Part of my anti-capitalist journey involves questioning everything I believe and everything I do.
I routinely ask myself, “is there a genuine wanting behind that thing, going to that place, or forming that relationship? …Or, has our capitalist culture ascribed a value to that person, place, or thing that makes me feel a need to associate myself with it?“
As of late, that line of questioning has involved my use of manifestation, (or, my connection to my intuition), a means to create the life I want. Mind you, I have manifested everything I’ve truly wanted in this life, and at a baseline, I feel that that ability is a privilege in itself…
But, does that make manifestation a capitalist act?
First, we need to understand capitalism, which the International Monetary Fund defines as, “an economic system in which private actors own and control property in accord with their interests, and demand and supply freely set prices in markets in a way that can serve the best interests of society.”
“As Adam Smith, the 18th century philosopher and father of modern economics, said: it is not from the benevolence of the butcher, the brewer, or the baker that we expect our dinner, but from their regard to their own interest.” Both parties to a voluntary exchange transaction have their own interest in the outcome, but neither can obtain what he or she wants without addressing what the other wants. It is this rational self-interest that can lead to economic prosperity.” Which, sounds good and well until we consider that the IMF’s definition recognizes that capitalism, by definition, ascribes higher value to profit than it does social good.
Their definition also completely fails to explore the ills of capitalism, including, but not limited to: economic instability, due to “financial markets’ tendency to cause booms and busts; wealth disparity, thanks to “inherited wealth, interest from assets, and [the fact that] wealth grows faster than economic output,” which was explored by Thomas Piketty, an economist, and author of Capital in the Twenty-First Century; environmental damage, due to “overproduction and overconsumption, causing pollution, global warming, acid rain, loss of rare species, and other external costs that damage future generations”; immobilities of the free market, including limitations due to geographical location, a lack of education, and/or access to training in order to perform certain jobs; monopolies, or, “market dominance in an industry, allowing companies to charge higher prices to consumers,” which can lead to consumers being priced out by no fault of their own, other than not being able to afford the only product on the market; monopsony, or “market power in employing factors of production, enabling firms to be more profitable while most workers don’t share from the same level of proceeds as the owners of capital”; and, most importantly, greed, as “the capitalist system can create incentives for managers to pursue profit over decisions which would maximize social welfare.”
From these definitions and considerations, manifestation is 1000% a capitalist act.
But, when we consider if everyone who has the privilege to manifest actually uses that privilege, things start to get really muddy. In conversation with one of my dearest friends about the state of my love life, they said to me: “you’ve been so lucky to find your passion in life and to live your dreams that if you found the love of your life now too, it would just be be too much. It might be greedy to want all of that at once.”
I didn’t pushback immediately because it always takes three to five business days for me to fully process these kinds of conversations, but after some reflection, I let them know that I disagreed with them on this–with every fiber of my being. I also know her well enough to know that she didn’t say those things because she doesn’t believe in me, or my support my desires (quite the contrary, actually), but, because she feels that she cannot have those things concurrently–and she’s not alone in that.
Even in the presence of financial stability, people can operate from a lack mindset (the antithesis of manifestation). This often looks like: pursuing a career in a field that you’re not truly passionate about, but feel sure you can easily get a job in–which is such an illusion given capitalism’s instability; being in a romantic relationship for any reason other than a deep love and wanting for that person; and, especially, maintaining a connection (business, platonic, familial etc.) for the sake of its ROI, instead of a genuine desire to maintain the connection. At different times in my life, I have ascribed to any of those–sometimes all at once, but as I started to break that mold more and more, I found myself connecting with the people and opportunities that actually make me feel good.
This is what I know to be true: the universe is so abundant, and has shown me that when I truly believe I can have whatever I desire, I attain them–as long as I know why I’d like to. As a person who believes in doing as little harm as possible in making my dreams a reality, I have an obligation to constantly question what’s at the root of those dreams. I often ask myself: “why do I want to make a living through storytelling that centers and uplifts marginalized identities? Or, always be provided for by the universe? Or, [redacted]? Or, live on a farm with the loml and our (currently unborn) children?! Only through questioning why do I arrive at the root of my desires, the things that determine is my manifestations are capitalist or not. And, I often take it one step further by asking, “what effect does this manifestation have on my ecosystem? And, on the state of the world, in general?”
