The Undercover Introvert

Racism 101: Time is Magical!

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We’ve all heard the old cliche that time heals all wounds. But does it, though? Really?

I think we need to debunk this bullshit idea that time is somehow magical, and that if we only let enough of it pass us by, we’ll forget the wrongs done, and the consequences of those wrongs — if left unaddressed — will also magically evaporate like a stagnant puddle on a hot day.

I’ve had a variation of the following conversation on more than a dozen occasions:

Me: Systemic racism exists and the consequences of it are far reaching and multifaceted.

White Person: I’m not racist. I voted for Obama. Twice.

Me: That comment is problematic in and of itself, but I’m talking about the way our institutions were built and how they work to hold some people back and give others advantages, all based on skin color. This isn’t really about individual racists.

WP: Slavery was a long time ago. Get over it.

Me: *gets over the conversation instead* Next.

There are white folks who honestly believe that just because slavery is no longer legal in the United States that racial equality has been achieved. For them, it’s as though the years 1865 to 1965 (and beyond to the present day, if we’re being absolutely honest) just didn’t exist, and we’ve all been living in a post-racial paradise. As evidence, they like to cite the presidency of Barack Obama. How could he be elected (TWICE!!) if racism was still a problem? As though the whitelash of Donald Trump’s election didn’t rise up and smack us back to the harsh reality of what this country is and how we all play into a system of oppression and advantage based on race.

Despite the oft mentioned cliche, time does not heal all wounds. Slavery isn’t like your dog dying, y’all. Time does heal that wound, because you learn to live without Skippy or Fido, or whatever your dear sweet furbaby’s name was. Time brings peace because it separates you from whatever tragic way you lost that pet, and it eventually gives you the space to think fondly of the times you spent with Skippy, Fido, etc. You never stop missing the pet, but you do stop disintegrating into a puddle of tears every time you think about her/him.

That personal tragedy is quite different from a system of oppression, based on the color of a person’s skin, in which one group of people owned another group of people for hundreds of years. And then, after the actual ownership ended, that group of people in charge of everything — who had been able to build power and wealth for hundreds of years on the backs of members of the other group, who toiled for free as inferior human livestock — created laws and crafted institutions that would serve as roadblocks to the newly ‘freed’ group of former slaves to keep them and their descendants from ever achieving power, wealth, or true freedom. This ruling group had the advantage of education, land ownership, existing wealth, and monopoly over every governmental office.

We only have to look to history to see how everything unfolded. Even the thoroughly whitewashed versions of the American story tell most of the tale through its obtuse avoidance of the abject brutality of what occurred.

If I get to set up a contest in the exact way that suits me best, and I also get to set the conditions in which you get to challenge me (or if you get to challenge me), it makes it extremely difficult for you to succeed, especially since I’ve kept you from practicing whatever skills you’ll need to use in order to win the contest. Now imagine me and people who look like me doing this for 400+ years using varying methods, all with an aim to purposely handicap you and block your success. And the minute you say, wow, this contest is set up for me to fail, I respond with, maybe you just need to work harder. Everyone had the same opportunities. Quit bitching and just learn to compete better.

Bullshit, right?

Because, for centuries, people like me have made sure people like you are at a perpetual disadvantage. Telling you to get your shit together is worse than dismissive. It’s indicative of my refusal to understand history and how the last few centuries have helped me rise, on the backs of people like you. Maybe neither one of us were born into slavery, but because some of your ancestors were owned by people who looked like me, that leaves you a few hundred miles back in a race I’m currently ‘winning’ because I was born way ahead of you to begin with, based on the color of my skin, and perhaps on the combination of my gender, sexual preference, etc.

So, let’s talk about history, and why time isn’t really the answer to how we heal something as far reaching and insidious as systemic racism. Because this was no accident. This system was purposefully put in place by white folks to keep black folks under their bootheels. And it’s still working like gangbusters.

Let’s take a quick walk through the last few hundred years:

The first Africans arrive in colonial Virginia in chains in 1619. Welcome to what will one day become America! The land of the free, but not for y’all, of course!

In 1808, the slave trade officially ends, but black folks are still property of their white masters, and there are thousands upon thousands of them in chains.

