Don't Call Me 'Sis'

A reflection on relationships with White Women

It’s been a while since I’ve written anything. Survival has felt like the most crucial thing for me to put my energy towards, and I know that’s true for the majority of ya’ll. I’m trying to find joy and trying to find solace in the midst of a geo-political structure that is on the brink of absolute collapse; thanks, in big part, to the leadership (or lack thereof) of my home country. Again, I don’t think I’m unique in these feelings, I’m just naming that sitting down to write hasn’t felt like it matters in this moment in human history.

One of this things that’s happened over the last few months is the very real and intentional isolation from people with whom I used to be in community with; more specifically, white people AND white women to be sure. This is something that gradually happened, and I didn’t necessarily intend for it to happen, but it also feels like the right direction for me to be moving in. For many many years, I have surrounded myself with a deeply diverse group of people - friends, if you will. This diversity has encompassed gender, sexuality, socioeconomics, politics, immigration status, and race. I often prided myself on my ability to make connections with people of all backgrounds and saw my ability to ‘fit in’ with so many others as a badge of honor. In the last 6 months to 3 years (I could say the past 10 years), my tune has completely changed on that.

Recently, I connected with an old friend from middle and high school. She and I used to attend the same southern, white, evangelical cult-like church in our early and mid-teen years. For years, we spent almost every evening and weekend together, plus we went to the same high school; we were basically together all the time. It was the two of us (she’s white), an Asian girl, and three other white girls- two of which are twins. As she and I recounted how the majority of those (now) women are still heavily involved in evangelism and the ‘make America healthy again’ (MAHA) movements; we recounted the ways that the church harmed and traumatized us. She mentioned how religious trauma is still something she’s wrestling with, after 25 years. And I finally spoke about how I’ve continued to wrestle with religious trauma as well, but that it was a bit more complicated because it was also mixed with racial trauma. We talked a bit about how racism and microaggressions against Blackness (as a culture and way of being) were at the forefront of what it meant to be a Christian in that church and the churches that I found myself bouncing through in my early adult life. I eventually made the decision that praying to the same God as the people who treated my ancestors like property and who continue to dehumanize me and others who look like me, is fucking moronic and absurd. Finally, she apologized for any part she played in it, and acknowledged that it was wrong and she has since worked to understand herself and others better, especially as it pertains to race and race relations (and she has, I’ve watched her from afar and from up close, at times).

And sitting here, I also started to think of a close friend I had, for years, that I no longer talk to. She and I and our husbands and kids and families, were so close. So much so that we’d spend almost every Christmas together for many years. She was like my sister. I’ll never forget a time we were visiting them, and as adults we wanted to go out, so we hired her normal babysitter to watch the kids. The babysitter reported back that our youngest daughter, who couldn’t have been more than 5 at the time, was exhibiting violent and abusive behaviors towards her. When my friend confronted me about it, I couldn’t believe the tone she used (it was accusatory), as if she didn’t have a hand in raising this child herself. As if she didn’t know this child, almost as her own. I couldn’t believe that I had to explain that a 5 year old has tantrums and throws toys, because they are 5 and that’s what they do. I had to explain to her that her sitter seeing my 5 year old daughter as somehow more violent or aggressive than her daughter (who is maybe 2 years younger) was a form a racism. Because her daughter also had tantrums, as children do. But the adultification of Black girls is not new or uncommon and I was floored that she didn’t see what was happening. That was the beginning of the breakdown of our relationship, and within 2 more years I’d officially break-up with and part ways from that person.

I could also mention the group of 6 friends I had that I’d travel the world with to see k-pop concerts and have fun girls’ weekends. While there were two other women of color (one Pinoy and the other Black and Korean), the insidious disease that is whiteness infiltrated our ranks and didn’t offer space for open and honest dialogue or for people to struggle with mental and physical health. Those relationships felt shrouded in secrecy and mean girl energies. It broke my heart having to walk away from that community, and to feel so alone.

Or how about the last ‘office’ job I held as a Chief Diversity Officer. My CEO was a white lady, who seemed so progressive in her values and how she understood the world. She seemed to welcome my no nonsense approach to racism, misogynoir, or bigotry of any kind. That is until I had to hold her husband accountable to how he showed up to work and how she was enabling it. It came to a head when our HR consultant, our board director, she and I all had a meeting to talk about how we move forward. I sat in a conference room, with three white women, while one of them cried and yelled at me about how ‘it was a privilege to be able to sit there and not say anything and not have emotions about this situation’. None of them understanding that the privilege was theirs. If I showed any bit of emotion, any bit of real humanity, for all I knew, my life could have been in danger.

And I won’t even get into the journey I’ve had with my own (white) stepmother.

All of these stories illustrate one thing to me - I have been constantly and consistently let down by white women in my life.

And so, I find myself with a just a handful of white women with whom I look to find community (you know who you are. We talk and check in. If you are questioning it, you aren’t one of them). And even as recently as three months ago, I’ve had to shed away excess baggage of those who refuse to take bold actions against the tyranny of white nonsense of this current administration. Gone are the days of me offering space and empathy for your mental health challenges and capacities keeping you from acting in resistance. I’m at a point where your lack of bold action, lack of willingness to speak out, lack of willingness to experience any discomfort is simply not good enough for me. As if Black, Indigenous, and other women of color aren’t also experiencing mental health challenges while still having to survive and move the movement and resistance forward for everyone’s benefit. I no longer offer an explanation; I’m just quiet quitting these relationships and focusing my energies on our collective liberation (and YES, that still includes them), and most specifically the liberation of care of Black women. I will no longer require my body to adjust to or make space for the very specific form of harm that is the mask of virtue hood of white women. Their dormant power and manipulation tactics continue terrorize and demonize anyone who dares to question it.

American history is littered with stories of how white women have wielded their power and their, assumed, virtue at the expense of others - not the least of which being Black women. As I continue to understand my survival and find my joy, it is in community with Black women and other women of color. We hold the blueprint for humanity and are the reflection of mother Earth; rooted in nurture for all and rage against anyone or thing that has a spirit of destruction.

There’s no more benefit of doubt simply because you offer a fake smile of solidarity and allyship. There is only the deficit of the doubt. And until a white woman shows true self reflection, ability for growth and evolution, and the capacity to de-center themselves and their needs, there will ONLY be the deficit of the doubt. And, shit, even then…. who knows….

*Continue to support me as a traveling, Black philosopher and writer by becoming a paid member of my substack*