The Best Days of My Life

This past weekend, after loading the twins up for a family trip into town, my husband and I settled into our seats and promptly started bickering over the music on the radio.  He wanted to hear rock, but no sub-genre of Rock in my Pandora library was satisfactory.  We finally agreed (reluctantly) on Bryan Adams' "Summer of 69," and as I belted out the lyrics along with the song, I ruminated over the words I was hearing.  This verse, in particular, gave me pause:

"Oh, when I look back now
That summer seemed to last forever
And if I had the choice
Yeah, I'd always wanna be there
Those were the best days of my life."

After a few minutes of silence I said, "How unfortunate for him," mostly to myself, but my husband heard, too.  He asked me what I was talking about, and I told him, "How unfortunate for Bryan Adams that that summer were the best days of his life."
"What do you mean," he asked.
"I mean, how sad is it that the best days of his life were spent playing in a band and chasing a superficial kind of love?  Because those days were fun, don't get me wrong, but they weren't the best I've ever had.  Not even close.  But right now, navigating parenthood with you, these are the best days of my life."

I think that so often in life we get caught up in the nostalgia that the past offers, that we forget the best days of our lives are the ones we are living right now.  My hope for the future is that through each stage of life, I am so immersed in the present that I can't view those days as any other than the best.

Feminine Wrath

You men think that you can extinguish our flames, and keep the fire all for yourselves.
You've forgotten, though, that you need matches to set the world ablaze.

And we have electricity coursing through our veins -- sparks sent straight from our souls to our fingertips -- and we could raze you to the ground with one little touch.

We never would, though.

Unlike you, we weren't built with a need to consume and destroy.

We Are the Fire This Time

“I imagine one of the reasons people cling to their hates so stubbornly is because they sense, once hate is gone, they will be forced to deal with pain.” - James Baldwin, The Fire Next Time

White people sure do love to show their support for bigotry under the guise of “freedom of expression” that is protected by the First Amendment.  They will yell from the highest rooftops about ‘protecting’ their freedom of speech, all the while suppressing that same freedom for others to call them out for their (pardon my language here) shitty, hateful, irrational viewpoints.  It isn’t their freedom of speech that is being threatened, however, but rather their ‘freedom’ to mock and intimate those of us who find them (and their viewpoints) morally repugnant and reprehensible.

They are protecting a mentality that traded economic success for humanity and enslaved hundreds of thousands; a mentality that saw Black skin, and said, “You are only three fifths of a person.”  A mentality that made terrorism its specialty with state-sanctioned lynchings and church bombings. A mentality that unjustly polices the bodies of Black boys and men, shoots them unarmed in the streets, and blames the community as they take their last breaths.  A mentality that will only ever see the Black half of my biracial nephews, but will never allow them to dip into the privilege my blue-eyed 2 year old already benefits from.

It’s a mentality that equates the alt-right with Black Lives Matter, even though the latter movement has never been responsible for a racially motivated murder.  One that puts the KKK and Black Panthers on the same level, despite the fact that one group’s members rely on anonymity and the other does not. A mentality that says, “Let’s wait for the facts before we make assumptions,” when the perpetrator is white, but assumes them immediately guilty when they are a Person of Color.  It’s a mentality that claims to weigh all sides equally, bu almost exclusively reserves the benefit of the doubt for the non-melanated population. A mentality that celebrates and encourages individualism and mediocrity in white men and boys, but forces exceptionalism and groupthink onto all Black boys and men.

No, this is not a system that today’s generation built.  But when we watch it working exactly as it was designed to - to disenfranchise and oppress those deemed ‘other’ - and remain silent, we might as well have.  We are complicit. And we don’t care because

We.

Don’t.

Have.

To.

We can turn off the television when we’ve watched the State murder another unarmed Black man.  We can choose to ignore the past 400+ years of oppression we’ve doled out and continue to perpetuate because part of our privilege lies in the ability to distance ourselves from ‘those racists on TV’.

With all of that being said, some of you are going to read through this essay and STILL argue that your privilege doesn’t exist or that you don’t clutch your pearls when you meet a Person of Color on the sidewalk.  You’ll read this and still sit silently through Thanksgiving dinner when your aunts, uncles, grandparents, and probably even your own parents spew racist shit you swear on social media you would never tolerate, but never confront offline.  You’ll use coded language to claim and innocence our people have never possessed, and never will. And before you spew vitriol and vilify me for inaccuracy in the comments section, remember that I, too, belong to the non-melanated population.  I’ve been to your cookouts, and I have sat in your business meetings. I have heard the words you speak when surrounded only by “your kind”, and I know the comfort you feel surrounded by your safety net of solidarity. It’s a solidarity that will no longer buy my silence.  My only goal is to raze your system to the ground.