In 1865, the Civil War ends, the 13th Amendment becomes a thing, and black folks are essentially free after more than 200 years of enslavement in North America. Hello Reconstruction! Oh, and also hello Black Codes! These are laws passed by southern states to restrict the rights of newly freed black slaves and to make sure they are still providing cheap or unpaid labor. Black Codes are mostly crushed by federal troops during Reconstruction, but, like a bad racist penny, they turn up again…

In 1877, Reconstruction ends (meaning federal troops hightail it out of the south, leaving black folks to fend for themselves in the not-too-happy-and-even-less-friendly south), and the Black Codes are back with a vengeance, this time wearing the visage of Jim Crow. Enter codified segregation, obstacles to black folks voting (oftentimes deadly), and laws that make certain activities illegal for blacks in order to put them back under lock and key or working on farms and chain gangs as free labor reminiscent of the antebellum south. Jim Crow laws stay in place for nearly a century, y’all. And defying these laws means beatings and death for black Americans.

In 1964, the Civil Rights Act passes, putting a legal end to the Jim Crow Era, meaning segregation on the basis of race is technically no longer allowed, but, of course, we all know that simply passing a law doesn’t change the culture. Because redlining exists. Targeting of black communities by law enforcement, both in the south and north, although southern law enforcement also has wide scale entwinement with the KKK. The rise of the Law and Order Era (thanks, Nixon!) that eventually leads to the War on Drugs and mass incarceration, which has resulted in more black folks being under lock and key than were ever slaves.

But let’s pretend that everything has been hunky dory since the Emancipation Proclamation, y’all. Let’s act like black folks and other POCs are on equal footing with white folks, who have been running shit since the 1600s when black people arrived in chains via an involuntary transatlantic cruise from hell.

Do you see? Can you understand that time can’t heal anything when there has been a centuries’ long plan in place to keep one race from achieving life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness, all to benefit members of the ruling race?

Let’s stop pretending that time is magical, and that if enough of it passes, everything will come out okay in the end and we’ll be absolved of doing any of the hard work to dismantle widespread systems of oppression. Time belongs to whoever wields power. It’s a tool, same as the narrative we’ve gotten into the habit of calling our history, same as everything else that matters.

Before you tell a black person that slavery was a long time ago, educate yourself on the full dirty, terrifying, and ugly thing that is the history of this country. Slavery is one part of a story that is still being written today. And that inequality was hardwired into the plot by authors we pretend had everyone’s best interests at heart. That inequality takes a hit and rises again, stronger than ever. From slavery, to black codes, to Jim Crow, to the prison industrial complex.

It. Just. Keeps. Coming.

And its greatest trick lies in our collective refusal to admit that it exists. We play nice and pretend that some of us aren’t being purposely crushed in a wheel of oppression that has been turning since the 1600s.

I get it. This is some heavy shit. There are times I hang my head and want to lie flat on the ground from the weight of the knowledge that everything about this country was constructed so folks who are my color and gender would not succeed. America was not built for me, though it was built by people who looked like me. I was never meant to enjoy the fruits of this nation, and yet I’m here. Time won’t heal this shit. Only action will.

Don’t tell me to get over slavery. Don’t tell me we’re on equal footing. There are people who toiled, bled, wept, and died to get me where I am today. There are still people toiling, bleeding, weeping, and dying. I act to honor them, to lift them up. My skin color doesn’t give me a choice.

And if you’re ashamed of history, of what people who looked like you did, then get in this fight. Act. Do something besides pretending that everything is fine. Nothing changes by staying willfully ignorant. Wake up. Stand up. Goddamn it, do something.

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Let’s Get Real About Identity Politics

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The 2020 race is heating up, at least on the left, and I’m already annoyed by much of the same lazy and disingenuous commentary that annoyed the hell out of me in 2016. I realize this means the next 18 months are going to be challenging (already planning to deploy ample amounts of selfcare until the election is safely behind us), but getting something straight right now should assist with the management of what is likely to be an overflowing pool of my highly combustible frustration.

Identity politics, at least as we have come to understand the term, is complete and utter bad faith bullshit.

Whenever I hear some white male politician decry the use of identity politics, I roll my eyes and consider writing this exact blog post, which I would then shout from the rooftops. According to these men, we should be dealing with the so-called kitchen table issues — like buoying the economy, protecting public education, or tackling rising healthcare costs — that affect everyday Americans, not pandering to ‘fringe issues’ like racial justice or ensuring reproductive rights. Why must we always turn the conversation to race and gender, these politicians exclaim, standing well above the fray on soapboxes constructed of white male privilege as the rest of us watch from below. There are so many other more pressing issues! Focusing on gender, on race, derails us from dealing with the real challenges facing this country and how we can fix them.

