The Undercover Introvert

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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Racism 101: Colorblindness

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I’m worried about a large swath of white folks here in America. It’s shameful that no one is talking about this issue when there are literally thousands of people struggling with a disability that should have been addressed by medical professionals long ago.

Apparently, many Caucasian Americans aren’t able to properly see color. Just imagine how hard this makes day to day life. Driving, picking out matching clothing, becoming fighter jet pilots. Is this some kind of epidemic that only afflicts the melanin-deficient? What can be done about this obviously crippling affliction of colorblindness?

Fortunately, there actually is a cure: education.

I wish I had a dollar for every white person who told me she doesn’t see color after being called out for saying or doing something racially insensitive. I’d have a whole lot of dollars. Whenever I hear this tired refrain, if I’m in a good mood, I reply with: that must make navigating stoplights difficult. If I’m not in a good mood, I reply with something more along the lines of: bullshit.

What is the source of this seemingly convenient affliction? The culprit seems to be a deliberate misreading of a portion of Martin Luther King, Jr.’s most famous speech (and often the only MLK the white person in question has ever heard and/or read):

“I have a dream that my four little children will one day live in a nation where they will not be judged by the color of their skin but by the content of their character.”

Beautiful, right?

But to these white folks who have chosen to believe they don’t see color, what they hear in that single line of a single speech MLK gave in the 1960’s is that he had a dream that, one day, no one would notice that he was black. That he would be whitewashed and everything would be great in America in this post-racial version of Orwell’s 1984…

Um, no.

What the man was actually saying — and I have had to school dozens upon dozens of white folks over the years on this very point — is that he dreamt of a time when his children would be judged by who they show themselves to be through their actions and not automatically by who white people think they must be based solely on their skin color.

Acting like you don’t see color isn’t an excuse for racist fuckery. Racism is interwoven into the cloth that makes up the very fabric of America. That’s what makes it systemic. No one grows up in this country without either benefiting from or suffering because of these systems of oppression. So, just because you have a friend who is black or you voted for Obama (twice!) doesn’t mean you aren’t a product of a racist society that has had a hand in shaping your every thought and action.

Stop using Martin Luther King, Jr. as a weapon against black folks, y’all. Stop. He was a radical thinker who was hated by the establishment back in his day. Let’s not forget, the man was assassinated for crying out loud. That’s how much of a threat he was to the white owned status quo. You don’t get to use a single line from one of his speeches to absolve your racist and insensitive behavior.

Look, there’s nothing wrong with acknowledging that people are different colors. I’m black and I’m proud, as the song goes. The trouble starts where your preconceived notions come into play. You see a black person and make judgments based solely on skin color about criminality, sexuality, intellect, etc. Your prejudice is the problem MLK was talking about, not the actual color of my skin.

Colorblindness only when it pertains to skin color is not a thing. Stop pretending that it is. And stop using this made up affliction as a shield to deflect from all insinuation that your words or actions, no matter how unintended, actively work to uphold systems of oppression.

You see color. We all do. Claiming otherwise is willfully absurd and ignorant. And, y’all, stop dragging MLK into this foolishness.

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Thanking John Lewis

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Yesterday, I met Congressman John Lewis. I shook his hand, spoke with him, and posed for a few pictures. I listened as he told a group of students about his life growing up in rural Alabama, about his father who was a sharecropper, about the way he always questioned segregation, though his mother warned him to stay out of trouble and stop asking questions.

We’re all fortunate that he never stopped asking questions. That the innate sense of injustice he felt as a boy drove him to act as a young man. We still have a long way to go in this country, but people who look like me wouldn’t be as far along as we are without people like John Lewis. People willing to risk their lives for a movement from which they might never benefit.

My origin story — how I got involved in political organizing and campaigns — pales in comparison to his. Rep. Lewis held the entire room in thrall as he told us that meeting Rosa Parks at 17 and Martin Luther King, Jr. at 18 is what turned him into an activist.

He talked about marching in Selma and barely making it out alive.

He talked about the importance of voting, how it was life and death in those days.

It’s still life and death, but it’s not as visceral and immediate, so folks seem to have forgotten. Rep. Lewis urged everyone to vote, to do their small part to save our democracy. It’s precious, that vote. A flame we have to hold in cupped hands as the winds lash around us. Because that flame can go out.