You don’t need to be a card carrying member of the KKK when you regularly break bread with those who are.   White people, we have got to start collecting each other. And to those of us trying to work with our brothers and sisters who have had their humanity stripped away, we have to do more.  No, we didn’t build this system, but we uphold it every time we let any form of racism go unchallenged. Like James Baldwin said in The Fire Next Time, we (white people) are “destroying hundred of thousands of lives and do not know it and do not want to know it. . . But it is not permissible that the authors of devastation should also be innocent.  It is the innocence which constitutes the crime.”

We did not build this system, but we are also not doing anything to dismantle it either.  We are the authors of devastation, and it’s beyond time to claim responsibility and clean up our racist messes.

x

Nuance

nu*ance

1. A subtle difference in or shade of meaning, expression, or sound.

We exist in the nuance

The in-between

The short pause between breaths

As we prepare

Think

Muse

Over what to say

The perfect words to stream together

To make the

Perfect

Sentance

Paragraph

Monologue

We live in the nuance

But some people pretend the world is

Black OR White

This OR That

Fact OR Fiction

Objectivity OR Emotion

Uncompromising

Exact

Rigid

Inflexible

Unyielding

Nuance is not just impermissible

It is unforgivable

Irrational

For the weak and feeble

For powerless, fragile, breakable

Victims

We are not human nor are we robots

And we can never even hope to be dancers

Walk a thin line

Sit up straight

Care

But not too much

From a distance

With aloof detachment

And sober stoicism

We exist in the nuance.

But for some,

Between the lines is a place they will never venture to read.

A Plea to My White Friends

I shouldn't have to, but I feel the need to preface this post with a disclaimer.  So here goes:  I am white.  I do not hate white people.  I am not racist against white people.  I do not believe that white people are inherently evil or despicable, but I do believe that we all carry around racial bias that impacts each and every interaction we have.  And yes, all people have racial bias, but it is white people who benefit most.  So while I hold no animosity toward white people as individuals, I stand in direct opposition of white supremacy.  And I am incredibly critical of the actions of white people.  (Which is, in my opinion, one of the greatest side effects of Consciousness.)

Being white comes with the responsibility of dismantling white supremacy.  If we aren't actively using our privilege to call out supremacy and raze it to the ground; we are part of the problem.  You don't have to be a capital-R Racist in order to hold racist thoughts and opinions, either, so let's dispel that myth before we even get started.  If you aren't familiar with terms like white fragility, white privilege, and why it's so difficult to talk to white people about racism, I really encourage you to read those links, and then come back here to finish this post.

If you're new to Consciousness, and aren't exactly sure where to start, here is a list I made of things that have helped me in my own journey:

Perspective Matters; Seek out Voices of Color
This is probably one of the most important things I can recommend for the newly Woke.  I'm an avid reader, and I have a feeling that you probably are, too.  So when I first got woke, I wanted to learn anything and everything I could about the true state of racism in America and around the world.  But I noticed something during my "education," and it was that the people writing the books I was reading were overwhelmingly white.  I'm not trying to say that white people can't write books or articles about racism (heeeellllooooo, I'm writing one right now), but I just don't think they should be the go-to voice in this conversation.  This is why it is imperative that we seek out media created by People of Color.  
Watch TV shows and movies that celebrate and elevate Black lives and People of Color; and not just so you can know what it's like to be oppressed.  It is so important to understand the perspectives of People of Color, but it is equally important to be mindful that their skin color is not the summation of their humanity.  Shows like Fresh Off the Boat, Blackish, How to Get Away With Murder, and Scandal are all excellent shows that are full of intersectionality and are wildly entertaining.  Read books written by People of Color like Ta-Nehisi Coates, Cornel West, Jhumpa Lahiri, and Khaled Hosseini.  Learn why it matters to be represented in all facets of the media and entertainment industries.  To quote the flawless Viola Davis, "The only thing that separates Women of Color from anyone else is opportunity.  You cannot win an Emmy for roles that are simply not there."