Ugh.

What if I told you that there’s such a thing as white identity politics too? Even white male identity politics? But because of the way issues have been historically framed, we’ve just gotten into the habit of calling that politics. Meanwhile, the rest of us get pushed to the margins right along with the issues that most deeply impact our communities. If we find the audacity to bring up these issues, we face massive pushback for daring to upset the apple cart of the white male political agenda as it rolls right over our backs.

Still not picking up what I’m putting down? Well, let’s come at this issue from a different direction.

How do you separate your color from what matters to you?

How do you forget your gender?

Because that’s what we’re being asked to do — separate who we are from the political conversation, as though such a thing is even possible.

I’m a black woman. Therefore, everything that happens in my life, everything I see and experience, the very way I move through the world, comes through the lens of being black and female. I can’t separate my blackness or the fact that I’m a woman from how I think about the issues that matter to me. There are, in fact, policies that affect me more because I’m black and/or a woman. That’s just the hand I was dealt at birth. And when I approach an issue, I’m bringing my unique perspective right along with me.

Despite what the bulk of history might urge us to believe, the situation is no different for white men. They see the world through a lens that is unique to them too, but the kicker is that they have made their lens the one through which all business gets done in the political sphere. They set the agenda. They get to judge what issues are important, and which ones will remain on the political periphery. The rest of us are just along for the ride…at least, that’s how it used to be. Times, as the folk philosopher Bob Dylan famously crooned, they are a-changin.

When I hear a white man complaining about the rise of so-called identity politics, I know that’s really code for the triggering of his insecurity at seeing folks who don’t look like him sitting around a table that used to only welcome those who matched his race and his gender. The country is changing, and power is becoming more equally distributed. We aren’t where we need to be yet, but we’ve certainly come a long way. The knee jerk reaction of those who used to hold all of the power is, of course, to find a way to cleave to that power, to hoard it as they’ve done since before the founding of this country. The only way to combat this is to continue adding diversity to the process.

As always, representation matters.

I can’t say it enough. More women are involved in politics, more people of color. Naturally, we are hearing more about the ways these communities are affected by various policies. We are hearing more about ways to dismantle racism in our institutions, how to deal with inequity in pay and rampant sexual harassment, and the need for a complete overhaul of our criminal justice system. Before people of color, women, LGBTQ folks, and the disabled were allowed to be part of the process, their voices and diverse perspectives were silenced. They had no true representation because they were perpetually kept on the edges of the discussion.

But that has changed.

Our voices are starting to be heard now that the number of representatives in government who look like us has increased. But because power is never freely given — it must be wrenched away from those who stockpile it — we are forced to deal with the inevitable backlash, which is this bullshit uproar over identity politics. The way this conversation is always framed makes it impossible to have it in good faith. Because the conditions in which we’re expected to converse involve the tacit acceptance that white men don’t have a racial identity. That they don’t identify as men. We’re expected to act as though everything isn’t about white men being white men all the time from the beginning of American history until the present day. We’ve been drowning in white male politics, y’all, and yet we’re asked to pretend that this has not been the case.

What’s vital is that we don’t lose sight of what’s truly at stake. Because the real issue is that the dominant group is watching as their stranglehold on power and policy slips, and that makes them uncomfortable. No one is pushing them from their seat at the table. We’re just setting down our folding chairs and joining them without waiting for an invitation. And now that we’re at the table, it’s harder to keep our voices from being heard.

All politics is identity politics, because it always comes through the lens of whoever is speaking. White, black, brown, gay, straight, trans, male, female, or nonbinary. There is no objective realm of politics. Every issue is personal. Every fight is a matter of life and death for someone. We’re richer when more voices contribute to the narrative because we’re all only seeing things through our own lenses. No one has an inherent right to decide which issues are ‘important’. Let’s stop pretending only certain people can be objective while the rest of us only care about our skin color, gender, disability, or sexual orientation. We’re all locked inside our own perspectives, which is why we need more diverse involvement in the process. Anything less is unacceptable.

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Democrats: We Can Do Better

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I know the official Black History Month celebration is drawing to a close in a few days, but I make a point to revel in black excellence and black achievement 7 days a week, 365 days a year. There’s so much out there that we weren’t taught in schools. Immerse yourselves, y’all.

