ok so hear me out… I’m an angry black woman. For the first time, I’m not apologizing. (Pt 2)
Your peace doesn’t come at the price of my discomfort.
In June 2020, the murder of George Floyd was the catalyst for a cultural reckoning from which we’re still riding the waves. It sparked an awakening in me, leading me to write my first-ever essay, titled, “I’m an angry black woman. For the first time, I’m not apologizing,” with 730DC. These last four years have taken us all on a journey to reflect on who we are within the systems built on the backs of Black people, stolen labor, and systemic oppression. When I reflect, I feel like we are sadly in a similar place, facing similar challenges as white supremacy and postcolonialism viciously swing during their final fight. In the wake of all of this, I reflect on what I’m still angry about and what I've grown from during these years. It feels important, if not urgent, to be introspective and diligent about holding onto the things that infuriate us to ensure we don’t become passive in our own oppression.
I am an angry Black woman, and I’m still not apologizing.
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The soft click of my heels alert the fellow museum-goers of my approach. I try to take in the massive amounts of history that surround me while I stroll through the Wallace Collection in London, England. Tucked away in a quiet street, the classic mansion now turned museum holds some of the best artwork in London and even afternoon tea in its giant atrium. It’s miraculous, one, for how much stuff they can fit into each room, and two, how increasingly ornate and over the top each space can be, as if in competition with itself to be more tasseled, gauche, and grandeur than the last. The collection itself was built in the 18th and 19th centuries by the Marquesses of Hertford and Sir Richard Wallace and depicts the UK of the shows and novels. The great empire of wealth, class, and centuries of tradition.
I loathed every second I was there.
As I passed each pale face heralded as the beauty of the time, I placed my dark hands deeper in my pockets. Museums display the history of the artwork itself, but I wonder how many unpaid hands molded this place as much as the ones who created the sculpture. Tucked away in a hallway, hundreds of jewels, gems, and artifacts are arranged systematically in an order made best for viewing. As I studied every one, measuring their size, cut, and worth, I questioned the true story of each jewel. Where did it actually come from? Was it stolen or gifted under false pretenses? While the beginnings of their stories are unknown, the intention behind how they ended up in this display case are clear. They were taken and then made available for consumption.
I can never have fun browsing European art collections.
Here’s where people get it wrong. Most people think Black people’s anger is based solely on major tragedies like the horrific murders of George Floyd or Breonna Taylor. While that’s part of the pain, my anger is built layer by layer, on a foundation of hundreds of small microaggressions so casual that, when you call them out, it’s dismissed as trivial. White people retort, “‘Oh it’s just a painting,” “It’s in the past,” “It’s just a magazine,” “It’s just a joke.” But it’s not just “something” when it amounts to the constant reminders of how your skin tone, culture, and needs don’t matter, so the anger simmers.
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I’m embarrassed to admit this, but I used to chase whiteness. It feels like everyone harbors a quiet disdain for Black people, which made me uneasy fully embracing my community. I didn’t want to be seen as something other to all my friends. My Black friend. Pretty for a Black girl. Oreo. Quirky Black girl. I want to be a normal girl. Not a girl with a label attached.
After being weighed down by all the layers of microaggressions and snide comments, I started to shrink, becoming less of myself and more of what the world around me wanted me to be. Over time, acting how I was “supposed to” just became part of me. I kept myself in check to make sure I wasn’t falling into the trope of the angry Black woman, an archetype who is loud, rude and worthy of dismissal, because I wanted to prove everyone wrong. Over time, I realized it’s because I’d rather have been chosen than been authentic.
Eventually I settled into another trope, as the token Black woman, but with a gnawing resentment.
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Growing up in primarily white spaces as the only Black girl equates to being fluent in understanding white priorities. One thing I realized early is that white people really care about where they’re from. French, Irish, Italian, German, Russian, etc. I guess I can’t blame them, if I knew where my family was from, I think I would care a lot about it too. That’s just not something I can easily learn - tracking family history wasn’t important as imported goods.
Another thing I realized is that with the right documentation, if your ancestors are from a European country, you can often apply for citizenship. This is a fact I learned with increased understanding in 2016 as friend after friend started the process to get their second citizenship. Each IG story captioned with ‘Just in case things go any further south in America’ [Insert European flag of your choice here]
I’m jealous.
If things go further south here, I assume they are going to come for me first. Or maybe undocumented folks first. Or actually maybe Muslims, since he did do that ban once. He also generally hates poor people, which touches all backgrounds. Either way, those of us most vulnerable have our fates intertwined with this country. For better whatever this is or for worse.
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Actually, here’s another thing.
The fall of Roe was a dreadful day in many women’s lives. But if you’ve heard someone say it was the absolute worst day of their lives, my guess is that they’re probably a white woman. To be clear: abortion rights ending is horrific. I’m appalled. I’m terrified knowing this is just the beginning. But this isn’t the worst thing that’s happened to me, just another thing.
I hear white women liberals consistently sound the alarm on how the world has now become dark. Calling for marches while donning pink pussy hats. Fundraising millions for clinics and pro-choice candidates. This level of mobilization made me jaded.
The energy to make a change is there. It just only happens once the fire is at their doorstep.