Thankfully, unlike a trip to Tulum (especially during a pandemic), a car that emits a ridiculous amount of energy, or purse made of an exotic animal’s skin–possessions and experiences that further destroy our planet, love is not something we (should) consume, so it is always safe to manifest; however, even in our love connections we can ask ourselves, “does the relationship I desire maintain patriarchy or white supremacy?” Perhaps on date five that person told you they ‘don’t see color,’ or ‘wouldn’t want a daughter, because, to them, that comes with a need to monitor and police their romantic connections’; anything than swiftly bidding them goodbye, or setting them straight, and then bidding them goodbye, upholds both of those systems.
Essentially, like anything else, manifestation comes with a lot of questioning–not in the universe’s ability to deliver because it always does, depending on what you focus on–but, of yourself. Only through questioning can we fully appreciate the immense privilege we have in being able to manifest, understand wherein our desire stems from, and, finally, determine if those desires are rooted in capitalism, a system that relies on privilege. Only then can we truly manifest our version of happily ever after.
Secondly, some big events happened recently: Meg the Stallion confirmed that Tory Lanez shot her in the foot, and the 100 year anniversary of White Women’s Suffrage just passed; and yes, I’m going to show you how both of those things are relevant to the overarching theme of this video which is BW being the most unprotected group in society. And contrary to popular belief, we struggle to find that protection in the company of Black men, and we especially do not have that protection in the company of white men or white women, even though allyship is the latest trend/performance to dominate our culture.
And on that note, I want to make super clear that this video is about hating or ridiculing anyone, it only serves to connect the dots between Black women’s experiences with intimacy and violence, which I have research on and lived experiences with that make that a TRUTH, not a figment of my imagination or that of other Black women’s. If you genuinely want to learn something, this video is for you. Thank you for watching it, I love you. But if you want to watch this video in order to argue about how my points are untrue, and how I’m making everything about race, please do not watch this video, and even better, fuck off.
But back to my last reason for making this video, which I’ve wanted to make for a long time; I feel a responsibility to myself to speak on these experiences that I’ve kept inside for so long, to make them feel more real to myself, and I feel a responsibility to the Black women who have had similar experiences to mine and the Black women I’m going to reference, and are struggling with trusting that they’ve had these experiences because they’ve been gaslighted so much and for so long.
I want to start with Megan Thee Stallion getting shot by Tory Lanez and Megan not reporting him immediately out of concern that the very aggressive LAPD would abuse, shoot, or kill Tory. As someone who has seen and heard the way LAPD interacts with suspects, over the 3 years that I lived there, I completely understand why she wouldn’t. Just last month, I was woken up by a frightening police stop that happened right outside my apartment, so it makes complete sense why she would fear the police.
Black women are not spared mistreatment by cops or police violence, yet when we talk about police violence in the US, it’s always within the context of Black men. In her report “African-American Women, Mass Incarceration, and the Politics of Protection,” Kali Nicole Gross in The Journal of American History states, “If the issue of black female incarceration is raised, it is usually as a tangential afterthought in discussions about the carceral experiences of black men—and even then the role of intraracial gender violence is rarely discussed.”
And culturally, these practices are perpetuated in the lack of media coverage of Black women’s killing by police vs Black men’s. Obviously, the goal is to have both Black women and Black men not be killed by police or experience state violence at the levels they do, but we also have to realize that why we hear about police violence against Black women. The way Breonna Taylor’s death has been made into memes, clickbait, and profitable events sharply contrasts to how the general public reacted to Ahmaud Arbery’s death. Please understand that these are both tragedies that never should’ve happened but Breonna Taylor’s murder is currently being profited off of by people other than her family, while people have had enough respect for Arbery to not do that.
