Black Transwomen Deserve Better

Rest in power to Black transwomen who have been murdered due to our ignorance, silence, and erasure.    

    Dejanay Stanton, a Black transwoman from Chicago, is the latest reported victim of the war against transwomen. Her death on September 4th 2018 marks the 17th recorded death of a transwoman in 2018. Following 2017, the deadliest year on record for transwomen, 2018 is projected to be an even more fatal year for the already marginalized trans community. As the death toll of this violent anti-trans war continues we, as a global community, must face one simple truth: Black transwomen deserve better.

     Few communities are more at risk than Black transwomen. In addition, violence against Black transwomen is widely underreported despite being one of the marginalized communities most susceptible to violence. Transphobia, the negative attitudes and exoticization of trans folk, fuels a range of violences against the trans community. While transphobia fuels acts of physical violence against the trans community, there are also examples of more subtle violences that occur daily. For example, when reported on by mainstream media, however, transwomen face the subtle violences of being misgendered by on air personalities and headlines. The realities of the subtle and overt violences facing transwomen daily reveal the ways transphobia is commonplace in public opinion.

    In regard to politics, government policies and transphobic public figures pose constant threats to the lives of Black transwomen. In North Carolina House Bill 2, which sparked the transgender bathroom policy debate of 2017, is one example of the hysteria and violent rhetoric surrounding the everyday lives of trans folk. The politicizing of their genitalia, sexualities, and bodies illustrate how trans folk are constantly dehumanized. Instead of being granted the privilege to live, work, and love as autonomous human beings trans folk are reduced to commodities, threats, and stereotypes.

    As the year continues, and for years to come, Black transwomen deserve better. They deserve protection from transphobia in all forms. From structural inequality to personal attacks they deserve safety, support, and solidarity. They deserve legislation which advocates for their lives and experiences. Ultimately, Black transwomen are the foundation and spirit of movements for Black liberation, feminism, and queer rights and deserve more from the rest of us.

Performing Happiness: Emotional Labor & Reproductive Rights

Performing happiness is exhausting. Sometimes I do not feel like getting out of bed or doing hours worth of work for little recognition. Sometimes I do not feel like being the angry Black woman that is disregarded for being whiny and disagreeable. The reality is that the demand of constantly being inviting, happy, and accomodating is detrimental to my health.

For many Black women worldwide the cost of performing happiness is our physical and emotional well-being. It is quite literally fatal as stress and anxiety reduce our life expectancy. We are told to smile, loosen up, chill out, and not make everything that deep. If only our ignorance came that easily. Instead it comes at the expense of us. The sexism, classism, and racism which dominate our world usually trickle down the oppressive ladder until it falls upon us (and our Native and Latinx sisters) to make sense of. We are decimated by violent government policy and social expectations which police our bodies. Black women's happiness is not allowed to be our own. 

The demand for Black women to be content connects to larger issues. For instance, Black women's reproductive rights are under constant attack. The struggle for access to adequate information about contraceptives, healthcare, and child care is ongoing. Demanding that Black women smile and behave adds to these repressive systems. In both cases our bodies are not our own to operate, but objects controlled by the outside world. From catcalling to reproductive rights Black women's need to be authenticity ourselves is crucial to our survival.

The next time you have the urge to tell a Black woman how to feel here's an important tip: don't. Our emotions are not up for discussion-- just as our reproductive rights should not be. We have the right to be angry. Just look at history. We have the right to free child care. We have the right to information that helips us make life saving decisions about our bodies. Do not police us. Instead listen closely to our stories. Then advocate for us (because it's also not our jobs to die fighting alone for our rights). 

Listen. Act. Repeat.

Take a moment to call your representatives in opposition of Kavanaugh's appointment to the United States Supreme Court in support of Black women. And to the Black women who go to work, raise families, and fight tirelessly for our community, I see you. You are important. You are resilient. You have a home here.

A Lesson in Friendship: The Myth of the Strong Friend

For as long as I can remember having friends I have filled one consistent role: the strong friend. Through high school and now college I have been dubbed one of those people who has life together. As a result, I often feel neglected in friendships. I am the one who reaches out, checks up on, and offers affirmation with very little reciprocation. If you have someone close to you that fits the mold of the strong friend here are five simple ways to give them the care they deserve. 

1. Talk to them.

When's the last time you asked them about their day? Sometimes the little, intentional steps go a long way. Make time in your day or your week to reach out to them. Call them. Ask them if they have time to hang out. Showing the strong friend that their issues and problems also deserve time gives them space to be vulnerable. 

2. Avoid force.

Do not corner your strong friend. In fact, don't corner anybody. Corners are bad. Create an open, affirming space for them to share their struggles and be flawed. The pressure, conscious or not, of being the strong friend can build to horrible breaking points. Avoid falling into the trap of forcing them to open up to you all at once. Offer them the chance to share with you and open up organically.

