Righteous Rage & the Tale of Two Black Women

I had decided that I wasn’t going to write about Sonya Massey or Kamala Harris.

Then, this morning, I found myself on the phone with my mother, crying and cussing and trying to understand the Black American urge to call on a god that seems to fail us at the most critical of moments. I’m having a hard time reconciling that, as a parent, if my children called out for me in terror or fear or hurt and I have any power in my control to change that terror or fear or hurt- to take it away- I’d do it without question. And I believe that most all parents feel that way. But we allow a pass to this parental diety in the sky that watches the most henious and atrious acts happen to their children, while we cry out in agony and pain and fear- and that onmi-present, ‘ever-loving’ parent in the sky just…. watches it happen. (shoutout to my Mama who listened and just kept repeating how sorry and sad she was that I was hurting this way. Thank you for the space and the love and care as you navigate your own grief.)

I’m not writing this to argue with Christians, or even to question the existence of a god. I’m just *that* angry. Like most all Black women in America, right now my body is expereincing a litany of emotions, while trying to organize my thoughts and sift through the barrage of information and social interaction that is required of us in 2024. I am feeling every emotion I can name and am extremely overwhelmed and over taxed.

The last week has offered a very real and very public display of the dichotomy that is being a Black woman in this nation.

As VP Kamala Harris has announced her bid to seek to become the presidential nominee for the Dems, many of us in this country were also finding out about Sonya Massey - the Black woman who was murdered in her home by cops after calling them for help. The tale of these two Black women is the tale of so any of us in this nation that hates to love us, while acting out how they love to hate us (I can’t even fully type out how these videos of Black death remind me of the photags that use to show up to Jim Crow era lynchings and make money off of publicizing the brutality of whiteness on Black bodies and how that’s what’s happenng across social platforms. I think many white and non Black POC around us gain some perverse pleasure from seeing these images, maybe I’ll explore that at a later date).

I’m not even writing this as a moment to educate. I don’t care about ya’lls education on this topic. I’m writing because I don’t know what else to do. I don’t know how else to navigate the rage that is clawing its way out of my body. The rage that requires a blood sacrifice to atone for continuing to allow this to happen to my soul. Because let’s be real, Sonya Massey’s soul is connected to mine. We are one in the same. Our bodies defiled by whiteness -whether physical violence or psychological violence. Whether we’ve been forced to swallow our words and pride in the face of a gun while we crouch on the floor of our kitchens or over zoom confronted by overly judgemental white interviewers for a job.

And then- VP Harris. There is so much joy to be found in having representation in leadership and at all levels of the world around us. But what is representation without accountability? Putting a face that reflects my own to represent the continued terror and violence that many Black, Native, Brown, and queer folk experience is a new and cruel type of terrorism and punishment. It’s a mindfuck that is hard to put into words.

I want us, Black women, to be able to lead and create and build- I don’t want that in an empire that has been and continues to be built and sustain on brutilizing, fetishizing, and colonizing our bodies and innovation.

So, I’m here writing.

To any Black woman reading this, it’s ok to disengage. It’s ok to choose to say ‘fuck it’ and not log in or speak to that neighbor or to put your ear buds in and not code switch at work today. It’s ok. It’s ok to scream and rage and cry and cuss and find silence to just ---- think. Or not. It’s also ok to drink, get high, seek out orgasms, and eat junk food. Just do whatever the fuck you want to do right now. This world continues to be hell bent on destroying the magic and gift that is Black women and we continue to survive and THRIVE at every turn. But please know, you can stop. You can sit and just feel or you can find a distraction that makes you feel something good.

I can no longer put into words how salient my rage is. And I don’t believe that many will understand or agree with the course of action I think is neccessary to actually start to move the needle on handling the terrorists in blue or dismantling the elite powers of this empire. One of the guiding lessons I’ve learned in my life and career is that ‘we cannot collaborate with oppressive system’ (Kwame Ture) and we cannot allow oppressive systems to continue to co-opt our identities and culture, by placing us in figurehead positions that only maintain the status quo of racial and social stratification. And there is strategy and organizing that is happening around how we liberate ourselves as Black women, and tomorrow we can continue to work- - - - but today, we fucking rage.