2019 marks 400 years since black folks arrived on the North American continent in chains. And though the month of February is often used to lightly touch on a few of our most famous black citizens, I’m not writing this with an aim to play along and sugarcoat things with inspiring tales of Harriet Tubman and Frederick Douglass.

This Black History Month has been a little rough for us, fellow Democrats. I can’t think of a time when blackface was more of a thing than when blackface was actually a thing. But, as with all trying times, this absolute dumpster fire of a crisis presents us with the space to take our own inventory, as well as with an opportunity to grow as a party.

Last year about this time, I spoke to my local Democratic Party about the need to enthusiastically celebrate black folks outside of the 28 day confines of the month of February because we’re your base voters. We turn out. We don’t vote against our own interests or let a single issue derail our ability to see the bigger electoral picture. We have a deep understanding of the historical disadvantages of our skin color and how our only path forward involves the tag team of mindful legislation and judicial intervention. For us, voting is survival. Going backwards could cost us our lives, and standing still isn’t an option. So, we hitch our wagons to the Democratic Party and keep on trucking in the direction of the Promised Land.

Yet, racism within the Democratic Party still thrives, and we don’t deal openly with it. Most of the time, we don’t even admit that it exists. We’re happy to take a detailed inventory of the Republican Party, manufacturing outrage, enthusiastically pointing fingers, and calling for swift action whenever a member of the GOP marches into racist territory. But I’m less concerned with the bigotry festering within the opposing team than I am dismayed and frustrated by the racism going unchecked and unacknowledged in my own.

What I’m suggesting we do as a party is take a long, hard, critical look in the mirror. Because the racist actions and rhetoric that we see on the other side of the aisle exist in our ranks as well, and it’s more prevalent than we care to admit.

Fixing a problem means first admitting that there is a problem.

This trouble goes deeper than black people holding pitifully few positions of substantive leadership within the Party. It goes beyond not placing issues that disproportionately affect people of color at the center of our collective efforts. This problem is the stubborn refusal to see the Party for what it is and, further, to see how we each uphold systems of oppression in word, deed, and intention.

Slavery is America’s original sin, and it has tainted everything from the 1600s to the present day, like an insidious soundtrack underscoring every aspect of our day to day lives. This music goes mostly unheard, but we march along to that rhythm nonetheless.

If you want to see the evidence of institutional racism, you only have to choose to really look:

The ongoing environmental crisis in Flint, Michigan.

The massive disenfranchisement of black voters in Georgia during the 2018 elections.

The radically different approaches to the crack epidemic in inner city ghettos versus the opioid crisis in rural, white America.

The fact that it took the State of Florida this long to finally shed the last enduring vestige of the Jim Crow era by voting down the lifetime disenfranchisement of former felons.

I’ve been told many times by fellow Democrats that issues directly impacting people of color need to be set aside so we can focus on more ‘important’ matters. When bringing up issues surrounding the intersection of race and gender, I’ve repeatedly heard that so-called ‘identity politics’ is a cancer that makes meaningful political discourse impossible. I’ve spoken with Democrats who proudly fly, wear, and display the confederate flag, and these conversations have not gone well once I pointed out their symbol’s inherent racism.

It’s heritage, they argue. It’s history.

On that point, we agree.

It’s a reminder of a time when people who looked like you owned people who looked like me. To pretend otherwise is to attempt to rewrite history, much as was done during the Jim Crow Era when so many statues honoring confederate soldiers were erected in public spaces to remind black folks that the chains that once dehumanized them haven’t disappeared. They’ve merely transformed from literal to figurative.

The 35 car pile up that’s currently ongoing in Virginia is a national embarrassment for our party, and for us as Americans. But it speaks to a deeper problem. This kind of racism is everywhere. Governor Northam isn’t an outlier. Nor is Attorney General Herring. They are simply visible reminders of what normally remains invisible.

Black people stand before white judges who hold racist beliefs.

They see white doctors who hold racist beliefs.

They get stopped by police officers with itchy trigger fingers who hold racist beliefs.

They send their little black children to school to be taught by white teachers who hold racist beliefs.

They join progressive causes and organizations that refuse to prioritize issues directly affecting their communities, all in the name of unity.

These racists tendencies are latent. They don’t reveal themselves draped in white Klan hoods. They don’t march down the street, proudly announcing their presence. These tendencies are sneaky, and they work by infecting our interactions, our thoughts, our institutions.

