Come here people, gather around.
I certainly didn’t think my return back to my personal blog would be in the middle of a civil revolution amidst a pandemic. Considering everything going on with media fear mongering, and the “great white awakening”, I figured why not provide a bit of insight because if you’re going to shake the table, might as well flip that bitch over, right? I mean DAMN. But I’m staying true to only writing when I feel moved to and I certainly feel moved to ask:
Is the world ending or what?
That’s definitely a complex question… with a more yes than no answer. The world we once knew and operated in is over, it’s dead. We’ve all collectively seen too much, there’s no turning back now.
Now that the veil has been lifted for many, and the masses are fearing the crash of the awakening, why is it expected to be a support crisis for Black people?
There’s only so much empathy one can have for allies and there’s only so many “I’m sorry, dudes” one can stand.
I will go back for context because I too used to believe, that “tokenism” wasn’t that bad and being invited to the room was enough and allyship was great as long as I was laughing and enjoying myself I felt “safe”.
That was until I moved to Atlanta in 2014 and found myself engulfed and surrounded by Black people and culture for nearly all of my time. I was more likely to see a white person passing me in a grocery store than I would in my neighborhood, in my apartment complex, at my job, or at many of the other places I dwelled. I kid you not, I went from a mixed bag high school to a PWI college, to a mostly white corporate workspace, to a completely Black workspace. Everyone in my office was Black from my manager to my coworkers, to the directors. It was the cultural shift in the imagery I needed and the beginning overhaul of everything I was ever taught or believed in.
I had a Black OB/Gyn in Cincinnati but once I moved to Atlanta, my entire care team was overhauled for Black healthcare professionals because who can better care for my Black body than people who look like me?
It wouldn’t be until I had my first head-on address with a then very close friend who invited me to his wedding. I shared about it in a blog after jokingly explaining how I had my first “Get Out” experience, but the joke was to downplay the serious anger I felt towards that friend for the extreme discomfort I felt.
I’ll save the couple their privacy because I still respect them and I know there was no ill intent behind it, however, I made my stance incredibly clear.
I left Atlanta to head to Port Clinton, OH which was very much a small town with one way in, and dare I say one way out? I’d never heard of this place in my life, and in true solo-explorative fashion, I see all unknowns as a new place to explore. Upon my arrival, I discovered that for 2 days I would be in a town to attend a wedding reception, and after getting settled in and doing my typical exploration of the area, I found myself to be the only of a SPRINKLE of Black people in the town – and I do mean sprinkle.
In order to curb my discomfort, I traveled most of the time out of the town into neighboring areas visiting an animal safari drive-thru, the town Lighthouse, and the Merry-go-round museum in Sandusky, OH where there were more Black people and my level of discomfort could mildly decrease.
I was so uncomfortable that I shared my location with friends in the closest neighboring cities and towns for the entire weekend because I truly feared for my safety, and when commentating on the area on Instagram in real-time a previous resident who grew up near commented: “LOL, yeah I grew up near there and there aren’t many black people.”
Ya think?!
I was IRATE. I met with mutual friends who were also in town for the reception at a local bar the night before the festivities where, you guessed it, I was the only Black person amongst a sea of white bodies. I voiced my discomfort.
Why did I travel from the comforts of my city and my home to be placed in a potentially emotionally harmful, and stressful environment?
Did I expect my friend to have more Black people in attendance at the wedding reception outside of myself and the DJ? Well, ya know? I’m not sure. My friend certainly had a mixture of friends when I spent time with him. But nonetheless, there’s something to say about the disregard involved when inviting Black people into white spaces with no sense of community. Do I have high expectations for white people to have more than just one to two token, what they call “non-threatening” black friends? Well, I guess that would speak to why this newfound awakening just isn’t triggering all of the right buttons within my spirit. As I often tell my cousin when things make me uncomfortable to the point of days of ranting “My third eye is twitching”.
I could go on and on about the conversation that happened after the wedding reception where I thanked my friend for the invite and explained to him that it was uncomfortable and that he could expect to read about my experience, where he laughed and said something to the effect of “you wouldn’t be you if I didn’t, but I love you for coming.”
I quickly cut myself off from those friends groups as even the thank you for attending and a snide joke about my “get out experience” was mocked but not taken serious – because as a white couple in America you’d never find yourself nervous in any space because your presence is always a dominance right?
On the flip, I’d like to offer a juxtaposing point of view. I’ve welcomed these same white allies into my personal Black communal spaces to party with my family to celebrate birthday’s, going away parties, graduations and I often made sure there were MULTIPLE layers of “comfort” and as Black people, we naturally overcompensate to ensure that white people feel comfortable when we welcome them into our Black spaces. It’s our innate nature, our personal hospitality.
As someone who has spent a considerable amount of time as the “only Black girl” or one of few in the room, it’s been very triggering to watch the current events unfold as many “white allies” come to terms of a “new awakening” of what’s been happening to Black people in America.