The lack of protection of Black women is clear in stories like “Marissa Alexander [who] was incarcerated for three years though sentenced to twenty years for firing a warning shot during a confrontation with her estranged, abusive husband, whom she had a restraining order against. Gross’s report notes that “whereas [George] Zimmerman successfully used the stand-your-ground defense after taking the life of the unarmed Black teenager Trayvon Martin in 2012, Alexander was unable to invoke the same protections. No one died and no one was hurt at the hands of the battered Black woman, yet she received a twenty-year sentence.” Alexander’s story is not unique, as Black women like Catina Curley, LeToya Ramseure, Chrystul Kizer, and Cyntoia Brown, were also incarcerated for defending themselves against their abusers, pointing to a major flaw in the judicial system that still fails to see Black women as worthy of protection in general, and not even in situations wherein they’ve been abused.
And being of celebrity or affluence doesn’t shield Black women from abuse either, as we see with Meg Thee Stallion. After *months* of having one of the most streamed songs in the world that went viral on Tik Tok via the Savage challenge, there was very little media coverage on her being shot. Even on social media, the outpouring of love and support she received was overwhelmingly from Black women, even though everyone and their mothers were literally doing the Savage challenge on TikTok!
It brings me back to what happened when Chris Brown severely assaulted Rihanna. Though there was significantly more media attention than the Meg and Tory situation, Rihanna was dragged through the mud. People very openly debated, “what did she do to provoke him?” And flouted rumors that “she gave him herpes so he hit her,” or “she hit him first,” or “provoked him” in some other way. That’s how society treated the pain of a young Black women; and let me just point out that the silence has been more deafening in Megan’s case because she is not a slender, white-passing Black women like Rihanna, but we’ll break down how colorism comes into play soon. Both Rihanna and Megan’s treatment shows that no matter how high profile you are, as a Black women you’re still less likely to be heard, believed, or respected, while non-Black women who cosplay as Black women i.e. Kim and Khloe K, Kylie, YesJulz, Iggy Azealia, and all hundreds of non-Black Influencers who can’t stop blackfishing.
Yet, they get all of the support that they need. Their pain is acknowledge, their tears become other people’s tears; Black women do not receive that. And that goes for Black women around the world, not just in America.
But in America specifically, the level of sexual violence against Black women is high.” While Black people make up 14% of the US population, “40% of victims of human trafficking are Black.” Even worse, “traffickers interviewed for a study for Urban Institute overwhelming believed that trafficking white women would make them more money, but trafficking Black women would land them less jail time if caught, and traffickers are more than likely selling their victims to affluent and highly regarded Caucasian men.”
This disregard of Black women’s sexual exploitation has a long history stretching back to America’s colonies; “Virginia’s December 1662 decree (part of their Slave Laws) that the children of enslaved Africans and Englishmen would be “held bond or free according to the condition of the mother” meaning that if mom was a slave, the mixed race child would be too, if mom were free, the mixed race child would be too. Essentially, there would be no penalty for slave owners who raped Black women. Instead they could see huge profits through rape, leading to “countless rapes and instances of forced breeding.” So, “the rape of Black women was not acknowledged by early American law. Mainstream attitudes further negated their victimization with ruinous myths about Black women’s libidinous sexual proclivities.”
And that history is still with us today. research shows that “the demand for African Americans for sexual exploitation is higher than that of other races and the penalties associated with trafficking African Americans are less severe.“ For similar reasons, “missing white children receive far more media coverage than missing black and brown children, despite higher rates of missing children among communities of color.”
Even within the consensual sex, or the performance of consensual sex, the white gaze fixates on Black women. Culturally, we tend to uphold that the American South is‘more racist’ than other parts of the country, yet in 2016, Pornhub, a highly popular porn streaming site, revealed that “Ebony and Black” categories were the most viewed in states such as Mississippi, Louisiana, Georgia, and Delaware.” Yet, when it comes to serious relationships, “Black women are the only race of women who experience exclusion from both Black and non-Black men.”