As Democrats, we need to do the hard work to understand this. We need to center the voices of marginalized groups in order to begin the hard work of dismantling systems of oppression.

We are the big tent party. We are the ones demanding equality for all, but we can’t even come close to achieving that goal until we deal with the skeletons in our own walk in closets.

This isn’t just work for Black History Month. This is an undertaking to which we must commit the remainder of our lives.

First, look within, and only then move to hold your neighbor accountable.

True change is intentional. It’s labor intensive. And it means spending less time pointing fingers at others and more time reflecting on ways that you can make things better for everyone. Black people are telling you what’s wrong. You just have to listen.

**This is adapted from a speech I gave to my local Democratic Party

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What About White History Month?

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Every time Black History Month rolls around, I hear some foolishness muttered from various disgruntled melanin challenged folks about the monumental unfairness of there being no White History Month. Without fail, there are accusations of reverse racism and intense rants that wander into tangents that decry the lack of a white counterpart to Ebony magazine and BET.

After listening to several years of this, I just had to formally address those tortured souls who are angry about black folks ‘stealing’ the shortest month on the calendar.

Number one, y’all have the rest of the year. And, before Negro History Week started in 1926, y’all had the entire month of February too.

And let’s not forget that white people have traditionally had the bulk of recorded history on their side as well. From the unassailable bravery of the early settlers, to the riveting, definitely not problematic in any way founding of the country, to the steadfast belief in manifest destiny, the history of the United States is chocked full of the courageous exploits of (mostly) white men. If we think of history as a narrative with a starting point that extends backwards as far as collective memory allows and continues to the present day, then the authors of that narrative get to choose the stories that are included, the word choice, the chapter headings, the heroes, the villains, and the exclusion of the nameless rabble that are judged unsuitable to even make appearances as supporting cast members.

If we just narrow our conversation to the United States (and that in itself is problematic considering that, in the grand scheme of history, we’re relative newcomers), the authors of our American narrative are indisputably wealthy white men. Upon the birth of the nation, they were the sole group able to vote, to have a voice in the creation of our government, and to serve in office. Women were excluded. Black people were property. Free people of color (inclusive of Native Americans) were less than an afterthought that held zero political power within white society.

In the constraints of that carefully constructed tale of white male bravery, ingenuity, and perseverance in the face of adversity, where is the room for the contributions of people of color? Of women? Where is the counterbalance that’s only possible when other voices are brought to the table to share their perspectives?

In history classes from elementary to high school, we are taught that white men ‘discovered’ this continent. That they stood up to a tyrannical monarch and forged a democratic republic that would change the course of human history. That, through the divine edict of manifest destiny, the country metastasized from sea to shining sea, spreading the gifts of freedom and democracy across formerly uninhabited land.

But what of the Native Americans who were already living here when Europeans turned up? What about the black folks who toiled, unpaid and in chains, as property from the 1600’s until the Civil War granted them tentative freedom? What about women who passed from the possession of their fathers to the possession of their husbands? Where are those voices? Did these people truly contribute nothing to this country?

If the narrative we’re fed as children is to be believed, then, as a whole, no, these other people didn’t contribute much of value. There are exceptions, of course, but those merely prove the rule: white men are the focal point of history. Their deeds alone are honorable, courageous, and worthy of celebration.

Suffice to say, there’s no real need for White History Month, because we’ve basically been celebrating the illustrious history of white men 7 days a week, 365 days a year, from the time they set foot on the continent until the present day.

Things like Black History Month should be viewed as an attempt to balance scales that have been seriously out of whack for centuries. POCs and women aren’t simply supporting characters in the riveting production of white male excellence. We aren’t nameless, faceless extras in the background of a narrative about how fantastic white men have unilaterally judged themselves to be. History is more complex than that. Even within the significant constraints society placed on POCs, women, and Native Americans, they still made massive contributions to this country. And we’re finally adding their diverse voices to the narrative, enriching our overall understanding of history.

Instead of bemoaning the lack (ha!) of a White History Month, how about you question the lack of diverse voices in the history we were all taught as children? I’m furious when I learn about additional contributions made by POCs and women that were conveniently absent from the first twelve years of my education. Here’s one glaring example: I went to high school on Florida’s Space Coast, and yet the critical work of the women featured in the movie Hidden Figures was news to me.

Think about how many contributions of which we’re ignorant, about the lives and legacies we don’t bother to learn because no one bothered to teach them. It’s close to criminal.