3. Don't assume.

In general, assumptions do more harm than good. Try not to assume your strong friend's emotions. A more constructive route is to give them an avenue to come forward and be supported. Think about how they care for you and others. Give them space and time to lean into you. Be kind. Handle them with the same care they give. Often times they know how to be there for others in a way they wish others could be there for them.

4. Let them be whole.

The role of the strong friend is often two dimensional. The strong friend gives, protects, and cares for others while simutaneously trying to hold themselves together. Don't flatten them into their actions. They are more than a listener, a leader, a caregiver. They can master all these things and still have so much more underneath. Take time to acknowledge that they are a whole human being who can make mistakes, be flawed, and grow. 

5. Do better. 

Evaluate your role in the friendship. Do you support their passions? Do you help them navigate trauma? Is all your feedback based on their flaws? Do you help them understand how to grow in the areas they lack? Lots of foolishness can be pushed under the guise of constructive criticism. Be honest and critique yourself as a friend. If you are failing them in an area (or two) take them time to acknowledge that and start to amend the relationship before it's too late.

Take time today to comfort your strong friend. They need support no matter how tough they seem. Life is full of moments of self doubt that can impact the strongest of us in the most complicated ways. And for the strong friends out there: never be afraid of demanding the love and compassion you deserve. You are worthy of that love and so much more. 

A Lesson in Literacy: Reading Is A Political Act

In elementary school I had a hard time learning how to read. Reading aloud on the multicolored rug in my kindergarten classroom evolved into a mix of subtle traumas. It was not until my mother emphasized the power of words that I felt empowered to read. Soon weekend trips to the Enoch Pratt public library on Pennsylvania Avenue became my favorite weekend activity with my mother. Her love, guidance, and patience drove me. She never gave up (and still her love is unwavering). By second grade I grew into my book nerd identity. I devoured stories of Junie B. Jones and Nancy Drew. At the core of my love for reading was my mother's emphasis: reading opens worlds to you.

My mother's lesson was a political act. She was teaching me valuable lessons about the ways people are kept in the dark. By giving me books my mother gave me the world. It gave me social capital because books taught me how to play the game. Books taught me code-switching, dog whistle politics, and Black feminisms. Without books I would not know bell hooks, Audre Lorde, Maya Angelou, Marsha P. Johnson, and Janet Mock. Reading is a crucial step in liberation.

Attacks on public libraries, public schools, and prison libraries must be understood as violent. The intential censorship and removal of knowledge is violent. Banning books is an act of war. Disarming Black and Brown people, especially Black and Brown children, through the banning of books is criminal, but we rarely highlight these atrocities. We cannot minimize the impact of these things. 

Banned books teach the most important lessons. Across the United States incarcerated folk are not allowed to read a variety of books from The Color Purple to The New Jim Crow.  The politics of which books are banned and which books are not is a conversation about power. Banning books removes power and agency. It silences the marginalized. It reinforces oppression. 

I will never forget my mother's lesson. I will continue to fight for the freedom of Black and Brown people. The freedom to read without the threat of violence is crucial to Black liberation. We must rally together as a community to uplift marginalized folk. Donate to activists and advocates doing the work to educate us. The revolution does not happen one leader at a time. Revolutions are collective acts of resistance. 

One organization I am supporting this year is Justice 4 Black Girls. Their commitment to advocacy for the education of Black girls is directly connected to the fight against mass incarceration. You can follow them on Instagram at @justice4blackgirls and follow @brie.b for daily doses of knowledge on how to better protect incarcerated Black girls.

For Ntozake Shange

when I went looking 

for answers

I found them in books,

words, silence,

turning pages 

in hope of some new thing,

feeling,

hope.

when I found you

laying upon my grandmother's dresser

I overlooked you--

repeating the world's greatest mistake--

I took you

for granted.

when I went in search of myself

there you were again

in the shadows

outlining all the pain

my mother

never let slip

yet. 

when I finally saw you

it was after dawn--

you left us--

but you will always be in the wind

pushing, watching, casting

midnight spells.

when I listened

and heard you speak

your voice

taught me

there's nothing selfish 

in a Black girl

spending time

with

her

self.

Why I Won't Vote: A Lesson on Election Day

"In 1956, I shall not go to the polls. I have not registered. I believe that democracy has so far disappeared in the United States that no 'two evils' exist. There is but one evil party with two names, and it will be elected despite all I can do or say."

                                                                                                                                                        -- "Why I Won't Vote," W.E. B. DuBois, The Nation, 1956.

The rush to vote this midterm election season has overwhelmed me. Every day for the last three months has been filled with endless calls for people to go out in vote in November. In the beginning, I was proud. Hooray for civic engagement! Down with voter suppression! My pride, however, has transformed to frustration. My approach to the ballot box has changed.