Be Prepared to Be Uncomfortable
Talking about race and racism, especially for those of us who are the perpetrators, is difficult and uncomfortable.  I mean, nobody likes to be told that they're the bully on the playground who has terrorized other students, but it is necessary.  Because while the bully's feelings are going to get hurt, the kids who've been subjected to his or her oppression are more important.  The point of my very bad analogy is that talking about racism is difficult for people with white skin, but your discomfort DOES NOT outweigh the the legitimate pain and suffering Black Americans and People of Color face on a daily basis.  Growing is painful, but we can't just sit by while our societal growth is stunted just because we're too scared of progress.  We must grit our teeth, and push forward through the discomfort.  It is imperative that you learn how to sit with your discomfort.  

Lean in When Your Gut Tells You to Pull Away
So often, we're quick to react negatively when a Person of Color or woke white person call us out on our privilege or casual racism.  But rather than immediately react, take a minute to process what they're really saying.  Because most of the time, what we feel is a personal attack is really just someone in pain telling you that you have hurt them with your actions or speech.  Lean in to that discomfort; don't pull away.  If it's difficult to wrap your mind around an article that speaks about racism or how reverse racism isn't a thing, read it again.  Don't let your gut dictate how you navigate conversations on race.  Don't dismiss the struggles of People of Color because you haven't lived them firsthand.  And pleasepleaseplease do not ever force a Person of Color to prove their oppression to you.  That is beyond problematic, hurtful, and just an asshole thing to do.  Sorry.
And if you don't understand why we say #BlackLivesMatter, read this.

Check Your Privilege & Other White Peoples' Privilege
Once you've acknowledged racism and your privilege, great!  But your work has only just begun.  You must challenge yourself to be actively anti-racist Every. Single. Day.  We can't get tired of doing this work, because this work is some of the only work that matters.  You must challenge yourself to do better; to be better.  And we must challenge each other to do better and be better.  Even when it hurts our feelings, and even when we're the ones being problematic.  We have to start calling out our racist uncles when they make off-color jokes about People of Color and immigrants.  Recognize racist behaviors in your own life and actively seek to correct it.  Without holding each other accountable--no matter how many times our feelings are stepped on--we will never reach that post-racial society we love to talk about so much.
Your feelings and discomfort do not outweigh the lives of Black Americans and People of Color.  Acknowledging racism is supposed to make you feel uncomfortable, especially if you're white.  Sit with your discomfort, and learn how to manage.  This is one of the most necessary tasks in striving to be an ally--to sit with your uneasiness about racism and your compliance in the system.

For the Love of all that is Holy, PLEASE Stop Using MLK Jr. to Beat Down Black People
From the incredibly talented Truly Tafakari, "Dear White People:  Hear me carefully when I tell you the name of Martin Luther King, Jr. turns to ashes in your mouth whenever you utter it to chastise the very people he died to liberate."  Dr. King is not Black America's father, so please stop acting like he is.

This Movement Ain't About Us
First of all, stop using your white guilt as an excuse for why you don't get involved in fighting for racial equality.  Yes, white people should feel guilty for the part we play in continuing white supremacy.  However, too many of us use this guilt as a means to avoid doing any legwork because it's just too hard (someone call the waaaaambulance).  Here's the thing, though; it's not too hard.  We just have to realize that in this movement, there is no room for our white tears or guilt.  And we gotta stop getting so offended when our tears aren't met with coddling in spaces geared toward equality and justice.  It ain't about us, guys!
We do not get to usurp this space that has been carved out for People of Color and by People of Color.  We can (and should!) join the fight toward justice, but our place is not at the front.  Our place is in supporting our Brothers and Sisters of Color; not in speaking for them.  Stop clamoring for the spotlight because the spotlight does not belong to us.  We forfeited the right to have our skin color attached to equality when we saw it fit to legalize the action of owning human beings.  We are the oppressors; the colonizers; the imperialists; the destroyers.  And as long as we perpetuate these mindsets that have been passed down from our (white) forefathers, we will always be these things.

The burden of ending racism is ours to carry, but we do not get to pat ourselves on the back for finally recognizing the inherent dignity and humanity present in every single human being.  Remember, the world we inherit is not the world we're forced to perpetuate.  Let's do better, white people.  Let's be better.  Please.

Coming Clean: I No Longer Believe in the Church

The desire to write this post has been in my mind for months, but I’ve struggled in finding the appropriate words for what I’ve been thinking.  Even now, I’ve typed and re-typed a dozen different lines, still grappling with what I actually want to say.

