, the Nguzo Saba, Kwanzaa’s 7 principles–sometimes referred to as the Foundation for Complex Problem Solving–still help me. There have been times where I’ve been stumped—trying to do something or solve something—and I’ve used those principles to help order my thinking. They’ve been a reminder, too, about valuing my heritage, history, and culture as a person of African descent in the world.

Today, as an adult away from home, I have to make the magic—if the Kwanzaa table goes up, it’s because I’m putting it up. Plus, every year is somebody’s first Kwanzaa: there’s somebody who hasn’t heard about it, or they’ve heard misconceptions. Those of us who grew up with Kwanzaa have an additional responsibility to teach the tradition: No, you can’t just have red, white, and blue candles. No, you can’t leave stuff off the table. No, you can’t just change stuff: it’s a tradition. There’s so much richness to be found in incorporating the principles all year and then celebrating the annual observance.

As a Black UU from a multi-religious family, having a celebration that focused on our shared history, heritage, and culture grounded and guided me, ethically and culturally. I am grateful for the tradition of Kwanzaa and hopeful that others will continue to embrace its depth and beauty.

Prayer

Spirit of Life, thank you for principles that guide, traditions that inform, and celebrations that remind us of the very best of who we are and what we can be in the world.