First, I apologize if the thoughts here seem incoherent. My emotions are raw today.
One of the reasons I've stuck around with the library for so long is because it can be a bubble from the outside world. We as public servants run the atmosphere of our buildings. You have some libraries with great lively vibes. You have some that seem like mausoleums, quiet, revenant and protective of the information within. And some that seem like graveyards, long forgotten by the community, but still maintained if for nothing but face value.
And sometimes those bubbles block out what happens in the real world. You even see it with patrons of the library. A person facing housing insecurity finding air conditioning on a hot day. An elderly person having a tech 1-on-1 so they can pay their bills via their phone. And even anyone coming into a library and checking out a book expects to have their perspective twisted and tickled in some way to imagine a world that is not a current reality.
And as someone who works in libraries, it is our duty to create this bubble space. We house information. We provide assistance accessing this information. And we allow you to make your own opinion on what you discover. We are unbiased in our approach.
And while I spend hours within the library space, creating bubble spaces both on and off site, I too live in that space. The space of unbias. The space of dis-opinion. The space of passively providing information.
But as I write this, I know my bubble is cracking. And maybe it was long cracking a while ago when I was emotionally unstable and unable to determine my own feelings. But now, I find myself asking "why?" alot more and that can be problematic in a world that seeks to put information in the hands of the public with no opinion.
Why lends itself to a truer meaning of a task. And when you seek truer meaning, a lot seems unimportant. And the Why's all seem interconnected to some other part of you and it starts to create a core in you of values. And after being out of work for 2 months, a lot seems unimportant right now, including my career.
But what does seem important for me to do is write. And today as the US burns for the deaths of Ahmaud Aubrey and George Floyd, I also hurt for Tony McDade. Dying two deaths is beyond torment. To die physically and then have your life erased is beyond torment for the people left behind. What worth do people see in themselves if they know literally no one will care? That not only literally no one will care, but your whole existence will be erased with the simple misgendering of your personhood? And as I write this, I ask myself "Why should I care how I'm remembered?" I would be gone after all. But it really isn't about me. It's about the people left behind. When people like Tony McDade die and are erased, it invalidates any relationships that this person had within their community. Any hardships overcome. Any relationships mended. Any building of bridges. Any moments of a person finding themselves recognizing who this person (Tony) was is immediately invalidated. And the people left behind are left with a hard question: do I hold on to who this person was and how they impacted my life, in spite of what the rest of society/media may say or do I let them go because it is easier to forget because society/media want you to forget. Why? Because people like Tony do not deserve our recognition because they don't fit the societal protocol for being assigned female at birth.
And as I write this, it is not only Tony that face this double erasure. George and Ahmaud go through their own erasure as well. All the most upstanding, great looking, professional and fun Facebook and Instagram post won't save them from what society and the media will say about them. All the intimate relationships they had with family and friends. The character they both showed within their own communities. The influences they had on other black boys and probably some queer folks along the way. All gone and replaced with a fabricated story of aggressive, low-life, and degenerate status in the world. This erasure of personhood for the people left behind is wearing on me as a person not remotely related. I can't imagine for the family, friends, co-workers, church members, regular bartender at the local bar who have to now defend the legacy of the slain gentlemen.
I think the difference between Tony's story and that of George and Ahmaud's is the support. The thing about being Black is that having that shared experience, especially being Black in America, there is an instant solidification of solidarity. When a Black person is slain once again on social media it sends a ripple effect through the Black community because people have either actually seen or horribly envisioned their own loved ones in the same position. With their hands up, bright lights of cop cars all around. Face down with a knee to the neck screaming out for Momma. Choked to death by sworn officers of the local government meant to protect all people, but obviously, some people.
But Black people can just be black to be accepted into the wider diaspora, which is amazing to me because our whole existence is based in queer history. And when tragedy hits, and it hits often, we can only mourn for the people that had no other "marks" against them. Why? Because we have to prove that we have a reason to be upset (you see how crazy that sounds?). And any infraction (jail time, drugs, mental illness, being queer) deems you not worthy of public outcry because we have to prove why we are upset.
And honestly, I get it. There is just so much that people can bear and fight against. There is just so many things people can continually fight for. But I ask (for anyone who is reading this) to ask your own why? Why are you so sure to stand up for the death of this person and not the death of another? Why does it matter that this person happens to be black or trans or queer, or a black man? Why should their life not matter as much as theirs? Why should it not matter they were gunned down for the same complexion and same masculine of center position they all had in the world? Why should they be forgotten? Why should their story be retold by the same people who damn all people who look like them? Why is there power to rewrite an entire life's story in a tweet or post?
But to the point, the reason that I write: I write so that when I leave here and my story is twisted and changed, I want the people that had the most impact on me to know that our bond is not invalidated. And through that bond, I hope that other bonds flourish in areas unimaginable like weeds through concrete.