Their discomfort in the group chats always felt palpable as I often discussed white people shit or pulling up in our hometown and being reminded of the culture shock of living in a predominantly Black neighborhood and driving through newly gentrified streets in Ohio to get back to the hood. “Sorry dude, that sucks” would typically be the response before being invited to a kickback at a bar that would mostly be filled with white people and a trickle here or there of Black people, if any at all. In hindsight, when inviting them to Black events or clubs in the same neighboring areas, I was always met with reasons as to why they couldn’t walk across the sidewalk to attend only for them to throw an invite to a party at the same time or a bit later typically in a fully white space instead. Fancy that? I don’t want to inhabit your space and leave my comforts, but you should leave yours and come to mine.
It’s lead me too many times where I’d ask, “so, bitch are you trolling or…what?”
As someone who has never stood quiet in times of amplifying the people and communities I believe in, I’ve always brought attention to black issues in the circles I’ve found myself in, and I’m here to say that white allies have often hidden behind the guise of “damn, dude that sucks” while blatantly denying the microaggressions they present in their everyday lives, friendships, and interactions.
Many of the allied friendships I’ve had across my lifespan have always seen me as an “equal” counterpart as long as we were “semi-broke, post-college grads” until the semi-broke descriptor drops and we are now fully into our identities as adults. They could identify with me because we inhabited the same spaces for so many years, and shared memories but throughout those spaces, they were gleeful to soak up the culture but as those pieces of the shared identities fell away what’s left to hold together if there isn’t true allyship?
I can tell you now, NONE of those people who have called themselves allies, who I shared spaces with have opened or fixed their lips to acknowledge what it is that I already know.
Growing up in proximity to black spaces, around black people doesn’t mean you are automatically anti-racist and knowing of the plight of black people when for years you failed to acknowledge it because of your own discomfort. It just means you know of black people.
It’s hard for me to find a rallying cry inside to “preach and teach” to people who I’ve made comfortable and welcome in black spaces. And I can say as someone who has been in white spaces, I’ve always extended the offer back and NEVER provided a space for white people where “white tokenism” was a thing. I can only speak for myself, but I’ve yet to invite a “white ally” into my personal space without ensuring they weren’t going to be the only ones there in an effort to make them feel truly supported, comfortable, and at home.
Maybe it’s just a courtesy that as a Black person has always been embedded to extend a certain level of hospitality, but in white spaces, Black people are supposed to feel “honored” to be invited.
Being the only Black person in all white spaces is emotionally, and traumatically violent.
From the performative behaviors to make you feel more welcomed like pandering to you in AAVE and slang, or constantly reminding you that “you’re the best” as opposed to what?
So many times Black people have to stand in as the only Black person in all white places, accounting for and representing the minority wearing a badge for all like a spokesperson of sorts.
Even in corporate workspaces, you can ask any of your Black coworkers – I guarantee you they have tweeted or posted on their social media that they have code switched, or been the only Black representative in a space full of white people leaving them feeling isolated, overpowered, and in some way intimidated navigating a room alone.
It was a loud wake-up call that made me sound off the alarm and examine all of my past interactions and the disregard of my identity, comfortability, and safety. And from there I started making deep cuts.
It wasn’t the easiest, but having difficult conversations are easy when “allies” are incapable of staring into the glaring mirror.
Which brings me to the current. Your awakening is great but it’s not the emotional labor of anyone but you and the people who consent to assist you in the relationship. For years Black people have been tasked with teaching people how to treat us like basic humans, with human emotions, identities, and personalities.
It’s not our responsibility to hold your hand as you stand in a dark tunnel and stare in the mirror and look at what screams back at you. No one is coming to save you. Isn’t that the rhetoric that has been forced down the throat of Black folks for decades as we’ve faced the challenge of systemic opposition? You have to save yourself. That’s what Black people have been doing for years, and now it’s time for “white allies” to do just that.
In a time like this, where Black scholars have been navigating these spaces of education and presenting our history and experiences for decades, would it be too much to put forth good faith labor to do your OWN work to show that you in fact are committed to trying to learn and better understand your privilege? Or would you rather stay and continue being part of the system that aided your privilege by being spoon-fed information and told what you should read and how you should digest and dissect information and a learner’s guide of where to start because you “just found out two weeks ago that racism still exists in America”? I get it the awakening is traumatic, it’s exhausting, but imagine living it every day of your Black ass life, and still persevering. That’s what Black people do every day. We’ve been tired, but we don’t rest, we seek refuge and carry on.
When will you truly stand up as an ally and show that you honor Black people as human beings and not just your mammy teachers and guides, and gurus, and strong friends and stop burdening the people who are traumatized with the task to also teach the people to stop traumatizing them?
And that’s not a drag. It’s just my truth.
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