I can’t begin to tell you how many experiences I’ve had that speak to this. I’ve dated many non-Black men, and the brunt of racial abuse has come from them, but I’ve found that the Black men I’ve dated have also used stereotypes against me, branding me “too independent,” and “too outspoken.” But, let’s talk about the non-Black men first. Most of my experiences have been enjoyable, but they’re also the antagonists in my really horrible memories.
My first experience that made me realize that dating would be different for me because of my Blackness came when I was 15, and had my first boyfriend. I technically wasn’t allowed to date at this point, and probably for good reason. I dated a white guy who went to another high school because the majority of the white guys I went to high school with were not interested in dating me, let alone asking me to go to a dance (unless they we were friends *that did happen once), let alone spitting on me if I were on fire. His parents found out that we were dating and they told him to break up with me because they didn’t want him to date a nigger.
The next big incident was probably my sophomore year of college. I went to London that summer to see my family but I stayed in a hotel for a week in the city center, met a Polish guy on Tinder. Initially he was sweet, just like another guy at the beginning of your contact with them, and we had a couple conversations after I had left, and I remember him saying that I am Black so he would never date me.
There was a Lebanese guy who I had a very short date with in LA earlier this year who kept trying to tell me that he’s never dated a Black woman, but instead of saying that, he would just say “I’ve never dated a ….*hand gestures*” I finally interjected and finished his sentence, and was just completely weirded out that he couldn’t even formulate the words Black woman.
There was a Mexican guy who fetishized my “Black” body [you can literally insert body part there]. When I called him on it and asked him not to do it again, initially he apologized, and then he asked me to help him understand why that was wrong, which was met with him completely invalidating my feelings. He told me that I was “making everything about race,” made a very weird comment about how he supports BLM and “everything you guys are trying to do, but found me calling him out for fetishizing, “taking things too literally,” and “to another level.” That one happened last week.
So all in all, I have 10 years of traumatic experiences in dating that have made me question if I’m lovable, what I’m doing wrong, and why society hates me and women who look like me, when we just want to be loved like anyone else wants to be.
And despite these awful experiences, I get A LOT of “…well, maybe it’s the guys you’re choosing,” from well-meaning friends (many of whom are non-black and will never experience race-related trauma in dating), and even my Black family, who sometimes miss the connection not just between racism and the treatment BW receive in intimate relationships, but the further breakdown of colorism and sizism within that too.
Do you know how many times non-Black men have wanted to play house with me, and know so much about me and my life, but never want to tell their family about dating me? Yet, no one wants to acknowledge how racism affects dating for BW?
Do you know how many times non-Black men have played house with me, and sold me all of these dreams, sometimes, even introducing me to their entire family, and promising me the heavens and the Earth, only for them to get into relationships months, or even weeks later with women who are with non-Black, or mixed, or white-passing? Yet no one wants to acknowledge how colorism affects dating for BW?
Many times, men of all races comment on how muchthey love my curves, yet I did not have the privilege of seeing women my size in mainstream media, let alone being celebrated for their curves. And I’m a US size 8/10, which is still pretty slender in the grand scheme of things. Yet, no one wants to acknowledge how fatphobia adds yet another layer to dating for BW, who are culturally generalized as fatter than non-Black women?
I don’t know how I can make the connections any more clear YET, society is constantly putting ME at fault for that. It’s “well, you’re bad at choosing men,” when realistically, there’s no way for me to learn about my dates’ biases until they show me that they have them, and honestly, it can be very subtle.
And then, I encounter the many Black men do not want to date me because I’m too Black for them, I’m not white-passing, or mixed, or white enough. Let’s talk about the cultural phenomenon that sees Black men date BW up until they ”make it.” Whether that’s obtaining celebrity, affluence, or even becoming more educated, there is a phenomenon wherein BM marry light-skinned, white-passing, or white women to signal their higher status. I am not taking issue with anyone’s marriage or dating life, I am merely acknowledging the existence of a cultural phenomenon.