One of the reasons I've stuck around with the library for so long is because it can be a bubble from the outside world. We as public servants run the atmosphere of our buildings. You have some libraries with great lively vibes. You have some that seem like mausoleums, quiet, revenant and protective of the information within. And some that seem like graveyards, long forgotten by the community, but still maintained if for nothing but face value.
And sometimes those bubbles block out what happens in the real world. You even see it with patrons of the library. A person facing housing insecurity finding air conditioning on a hot day. An elderly person having a tech 1-on-1 so they can pay their bills via their phone. And even anyone coming into a library and checking out a book expects to have their perspective twisted and tickled in some way to imagine a world that is not a current reality.
And as someone who works in libraries, it is our duty to create this bubble space. We house information. We provide assistance accessing this information. And we allow you to make your own opinion on what you discover. We are unbiased in our approach.
And while I spend hours within the library space, creating bubble spaces both on and off site, I too live in that space. The space of unbias. The space of dis-opinion. The space of passively providing information.
But as I write this, I know my bubble is cracking. And maybe it was long cracking a while ago when I was emotionally unstable and unable to determine my own feelings. But now, I find myself asking "why?" alot more and that can be problematic in a world that seeks to put information in the hands of the public with no opinion.
Why lends itself to a truer meaning of a task. And when you seek truer meaning, a lot seems unimportant. And the Why's all seem interconnected to some other part of you and it starts to create a core in you of values. And after being out of work for 2 months, a lot seems unimportant right now, including my career.
But what does seem important for me to do is write. And today as the US burns for the deaths of Ahmaud Aubrey and George Floyd, I also hurt for Tony McDade. Dying two deaths is beyond torment. To die physically and then have your life erased is beyond torment for the people left behind. What worth do people see in themselves if they know literally no one will care? That not only literally no one will care, but your whole existence will be erased with the simple misgendering of your personhood? And as I write this, I ask myself "Why should I care how I'm remembered?" I would be gone after all. But it really isn't about me. It's about the people left behind. When people like Tony McDade die and are erased, it invalidates any relationships that this person had within their community. Any hardships overcome. Any relationships mended. Any building of bridges. Any moments of a person finding themselves recognizing who this person (Tony) was is immediately invalidated. And the people left behind are left with a hard question: do I hold on to who this person was and how they impacted my life, in spite of what the rest of society/media may say or do I let them go because it is easier to forget because society/media want you to forget. Why? Because people like Tony do not deserve our recognition because they don't fit the societal protocol for being assigned female at birth.
And as I write this, it is not only Tony that face this double erasure. George and Ahmaud go through their own erasure as well. All the most upstanding, great looking, professional and fun Facebook and Instagram post won't save them from what society and the media will say about them. All the intimate relationships they had with family and friends. The character they both showed within their own communities. The influences they had on other black boys and probably some queer folks along the way. All gone and replaced with a fabricated story of aggressive, low-life, and degenerate status in the world. This erasure of personhood for the people left behind is wearing on me as a person not remotely related. I can't imagine for the family, friends, co-workers, church members, regular bartender at the local bar who have to now defend the legacy of the slain gentlemen.
I think the difference between Tony's story and that of George and Ahmaud's is the support. The thing about being Black is that having that shared experience, especially being Black in America, there is an instant solidification of solidarity. When a Black person is slain once again on social media it sends a ripple effect through the Black community because people have either actually seen or horribly envisioned their own loved ones in the same position. With their hands up, bright lights of cop cars all around. Face down with a knee to the neck screaming out for Momma. Choked to death by sworn officers of the local government meant to protect all people, but obviously, some people.
But Black people can just be black to be accepted into the wider diaspora, which is amazing to me because our whole existence is based in queer history. And when tragedy hits, and it hits often, we can only mourn for the people that had no other "marks" against them. Why? Because we have to prove that we have a reason to be upset (you see how crazy that sounds?). And any infraction (jail time, drugs, mental illness, being queer) deems you not worthy of public outcry because we have to prove why we are upset.
And honestly, I get it. There is just so much that people can bear and fight against. There is just so many things people can continually fight for. But I ask (for anyone who is reading this) to ask your own why? Why are you so sure to stand up for the death of this person and not the death of another? Why does it matter that this person happens to be black or trans or queer, or a black man? Why should their life not matter as much as theirs? Why should it not matter they were gunned down for the same complexion and same masculine of center position they all had in the world? Why should they be forgotten? Why should their story be retold by the same people who damn all people who look like them? Why is there power to rewrite an entire life's story in a tweet or post?
But to the point, the reason that I write: I write so that when I leave here and my story is twisted and changed, I want the people that had the most impact on me to know that our bond is not invalidated. And through that bond, I hope that other bonds flourish in areas unimaginable like weeds through concrete.
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