I've been figuring out what is my own way of resisting. I honestly wanted to be at a rally. My Mom kept my sister and I at marching rallies as kids. Most of them were for making Martin Luther King Jr. a national holiday (yeah. Let that soak in like slow rain. I'm 31). Never anything to the magnitude of what we are seeing today. But there is a sense of community that is not felt throughout the everyday life of Black people that you feel at a rally. Everyone, hundreds of people, are there for the same reason. It's a feeling that I think white people feel all the time, but take for granted. People of color always walk in the room expecting to be othered. But at a rally, everyone who is not there for the purpose of said rally, they are othered. And not only are they othered, you have reasoning and support in the outsiders othering. Because you have a slew of people crying out saying Yes, I see your experience and I too have the same experience, and it won't be ignored.
I didn't go to the rally here in Charlotte. I even took time off for it. It wasn't until I was watching the Black Queer Town Hall that I had words to explain what I was feeling. While, yes I am Black, proud to be Black, and get the same subjugation because of my skin, but I am still seen as a target by people within the movement. But Zuri, you pass. I wouldn't look twice at you. Well, you see that is passing privilege and it is really just a privilege to everyone outside of myself. Because within myself, I am always mindful that if I am outed in a crowd of people, who will speak up for me? Will anyone protect me? While there is a small margin of people that wish actual harm to trans people that are in the Black Lives Matter Movement, but there is enough descension to fear even people speaking up on your behalf if harm were to come you. And in some regards, I get it. It's a survival tactic that Black people have had prevalent within our community starting with Paper Bag ratings. Any thing outside of being Black that made it apparent that you were "other" made you less than, even with your own Black community. Why? Because Black people have a high margin for dying, period. And that margin grows with more attributes that are not deemed acceptable by society, created under the foundation of white supremacy. And that sickness is bred out of years of subjugation to white supremacy. If you are told, over centuries, that you are less than to a superior race, after a while, no amount of education or reassurance will change the rhetoric that this person of color has been told. Literally, from birth to death, people of color are told through many facets of life that to survive that they must consider themselves less than to the superior race. The great thing about the current Black Lives Matter movement is that the conversation is around white supremacy is everywhere in the movement, a topic that both queer and black people have discussed for years in various different ways. And however you are expressing your frustration, the overall consensus is that people are done and over with white supremacy.
So I didn't go to the rally. I beat myself up over it (which you shouldn't) and I began to figure out what I could contribute (which you should). I've been having Sunday Brunch with some close friends every so often online since quarantine. This was a way that I could: a) interact with people that I love, but under some kind of structure. I suck at regular conversations. And with the current climate, if you aren't talking about something worthwhile (sharing of information, creating safe spaces and strategies to take care of yourself, ways to resist) then what are we doing? and b) I need to be a better friend to the people that matter to me the most, especially now, so I am taking my talents of library programming and putting it to work connecting with people that matter. But I digress.
Anyway, during one of the sessions, we began talking about joy, particularly Black Joy being a form of resistance. And if you think about it, it is a strong way to resist. I can't think of what pisses off racist more than seeing Black people expressing their joy. You can see cases where violence ensues when Black Joy intrudes on the bubble of white superiority. The case of Cece McDonald is a prime example of Black Joy impeding on white supremacy to the point of violence. Or the youth that were tackled at their pool party. Black Joy makes racist irate.
So I've decided that my form of resistance will be to show my joy. Showing my joy is hard and doesn't come easy because the world tells me that my value is less than. But I will. Because I have to. I worry about being genuine because my joy doesn't come easy. But I do believe happiness and peace is something that has be fought for and cherished once moments of freedom present themselves, especially being Black. Especially being Trans. I also fear that my joy will be a target. Elijah McClain was dancing down the street and was murdered by police. Elijah played the violin and that brought them joy. My sister and I played the violin in high school. My sister loved it and it brought (and still does bring) great joy to her. And that same joy that resides in my sister, resided in Elijah. Elijah didn't deserve to have his joy physically stolen, but I be damned if anyone took that same joy away from my sister without resisting.
