I took a long time off from this blog, and now that I'm back I will no longer censor myself simply because I don't want to offend. White America's delicate sensibilities no longer matter to me, because mine NEVER mattered to it.
I have spent the majority of today either crying or being mutely furious. Completely incapable of understanding where this level of anger came from. I've been angry before, I've felt impotent before in the face of blatant racism, but for some reason today hit differently.
I don't know what it is about today of all days. The murder of our Black men by police officers or white citizens isn't new. Putting us in potentially deadly situations based upon white America's fear of us isn't new either. But for some reason, maybe it's the lockdown, maybe it's the Cicadas coming up for air after 17 years, or maybe it's the "President's" idiocracy at an all-time high, with his tone-deaf George Floyd tweet.....
how do I even start with this?
1. he sure as shit doesn't care about George Floyd and I'm pretty fucking sure he only knows his name because an aide had to tell him
2. he couldn't even begin to understand how his even mentioning George Floyd in a tweet is dishonoring his name
3. Military???? seriously? that's your answer? Have Americans open fire on unarmed, Americans?
4. STOP STEALING OTHER PEOPLES WORDS!!!!!!!!!
I wrote the below statement today and maybe that's where I can start unpacking my feelings.
I don't know how to feel. I want to scream, I want to hate all white people, I want to burn something to the ground so that they can see how angry I am, we are. But most of all I want "them" to feel what we feel on a daily basis.
The hurt, the pain, the anger, the marginalization, the disrespect, the "otherness", all of it, all the emotions that I'm supposed to keep inside because we still haven't met the "model minority" status that they compare us to.
My father's life is non-negotiable to me, but to them, it is a non-starter. It has no real value. It can not be quantified in their minds therefore it is something to be glossed over, something to be pushed to the side. And even if it could, do we deserve a price on our backs? Those days are supposedly gone.
When are we as minorities in this country going to understand that as long as one of us is held down, murdered, raped, disenfranchised or swept aside as if we were lint to be picked off of a fine suit; all of us will never rise.
We spend our lives trying to meet white America's idea of what a minority is supposed to be in order to get a pat on the head. But what does that really get us? Nothing, it gets us, nothing. we eek out the lowest percentage of acceptance as Black people, but still as minorities, all minorities, we fight for the crumbs that they throw at us.
When will we understand that the shucking in jiving will never get us where we want to be in their esteem? We are behind the 8 ball as long as we play their game. From the very beginning we have been nothing to them, we have simply been a commodity.
Slavery in Kentucky 1792 to 1865
Development and General Status of Slavery
A commodity that we will never be reimbursed for. The labor and humiliation they subjected us to for hundreds of years is something that they are still reaping the financial benefits from. What this means, I am not sure but I do know that I will no longer stay silent.
I welcome other views because honestly, I need to have those arguments. I welcome Allies, I want to hear about how they are trying to navigate this moment in history. I want to hear from other minorities, their stories matter and maybe we can find common ground. I welcome Black Women and Men to share their stories because I am but one of many. My perspective is limited, hampered by the privilege that my skin gives me. No matter how angry or disenfranchised I might feel I still navigate this world under protection. It might be a form of protection I don't want but it is there none the less.
I am me, I am my future, I am Black, I am Mixed, I am a Woman, I am a Mother, I am a Writer - but most of all, I am tired.