The Undercover Introvert

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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The Whitewashing of Dr. King

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Over the past few years, I’ve been thinking about Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. a great deal. Not just his legacy, though that’s part of it, but how that legacy has been received, how it’s been manipulated to fit a rapidly reconfiguring status quo.

We all have an idea of the kind of man Dr. King was, reinforced by the slow parade of teachers - from elementary to high school - discussing the salient points of his most widely known public address in which he talks about his dream for the nation and its black citizens. These formative years ultimately develop the lens through which we reflect critically on history. The old cliche is true, in that those with the power to write our history also have the power to shape how it will be packaged for future generations. Words are so powerful, even more so than memory, because once memory fades, words are all that remain to make sense of our communal past.

I’d submit that the view we have of Martin Luther King, Jr. is largely framed through glasses that have been whitewashed by those wielding the words through which history is passed down. We aren’t encouraged to see him as a revolutionary, as the radical catalyst of social change, as an end in and of himself. Instead, this formidable man is neutered and made safe by the way we’ve learned to view him today. He has become a means to society’s wider, and less noble ends. Even his words are dulled to suit purposes that are antithetical to the spirit of the movement he championed.

We never speak of Dr. King’s radicalism, which underpinned everything he did. We only speak of his civil disobedience, and only in a way in which that benign turn the other cheek mentality is indicative of his inherent humble nature. To accept violence without responding with violence is a heightened form of self control, a heightened form of obedience to the law, we’re told, from the time we first learn to read until the time we begin to formulate our own arguments, and society values an obedient negro above all else. A negro who knows his place. In this way, Dr. King’s words - sharp enough to cut through the complacency of his era when he uttered them - lose their meaning, and with it, their power.

A funny thing happens then. The microscope of history tightens its focus, eliminating the more troublesome aspects of Dr. King’s persona, and zeros in on what is most palatable to the wider - i.e. whiter - audience: a man who dreams of brotherhood, togetherness, and a world in which his little black children can hold hands with little white children. A world in which his very color can be whitewashed out of existence.

In retrospect, Dr. King is conceived as a benevolent figure, one behind whom every like minded white person would have proudly rallied. But this is disingenuous at best, straight up lies at worst. We only have to look towards the Black Lives Matter movement to see how the bulk of white folks would have responded to a throng of black people demanding freedom. We only have to look at the way Colin Kaepernick’s nonviolent actions are received by the general (white) public. These are protests that fully embody Dr. King’s call for nonviolent direct action, the kind of action that cannot be ignored. The kind of action that forces society as a whole to fully face the existence of systemic racism festering in all facets of American life. In this way, nonviolent action feels like a slap to the face. But Dr. King understood that this tension was necessary to create change, that waiting for equal rights to eventually arrive was a fool’s errand. Complete disruption of the status quo was essential because “freedom is never voluntarily given by the oppressor; it must be demanded by the oppressed.”

Change is born through upheaval. It isn’t comfortable, and it doesn’t fit the timeline of the oppressor. The March on Washington culminated with Dr. King’s most famous speech, and if I had a dollar for every time a white person told me that black people today should take what they mistakenly believe was Dr. King’s advice in the I Have a Dream speech, I would have enough to open a money market account with a competitive interest rate. These are the people who seem to forget that Dr. King’s protests often led to arrests. They forget that his protests were often met with brutal violence from the police. They forget that the boycotts for which Dr. King advocated brought entire cities to their knees. The man didn’t just have a dream, he had a plan, and white America hated him for it.

There are those who say Colin Kaepernick should just shut up and play. There are those who look disdainfully at Black Lives Matter activists, writing them off as criminals, thugs, ingrates. There are those who scoff whenever a person of color points out the network of systemic racism snaking up from the very foundation of this country to infect every institution, every social interaction. There are also those who see the injustices with clarity, but are content to remain silent as long as they are not directly affected. Many of these people hold Dr. King in high regard. Because he’s safe to venerate through those whitewashed glasses. He’s no longer a threat to the current social order. He has been fully assimilated into white American culture. His radicalism has been erased from our collective memory, leaving only the palatable parts of his legacy behind.