I was introduced to Jesus when I was five years old, and I surrendered my heart to him at the age of seven.  I’m now twenty-five, and in the last twenty years I’ve spent a lot of time with the church.  I’ve also been spiritually abused by the church.  Purity culture told me that I was worthless unless I was a virgin, and that if I dared to masturbate, I was defiling myself and deserving of God’s disapproval.  I also learned at the tender age of fourteen that it was my responsibility to keep my body covered so that I did not become a stumbling block for teenage boys.  Time and again, I found that “protecting” the spirituality of others was more important than fostering my own.  When I tried to kill myself at sixteen, the church was silent.  And those who did speak up, only offered empty words about how I would get better if I only had more faith.  “You can move mountains with your faith,” they would say, “This is just a test, read the book of Job.  Let that fill you with hope.”  But it didn’t fill me with hope.  It just made me feel shittier.

I am desperately seeking a place where the community looks at my brokenness and says, “Me, too,” rather than offering a religious Band-Aid.  I am so tired of religious platitudes uttered by my well-meaning brothers and sisters that wind up hurting more than helping.  I need authenticity and grace.  I need a space full of safety and warmth.  I need a refuge that will welcome me on the days when I am bubbly and outgoing, but will also fully embrace me when I’m bitchy and difficult.  Most of all, I need a community of messy people who work toward creating a better world in ways that are both big and small.  A place that will never expect me to pray my depression and anxiety away, and that will never tell me I need to cover up, lest I lead my brothers in Christ to falter spiritually. 

I am finished with churches whose pews are full to the brim every Sunday morning, and whose members profess their closeness to Christ without ever pursuing a community outside the sanctuary.  I hate all the show.  I hate the pretense.  I hate that Christians are obsessed with scrubbing our dirtiness away; constantly pretending that we aren’t ugly and weak.  I am dirty.  I am broken.  I will not hide these things from God, and I will not hide them from humanity.  I will not pretend that my weakness disappears simply because God is the most powerful.  God is with us in the struggle; but the struggle does not disappear.  I will not hide my doubt, and I will not refuse to question.  I will not be so consumed with living a sin-free life that I neglect to use my talents and strengths to glorify my Lord. 

I am afraid that if I open myself to church, I’ll spend another ten years fixing spiritual damage done by in the name of God.  I have faith in my God, but I have lost any affection I once held for the church.  I hope that one day I find my way back again.  I pray that one Sunday morning I’ll walk through the doors of a sanctuary and simply feel the love of Jesus.  In the meantime, I will pray for grace, a heart that forgives, and a mind that is open to the body of Christ.

We must allow ourselves to be uncomfortable.

It's been almost an entire year since I last blogged.  WOW.  Since it's been forever, I just wanted to let everyone know that I plan on updating this blog semi-regularly within the next two months.  I'm dangerously close to finishing my BA in International Relations, so most of my time is devoted to that for the time being.  However, this is my last full semester of classes, so I will have considerably more free time beginning mid-May.

The past few months--through both school and my friends--I have learned a lot about the systemic racism toward people of color around the world.  So when I come back to blogging, you can expect to see quite a few posts dealing exclusively with race.  (Maybe even some guest posts from friends of mine?)  It's an important issue, and one that the United States (or any other country in the world, for that matter) can not afford to sweep under the rug any longer.  I also plan on tackling other hard issues like human trafficking--specifically how anti-trafficking advocacy can be both positive and damaging to the movement--, as well as pertinent global issues.

Talking about these things are not easy and often give us all a pit in our stomachs, but as I navigate my twenties, I am learning that in order to grow we must allow ourselves to be uncomfortable.  We need to learn to face things together:  with open minds, hearts, ears, compassion, and love.  We must stop being so reactive, and instead listen.  When others share their lived experiences with us, rather than becoming angry or defensive, let's try to listen instead.

I want this to be a space of listening and understanding.  A place where we can all agree that disagreeing is a good thing, because when we discover the motivations behind the behaviors and thoughts of those around us, our differences seem to matter less.  In fact, I think that the ways in which we are so fundamentally different--yet intrinsically the same--are the most beautiful things about the human experience.  I'm not going to be perfect, and I'm probably going to put my foot in my mouth more times than I can ever count.  But I'm here for the long haul.  If I say something offensive, please call me out (from a place of love, and not righteous indignation).  I want to hear your opinions, and I want to share mine with you.  And hopefully we'll each end up growing.