I’m gonna start this off by saying, I am mad asf at the injustice. mad asf at the disrespect. mad asf at the disregard of black women. and mad asf at the lack of empathy + caucasity of white women, white fragility, white privilege, white entitlement and white systems alike.
I didn’t sleep well last night, so I’m going to get this off my hands and tell you why. I want to tell you a story. A story about a white (woman) person who I considered a friend and ally—but now, am having second and third thoughts about. So picture this, it’s a Friday evening, we’re having a cocktail or two, music flowing while socially distancing at a local restaurant a few weeks ago. We are swapping stories about all that has occurred in each of our lives over the past several months. The stories are intriguing, colorful and some even not so happy—but still being shared. Then she says, “I was mad at you and have been since May—(it’s now August) for what you said about ‘people’ not being sensitive to the current events happening around the world in relation to Black people. You made a blanket statement; I felt like you put me in the same category as ‘them’ and you know me, you know that I care about you and I was really upset that you did that.”
Now to give some context, this was an email thread that she’s referring to, in which it posed the question “would you rather go back in time 100 years or forward 100 years?”—mind you this came a few days following the George Floyd murder and subsequent protests. I replied in my honest rhetoric basically saying that it was the wrong timing for such a hypothetical question—in light of the current climate of social injustices. Simple. Yet SHE was offended by my observation. She was not attempting to understand my perspective, nor my (our) plight as a black woman/women, or have empathy for my emotions, or even willing to try to understand the idea that this hypothetical question was offensive to ME. She chose to be mad at me.
Mad.
Mad?
Wow.
I gave her time to rephrase and gather herself, while I simultaneously got my thoughts together before reacting to such a comment, as I sat in silence. Actually stunned. She then stated, “then later on I went to a conference (I’m not sure of the nature) and it became clear to me that you shouldn’t be the one that has to teach me about racism, it’s not your job to do that—it’s mine.” Hmm I paused and thought, shook my head in agreement, but also thought she kinda gets it. Or does she? Did she read that somewhere? Is this a ploy to get me to feel like she is an ally? Or is it truly genuine? Is she really my friend?
I had a total of about 5 minutes to process ALL of this information and give a response. It was very hard to not kill every bit of this friendship with my emotive words, but I paused and said, “so you went 3 whole months being upset and didn’t feel that you could say this before now?” Her response was, “well I wanted to, but I didn’t think you would be receptive”. She had a point. Maybe I would have been, maybe not. However, it could have made for a good discussion at the time. But instead of bringing up the elephant in the air over a span of 3 months, she dished out seemingly empathized texts to “check in” with me and my family, instead of facing the issue head on. I don’t like that.
After she talked about how it wasn’t my job or an expectation of me to teach her about racism, almost in the same breath, she spoke of another (black) woman that she considered a friend. She was vehemently “upset” with her due to a social media post that she wrote stating that “if you don’t understand my problems as a black woman, don’t talk to me” or something like that. She, again, was mad that the friend did not take into consideration her friendship when speaking her truth. Hmm. So now, the onus falls upon the writer to single out “the good white people” (and most likely apologize in advance) rather than for “the good white people” to take into consideration that the writer is only addressing people of opposition—and consequently recuse themselves from the “they” that the writer is speaking of. Got it. Entitlement much?
And that alone made me think twice about this “friendship” that we have cultivated. I later was able to differentiate between the support and concern she has given for my family over the past couple years, and the conversation that we had that night. Long story short, I chopped it up to “she just doesn’t get it, and she doesn’t want to”. Regardless of how much we have “related” in the past, this wasn’t going to be one of those times. I now knew her place in my life.
Each day, we as black women, most of us, enter into spaces managed by our counterparts, virtual or not, with the weight of America’s injustices, our families needs, our own BS, attempting to navigate through our work needs—with workplace microaggressions to boot. And not to mention attempting to protect our own sanity and mental health. We’re then labeled as the “mad Black woman”, merely because we choose to speak up for ourselves and not allow just anyone to speak for us. And I’m growing very tired of the mental gymnastics that I must prepare myself for daily to be status quo and NOT say how I really feel. Especially when systematic racism is not only happening before our eyes, but also unaddressed in the workplace.
I’m tired.
We as Black women are tired.
MF tired.
Every form of protest, is still protest. And this is mine in 1000 words or less.
RIH Breonna Taylor 💔
Nik
Nikita Vonee’s Blog 