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This is the sort of thing that gets added to. It's in reverse chronological order intentionally.

From the notes of Nikeh Johnson, July 25th, 2020

Though it sounds arrogant and cocky to say it, and I always left that to others, I knew that the recent events of Rye were inevitable. Commonality is the thread that hangs, and it has strangled close to two generations to come through Storrs. The madness was sown within them from the beginning. Not one of them came without her eccentricities, and so long as they were stars, these quirks remained harmless and amusing. Once their fame was stripped from them, the worst of their personalities came to the forefront, buttressed and twisted by mental instability that should have been treated years earlier.

I wish I had been wrong. Once upon a time, I could claim Linda Wolfe as a friend, before she switched her allegiance; she helped me in a time of need, for which I will be forever grateful. I didn't know the others nearly as well, only as names and faces and notable statistics. But I knew them to be good people, or so I thought. The basketball community was once tightly knit, and their actions destroyed that fabric.

From the notes of Nikeh Johnson, December 12th, 2019

The gap in power that followed the death of Cynthia Jackson, High Priestess of the Lady, has been filled... somewhat. As a lay sister- the Historians, unlike the other orders, do not require a religious commitment, though many are devotees of the Lady- I am not privy to the political machinations of the Temple, nor do I understand the process that elevated a fourteen-year-old boy to the most influential seat of religious power in New York. Alex Sloan seems intelligent and unusually grounded for someone of his age, and he has had the good sense to allow Christine Allen to continue in the crucial administrative role she held previously, but he is still only a child!

I can only hope that Christine will hold the actual power until this child comes of age. If he is the same Alex Sloan whose parish was Bedford-Stuyvesant and its environs, then this could rapidly become a disaster; I have heard numerous reports that the priest of that area was clinically insane, hearing voices and seeing visions. My New Orleans upbringing makes me want to believe that it is true and that it does not mean mental instability, but my reason tells me that these things are not real. If one of New York's most visible signs of resistance should become nothing more than a laughingstock, I suspect that many people would flee back to mainland America, and that our differences would fade ever so slightly, and that is a slippery slope.

From the notes of Nikeh Johnson, October 1st, 2019

Six and a half months have passed since women's basketball was banned in mainstream America. In that time, I estimate that over a thousand disenfranchised players have fled to New York City to escape HOPE camps, show trials, or the insidious media infiltration that I have seen claim many lesbian players. The casual pick-up games at parks across the city have morphed into a quasi-professional league centered at the courts of Manhattan. It's nearly impossible for someone to play casually. Only the purple gives me any access to the courts, and that only because a Historian is deemed to be an uncorruptable referee.

More important, at least to me, was the memorial service held yesterday to honor Tina Washington at the park in Harlem. There were too few of her friends who could be there. There were important guests, most certainly, as there are at every such event. All seven borough presidents were there, as were my fellow county historians. Madame Joyce asked me to speak, but I opted not to. I had nothing to say that hadn't already been said far better and with far more objectivity than I could ever muster.

More than any other I have lived in, this city glorifies and deifies those who serve it well- the example of Lady Liberty, sainted in all seriousness in death the way she had jokingly been in life. New York has taken the concept of hero worship and raised it to a literal and multilayered level. I'm not yet sure whether it is a sign of the psychosis that the rest of the country pins on us or a mocking respones to the cult-like worship of the television in mainstream America. More research is necessary, and by a far more qualified mind; I don't pretend to be an expert in this.

From the notes of Nikeh Johnson, March 18th, 2016

It is curious that we, as New Yorkers, have almost as regimented a societal structure as the country that we so claim to disdain. I have been accused of being a traitor to my people, a pathetic Channel 4 wannabe, for the perceived shame of wearing my hair past my shoulders. Many of them refuse to understand that it is a personal preference for me. Yes, there was a time when I cropped my hair as short as any militant's, but I was a different person back then. I've taken to wearing my braids in a coronet around my head when I go out to Park Slope or to the Garden so that I can look like I have acceptably short hair. It's better than having to deal with the drama.

But it fits a disturbing pattern. Everyone fits into a role. Lesbians wear their hair short, dark-skinned men wear turbans and drive cabs, Asians work tech support, and people in the Bronx fight first and ask questions later. How much freedom do we actually have? My county is mocked because we want to settle down and live the same American dream as other American women. We want love and children and stability. I hear people making fun of us, but then I look at Madame Joyce and Madame Shanhui with their son, or Tyler and Steve with their children, and I not only want a child of my own, I can't understand why people would want to deny them that joy.

Freedom is not just the privilege of defying society's norms, but also the opportunity to accept them in one's own way, no matter what that way might be.

From the notes of Nikeh Johnson, Suffolk County Historian, November 19th, 2015

Last week, I finished my noviatite and became a fully accredited Historian. In New York, this automatically gives me a teacher's license in history, with only a bare minimum of courses required to get university accreditation. I have also earned the privilege of wearing the formal purple robes and the more casual purple headband that are the Historians' uniform. All archives within the so-called asylum state are open to me for whatever research purposes I should require. In return for that privilege, I must maintain this journal to the best of my ability and provide honest aid to anyone who asks for it. Whatever expertise I have must be made available to anyone who needs it. I am sworn to tell nothing but the truth.

