The Undercover Introvert

Thankful AF

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So, you’re sitting across the table from the aunt who voted for Trump and your nephew who might as well have been marching with a tiki torch down the streets of Charlottesville, wondering just what the hell you have to be thankful for this Thanksgiving. The country’s a dumpster fire of bigotry and ignorance and you can’t seem to escape the suffocating smell of everything you love going up in smoke…

I’m not here to tell you this country isn’t an absolute shit show, because it is. But, if it makes you feel any better, this is nothing new. It’s been a nonstop catastrophe since Columbus sailed the ocean blue and planted a flag in land that wasn’t actually up for grabs. Some of y’all are just now noticing for the first time. Things are getting better, though, slowly but surely as time marches on and more people start paying attention to what’s right in front of them.

This is honestly my favorite time of the year. Always has been. And the end of one year naturally leads to thinking about what the next one will bring. We had some tough election results here in Florida, but we also had some real wins. There’s so much work to do before the next cycle, but I actually feel hope for the future and what we can accomplish if we just get our shit together and keep it that way. So, today, because of the holiday and my enduring love of cliches, I’m going to name a few of the things for which I’m most thankful:

My Family

None of them voted for trump (PRAISE BE) and they’ve supported me throughout my entire life, including the last 2 crazy, action packed years. This campaign/activism life is a wild ride and I intend to keep seeing where it will take me. It’s good to know I have a soft place to fall and people who accept me, no matter what.

Friends Who Have Become Family

Y’all, making new friends as an introvert isn’t easy, but I’ve been waaaaay outside of my comfort zone since November 9th, 2016, and I can honestly say that actually leaving my house has led to meeting some of the hardest working, funniest, and best people around. These are folks I couldn’t imagine not knowing. They’ve enriched my life beyond what I thought possible. I’m honored to know them and to be in this fight together, shoulder to shoulder.

Doing What I Love and Loving What I Do

This sounds cheesy af, but it’s true. For the first time ever, I’m doing work that seems vital. Even when I’m too tired to bitch (admittedly, this is rare), I feel the importance of what I’m doing, and I can’t wait to see what the future holds.

The Victory of Amendment 4

We worked so hard all last year to gather petitions and get this initiative on the ballot. 1.4 million Floridians now have the right to vote back. I’m humbled to have played a small part in dismantling a system of disenfranchisement in the state of Florida that was a remnant of the Jim Crow era. This is game changing. It’s historic. We did this, y’all. All of us, together.

Having the Freedom to Fight for What Matters to Me

Not everyone has this privilege, and I cherish the fact that, though I have certain disadvantages in this country based on skin color and gender, I’m free to voice my opinion, to fight for what I believe in, and to work hard to champion causes that will make this country better for everyone. Those of us able to speak out, to fight, to work hard, need to keep doing it on behalf of those who can’t. That’s our duty, because the freedom to do so comes on the backs of people who risked everything. Honor them with action.

I’m not going to keep y’all, mostly because the smell of turkey roasting is making it hard to concentrate. My guide to living a good life is simple: hug those close to you, cherish those far away, practice selfcare as often as you can, challenge white supremacy, and fuck the patriarchy. This country is becoming a better place every day because of you, because of me, because of all of us. I’m thankful for that too.

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Black Folks Are So Damned Tired

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Black folks are tired, y’all.

This is the kind of exhaustion you feel in your bones after carrying a heavy load for much too long, one you know you won’t be able to set aside any time soon. It’s the kind of tiredness that affects you at a visceral level, leaving you sick and frustrated.

Why are black folks so tired, you might ask? In a few words: because of white folks who would readily call themselves ‘allies’ but won’t actually engage in any real self reflection or undertake the emotional sweat equity necessary to talk to the folks who look like them in order to begin the long process of tearing down systems of widespread oppression.