In Gold Digger by Kanye West and Jamie Foxx, West says “when he get on he’ll leave your ass for a white girl,” and then…he did.
In Kanye’s case, this phenomenon feels even more icky than usual because he’s currently married to a non-Black woman who regularly cosplays as a BW and has profited off of her appropriation of Black culture for YEARS at this point. Do NOT come into my comments saying “she’s half-Armenian,” because yes, that makes her a white woman. Spare me.
Again, this is not just some wild coincidence, as Research conducted by Sarah Adeyinka-Skold, adoctoral candidate in the Department of Sociology at the University of Pennsylvania revealed that stereotypes of Black women as ‘emasculating, angry, too strong, or too independent’ are *rampant,* so much so, that “both Black and non-Black men use the stereotypes or tropes that are popular in our society to justify why they don’t date Black women.”
Historically, these include the Sapphire stereotype, characterizing Black women as strong, masculine workhorses who labored with Black men in the fields whose aggressive and overbearing demeanor drives away her children and partners. The Jezebel stereotype of Black women as hyper-sexual in contrast to the “demure Victorian lady,” was also used to justify white slave owners raping their slaves, and breeding them with other slaves (which we already discussed re Virginia’s Slave Laws.) Then, there’s the Mammy archetype of a Black women completely dedicated to caring for a white family, especially the children, and though the Mammy is ultra-feminine instead of hyper-sexual, she is still undesirable by white and Black men because she’s typically overweight.
These caricatures are global, as Brooke Newman, associate professor of history and interim director of the Humanities Research Center at Virginia Commonwealth University argues in her piece, “The long history behind the racist attacks on Serena Williams,” published The Washington Post: “In late 18th- and early 19th century London, visual artists such as Isaac Cruikshank, James Gillray, Richard Newton and Thomas Rowlandson focused public attention on the unsuitability of women of African ancestry, not only as sexual partners for British men but also as free and equal imperial subjects. Caricaturists depicted African-descended women as simultaneously comical and frighteningly brutish, with jet-black skin, voluptuous bodies, thick lips and insatiable appetites. Black women, cartoonists suggested, posed a danger to the nation unless subject to white male control.”
Similarly, “The Golliwog doll originated in an 1895 children’s book by Anglo-American illustrator Florence Kate Upton called “The Adventures of Two Dutch Dolls and a ‘Golliwogg.’ ” Inspired by caricatures of black-faced minstrel performers, the Golliwog had coal-black skin, unruly hair, large lips and leering white eyes and teeth. The Golliwog became associated with a number of now-defunct 20th century consumer products, from English marmalade to Australian chocolate biscuits.”
This isn’t to say that Black men still grapple with stereotypes that are perpetuated in media and society as well; the ‘Mandingo stereotype,’ is perhaps the most prevalent and depicts Black men as is having a huge penis. Now think about how many times you’ve heard or believed that one off rip. Another stereotype still at play for Black men is Uncle Tom, a Black man who is “perhaps simple-minded and compliant but most essentially interested in the welfare of white people over that of other Black people.”
Stereotype attribution happens most to dark-skinned Black women, as well as Black men, but of course, it is especially harmful towards dark skinned Black women. We see this in the public reception of The Williams Sisters (esp while they were children), but while Venus, who is more slender, received less scrutiny, her sister Serena, who is more muscular and curvy, has had to endure abuse that is even more racist and sexist than what she did. Serena has been called too manly, and too aggressive, even within the context of her love life, and even by Black men. And then after years of Black men degrading her, they had the freaking nerve to say that she turned her back on them by marrying a white man, who, mind you, loves her and celebrates out loud, unlike any of her previous Black partners. The attacks she has endured show that the hyper-masculinization of Black women takes place mostly with dark-skinned Black women who are not what society would consider ‘skinny.’
In sharp contrast, light-skinned Black women are coveted and protected at all costs due to their proximity to whiteness. This is a huge shift from the 20th century stereotype of the Tragic Mulatta, a white-passing Black women often showed as “mean, unsympathetic, sexually-attractive,” and determined to marry any unsuspecting, well-to-do white man; however, this stereotype gets a lot of play.