High Priestess Jackson gave me my assignment, and an impressive one it is; apparently, many of those who join the Order of Our Lady the Binder are not as trained as I am. The recent election in Suffolk County has placed a new borough president in office (the proper honorific for her is Sue, but I feel a bit awkward using that), and she requested a new Historian; apparently the last one had taken up with the former Sue, and her biases would make it untenable for her to continue in her position. Right out of my advanced training, I have been given the job of Chief Historian of Suffolk County. Annette and I will have to move out there immediately. We'll sublet our Park Slope apartment to a young couple just in from Arizona; Annette plans to use it as a halfway house for refugees, and I like the idea.

The day after that meeting, I was summoned out to Suffolk County to take stock of the archives, the office, and my new boss, Joyce O'Connor-Wong. Madame Joyce- she abhors her formal title and ordered me never to use it with her unless we were at a formal event- is a small, intense, energetic woman, one of the very rare residents who was born and raised in Suffolk; she has a keen interest in her county's history. I suspect, however, that I will be working more closely with Suffolk's First Lady, Wong Shanhui, who is the organizational genius in the county's government, and whose political acumen is the probable reason for Madame Joyce's current position. Annette took an immediate liking to their ten-year-old son, Ping, and I suspect we'll be seeing him often around our home, as Madame Joyce and Madame Shanhui are both very career-oriented women.

I think I'll enjoy my position. It will be a challenge, but a worthy one. It allows me to do what I love, and get room and board for it, while Annette will be able to find a position as a paralegal and have time to take classes towards her JD. In addition, it places me in the circles of power, which will give me a chance to provide my perspective on major events in New York's history, and what Historian would turn down that kind of chance?

From the notes of Nikeh Johnson, May 5th, 2014

Last month, I had occasion to travel to Dallas, or so I believed at the time. It soon became clear that, in fact, the only purpose my trip served was to ensure that I keep New York as my home. At the time, however, I had business to transact... except for the pressing problem that no one I needed to talk to would acknowledge my existence. I couldn't even get my hotel room; I was forced to cancel my reservation and take a room on the Spanish-speaking side of town. Not a single non-Hispanic white person seemed to even be aware of my existence. I have since been told by immigrants from other parts of the country that this is not a phenomenon limited to either the city or to myself, that in fact areas that were traditionally "red" in the days of political dissent all share this blind spot to blackfolk. That might at least have been barely tolerable if it meant an end to the crude and overt racist language; after all, such separation has been suggested before by people on both sides of the racial divide. However, the two coexist, creating a crude, self-perpetuating culture of hatred.

What worries me more, and indicates a deeper trend, is that the blackfolk don't seem to object to this treatment. They seem to be under the impression that not only is it all right that white people don't see them, but that it's the way the world is supposed to work. Many of the people I spoke to talked about the "sin" of their birth, mentioning the crimes of Cain and Ham as reason enough for being poor and downtrodden. More than that, they maintained a fierce pride in their work, no matter how menial that work was; they felt it was the only way to expiate that sin. As well, they used their hard work to convince themselves that they were needed, and because they were needed, they were equals.

I do, however, believe that if used carefully, this invisibility can be advantageous to a spy or a historian to garner knowledge about the outside world. It might not serve for searching records, as the actions are sometimes visible even if the person is not, but for purposes of simple observation, this is a remarkable tool that generations of anthropologists would have killed to have. It would serve me well if I chose to use it. For obvious reasons, I am not currently so inclined, but should the High Priestess, or the dictates of my conscience, order otherwise, I will do it.

The notes of Nikeh Johnson, Historian of the Order of Our Lady the Binder, November 13th, 2013

To the reader:

I know not when this will be read, or by whom, and so I must begin this journal with a clear description of who I am and what the purpose of the journal is, so that it may be placed in its proper historical context and gauged according to its worth.

My name is Nikeh (pronounced NEE-kay) DeLynda Johnson. I was born in New Orleans (now Kentwood), Louisiana, on January 15th, 1971, which makes me 42 years old at the time of this writing. I am a black lesbian, holding a B.A. from Louisiana State University, having majored in history and minored in sociology. I am committed and have been so for the last three years. My political bent tends to be slightly left of center, my cultural bent American, somewhat steeped in Baptist Christian ideology. As you read this journal, keep those possible biases in mind.

Though I have not abjured the faith to which I was born, I have taken vows with an order of New York's idiosyncratic, female-dominated religion. The Historians, whose patron is the Lady in her aspect as the Binder, are sworn to seek out and protect the truth so that the past can be preserved for future generations. Because no mortal can be certain of absolute truth, we are required to preserve all accounts of a given event, even if they have been proven unreliable. We must be as neutral as is humanly possible, scrutinizing our works and our thoughts for bias which might corrupt our records. On the other hand, we are also encouraged to keep personal journals, such as this one, in which we record our experiences and our opinions. We hope that if enough of these journals survive, they will provide a nuanced, balanced view of our times.

I admit to some conceit in writing my own journal, because I played a role in one of the key events of New York's history, and I suspect that by the time this journal sees the light of day, the statute of limitations would have run out on this, if it is even still considered a crime instead of an act of heroism. I and five of my friends masterminded the jailbreak of the White Widow. Not from the military prison where she received her abuse, but the facility where she was previously beng held. It did little good, but we made an important point that needed to be stated. There are times I wish we could have protected her better, but ordinary people have very little power against a government that is bound and determined to mistreat someone.