A few weeks ago, I wrote a Facebook post about how I was having a hard time writing about racism and sexism. An old mentor of mine gave some good advice about personal stories and using our pain to draw people in.
It bothered me.
It really bothered me.
[clickToTweet tweet=”We aren’t persons unless our pain fits some acceptable trope, some slot so outside the norm of decent behavior that white folks can safely point to that evil & not feel as if they’re also pointing @ something they’re capable of. #racism” quote=”We are not persons unless our pain fits some acceptable trope, some slot so outside the norm of “decent” behavior that white folks can point to that evil and not feel as if they’re also pointing at something they’re capable of.” theme=”style1″]
Not that I disagree with him on principle. In fact, I try to make sure my writing is personal and relatable and vulnerable because few people change their minds because of an excellent written treatise or bulletproof thesis. People change their minds because they are touched by stories and our shared humanity.
And yet.
I resented the idea that people only would care if I commoditized my pain.
That my pain was for their consumption. That unless white men or women saw people of color bleed and “hit them in the feels,” that our demand to be seen as human would be otherwise ignored.
That racism or sexism only counts if there is outrageous ugliness or trauma. That unless I weep or am irreparably harmed, it’s not enough.
It’s not enough to tell me daily in a thousand slights and sleights of hand that my life isn’t as valuable as some white dude’s – that my work is literally not worth the same.
It’s not enough.
Because unless I am in pain, you know, in REAL pain – none of this microaggression shit – until then, I am not human.
I am not a person.
We are not persons unless our pain fits some acceptable trope, some slot so outside the norm of “decent” behavior that white folks can safely point to that evil and not feel as if they’re also pointing at something they’re capable of.
I was angry.
I still am.
Racism is wrong. End of story. Sexism is wrong. End of story.
Telling folks they are not okay because of who they are, who they love, how they identify, and so many other things – that is wrong.
Full stop.
[clickToTweet tweet=”I resented the idea that people only would care if I commoditized my pain. #racism ” quote=”I resented the idea that people only would care if I commoditized my pain.” theme=”style1″]
We have bled enough.
We have bled enough.
We have bled enough.
We are still bleeding.