And, yet, Dr. King’s words in another, less widely quoted piece of writing still resonate, as though he wrote them only moments ago:

“I must confess that over the past few years I have been gravely disappointed with the white moderate. I have almost reached the regrettable conclusion that the Negro’s great stumbling block in his stride toward freedom is not the White Citizen’s Counciler or the Ku Klux Klanner, but the white moderate, who is more devoted to ‘order’ than to justice; who prefers a negative peace which is the absence of tension to a positive peace which is the presence of justice; who constantly says: ‘I agree with you in the goal you seek, but I cannot agree with your methods of direct action’; who paternalistically believes he can set the timetable for another man’s freedom; who lives by a mythical concept of time and who constantly advises the Negro to wait for a ‘more convenient season.’ Shallow understanding from people of good will is more frustrating than absolute misunderstanding from people of ill will. Lukewarm acceptance is much more bewildering than outright rejection.”

I have paraphrased the above sentiment in many a conversation with all kinds of white folks, telling them that I was less concerned with the outwardly racist and more concerned with those who can’t understand the urgency of the current situation because they themselves are not at risk. Why stand with Black Lives Matter activists when you don’t have to worry about your black son, husband, or father being stopped by police and beaten or shot without cause? Why be uncomfortable for the seconds it takes a black NFL player to drop to one knee during the Star Spangled Banner when you can simply continue to exist within a cushy, disaffected bubble?

I have had white people tell me there are more important causes for which to fight. That racial justice can wait while we figure out these other, more vital matters. They seem willfully resistant to Dr. King’s ‘fierce urgency of now’. Because for those of us struggling beneath the heavy burden of systemic racism, there is no better time than right now to act, to fight, to demand the rights promised to all men and women in this country’s founding documents.

How can you read Dr. King’s words and not see his disappointment in the apathy of so-called white allies? In their unwillingness to truly invest in the struggle for freedom and equality for all? I feel that disappointment every day, and I worry it will turn into frustrated hostility, though Dr. King warns against that too, bidding us to never “satisfy our thirst for freedom by drinking from the cup of bitterness and hatred.”

Dr. King kept from sinking into that pit of listless despair through his abiding faith that change would come, that people of color would be delivered to the Promised Land, though he might not live to see it himself. He advised: “oppressed people cannot remain oppressed forever. The yearning for freedom eventually manifests itself.” But this doesn’t come without struggle, without people willing to fight, even if it means losing their jobs, their freedom, their lives.
And the struggle continues to this day.

We don’t live in a post-racial society. The very idea is absurd, despite so many claims to the contrary. And a post-racial society is not what Dr. King was dreaming of in his famous speech. His dream was a country in which his blackness was no longer a liability, a barrier to access, a reason for him to be mistreated, jailed, beaten, or killed.

Those in charge of the present are also in charge of history, and they bend it however they like, weaving a narrative that suits the needs of the current era. In the here and now, the safe, whitewashed version of Dr. King is celebrated and oft-quoted. He receives his own day on the calendar filled with marches, breakfasts, and sermons in houses of worship.

Memory fades, and carefully curated words move in to fill the gaps.

Unless we decide to never allow ourselves to forget who this man really was. A member of the resistance. A revolutionary. An enemy of the status quo, creating such tension and discomfort that white America had no choice but to act.

And he paid with his life.

Honor Martin Luther King, Jr. by seeing him for what he truly was. And then see this country for what it truly is. A work in progress. A place where racism still runs rampant, though it wears many clever disguises. And accept that the fight for equality is ongoing, the torch passed from Dr. King to activists rallying under the Black Lives Matter banner, to those fighting for criminal justice reform, to those demanding to be seen and heard.

You can stand in the way of progress, or you can join the fight.

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Racism 101: White Tears

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Ever notice the way the temperature drops whenever a person of color brings up the issue of racism around a group of white folks? Things can be going great, the conversation rolling along, but then someone says something racially insensitive, and a POC holds them accountable, throwing open the gates and inviting all hell to break loose. White tears start flowing, washing the POC’s original point away in a turbulent, exhausting current of sympathy-seeking bullshit.

Non-POC readers, y’all might be tightening your alabaster brows right now, wondering what in the hell white tears are. The way I use and understand the term, it represents any situation in which a white person responds less than gracefully to a real or perceived accusation of casual or overt racism.

Still not picking up what I’m putting down? Let’s use an example to shed some clarity, shall we?

