November 9, 2016

I woke up this morning to the full realization that my country hates me and everyone like me.

I always knew it deep down. I talk about it. I write about it. But I guess I was still holding on to some naive notion that when faced with an explicit show of that hatred, my country would back down and back off, if for no other reason than to show good manners. To pretend to be better than it is.

Growing up black, you know your country doesn’t love you. It never has. And you wonder if it ever will. At best, it tolerates you with veiled disdain. At worst, it hunts you down and kills you, but at least has the decency later to pretend that it “wasn’t about race or oppression.”

It’s the same when you grow up brown, Asian, native, an immigrant, disabled, queer, nonbinary…

You learn to not be loved by your country. You even learn to be hated by your country. But you still hope somehow, somewhere, that there is some line that just won’t be crossed.

Well, you were wrong. We were all wrong. Our country hates us and is content to wallow openly in that hate, shove it in our faces even.

We won’t despair, though. Oh, we’re going to mourn and wail and scream in anger. We’re going to cry deep tears of heartbreak. But then we’re going to do what we always do when faced with the seemingly insurmountable strength of the oppressor.

We’re going to fight.

Throughout this whole cycle, my awesome parents have been so inspiring to me, even more so than usual. These are people who grew up in the south during the civil rights era. They know what it means to have the country’s hate all over their backs. But when I began to despair for the future, they always said, “No, don’t worry. We’ll be okay. We trust our God, and we always have. But our job is to look out for others. Look out for those with even less privilege than ours. Don’t get lost in your own despair. Stand up and fight for everyone.”

So that’s what I’m going to do. I will let my anger and tears fuel the fire. I will fight against the hate of my country. Because despite what so many others may think, it is MY country, too. And I WILL make it truly great again.

Let’s do this.

Welcome to Reality, Friends

In the U.S., we’re getting ready to elect a new president. Neither of the major party choices is great, but one is of particular heinousness this year. A lot of people have been talking about him and his heinousness, but honestly, his heinousness is not what I’m sick and tired of.

I’m sick and tired of all the well-meaning people of privilege who have all of a sudden woken up to find that oppression exists.

It feels like I’ve been surrounded by people—so-called “woke” people—who just can’t get over how appalling this candidate and his supporters are. They are traumatized and scandalized and flabbergasterized. And all I can think is

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Me, being so not impressed by your ignorant bliss

People who have lived with oppression are not surprised. We’re not flabbergasted or shocked or amazed. WE HAVE BEEN LIVING THIS AND TALKING ABOUT IT ALL ALONG. This candidate and his heinous views and words and actions are nothing new. His followers did not spring out of his head like the Gorgons’ snakes. They have always existed. They have always hated. We have always experienced—physically, mentally, emotionally—their hatred. It has hurt us. It has killed us. It still does.

If you are surprised by what’s going on in the U.S. right now, then you have been immensely privileged. You still are. You’ve been able to live in a bubble of blissful ignorance, even as many of you claim to be fully committed to the struggle as allies. You thought you were woke. You’ve been fast asleep.

This candidate’s rise to power and influence is not an anomaly. He is the natural product of the system of oppression under which those of us from marginalized identities have always lived. Welcome to reality, friends.

So now that you’re joining us in the land of the aware, what do you do? Wring your hands in despair? Cry about how awful the world “has become”? (Like it hasn’t always been this way for, like, ever.) Pester your friends from marginalized communities over and over about how they’re dealing with all this? (Same as we’ve been dealing with it for, like, ever.)

No.

Now, you fight. If you live in privilege, then this is your mess. You need to clean it up. You need to realize that it’s always been what it is, that you are, in fact, late to the game. You need to catch up and you need to get moving. Get over your shock and get to work.

I live in New York City, so bear with my little analogy here:

It’s like you wake up one evening and turn on the light to find a giant cockroach with bad hair and a fake tan in the middle of the floor. And you scream and holler and cry about how awful the giant cockroach is. And then you notice other cockroaches surrounding and supporting the giant cockroach and being just as awful. And you think, Oh noes! When did my apartment start being a place for horrible cockroaches full of hate?

Little do you realize that your apartment has always been full of cockroaches. In fact, your neighbor on the margins has known all about them. It’s dark on the margins and your neighbor has been covered in cockroaches the whole time. But you just didn’t see them. You had your lights out or you weren’t paying attention or whatever. All this time you thought you were committed to anti-cockroach praxis. But they’ve been there. They’ve always been there. They were there when you moved in and they’ll likely be there when you leave.

Unless you step up. But that means being proactive in combating the oppression of the horrible cockroaches all the time. Not just when your lights are on. Not just when you see the cockroach. All. The. Time. You gotta be putting out those traps and spraying that Raid. It’s a full-time job.

Let’s get over our privileged shock and despair and get to work, shall we? We’ve got some oppression we need to exterminate.

 

N.B. No cockroaches were harmed in the writing of this post. Also, I apologize to cockroaches everywhere for comparing them to a “basket of deplorables.”