That’s a mouthful, so let’s break it down…

We just had an election, and, in the Florida gubernatorial race, we had a white Republican man run on racist rhetoric reminiscent of the 2016 Republican nominee. But unlike in 2016, the Republican in Florida was actually running against a black man, so the racism had a clear focal point. In Georgia, the governor’s race between a black woman and the racist, voter suppression happy Secretary of State had the same racist undertones. And, as usual, the majority of white women voters voted for the Republican candidates (51% in FL and 75% in GA), despite the fact that this was also a vote against their own interests of autonomy over their own medical decisions, funding of public schools, protection of the environment, etc.

Because I am a glutton for punishment, I posted a clip from the Daily Show in which a white woman was talking about how voters who look like her will uphold systems of white patriarchal power because they benefit on the basis of shared whiteness, and that these limited benefits were earned on the backs of people of color. White folks need to talk to other white folks in order to start tearing down these systems, and white women specifically need to understand how they might benefit from their whiteness, but that their gender is still a liability. When they vote to uphold the status quo, they are actively voting against their own interests.

As you can imagine, the white tears and pearl clutching was immediate. Here are just a few paraphrased samples of the responses to my post:

Why are you trying to divide us right now?! We should be standing together!

You are too intelligent to be pushing away your allies at a time like this.

You don’t know my heart! I’ve been working so hard!

Tell us what the answers are! What are we supposed to do?!

Not all white women!!

And on and on.

Also, honorable mention for the white man who came onto my page to ‘stand up for women’ by attempting to shout down a woman of color in her own space (he was deleted and blocked after he attempted to PM me with more of his mansplaining bullshit; ain’t nobody got time for that).

There were white women who commented on the post in order to undertake the emotional labor of attempting to educate their fellow white women, but these initial responses from so-called, self-identified ‘allies’ were problematic on so many levels. Folks were demanding education and sources, though I’d attached a clip of a white woman explaining the issue as well as an article. But, as usual, that was not enough. So, I had to break it down in terms of sexism.

The same women who came onto my page throwing around the #NotAllWhiteWomen defense would be quick to pounce on a man who used the #NotAllMen excuse as a response to a #MeToo or #TimesUp post. Obviously, not all men are engaging in blatant sexual harassment and assault, but men still uphold rape culture and systemic sexism by not speaking up to their fellow men whenever they see questionable behavior or hear jokes and comments that are sexist, or when they simply benefit from systems of patriarchal power on the backs of the women around them. Until all of the so-called ‘good’ men stand up to other male perpetrators, women might as well be spitting into the wind. We can’t tear down systems of widespread oppression set up by men to control us. We need men to undertake that labor, and the work is constant.

In the same way, people of color can’t be expected to tear down systems of oppression put in place by white folks. We can call out the problems as we see them, but we can’t talk to most white folks in a way that they will actually hear and acknowledge what is being said.

Case in point: my social media post, which was a list of statistics about how white women voted in the last two election cycles, a clip in which a white woman called out other white women for voting to uphold patriarchal systems of power to their own detriment, and an article. From the responses, it was clear that the real problem for certain white women was not the racism itself, but my uppity audacity in daring to call out that racism. That level of knee jerk defensiveness is exhausting, mostly because of how predictable it is.

If we want to do better in this country, it starts with a long hard look in the mirror. We all have layers of privilege. I might be at a disadvantage due to my race and sex, but as a straight black woman who is not disabled, I am still the recipient of a certain amount privilege, and if I hear someone who is not LGBTQ or disabled speaking in ways that are bigoted towards those groups, it is my responsibility to put a stop to it. I don’t understand what is so hard to grasp about this concept. The onus is not on other marginalized groups to do all of the emotional labor. Being straight is currently the ‘default’ in this country, so it’s my responsibility to speak to other straight folks about their homophobia or transphobia. They will listen to me in a way they might not listen to someone from the LGBTQ community. If I don’t have a strategy for speaking to other straight people about how unacceptable it is to be hateful to someone on the basis of their sexual orientation or gender identity, I can simply consult my BFF Google for answers. Under no circumstances do I demand that a member of the LGBTQ community take on the emotional labor of educating me.