As I listened to this powerhouse of the Civil Rights Movement, I thought about how annoyed I am whenever someone tells me they don’t plan to vote, or they ran out of time, or they aren’t even registered and don’t care. It infuriates me, but I can’t even imagine how frustrating it must be for someone like John Lewis. I never rode into the segregated south to make sure people had the rights I take for granted every day. I have never been beaten on my way to the polls. As flawed as race relations in America still are to this day, I have never feared for my life when exercising my right to vote. That is a gift. And people like John Lewis are the ones who bestowed it upon every person of color in this country. But gifts can be taken away.

One woman asked what made Rep. Lewis decide to run for office. His eloquent response was immediate, and it brought tears to my eyes. Recounting it here would not do it justice, but as my activism is a mere echo of the fire of John Lewis’s activism, so too can my words be a distant echo of the ones he spoke not even 24 hours ago.

He said that he watched as John F. Kennedy was assassinated. And then he lost his friend, Martin Luther King, Jr. He was with Robert Kennedy when he heard the news. They were friends too, and they mourned together. And then, Bobby Kennedy was assassinated as well. He said that of the 10 speakers at the March on Washington, where MLK gave his famous ‘I Have a Dream’ speech, he was the youngest, and he is the only one still alive today. That loss of life, the threat to the movement, is what compelled him to run, to serve, to keep pushing for what was right. He urged us to heal the division in this country, and quoted his friend:

‘ We must learn to live together as brothers, or perish together as fools’.

And, oh, what fools we’ve been. Not bothering to vote. Watching as a group of motivated members of one political party make all the rules for the rest of us. Allowing hyper partisan politics to divide us into even smaller, less effective groups.

I’ve always voted, but I haven’t always been involved. That laziness, that distinctly American acquiescence, stopped on November 9th, 2016. John Lewis’s activism started in his youth, when he questioned segregation, and those burning questions led him to action. I had questions too as very young woman, but there was no spark, no inferno, until I feared the prospect of losing the rights Rep. Lewis’s generation fought so hard to secure.

History is a wheel. The same things happen again and again, and only the players are different. We stumble into the same mistakes because we don’t listen to those who came before us, those who saw the impending darkness of tyranny or lived the reality of brutal racism firsthand. I’ve tried to listen well in the last two years, but it’s so hard to know, in the moment, if you are helping the cause or hurting it. And it’s a cushy kind of activism when you never have to worry about losing your life. Does that make it less worthwhile? Or is that another thing for which to thank activists like John Lewis? Even in the semi-enlightened age of 2018, not everyone my color can protest without swift, sometimes violent repercussions. But many of us can. And that is a gift too.

Before he left for the airport, I thanked John Lewis for everything. He smiled and thanked me. I’m sure he hears so much of what I said from the thousands of people he meets every year. But I meant every unoriginal word. So much of what I have, so much of what I take for granted, was only available to me because of the sacrifices he and many others made. The ones who risked their lives and safety. The ones who did not make it to the promised land.

I wish I could have found a way to say all of this to him, and to promise that there are so many of us trying hard to continue the work that he started at 18. But words failed, and I could only say thank you.

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I’m Not Your Black Friend

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Inevitably in a conversation with a white person who just drifted into some casual racism, she will bring up the fact that she has a nameless black friend, brandishing the tidbit of unsolicited information like a shield protecting her from my suggestion that whatever she just said was racially insensitive. The more the white person self-identifies as an ‘ally’, the more likely she’ll be to brandish this dubious connection to an acquaintance who never seems to have any actual qualities besides the ever-convenient blackness.

It rubs me the wrong way every time.

It also makes me want to demand proof of this so-called black bestie. Show me pictures of the two of you together, with timestamps. Hell, get him on the phone so I can let him know exactly why he just came up in conversation.

But exchanges like these always make me stop and think for other, more insidious reasons.

Are white folks out there in the world, busily using me as evidence of why they just can’t be racist? Like my presence in their lives, no matter how minimal, acts as some kind of antidote to the racist fuckery that’s been running rampant in this country since white folks first sailed over from the Continent?

Just so we’re clear, I’m not your black friend.

Don’t bring me up in arguments with other POCs as proof of how ‘not racist’ you are. My blackness doesn’t exist simply to be used at your convenience whenever you speak without thinking of the impact of your words. It’s actually a pretty disgusting thing to do, and it’s done all the time.