White person: You must be really happy that Amendment 4 passed. Now so many black people will be able to vote again!

Person of color: Actually, most of the former felons who are getting their voting rights back are white.

WP: I just figured you’d be excited about this since most of the people in jail are black.

POC: Wow, that’s a really racist statement. It’s also untrue.

WP: Oh my god! I can’t believe you just called me racist! I collected so many petitions for Amendment 4, and I voted for it! It’s so messed up that you would think that I could even be a little bit racist!

POC: *bangs head against wall until the white tears stop*

See? White tears don’t have to be literal tears, but they are akin to the shrill wailing of a security system that begins whenever a POC has triggered a white person’s inherent brittleness when it comes to conversations about race. Even a little pressure, applied during a conversation like the one above, can cause a white person to snap, thus soaking the POCs around them with angry, wounded, or self righteous white tears.

Think of these tears as a gentle way of reasserting the silent power of white supremacy, which underpins every institution in American society and poisons every social interaction. When you resort to sobbing white tears, the narrative undergoes an immediate shift. The old narrative involved you saying something racist. But the new narrative is this: I’m attacking you, unprovoked, with my mean words about racism, which is unfair for whatever reasons you will present, rapid fire, to everyone around us — you have friends who are black, you voted for Obama, Oprah is your favorite celebrity, etcetera.

White tears are a pretty handy tool to have in one’s arsenal if the goal is to avoid any kind of conversation about a subject as touchy as racism. You get to upset the narrative, recentering the conversation on you, your feelings, and what a terrible person I am for attacking you so unnecessarily. It’s a good trick, and it has withstood the test of time.

I can’t count the amount of times in the last year that I’ve reversed the hell out of a conversation I thought might actually reap real results because of that kind of recentering. It’s a bit like feeling the earth rearrange underneath your feet, leaving you in unsteady, sometimes dangerous territory. And because black people — and especially black women — are so often typecast as angry, we have to be doubly careful to remain calm, no matter what kind of bullshit gets slung our way. For a POC, the best response to white tears is to disengage immediately, which leaves the racist fuckery untouched to fester with time, instead of being dealt with, which was the original intention behind calling it out. This is yet another example of how racism continues to thrive in our society.

Look, racism is a heavy subject, maybe even the heaviest subject to take on in this country. Our history is filled with examples of brutal oppression, and though things have improved, we are a long way from the kind of equality the founding fathers wrote about when they were envisioning breaking free of their own, more privileged form of bondage.

To talk about systemic racism and white supremacy is to accept the discomfort that goes along with it. There will be emotions like anger, shame, and guilt. Let them come. Marinate in that discomfort until you find some internal clarity. Don’t take the easy way out by turning on the literal or figurative waterworks. If you really want things to change in this country, if you truly desire for the promise of American to match its brute reality, then it starts with being willing to see your biases for what they are. Own them, and then own the process of changing them with daily, deliberate self-reflection and action. And, mostly importantly, receive the words of the POCs around you with openness and grace instead of hostility and tragic martyrdom.

POCs don’t have a choice when it comes to facing the harsh realities of institutional racism. It affects us every day in ways that cannot be ignored. But what’s even more demoralizing is when a so-called ally can’t bear the weight of a single conversation about racism in which we imply that she could do better. If you truly want to stand with us, that means accepting criticism without lashing out and ‘putting us back in our place’ for the sake of your own emotional comfort. The world changes when we first change ourselves. It’s the only form of creation that we possess. You have the power to create change or to create a barrier keeping a better world from being realized. Choose wisely.

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Whiteness is Not Americanism

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Throughout history, protest has paved the way for change, both the incremental and radical varieties. We’re all raised to revere the gumption of the Founding Fathers, with their “Live Free or Die” swagger. They stood up for their inalienable rights and, in so doing, led to the creation of this great nation. But not all forms of protest are equally revered.

A perfect example of protest that is nonviolent in nature, yet reviled, is the practice of kneeling for the National Anthem in order to bring attention to the disproportionate number of black lives ended by police officers. The act itself couldn’t be more nonviolent. The black athletes kneel when the anthem is played, and then the game goes on as planned, no disruption of regularly scheduled programming. But the backlash against this simple act was swift and immediate, with many outraged by what they called the blatant disrespect of the troops, the flag, and the nation itself.