If the act of a person of color pointing out racism makes you defensive, you need to undertake some self reflection to understand why that is, and that needs to be done on your own time. It’s not the POC’s responsibility to soothe you or educate you. If you really want to be an ally to marginalized groups, then you need to listen when they speak, and then you need to be willing to do the work necessary to change things. Sometimes that’s simply having conversations with the white folks around you. If you are afraid to do that, imagine how difficult it is for POCs. Not only do we have to have conversations with white folks who discriminate against us on the basis of skin color, but we also have to deal with so-called ‘allies’ who discount us because what we are saying doesn’t fit the ‘we are all in this together’ sunshine narrative to which they subscribe. If we really are ‘in this together’, then white folks who truly want to see racial equality need to start shouldering their part of the burden, because black folks are tired.

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On Losing and Hope, Pt. 2

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Here we are again, back at the drawing board.

Our minds are reeling from losses that feel like vicious assaults to common decency and essential fairness. Many of us are stunned and saddened. Others are furious. Still others feel set adrift on a churning sea of despair.

We’ve been here before — feeling lost and bewildered as half of the voters around us are celebrating a win for racism, for sexism, for bigotry in all its forms. Not to mention the danger these losses pose to the already fragile environment. Access to healthcare. Critical funding for public education. The list goes on, and just thinking about it makes our stomachs twist into knots and our bones grow heavy with sorrow. The thought of curling up in the fetal position and just giving up altogether is overwhelmingly appealing.

Here’s the thing: there is still so much hope.

You just have to look past the immediate, staggering losses in order to see it.

Here in Florida, more than 60% of Sunshine State voters passed Amendment 4, putting an end to the Jim Crow era lifetime voter disenfranchisement of former convicted felons. That opens the door to 1.5 million potential voters to join the rolls in time for the 2020 election cycle. In a state where gubernatorial and senate races are often won or lost by 1 percentage point, adding event fifteen percent of those brand spanking new voters could be a seismic shift to the electorate.

Nationwide, Democrats picked up enough congressional seats to give them the majority in the House.

I’m going to repeat that for those folks in the back:

DEMOCRATS NOW HAVE CONTROL OF THE HOUSE.

This is what we’ve been working for since November of 2016. It’s our check on the Executive Branch. No one expected us to win the Senate, but this win means we will set the agenda in the House, and nothing will get passed without Democratic support. No more rolling over us. Having the chambers split the way they are will force compromise, which is how government is supposed to work. No more winner takes all. Get ready for bipartisan legislation that will move our country forward. Or complete gridlock, which won’t bode well for you know who in 2020. This victory was a crippling blow to the Executive Branch and a big win for grassroots organizers everywhere.

Also, y’all, we elected over 100 women to the House for the first time ever. And many of them are women of color. Representation matters. Having more women at the table will prioritize issues that impact our communities. We need diversity of thought, of representation, of socioeconomic and cultural backgrounds. We are closer now than we’ve ever been to true representation in government, and that’s incredibly satisfying and uplifting.

Nothing about this work is fast or easy. As the old cliche goes, this is a marathon, not a sprint. Marathons are grueling. They take so much out of you and leave you wondering why in hell you are even bothering to do this in the first place. I can tell you why I’m bothering to do it: because I don’t have any other choice. As a black woman, these fights are personal. Any movement backwards puts people who look like me at immediate risk. But it’s not just about me. It’s about every marginalized group, every working class family, every child who deserves a quality public education, every senior who shouldn’t have to choose between their medication or their mortgage payment. We’re all at risk. That’s a lesson we learned the hard way in 2016.

I find motivation from looking backwards to those who fought harder than I could ever imagine. Those who risked their lives in the hopes that, one day, someone like me could have the opportunities that I enjoy without a second thought. I draw strength from their sacrifices and leadership. They didn’t give up when the cause for which they were fighting could literally cost them their lives. I’m not going to give up either.

