The Black Monolith And The Many Ways to Hate Oneself
The Black Lives Matter movement has seen a resurgence of participation and fervor within the last couple of weeks. The murder of George Floyd prompted a national outcry for justice by a community of people stretching across many demographics, young, old, black, and white.
While driving home over the weekend, I noticed a couple of protestors standing alongside a streetlight at a busy four-way-intersection near my neighborhood. The signs were initially too small to read, but over the course of the next couple of days, the signs were joined alongside others, teenagers wearing face masks with their parents, holding justice up in the hot sun for passing cars to take notice. I watched as cars honked in support, their recognition of my worth made me feel overwhelmed with emotion.
The way I express my black is not wrong.
Whom I choose to love, who I choose to associate with, my ambitions, my interests, do not make me a better black person, a more worthy black person. My worth is not dictated by my complexion or my expression of being.
Initially, I did not grasp the universality of the protests, not from scrolling online or watching the news, not even when some of the bigger cities from my conservative state made national headlines. However, when the fervor carried over into my hometown of Suburbia and I saw people I went to school with joining a movement I had yet to acknowledge or participate in; I felt empty.
I try to live a normal black gay life. I go to work, I smile and meet people, I study, I call friends on weekends, and visit my local supermarket to try suggestions on red wine. I did not have space in my psyche to be othered. Nor did I want to be.
African-American Dichotomy
Racism is transferrable. All people are capable of hate.
What I did not realize is that my reluctance to participate stemmed from a hatred of self. I spent many years reworking the black teachings of my parents, curating a new way to speak, choreographing my movements to create a gentle air of aloofness, welcoming peace, and cordial laughter. I masked two realms of consciousness within my brain and latched onto the tailored version of myself so tightly that it now feels natural.
My black was constantly adjusting itself for the comfort of others. I was always measuring how much or how few black I should be.
Black lives are worthy in every shade, facet, and manner of expression.
What this movement is revealing to me is how much of myself I have suppressed. I feel so unearthed by the movement my hands are shaking at the change taking place within my soul.
People once again are supporting justice.
The unruly violence against people is appalling. The vilification of a people is uncalled for. The worth of our neighbors, friends, and people we march alongside are expressions of the same unnamable force.
I no longer want to practice hating myself.
I am not more or less worthy because of how I choose to live my life. The enemy I face does not wear a uniform, or badge, or kneel at protests to voice their support. My enemy is between my ears. The whispers of elitism, the inferiority of a people, or ideas in contrasts with my own. The former is the latest in a string of incongruences within a system of injustice.
Injustices Require a Response
I felt my life was protest enough. I believed how I treated people, how I presented my best self to the world was evidence enough of my support for the Black Lives Matter movement, but there was a discrepancy in my logic.
There is a systematic reworking that needs to take place within the uncomfortable transition phase for change that is happening now. On the front lines, people of all races are standing together, not only black lives but a union of people in recognition of human life.
It is uncomfortable to stand and have conversations about how to recognize a person’s worth. My skin, my perspective, and the circle of influence is a platform to discuss this movement.
I have been given a voice and no matter how much I stumble or stutter, I never want to sit back while the liberty of my person or friends are put in situations that compromise our humanity.
