Black-lash the everyday experience of terrorism

When we examine the recent bombings and ponder the destined backlash our brown comrades will endure and how to support them through it, do we also reflect on the daily terror that is our lived experiences as Black folks or are we too dark to be worthy?

The Black backlash is everyday, everywhere it is prevalent and persistent. It comes from the dark abyss of white power (in our universities, our workplace, where we volunteer, where our kids go to school), white passing privilege and from people of color who gain access to traditionally white only places of power based on the skin color gradient at the door. Its the social hierarchy of white supremacy that teaches us that the closer you are to whiteness the prettier, smarter, more trustworthy, more qualified, less violent and more reliable you are.

I recently had a well known brown feminist dog me to someone in the nicest, most politically correct way I've heard in a while, by condescendingly commenting on how well my attire fits in/ assimilates (for a Black woman) at a traditionally white only feminist space that she a brown woman holds power in. The compliment it was mean to be was over shadowed by the over sized "but" that followed, then a "...I highly recommend (insert name of white woman) instead."

Sure it hurt, but not as much as the realization that someone who was considered trusted, as an ally is thoroughly infected by the anti-Black racist plague that is so easily visible thus readily diagnosed in white women. Then slowly all the previous feedback received including descriptive words usually used when describing the angry Black Woman trope or the need to sideline Trans women issues all started to make sense. The symptoms where there all along.

As Black women we understand struggle, survival at all cost, we empathize not just for empathy sake but because we have first hand knowledge of a lifetime lived daily as the ultimate kicking stone of our society. Sure we stand in solidarity with the displaced and victimized women around the world, especially in war torn parts of Asia and the Middle East and on unceded land here at home; and firmly oppose to Islamophobia everywhere. We can often be seen supporting if not leading inter-sectional causes with other Black, Indigenous folks and People of Color (BIPOC) everywhere on college campuses, from Blacklives to Plastine, LGBTQ2IA, Sex Worker Rights, Homelessness, AntiPoverty, Fight for $15 and beyond.  

The question are:

• With white supremacy functioning in all our progressive feminist spaces when will Black women be supported on the merits of our characters and body of our work rather than the amount of melanin in our skin? 
• Is feminism only for white women and women who closely resemble them in looks and their ability to keep the doors firmly closed on Black women?

THE ANGRY BLACK WOMAN

So much anger, ripe disdain, murderous rage, her loud. screaming. voice. The savagery that is the angry black woman narrative.

She must be conquered, she must be laid bare, her loins are possessed with evil desires and her womb is cursed to churn out, litters of black babies and the worst of all atrocities the monstrous black boy.

This narrative is more poisonously popular today than it was in the days of slavery, back then the black woman could be tamed by the gruesome beatings of the black man and raped into submission by her white master.

Then there were the Nanny of the Maroon's, the Rosa Parks, the Ella Baker's, the Angela Davis, the Audre Lorde's, the Assata Shakur's, the Diane Abbott's. 

No longer were we just a quite place to pour the rage and frustrations that is the emasculation of black men, nor were we just a warm wet hole to conquer by our white masters. We the Black women of this world have an elusive power, our resiliency, and a wisdom that echoes thru our children. We teach them to read, to dream, we have given birth to new generations and with that we gave them something that is surprisingly more powerful than others could have imagined... we have given our descendants hope.

I sit my daughter between my legs; legs that had been forcefully pried open by your patriarchy and white supremacy. I slowly part her hair, and gently rub in the oils of my fore-mothers as I tell her stories of Anansi the spider's cunning and Nanny's leadership, I sing her songs of freedom, and recite Miss Lou's poetry. I do it all: with a mothers touch, fierceness, love and solidarity.

Yes. I am angry, I am the angry Black Woman you speak of. 
I am passionate, I am strong,

 I have the power and the stillness of the side eye.

 I am a freedom fighter, I am a revolutionary leader,

 I wheel the powers and the pleasures of my own body. 

I am a visionary, 

A nurse, I am a mother, I birth nations of black souls 

and I equip them with the strength, wisdom, courage, 
and knowledge of their ancestors.

I am the embodiment of hope and change 

'cause betta mus com.