History is a wheel, y’all. I see that more with every passing day. And change comes slowly…but we have to keep pushing for it. We have to keep shedding our blood, our sweat, our tears.

Take the time to lick your wounds, mourn your losses, learn from mistakes made and challenges not overcome. But celebrate the wins too. They are everywhere.

The first Muslim women elected to Congress. The first Native American women elected to Congress. The first openly gay governor. The first Democratic Latina governor. The first black woman elected to Congress from the state of Massachusetts. Guam’s first Democratic female governor. Texas’s first Latina Congresswomen. Iowa’s first ever women elected to Congress. We flipped seats nationwide, y’all, and put more women into positions of leadership and power. And we had real wins in our local races too. City, county, and state seats matter.

If you can’t see the hope yet, give yourself some time. But don’t stop looking for the light in the darkness. Find that light and hold it closely, because there’s so much work to be done.

I’m ready to get back to the hustle (after a day or two of Netflix binge watching and a nap). I don’t know where the hell this optimism comes from, but I feel it, and I know we need to get back to work. Nothing will change until we change it ourselves. This is our time.

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Sexism 101: the Benevolent Misogynist

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Women have a strange relationship with compliments, mostly because so many come unsolicited from strange men whenever we venture out in public. But there are other kinds of compliments that are more backhanded than creepy, and the men offering them aren’t the folks you might expect. These guys respect their mothers, love their daughters, and would take a bullet for their sisters, wife, or girlfriend. Oftentimes, these are men we know and with whom we have close relationships. We love them and they love us…but they are also perpetrators of the deepest, most insidious brand of sexism.

These men are products of a society that forever tilts in favor of the masculine. They are raised to respect women while also reinforcing a women’s biological limitations. They are well versed in gender roles, and the sexism they exhibit upholds and validates those societal norms, taught from cradle to grave, to all children, regardless of race or socioeconomic background.

This kind of sexism works like a lullaby. We walk through life hearing this soothing music, and it doesn’t occur to us until much later that there might be a problem with the underlying melody…if it ever occurs to us at all. Many of us simply internalize the music and it provides the persistent soundtrack to all of our life decisions and movements in the world.

The benevolent misogynist, always marching to the beat of this insidious tune, delivers his gentle oppression by way of a complement:

Women are just natural born nurturers.

That seems like a harmless observation, right? Maybe even a good thing? But let’s unpack the statement.

What roles do nurturers play in our society? They typically concern themselves with the raising and teaching of children. They take care of elderly relatives. They nurse folks back to health. Most importantly, they remain in positions devoid of power while others take care of running the world.

Think about it.

What kinds of ‘compliments’ have you heard about women’s perceived skill sets in the past?

Women are better at raising children.

Women are the backbone of the family.

Women are better at managing a household.

There is nothing inherently wrong with these statements. But, beneath the sparkly pink veneer, they perpetuate stereotypes about women and their so-called limitations. They turn a weakness into a seeming strength, creating a gilded cage that doesn’t simply keep women from rising too high in society, but actually keeps them from wanting to escape the cage in the first place. The cage is good, because women are just the kinds of creatures that must be contained and, therefore, thrive in such places.

Women are biologically equipped to birth children, but that doesn’t mean they should be the sole source of childrearing. As a group, women have come a long way in the last 50 years, but society still expects them to be the primary caretaker of home and family. Wanting more is seen as odd — a woman woefully outside of her element.

Men who reinforce these stereotypes are part of the problem, whether they intended to hold women back or not. Misogyny is systemic, y’all, which means it underpins every institution in American society. We’re all raised with sexist ideas about gender roles and what men and women can and can’t do. And not just can and can’t do, but should and shouldn’t do. Despite the advances in the workplace, things still look like the 1950s inside the home, with women doing the majority of the heavy lifting even if they are employed elsewhere full time. As with most forms of widespread oppression, these kinds of stale ideas hold back both women and men.

