A longtime friend of mine told me that nowadays she no longer sees me as black. She made it sound like it was a compliment and maybe trying to prove that our friendship was now beyond race.
I wanted to tell her to fuck off. I’m black. Why is it you have to ignore me? Why am I only good when my blackness becomes invisible? Why do you deny a part of my identity?
Only when you ignore my blackness can you interact with me as an equal?
SMH
I’m black. Deal with it.
What’s up with their obsession with trying to prove our sameness? Kumbaya bullshit.
Maybe I’m just overreacting…please go ahead and send me your thoughts. I’m I cray for feeling that way?
Let’s face it, RACISM, SEXISM , etc., are things that exist and that I’ve experienced way too much. Partly explains why I’m currently in women’s studies and have been reading, living, raging about the subject since I was 13. It’s now been ten years.
Sometimes I feel like many activists are part of a big circle, while I want to be a straight line. I experience crap and moved on, get MOTHER FUCKING pissed yet construct upon it. Try to make it in my life and succeed (however I define success) without being in a circle where I feel my children would have to live in a messed up world and so on.
I see, and more than ever, SEEK beauty in my life. I’ve become extremely more selfish to keep my sanity while still being an activist.
I’m I fooling myself? HELL YEAH! Do I feel my approach is true happiness? Fuck no. But this is the only way I can pursue the present without dwelling over the past and crying about the future.
The best example was me going to Israel. I’m Muslim, black and female the triple treat. Yet anywhere I felt would go against my morals or where I was told I would face racism or other -ism… or simply plainly told not to go to. I fucking went. I did it. I know I’ve advanced my vision of black feminism further than ever.How? By being in their faces where they did not want me to be. They saw me, hated or sometimes adored me.The thing is, I’m sure they will never forget me.
Don’t get me wrong. I never tried to please them. In fact, I asked a member of the Knesset why she was participating in something many considered to be an apartheid state. Just to see how she would react and of course get her response. She gave me the warmest and most detailed answer. I disagreed but the mutual respect was there. It’s sad they don’t respect you at first sight, but I’m dealing with it. I’m pretty sure next time she sees a black woman she will think twice.
Anger is so tempting especially when deliberately provoked. But know that the person deliberately provoking you knows and seeks to get anger or indifference and furthermore negative shit from or out of you. Haters are NOT all idiots. Wherever I was, in front of some Mexican military officer trying to degrade me or a member of the Israeli parliament. My smile backed with a ton of knowledge only lead to admiration and respect. Anger was what they wanted out of me and I stood there telling them they would not get it from me. The frustration or amazement in their faces was worth the pain, because I know and they know they cannot break me.
With anger it’s more me trying to prove how I could break them. The truth is.. I’m not that strong. I hold my ground, let them know I will not be broken and focus on myself because it’s the only thing I control.
So here I am, not the most provocative or loud activist. I want to be happy. Knowing and fighting too much makes you forget about yourself and I realized I’m not that heroic.
I’m writing this because I just can’t sleep. A very close cousin of mine told me I was a “fake” black. It was extremely insulting and painful for me. It’s true, I’m a young black muslim woman that moved to Canada in 1997 straight from Mali. Nowadays, I speak spanish, have studied canadian, american, mexican and European history extensively while still reading Cheick Anta Diop and many more.
I was often the only black girl in everything I’ve ever done. From skiing in the canadian winter to getting repeatedly checked in the jungle of Chiapas because I looked weird. I’ve not been in a predominately black room often (even in family events).
You can imagine my relief when I went back to Mali and was finally not an outcast. At least color wise. Yet, I felt more rejection there. I struggled and finally got accepted but only partially because I came from the white’s man world.
My college educated self felt even more pain having or, at least trying, to find a place in the dating scene. Somehow reading about and studying black women’s history and being a black feminist scares a shipload of black men. At first, they pretend it’s all good. But I’ve had to I break up mostly because I could simply not fullfil a serious discussion with them. I don’t recall, however, having the same issue with other males.
I go ahead and work in a world dominated by non blacks where I have to fight and struggle EVERY TIME. Because I’m black. Yet I’m constantly told I don’t know what racism really is. Or that I’m unaware of what being black means even if I face racism every day.
I’m tired, exhausted and discouraged. I wonder why I fight so much only to be told by who I fight for that I’m wasting my time.
I’ve tried to be selfish and only strive on my personal gains….but I can’t. Every time I just want to get race out of the discussion someone reminds me of my blackness. Something I’m extremely proud of….but has been the source of so much pain.