So my joy will be my form of resistance. And normally, I don't put my own goals out for the world to see. It's none of your business. But I felt that putting the idea that Black Joy is a form of resistance was important. It needs to be said more. Black Joy needs to be protected, especially in a world filled with unspoken trauma and unprecedented resistance. And I feel more people will feel able to resist if they find their own form of resistance. This is just one. And I'm not the only one recognizes the power of Black Joy: Austin Channing's Still Here: Black Dignity in a White Society touches on this. I haven't read the book, but the podcast was FIRE!
So without further ado, I'm going to get busy creating, protecting, and projecting my joy.
I didn't go to the rally here in Charlotte. I even took time off for it. It wasn't until I was watching the Black Queer Town Hall that I had words to explain what I was feeling. While, yes I am Black, proud to be Black, and get the same subjugation because of my skin, but I am still seen as a target by people within the movement. But Zuri, you pass. I wouldn't look twice at you. Well, you see that is passing privilege and it is really just a privilege to everyone outside of myself. Because within myself, I am always mindful that if I am outed in a crowd of people, who will speak up for me? Will anyone protect me? While there is a small margin of people that wish actual harm to trans people that are in the Black Lives Matter Movement, but there is enough descension to fear even people speaking up on your behalf if harm were to come you. And in some regards, I get it. It's a survival tactic that Black people have had prevalent within our community starting with Paper Bag ratings. Any thing outside of being Black that made it apparent that you were "other" made you less than, even with your own Black community. Why? Because Black people have a high margin for dying, period. And that margin grows with more attributes that are not deemed acceptable by society, created under the foundation of white supremacy. And that sickness is bred out of years of subjugation to white supremacy. If you are told, over centuries, that you are less than to a superior race, after a while, no amount of education or reassurance will change the rhetoric that this person of color has been told. Literally, from birth to death, people of color are told through many facets of life that to survive that they must consider themselves less than to the superior race. The great thing about the current Black Lives Matter movement is that the conversation is around white supremacy is everywhere in the movement, a topic that both queer and black people have discussed for years in various different ways. And however you are expressing your frustration, the overall consensus is that people are done and over with white supremacy.
So I didn't go to the rally. I beat myself up over it (which you shouldn't) and I began to figure out what I could contribute (which you should). I've been having Sunday Brunch with some close friends every so often online since quarantine. This was a way that I could: a) interact with people that I love, but under some kind of structure. I suck at regular conversations. And with the current climate, if you aren't talking about something worthwhile (sharing of information, creating safe spaces and strategies to take care of yourself, ways to resist) then what are we doing? and b) I need to be a better friend to the people that matter to me the most, especially now, so I am taking my talents of library programming and putting it to work connecting with people that matter. But I digress.
Anyway, during one of the sessions, we began talking about joy, particularly Black Joy being a form of resistance. And if you think about it, it is a strong way to resist. I can't think of what pisses off racist more than seeing Black people expressing their joy. You can see cases where violence ensues when Black Joy intrudes on the bubble of white superiority. The case of Cece McDonald is a prime example of Black Joy impeding on white supremacy to the point of violence. Or the youth that were tackled at their pool party. Black Joy makes racist irate.
So I've decided that my form of resistance will be to show my joy. Showing my joy is hard and doesn't come easy because the world tells me that my value is less than. But I will. Because I have to. I worry about being genuine because my joy doesn't come easy. But I do believe happiness and peace is something that has be fought for and cherished once moments of freedom present themselves, especially being Black. Especially being Trans. I also fear that my joy will be a target. Elijah McClain was dancing down the street and was murdered by police. Elijah played the violin and that brought them joy. My sister and I played the violin in high school. My sister loved it and it brought (and still does bring) great joy to her. And that same joy that resides in my sister, resided in Elijah. Elijah didn't deserve to have his joy physically stolen, but I be damned if anyone took that same joy away from my sister without resisting.
So my joy will be my form of resistance. And normally, I don't put my own goals out for the world to see. It's none of your business. But I felt that putting the idea that Black Joy is a form of resistance was important. It needs to be said more. Black Joy needs to be protected, especially in a world filled with unspoken trauma and unprecedented resistance. And I feel more people will feel able to resist if they find their own form of resistance. This is just one. And I'm not the only one recognizes the power of Black Joy: Austin Channing's Still Here: Black Dignity in a White Society touches on this. I haven't read the book, but the podcast was FIRE!
So without further ado, I'm going to get busy creating, protecting, and projecting my joy.
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