Benevolent misogynists seem supportive, and they probably think they are supportive, but they are actively upholding outdated stereotypes about ability on the basis of gender that put unnecessary limits on the women around them. When a man tells a woman she shouldn’t seek full time employment outside the home because he can’t soothe their child as well as she can, that’s not a compliment. It’s a way of keeping her wings clipped, but nicely, so she might not even notice she’s lost the ability to fly.

Socialization plays a huge part in this, and we’re all victims of it as well as perpetrators. Step one is to stop listening to the lullaby. Wake up and be intentional in your words and actions. And never accept a boundary masquerading as a compliment, no matter how nicely it’s offered.

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To Those Spreading Light in These Dark Times

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For those hustling day in and day out to make this world a better place: this is for you.

Because you’re out there, knocking doors, making phone calls, building events that you pray don’t fold in on themselves like the delicate collection of blood, sweat, and tears that they are.

You’re perpetually MacGyvering something out of absolutely nothing, and getting media to cover it, spreading the word, the message, the hope so fragile you dare not speak of it aloud.

You’ve worked all year for this moment. And not just this year. Some of you have been working for decades.

This is the time away from your family, your friends, the quiet moments at home that help maintain your sanity.

You’ve pushed, prodded, cajoled, threatened, cried tears of joy, of sorrow, of despair. You’ve thrown up your hands, cursed, closed your eyes, dropped your aching head, and wondered why you’re still doing this.

But you haven’t given up.

You go onto the next house after one person slams the door in your face.

When the person on the line curses at you and hangs up, you make another call. And another. And another.

You watch precious days of planning, of work, of moments you can never get back, scatter like ashes in the wind, leaving you right back where you started.

And, still, you keep going.

The hustle lasts as long as your belief does. At the end of the night, that belief seems finite, but, in the morning, here it is again, waiting to be actualized as you down a few cups of coffee and head out to face another day that won’t be anything like the one before it. And tomorrow? Who the hell knows what those fresh hours will bring.

Breaking news hits the airwaves — a natural disaster, a curveball of a court ruling or Supreme Court appointment — and everything you painstakingly planned falls apart. You rebuild, stacking events on top of each other to create a workable schedule — the meet and greets, interviews, rallies, town halls, forums, meetings, fundraisers, canvasses, phonebanks, trainings, and teleconferences, the webinars you don’t even remember after they end. You send emails while you listen to another phone meeting, forever worrying about budgets and digital media reach, and social media content, and did you remember to invite the right people to the right events? Have enough attendees RSVP’d? Did you call to confirm? Will media show up? Will anyone? Your skin crawls, your stomach twists, and that dread never leaves you. One wrong step, and it feels like the entire operation will cave in on itself.

You forget to eat. You don’t exercise. You fall into bed at the end of the night exhausted, mind reeling with possibility, with excitement, frustration, and anxiety. You wake still drained, your bones heavy, but you down more coffee, and get back to work.

The. Hustle. Never. Ends.

But you can feel the power in what you’re doing. The purpose. It shivers in the pit of your empty stomach where all manner of caffeine goes to die. The idea of what you’re working towards keeps you going more than the actual details. The details don’t matter. The goal shimmers on the horizon, just out of reach.

And then?

Your initiative moves forward.

You collect enough petitions.

Your event is a well-attended success.

Volunteers are showing up in droves.

Your candidate is up in the polls, is on TV, is blowing fundraising goals out of the water, is turning to thank you for all your hard work.

At that moment, everything is worth it.

This is an ode for those spreading light in these dark times. Those who know how to turn pain into persistence, despair into direction, helplessness into hope. This is for everyone sprinting towards a finish line they can’t yet see.

Keep running, and pushing, and making it happen.

Change doesn’t come to those who wait. Change comes to those who do.

Doers, take care of yourselves, because this hustle never really ends.

But I’m here with you, in the trenches, in the dark searching for the fabled light at the end of a tunnel that goes on forever.

The movement is you, is us, is everything.

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