I’m not sure what friendship means to white folks who use the idea of POCs this way (because, come on, they likely don’t even have friends who are black), but, to me, a friend doesn’t use another person as a device to prove a bogus point and shift blame back onto a member of a marginalized group that she just offended. Honestly, no decent human being does this.

If you do this kind of shit, we aren’t friends, so keep my name out of your mouth, as we used to say back in middle school. And do better. That’s really my advice for most people running around so carelessly, they injure people without a second thought and then, when called out, scramble for the handiest excuse.

I have a black friend…

My black friend doesn’t mind when I use the N-word…

I have a group of black friends and we’ve never had a problem…

Are you sure that’s offensive? Because my black friend said…

I’ve heard a variation of every single one of these excuses and many more. Literally, dozens. I call bullshit on all of them.

Seeing a black person doesn’t make them your friend. Going to school with black people doesn’t make them your friends. Having a black coworker doesn’t make them your friend.

Let’s all say this together so it sinks in: proximity to a marginalized group does not cure you of racist tendencies.

Don’t use black folks as a crutch that allows you to keep limping along in your ignorance. Learn to walk on your own two feet and accept responsibility if you spout some casually racist shit. Take a moment for self-reflection, apologize if appropriate, move on, and next time do better. There’s no magic to becoming a better person, but first you have to accept that you did or said something wrong. It’s hard, but so is maintaining your composure and (mostly) positive attitude while toiling under the constant weight of systemic racism. If I can do that, you can do this.

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If Black Folks Could Fix Racism, We’d Have Done it Decades Ago

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I recently wrote a blog post about what it’s like to be black in America. As usual, there were shitty comments from people that I blocked immediately, because ain’t nobody got time for that. But there were also a few seemingly innocuous comments that were actually pretty terrible. Anytime I write about my experience of being a person of color in a country with a long history of treating folks who look like me poorly, I invariably receive the same kind of unsolicited advice:

You should try harder to make white folks understand. Be patient and give them the benefit of the doubt. Don’t alienate your allies.

It literally happens every time. Without fail.

White folks, let me clue you into something you might not have considered before: if black folks could cure racism, it would already be cured.

We would have dealt with that shit decades ago. Believe me. And telling me to be nicer to white folks, or to not get offended at racist shit in an attempt to keep from rocking a boat that’s been on rough seas for centuries is utter bullshit. Stop doing it.

Let’s use an example to illustrate how wacky and ignorant this kind of a suggestion is:

Woman: Jim made a joke about my breasts again in front of everyone in the meeting. I’m getting really tired of the sexist crap in this office.

Man: Whoa, do you ever think that you’re just being too sensitive? Jim was probably just being funny. Give him the benefit of the doubt.

Woman: *stabs man*

Okay, maybe not that last part, though we can all agree he deserved it for those ignorant statements. But do you see how that kind of exchange puts the onus for fixing the problem squarely on the person being oppressed by the nonstop barrage of sexist behavior? It’s not just a case of blaming the victim, but of suggesting that the victim is the one who needs to do better.

Get a sense of humor. Wear different clothes. Smile more so no one thinks you’re an uppity bitch.

Here’s what I need you to do from now on, white folks: stand the hell up and collect your people. All of them, especially the ones showing their asses on the daily. White people created the widespread systems of oppression that POCs are experiencing in this country and it’s going to take white people to tear them down. Instead of suggesting that I get a sense of humor (already have one, thanks) or undertake the emotional labor of teaching the offending individual how to be a decent human being, how about you confront the people who look like you when they spout racist crap or treat POCs like garbage? It’s really that simple.

Sexism would have ended a century ago if women could’ve just rolled up their collective sleeves and rabbit punched some sense into the men around them. But men created the patriarchy, and they need to do the work of dismantling it. In partnership with women, of course, but we need you to step up, gents.

Collect. Your. People.

So, no, I’m not going to give a white person the benefit of the doubt when she says something blatantly racist or treats me like a second class citizen. It doesn’t matter if she didn’t ‘mean to be racist’. Impact trumps intent. Every time. I am under no obligation to treat you with kid gloves when you literally didn’t take a second to weigh the impact of your words before you said them. Why should I consider your feelings when you couldn’t care less about mine?

And if you don’t like being called out, then make like a POC and learn to weigh every word you speak and action you take, all day, every day, because a misstep could result in devastating consequences for you. And I’m not talking about hurt feelings. I mean life and death. Asking you to do better pales in comparison to that, now doesn’t it? And if you’re the ally you say you are, it’s really the least you can do.

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