Let me make the connection between these stereotypes and Black women’s lives experiences even more clear with some research. In 2010, The Journal of Experimental Social Psychology conducted a study to see how well people remembered Black women’s faces. They showed White participants a series of photos depicting men and women who were White or Black. Results suggest that Black women are more likely than Black men or White men and women to go unnoticed by others in a group or social situation.
They examined whether Black women were also more likely to go unheard when contributing to a group conversation. In this study, participants overheard a conversation between eight people, including two Black women, two Black men, two White women, and two White men.
They found that participants were more likely to mix up comments made by the two Black female speakers, suggesting that they perceived the two Black women as relatively interchangeable
Participants were also more likely to misattribute the Black female speakers’ comments to the other speakers in the group
Compared to Black men, White men and White women, comments made by Black women are more likely to go unheard when made to a largely White audience.
I found this study so interesting that a couple years ago I decided to experiment on my own. I did a lot of walking in the cities I’ve lived in so I started to see what would happen if I always continued straight ahead no matter who was in my path. And it revealed to me 1) that I’ve been subconsciously taught to get out the way, and 2) non-Black people have been subconsciously taught to not get out of my way; I’ve experienced people walking into me on a few occasions but, like unlearning apologizing excessively, it’s something I’ve continued doing to this day.
So let’s bring this all super full circle because now this idea of “allyship” has really taken hold, especially among White women. There’s a long history of Black women being the afterthought when it comes to rewarding basic human rights, and suffrage. The, all-white, National American Women’s Suffrage Association was at the forefront of the Suffrage movement, and they avidly silenced and ostracized Black women, simply for wanting to be part of their movement. Black women, led by absolute legends Ida B Wells and Lucy Parsons, had to create their own spaces, without support from prominent white women like the ultra-racist Susan B Anthony, even though they were fighting for the same damn cause. Black women also advocated for themselves, again, without the support of prominent Black men, while finding support mostly in their Black male partners, brothers, and fathers, or “the everyday Black men.” Angela Davis’ Women, Race, and Class lays this out plain as day and with a landmine of sources.
So, overall ,”This lie or myth that it’s all about you, the individual, and your agency, simply isn’t true. Structures matter. The ways that governments make laws to marginalize or give power matters for people’s life chances. It matters for their outcomes. It matters for love.” Sarah Adeyinka-Skold concludes, and I concur.
So many of my experiences and the experiences could’ve easily perpetuated the self-hate that Black women are taught at every level of society–in media, education, politics, medicine, and even within their own communities. But, instead, for me, awareness has only made me love myself more, and made me give even more of my time and support to Black women. And because of that, I’m also big on calling out when Black women model misogynoir through their opinions and actions, which only perpetuates the harm that we face as a group. As the great Monique, who is one of my faves who deserves all her flowers, would say, “[Black women] I love us. For real.” I’ll keep fighting for us. Even if it makes me unlikable or less desirable, I’m proud of my Blackness, I love my Blackness, and I love yours too.
In this deeply racist society, it’s simply not enough for you to “not be racist;”
It’s not enough for you to treat me with the respect I deserve;
It’s not enough for you to open your home to me, and your other Black friends;
It’s not enough for you to know what’s happening;
It’s not enough for you to be and to be ‘outraged;’
It’s not enough for you to know the history of racism in this country, or even, of every other country on the face of this Earth;
It’s not enough for you to read Angela Davis;
It’s not enough for you to know Malcolm X;
It’s not enough for you to walk in Black Live Matter protests;
It’s not enough for you to recognize your White Privilege;
It’s not enough for you to know how capitalism is inherently racist;
It’s not enough for you to repent for the sins of Whiteness: multiplying the number of Nat Turner’s, Emmett Till’s, and Henrietta Lack’s;
It’s not enough for you to be actively antiracist;
It’s not enough for you to hold your White counterparts accountable;
It’s not enough for you to unlearn your racism;
None of it is enough when you remain silent about it.