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I’m trying to figure out what I would say was the worst news I’ve heard in my life. I remember learning about Emmett Till and seeing the power one white person’s lie had over a Black child’s life. I realized I needed to make sure I’m perceived the right way or else. Trayvon Martin was awful. I was only one year older than him when he was murdered and it made me realize that us teenagers were still at risk. Sandra Bland was terrifying. Black women’s bodies were brutalized too. That reminds me of Breonna Taylor, she was just asleep. Was anywhere safe? Oh right no, because I think of Ahmaud Arbery, he was just going for a run. I felt a pang of fear going for a walk outside for a week. I think about hearing how the breakdown of the Black family was systematic, but they still ridicule us for it afterwards. Oh right! That reminds me of learning the origins of gynecology. Horrifying that they did all those procedures without anesthesia. Also, did you know Black mothers have the highest chance of dying during or right after childbirth in this country? I learned that sitting next to one of my Black girlfriends. The reality that if I was pregnant, statistically I have the largest chance of never being able to raise my child made me question wanting a family at all.
By the time Roe fell, I was already numb. My body too weary from its politicization to feel any further pain.
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I’m subjected to frustrating conversation after conversation about how horrible it is for women today. ‘It’s Gilead!’ ‘It's giving a Handmaid's Tale!’ ’They want it to be the 1800s again!’
This perspective is a luxury. What I would give for the only weight falling on my shoulders to be those of womanhood.
To be completely real, it’s always been terrible for women. And it’s definitely been worse to be a BIPOC woman in pretty much any point of history ever.
I’ve been angry. I’m mad you are just starting to be too.
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To be clear: My anger isn’t because someone who is not from an impacted community is passionate about these issues. Quite the contrary. It’s imperative to foster allyship to make a change. I just get mad when you champion an issue and only take a surface level approach.
Do you care about nationwide abortion access? Great. Make sure you dig into the full picture and speak to all the difficulties in all the communities that it impacts.
Voting rights? Look at the history of gerrymandering, the disfranchisement of poor communities, and the systematic deepening of racial tensions to consolidate power.
Queer Rights? If you don’t mention Trans rights and the hardship for Black queer people, my response is ????
I don’t ask you to be in a caught in an hard binary. There is not only one way to support. What I do ask is when you show up, do everything you can to not erase those most impacted.
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My anger mobilized me to decide that no one deserves to feel like an afterthought. My anger made me realize my joy should not be contingent on someone else’s acceptance.
I’m Black. Okay... People are racist and don’t like Black people. Okay... People are sexist and racist and so they really hate Black women. Okay… I just don’t get what any of that has to do with me.
I’m no longer angry that all these things are true. I came to terms with that years ago. But the burden I carry from other people’s prejudices infuriates me.
Other people’s hatred is now my problem. I can’t safely travel. I can’t see people who look like me lead stories. I can’t date the same way lighter skinned people can. I can’t be seen for myself. Whenever I look up anything online I have to type “black girl” afterwards. Audiences will claim I’m not “relatable” because my skin is darker than theirs. I can’t have a weird interaction without needing to dig deeper to worry if they were being racist.
I don’t care if you hate me for being who I am. I have no control over that. I would like to exist. And if you’re mad about anything I said, well I’m mad at you too. I’m not sorry.
Your peace doesn’t come at the price of my discomfort any longer.
Support groups that to promote racial equity. See a list of places here + here. Bonus points if you find small local groups too. They are often doing the best work but are very under resourced.
This group mobilizes specifically white communities to support racial justice. You can get involved in their local chapters and their site offers tons of resources.
Question: How often do you consume something from the pov of a Black protagonist? Or an all Black cast? I challenge you to read/watch something that you normally wouldn’t that features Black folks. Here’s a quick list of my favorites:
Insecure, Living Single, Seven Days in June, Get a Life Chloe Brown, anything Jasmine Guillory has ever written, any art piece by Kara Walker, Amy Sherald, Harlem, anything Toni Morrison has ever written, bell hooks essays, First Wives Club (the show), Black Lady Sketch Show. I’ll stop there but there’s options :)
Share this newsletter with someone you think will benefit from it.
If you don’t know the history of Juneteenth, here is a great breakdown from the New York Times.
A lot of crazy news happened this week.
Hunter Biden got convicted of gun charges.
Republicans are calling for an all out persecution of Dems come January next year in retaliation to the Trump verdict.
Evangelicals voted against IVF use in the church and now are questioning women pastors and divorce.
The famous hot dog eating man can’t compete at this year’s Nathan’s contest because he signed a deal with a vegetarian hot dog company (let the man eat!)
We keep referring to hot men as rodents?
The Pope keeps being the worst and continues to use slurs against the LGBTQIA+ community after widespread outrage. During Pride month?! Sir, please.
Some good news though! The Supreme Court is upholding wide access to the abortion pill. And we got the best pop album I’ve heard in a longgg time!
P.S. In the next edition, I’ll be covering the June 28th presidential debate (help us all!) If you have any questions, concerns, things you want broken down - let me know in the comments! Until then…
In solidarity,
Chanda
Just finished reading this and was snapping the entire time. Thank you for reminding us that we don’t have to be sorry for shit or not mad/angry about things people do and say to us as Black women.
Thank you for not apologizing for your anger. It's necessary and it's powerful.