But is that what this protest represents? Disrespect? And, if not, why is it so often framed that way?

The answer is pretty simple. In our culture, being an American is synonymous with being white. Therefore, white folks are the only ones both allowed to protest, and encouraged to do so.

Now before anyone jumps to the tired conclusion that, as a black woman, I’m just another ungrateful rabble rouser who hates this country, the flag that stands as its symbol, and the uniformed men and women who volunteer to fight and die for it, kindly slow your proverbial roll. I’m actually much more patriotic than you might assume, and there are many reasons why this is the case.

I grew up on military bases, meaning we said the pledge every morning, learned the words to every patriotic song ever created, and flew the flag 365 days a year, well before the sudden, nationwide popularization of the practice in response to the attack on September 11th. July 4th festivities brought the base to a screeching halt. Memorial Day was no joke, and it was spent honoring those who gave the ultimate sacrifice in defense of this nation and its ideals. Veterans’ Day was yet another opportunity to honor those who fought to secure the rights we take for granted on a daily basis. To say I grew up bathed in the red, white, and blue would be to utter a monumental understatement.

Growing up, I understood patriotism to mean a deep love of country, but not a blind love. Because love that isn’t paired with honest awareness of shortcomings isn’t really love. It’s a sweet form of denial that hurts the object of your affection only slightly less than it hurts you. I also understood that servicemen and women were to be honored for their willingness to put themselves in dangerous situations in order to uphold and protect the Constitution of the United States. But they are not the United States, and criticism of the government in no way equates to criticism of those who are prepared to lay down their lives for said government.

In light of all this, it shouldn’t come as a surprise that I consider myself a deeply patriotic individual. I love this country and, because I love it, I know how deeply flawed it is, and how much it needs to change if it’s to offer life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness to all its citizens. This country can be better, and I want to help it become so, lovingly but firmly. I don’t see this love of country as mutually exclusive from the right to point out its flaws. I actually think that blind love is akin to no love at all. And I categorically refuse the popular idea that you can’t honor our troops if you critique the country they’re serving.

The response to black athletes kneeling during the National Anthem is really no different from white folks criticizing the nonviolent protests led by Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. Or their disdain for Muhammad Ali’s unwillingness to fight in Vietnam wearing the uniform of a country that refused to afford him the same dignity that it gave its white citizens. These men are heroes now, because they are no longer a threat to the status quo, unlike Colin Kaepernick.

If you are black in this country, there is no correct way to protest, because this country is not yours to protest to begin with. It wasn’t built for you, though it was built by you. You were never meant to possess life and liberty, nor were you to pursue happiness. This country was created to belong to white people. It’s why a common response to a black person protesting is to tell him or her to return to Africa. The subtext is clear: this country is for white folks. If you don’t like the rules in our house, go back to your own.

And because this country was made for and belongs to white people, the natural conclusion is that whiteness equates to Americanism. So, it makes sense that when a person of color criticizes the hypocrisy of a nation that purports to stand for liberty and justice for all, yet doesn’t actually extend it to everyone, so many white folks are instantly apoplectic. Here is this uppity, anti-American negro messing up things in a white person’s house! How ungrateful, amirite?! That negro should be happy to even be allowed to set foot in a house that doesn’t belong to him.

The underlying message is very clear: black folks aren’t to speak up about the injustice built into the very foundation of this country. We’re lucky to be here, and we should be grateful. Period.

Well, actually, I am grateful. I live in a country that eventually did extend the right to free speech and peaceful protest to people who look like me. White folks protest daily, and it’s often seen as deeply patriotic and worthy of widespread applause. But this country was only built to revere protest when the folks doing it are white. It’s literally America’s origin story. It’s also why it’s so hard for us to talk honestly about the Civil War. Our minds work by forming knee jerk dichotomies, and you can’t celebrate one side without demonizing the other, but, in this case, both sides are white.

Protest has a long history in this country. And, provided you keep it nonviolent, I’m all for the practice of standing up to make your voice heard and fight for what you believe in. I may not agree with you, but that’s your right. Here’s the thing, though: it’s also my right. Because whiteness shouldn’t be synonymous with what it means to be an American. There are plenty of us who love this country, but want it to be better. Not just for ourselves, but for all of us. I can’t think of a more American ideal.

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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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