White supremacy doesn’t end by you doing your antiracist work in the shadows. White supremacy doesn’t end by you not making it inherently clear that you are antiracist. Again, and again, and again. Until you’re blue in the face. Anything less than making your antiracist action known to your white friends and white family is violence. Anything less than you normalizing talking about race with your white friends and white family is violence. Anything less than you continuously shouting from the rooftops how white people can unlearn their racism, and how white people can contribute to dismantling white supremacy is violence.
And your violence is no longer acceptable to me.
I’ve endured years of your silence. I’ve seen you consume every inch of Black culture except for the death that comes with it. Through the years, I’ve heard chorus upon chorus of your thoughts on the latest Black dance, win by your favorite majority-Black sports team, Twitter beef between your favorite Black celebrities, or clothing drop from your favorite streetwear brand that routinely coopts trends started by Black people. And throughout the years, I’ve heard your deafening silence when police killed Trayvon Martin, Clifford Glover, Claude Reese, Randy Evans, Yvonne Smallwood, Amadou Diallo, Oscar Grant, Eric Garner, Sean Bell, Jordan Davis, Jonathan Ferrell, Ezell Ford, Darius Pinex, Ramarley Graham, Yvette Smith, Darrien Hunt, Timothy Russell, Malissa Williams, Kendrick McDade, Akai Gurley, Rumain Brisbon, Aiyana Jones, John Crawford, Mike Brown, Tamir Rice, Walter Scott, Stephon Watts, Rekia Boyd, Trisha Miller, Dakota Bright, Corey Harris, Larry Jackson Jr., Tarika Wilson, John Crawford, Gary Hatcher, Manuel Loggins Jr., Nicholas Hayward, Kathryn Johnston, Samuel Dubose, Freddie Gray, The Charleston 9, Sandra Bland, Corey Jones, Alton Sterling, Roshad McIntosh, Ronald Madison, Joel Acevedo, Philando Castile, Patrick Dorismond, Jordan Baker, Timothy Stanbury, Terrence Crutcher, Keith Scott, Jordan Edwards, Stephon Clark, Bothem Sean, Atatiana Jefferson, Breonna Taylor, Ahmaud Arbery, and George Floyd.
I’ve endured your silence all 60+ chances you’ve had to speak out. I’ve endured watching you take zero of those chances, and still resolving to calling yourself my ‘friend.’ “Maybe they’re waiting for the next one?” I used to wonder. But, now I know that your silence means that you don’t see the perpetual violence against Blackness as your problem.
And it’s laughable.
Have you not lived this life in community with so many people? The next time your friend’s family member is sick, will you not console them? Will you not congratulate the next family member of yours who gives birth? Will you not check in on your friend who attended a funeral? Or, console the next one who has their heart broken? …Oh, I’m mistaken? You’ll be there for them? Even though none of those things directly have anything to do with you?
So, then, why the fuck are you not avidly fighting to make Black Lives Matter?
the state of having mixed feelings or contradictory ideas about something or someone.
Before all of this, ambivalent wouldn’t have been the first word I’d use to describe my worldview; it suggests far more moodiness and indecisiveness than I’d willingly associate myself with. But, one season of podcasting and pandemic-ing later, and I’ve realized that I feel nothing but ambivalence towards our human experience. My wide scope of conversations clarified for me that life, in all its dynamism, is fully incapable of being wholly one thing, or wholly another. It is forever shifting. The difference is, now, my ambivalence has lost its bliss–and, in my mind, it’s no coincidence that it has gone right at the close of season 1.
Over 16 weeks, I’ve had the privilege to learn and share insights from visionaries, educators, creators, and entrepreneurs who have sparked in me a gutsiness that I’m just beginning to get comfortable with. They knowingly joined me in conversations they imagined would ruffle feathers, induce introspection, and hopefully, inspire fervent criticism of American society.
In me doing more of that, my ambivalence might find its bliss again…but if it never does, the least I can do is thank you for listening, even when you hated what you heard.