We can do better.

Let’s change the narrative by consciously inviting a variety of perspectives, not just when viewing history, but when viewing the present day. Your point of view is limited to your education and beliefs. Do you actually want to learn, or do you want to keep ruminating on the same stale information you were force fed as a child? Diversity of perspective, of ideas, of storytellers should be encouraged, not feared. Only by including these formerly undervalued points of view will we gain the ability to comprehend the true richness of our shared history. Otherwise, it’s just he said-he said.

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Dear Trolls: Write Your Own GD Post

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I write about racism and sexism quite a bit, and the touchiness of the subjects only seem to underscore why these are still such pervasive problems for us in this country. It’s always amazing to me that anyone living and breathing today can deny the existence of racism or sexism, but plenty of people do (why, hello, privilege, you oblivious devil, you), which is most of the reason I choose to feature these topics so consistently in my writing. Also, spoiler alert, I’m a black woman, and the intersection of gender and race happens to be my particular jam. Write what you know, as the old cliche advises.

As you might imagine, I get some pretty fun responses to my articles. In this case, fun is a convenient euphemism for disgusting, rude, racist, sexist. Etcetera. These less than witty replies are normally short and sweet, an attempt to devastate my argument in a way that normally just ends up proving my original point. Reading these kinds of responses always makes me cackle with self satisfied glee, because the commenter really doesn’t get it, and I find that level of absolute obtuseness amusing beyond reason.

But there exists another class of responses entirely. To be honest, I don’t actually read these responses in full, mostly because of how long they are. A short, grammatically incorrect insult that aims well high of the mark is hilarious and fun to read, mostly because it doesn’t waste that much of my time and provides much needed laughter. But a response that goes on for paragraphs — some seeming to closely follow the five paragraph model of writing persuasive essays that I learned as a freshman in high school — astound me. Why? To what end? Did you honestly expect me to read this novella and respond? Because most of my thoughts on the matter are in the original post, which you can reference to your heart’s content if you didn’t properly track my argument during your first reading.

Seriously, y’all, if your nasty response to my article or blog post is longer than the 700 words I originally wrote, how about you write your own goddamned post?

In light of this odd tendency, I’m just going to go ahead and put everyone on notice: I write because I have something to say and I want to share it. I actually do enjoy vigorous dialogue — in person — but the beauty part about writing is that I get to launch my opinions out in the digital ether and you can either read them or not read them. What you can’t really do is argue with what I’ve written down. You can let it simmer and change the way you think about the subject, or you can disagree with what I’ve said and move the fuck on, taking absolutely nothing with you when you go. But if you reply to something I write with an article of your own, you’ve just wasted your time. That’s a big fat TL;DR from me.

Ain’t. Nobody. Got. Time. For. That.

If you find that upsetting, don’t despair too quickly. There’s still a wonderful upside to the magical medium that is the internet: you can write what you want, whenever you want, and maybe someone will actually read it. How fabulous is that?!

If your impulse upon reading my 1,000 words is to reply with 1,000 snarky, densely packed words of your own, I invite you to kindly follow these steps:

Fully assess if this is the best place to leave such lengthy commentary.

Unless and until you perform step number one, don’t begin to reply to my original post.

Calculate the probability of your response actually being read (Spoiler: it’s 0%).

Kindly compile a list of pros and cons before you place itchy fingers on keyboard.

Only continue writing when you are sure you can keep any response well south of 100 words.

Fully edit your response to eliminate all spelling and grammatical errors.

Finally, highlight all and delete.

By carefully following my trademarked FUCKOFF method, you can save yourself so much unnecessarily wasted time and energy. Think of the free minutes suddenly opened up in your schedule that you would have spent throwing poorly chosen words into the wind.

You might be asking yourself what you should do if, after following my FUCKOFF method you still feel compelled to let loose a stream of noxious online commentary in hopes of putting an uppity black feminist in her place? Well, as aforementioned: WRITE YOUR OWN GODDAMNED BLOG POST.

It really is that simple. If I can do it, you can do it — maybe not as elegantly, but, you know, we can’t all be wordsmiths.

And if something I’ve written about racism or sexism has really hit you so hard that you find yourself enraged to a level that makes it impossible for you to let it go, maybe take a nice long look in the mirror. Sounds as though it was written with someone like you in mind. As always, reflection is your friend, as is personal growth…

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