From the Other Side of the Bridge: A Love Letter to Oakland and the Artists Who’ve Fed Me

by Jari Bradley

Most people think I hail from Oakland any time I mention I’m from the Bay. Much of that assumption derives from those people assuming that if you’re Black from the Bay Area you have to be from Oakland. Most of those people have no concept of the days where it wasn’t safe to announce you were from the City while spending time on the other side of the bridge. But, I knew that I had to cross the bridge to experience a Black radical tradition of artists and writers from the Town. As a result of ever increasing displacement in San Francisco, Oakland was where I knew I could commute to so I could commune with other Black creatives in the most unapologetic of spaces. I religiously made trips from Balboa Bart to Frank Ogawa Plaza to read poems penned on the way, moving through eclectic crowds of predominantly Black and Brown folks spread out across the front of Oakland’s city hall to make it to the mic. 

Performing original poems throughout various venues within Oakland was a kind of sustenance, a way to be fed when my own city left me starved for the camaraderie of other young Black people writing poetry and music to respond to the impact of gentrification, gang injunctions, and coming of age in cities that would rather be rid of us altogether. I craved the energy that came from not just being in attendance of those open mics and locally thrown shows, but also what it took to ride through parts of Downtown Oakland, once taking a bus to a performance through a protest where young Black folks braved tear gas, batons,  and a stand off between Oakland Police Department near the same Frank Ogawa Plaza I had just performed poems in front of weeks before. I can still recall the splash of white light that cascaded through the large bus windows from the helicopter hovering above us all on the ground trying to either make our way through traffic or holding it up by way of marching with hand painted signs stating “no justice, no peace.” 

Some of my earliest memories of Oakland are being a teen poet, and heading to the ProArts Gallery in enough time to get to the sign up list for the Youth Speaks open mic held there. One of the poets I loved to see there reminded me so much of myself, as I recognized the immaculate emcee in them alongside poems that could just as easily be hot 16’s slid over beats. Nappy Nina, Oakland born and raised, would frequent these same open mics and would just as frequently blow my mind with her lyrical agility. Her style and cool demeanor helped me feel comfortable in spaces as both a poet and person that rapped from time to time, along with also having a more masculine self-expression. 

At a time where I was just learning to embrace myself as masculine of center, I got to see that I wasn’t the only one, and that I could exist as my full self without shame. Nappy Nina modeled the kind of creativity and skill I strived for as an artist while making it all look too easy; like second nature. When she made the move to New York, I felt the pull in her music to represent; to be as authentic as possible as she has built a catalog of timeless raps that float in the likeness of Miles Davis with his trumpet, or Alice Coltrane on the strings of her harp. I continue to look up to and admire the uniqueness of Oakland’s own, especially with this year’s drop of what many deem an underrated classic, Sow & So, a collaborative record with L.A. producer Swarvy whose beats encapsulate the energy I remember catching all those years ago, watching Nappy Nina tear down the dividing line between poetry and blappers, or music that puts a bonafide crook in your neck because of how hard it knocks. 

There was something so iconic about watching another Oakland poet and emcee coming up as a teen poet. Dom Jones is someone I distinctly remember looking up to and was way too shy back in the day to say so to openly, but every time I saw her and the precision of both her words and style— as she dawned one of the flyest afros that inspired my youthful attempts at rocking my own—I aspired to work harder on being impeccable with both my pen and my attention to detail or what set me apart from the rest. Dom Jones was (and remains) a masterclass for my younger self, as she performed with such fierceness, and commanded your attention effortlessly with sometimes just her mere presence alone. I was so taken by her ability to grab listeners visually and the way she held our attention with her remarkable way of crafting words interwoven with vulnerability. 

I found myself in the longing to be loved, in the yearning of her work that often could also be found in her music. It was powerful to see a deep dark skin woman in her fullness unapologetically, and so regal in her outfitted aesthetic, and her own self-regard. It gave me a blueprint for how to allow myself to access my own self-worth, which at the time, I had no real concept of outside of loving to write. Dom Jones has gone on to become a Berklee College of Music graduate, making moves on the business side of the music industry, all with a catalog of music that showcases her constant elevation as a songwriter and vocalist. Dom’s latest project 2.0 gives us a dynamic tracklist of original songs to love, dance, and lament to. I will forever stan Dom Jones as a pivotal architect of Oakland infused style and grace. 

As I grew out of the youth slam scene and into more adult spaces, one of the friendships I’d forge would impact the way I saw poetry, particularly how slam/spoken word poetry could be life altering. Joshua Merchant (another contributor to Black Life Everywhere: Oakland) has always given everything to the craft of poetry. I knew from the very first time I heard a poem from them it was a new day for the artform as I’d known it. Merchant’s work forced me to dig deeper in my bag around vulnerability and pushing the limits of what a poem could be. I’ll never forget the snarl on their face or the punch behind each enunciation of the words they’d spent so many years crafting detailing the realities of being born and raised in Oakland.

The Town through Merchant’s eyes renders a sobering view of what it means to be Black queer while surviving the treacherousness of disenfranchisement. We spent countless days frequenting bookstores, cafes, and performance venues across the Bay Area just trying to be the best poets we could possibly be. I take their name into many rooms I walk into as one of the most influential poets of their generation to come from the other side of the bridge. It hasn’t been the easiest road, as Black queer artists are so often under-resourced and find ourselves fighting to stay afloat. But, I couldn’t be more proud of Joshua publishing their work in some of the very poetry journals we dreamed of being a part of. Merchant has always and will forever be the unofficial poet laureate of Oakland, California and that’s on my mama. 

I have had the unique privilege of holding space with these once in a lifetime talents who’ve influenced the way I approach the page or any stage I’ve ever been on. Oak Town will always remain one of those cities where, in the words of Tupac Shakur, I got the game from. To this day, these artists pour into my artistic effort making sure I’ve been good, that my head is on straight, and even making sure that I’ve literally had a meal. In this way, Oakland has been so good to me, and keeps me satiated on what community means in the realm of Black/queer artistic endeavor.

Thank you, Oakland, for it all. 

Bio: Jari Bradley is a Black transmasculine poet and scholar. Originally from San Francisco, they live in Houston.