An Open Letter From Your Black Friend
I ended my last blog post with the following:
Every year I have to decide if I am going to set out on a mission to educate as a remedy to ignorance or if I can just celebrate my blackness unapologetically. And every year, no matter what decision I’ve made for myself I am met with some circumstance that tests my patience and tries my exhaustion.
The difference is I simply can’t be unapologetically black and educate the ignorant at the same time - I’m not afforded that luxury as a black woman. I have to deploy the decades of lessons learned navigating white spaces to deliver messaging in a way that doesn’t alienate the offender by skirting the “angry black woman” trope. Thankfully, I have the ability to do this but frustratingly I wish I didn’t have to stifle my true emotional response to be heard.
Until next February. . .
It’s June 2, 2020 and I’m back because I’m still black.
Instagram Post from May 29, 2020
I shared this post on my personal and professional Instagram accounts on May 29, 2020. It was the morning after the first of what would become a seemingly endless string of days of peaceful protests and nights of violent riots in Denver following the wake of similar events in Minnesota and across the country.
I did not write a caption because I felt I said what I needed to say in the text. What I have come to realize over the past several days is I actually did not want to be asked, “how are you doing?” at all. The intent was to communicate to my white followers and friends that despite what the cutesy accounts you follow might suggest, checking in on Black friend(s) does not qualify as taking action.
The honest truth is that I have not taken a moment to mourn the loss of the most recent - and emphasize most recent because death and injustice at the hands of white people is not new - because I am carrying the burden of being everyone’s Black friend right now and I have reached levels of depletion unlike any other time in my life.
Thank you, but…
I don’t take for granted those among my white friends who have reached out. There are black people across this country who would love to feel the same level of support. However, when you have as many white friends as I do, receiving a text or phone call every other hour is a consistent reminder that I am not supposed to be ok and the volume and frequency make it such that I am not allowed to be ok.
I tried to take a day off from social media and got out of the city because tensions were so high and I was so exhausted. In a span of 24 hours I received no fewer than 12 “how/what are you doing?” text messages, 2 requests to review letters to employees/teams, 1 phone call about having witnessed violence related to riots. What I already knew is that I don’t get to take days off from being Black, but what I realized is that I don’t get to take days off from being your Black friend. I don’t really want to take days off from being your friend, so let me try to express to you what it means to be your Black friend.
If this makes you in any way uncomfortable, if you feel like I am speaking directly to you, if you walk away from this thinking “I [followed by any negative thought]” please know right now, I cannot and will not apologize about it. Any one of those triggers should trigger you to act, not feel, and further, your feelings as they pertain to my Blackness are not my problem.
Fact: I am Black in America
I have been Black since the day I was born, which means I’ve been Black since the day you met me. If it is occurring to you to ask me how I am doing, I want you to consider why you’re asking. I am a natural problem solver, so if you reach out to me I am going to want to make you feel better. At this moment, it cannot be my job to make you feel better.
How are you doing?
If you’re asking because you care about my mental health, let me explain how being on the receiving end of that question plays out in my head:
I am not f*cking ok. Oh, wait, but if I say that they’ll just respond with some version of “I’m sorry,” “I’m sending you love/energy,” “How can I help you?” - I don’t have energy to respond to any of that.
I should just say thank you for asking. But I’m not actually grateful. I should really be grateful they thought of me. True, but this isn’t about me, this is about Black people. Are they asking every Black person they know? What are they actually asking? How is my Blackness? Are they going to check in on my Blackness every day now?
How could they possibly assume the answer is anything other than “not ok”? Are they actually prepared to be on the receiving end of that answer?
If one more person asks me how I’m doing, I will throw my phone. I’m just not going to answer.
If you’re asking because you want to learn something:
I’m not the one. If you haven’t learned anything from me about Blackness regardless of how long you’ve known me, you need to ask yourself why. If it’s because you never thought to engage with me about it, you need to ask yourself why not. If your answer is because you were uncomfortable, you need to ask yourself why. If it’s because it never occurred to you at all, you need to ask yourself why not.
It is simply not my responsibility to be your ambassador to the Black delegation. There are so many voices louder and more prevalent than mine who have made it their life’s work to educate you. Go find those resources and educate yourself.
To be clear, I will never say no to a conversation with you - but I will not carry the burden of educating you. Dialogue over monologue.
If you’re asking because you heard/felt you should:
This Black friend is asking you not to ask.
How I’m doing is not important. What you are doing for Black people with your whiteness, with the voice this nation has decided is the most valuable, that is what is important.
If you’re not asking me at all:
Thank you and what are you doing to be a part of the solution?
other Frequently Asked Questions and Their Answers
Check out this Tweet, IG Post, news article!
No. Your favorite Black celebrity is not speaking to me - they are speaking to you. If they’ve said it, I’ve probably already thought it in this lifetime. The news story you just read? I promise you, I’ve already read it and I guarantee you the content was not shocking to me.
What can I do to be a better person/ally?
Think of the person or people in your life who you would lay down and die for. Now, think of the range of things, minute to egregious, that would call you into action to protect that person. Now, think of every Black person whose blood has been unjustly shed on American soil, who’s been profiled because of the shade of their pigment, who’s been denied access to anything you have full rights to - apply that same scale and act accordingly.
Can you review this letter to my team/staff?
I cannot. I am not a representative for all Black people. I do not know your staff or your team in the way you do or you should. If you aren’t sure how you should be addressing them, then your messaging needs to be a conversation and not a statement.
Why aren’t you at the protests?
My existence is resistance. I have marched more times than I can count. I have given speeches. I have written pieces. I have learned that Black voices chanting Black Lives Matter is not enough. I am tired. It’s your turn. Make your voice heard. Yes, again, I am contradicting the cutesy messaging you’ve seen on the internet. I, for one, do not want you silencing yourself today or for another single day. Your white chants are far more likely to result in change.
A note on the riots and looting:
The people committing these acts are, at least in my city, primarily white males. There are greater discussions and theories about who they actually are, but their intent is wrong and it is not representative of the issue. I recently found myself listening to friends complain about the noise and risk of destruction to their property because of bad actors. In hearing their frustrations, I could not find space to engage in a further conversation about how these riots were only occurring after hours and hours of peaceful protests. In short, they are drowning out the issue and the voices of those who are trying to do good. However, if you are taking the time to complain about their actions, please also find the time to support the true mission.
What can I do?
Do. Not. Stop.
Some of you have rallied or taken other action in the past. I implore you to consider the fact you’re being called to action again might be because you stopped fighting when the crowds died down. It’s in these stretches of silence that racial injustice and violence thrives, and it’s when they happen over and over again that tensions begin to boil over resulting in the need to rally and act again.
I can never stop being Black - you should never stop fighting until my Blackness and your whiteness are irrelevant.
Sincerely,
I have so much more to say and so many thoughts that I myself am still working through - despite three and a half decades of being Black in America. I haven’t been given the space to do that and I am asking for it now. Please, allow me rest. I am asking you to fight to the point of exhaustion and when you think you can’t fight anymore, keep fighting. Hear the crack of an overseer’s whip, hear the jangle of chains and shackles, hear the songwriter’s guttural moans in Rhythm & Blues and the rappers honest words in his lyrics, hear the shots ring out as bullets pummel an unarmed person, hear the defensive cries of the wrongly persecuted, hear the last breath of every Black man, woman, and child who died at the hands of a white person. Then take the privilege you have that your ancestors, you, and your children will never hear those sounds and feel the way Black people feel and make a change.
“Your black friend”