I am not here to discourage political engagement. That does us no good. It simplifies the very complex topic of voting-- and the history of voting rights-- for Black folk and other marginalized folk in the United States. I never wish to erase the legacies of ancestors who fought for the right to vote. It is necessary, however, that we analyze their work and not assume its message. It is contradictory to their memory and legacy to reduce them to aggressive taglines forcing people to vote as a mark of their character. 

Voting is not the end-- nor is it the beginning. The rhetoric of "vote or die" is a gross simplification. Ericka Hart, sex educator, is key in my understanding of this language as deeply flawed. Let's be clear: people are dying already. The history of Black death, genocide, and exploitation does not end once we acquire voting rights. It continues. Our understanding of voting as the solution to Black death overshadows the violence of democracy in the United States. 

It is not our job to police people's decisions in going to the polls. There are many communities in the United States that are withheld from casting ballots. Communities of formerly incarcerated folk, undocumented folk, and many more are erased in our conversations of rushing to the ballot box. Our collective place is to educate others and ourselves while holding politicians accountable. 

We must also make room for people who abstain from voting. It is not a new idea. There is a tradition of Black folk and other marginalized communities not running to the polls. In fact, Black folk across the African Diaspora have organized to combat oppressive political systems. One example is the Mississippi Freedom Democratic Party. Overall, it is not productive nor revolutionary to demonize those among us who abstain. Our public discourse must expand beyond the two party system and participation in it. 

Vote today if you can and want to. Help others make their way to the polls if they need you to. Do not ask people if they plan to vote if they have not invited you into that conversation. Do not isolate folk who cannot vote. Make space for people to learn about the candidates and amendments on the ballot today. 

My Mother Taught Me To Make A Home of Hip Hop

Growing up my mother and I lived by our dollar store Tinker Bell calendar tacked to the kitchen wall. It told us when school was canceled, when bills were due, and when money came in. No moves got made without consulting our calendar first. Each month Mommy filled in the important weekends and times to keep us on track. Quickly the weeks got filled in with blue and black pen marking out our every move. Each year without fail she circled March 9th in black sharpie. It was our day of mourning. It was on March 9th, 1997 when my mother lost one of her best friends, Christopher Wallace--aka The Notorious B.I.G.

Now my mother never met Biggie, but she knew him well. They bonded over snare drums and high hats and ad libs. During the aftermath of her parent’s divorce and her sister’s battle with addiction, my mother found a home in his albums. It was her safe space. She made a home out of Biggie's albums. While I was growing up my mother let me into that home she built of his lyrics. He was not just a rapper in our house. He was the rapper. His bars held weight with my mother whose music rotation usually restricted to neo-soul and R&B.

My mother’s relationship with Biggie Smalls showed me the strength of hip-hop. It wasn’t just music because music is never just anything. It was about finding our peace, our way and making homes of our favorite songs. The pillars of hip-hop, our icons, are timeless. Their words transcend time and mortality because their messages live on. These stories are our modern day griots telling tales of Blackness across the Diaspora.

As I got older I made my own homes of my favorite artists. When I had no words they lift me up. The words of  Lauryn Hill, Noname, and (much to my mother’s dismay) Tupac tell stories that move generations. Their lyrics tell stories of streets I am surrounded by. They give a voice to everything teachers, administrators, and respectability told me I couldn’t say.

To this day I thank my mother for teaching me to make a home of hip hop. In the bars I see myself and my life. I piece together my childhood and make sense of it all over masterful production.

No More Free Therapy: A Lesson In Reciprocity

As a child my number one pet peeve was inconsistency. I hated whenever my father cancelled plans or when my mother never told me exactly what the plan for the day was. Too many variables frequently meant that something was not going to work out for someone. Routinely that someone was me. 

Now, my childhood battle with inconsistency usually means disruption and disappointment. In my 20s I now battle with the inconsistency of adulthood. In my professional life, plans changing and deadlines moving can turn my entire calendar upside down. In my social life, inconsistent friends translates to mountains of conflict-- internal and external. Through it all it is important not to let inconsistencies in my life turn into dead ins. There is always something to be learned (even when the lesson seems incomplete). The lesson hidden underneath my inconsistent friendships was about support and emotional labor.

In struggling with an inconsistent friendship for the past three months I learned a crucial lesson about myself. I give too much. My supportive nature made me prone to giving a listening ear and a helping hand to people who often were absent in my times of distress. Examining the pain these failing relationships caused me revealed a trend. I was giving too much across the board. Several relationships that I was feeding into were not giving me the support I needed. Instead of checking in on myself and my own well-being I was busy giving others support. Essentially, I was giving free therapy to others while having little time to check in with myself. I was ignoring a core standard of relationships: reciprocity.

Reciprocity is key to every relationship we have. In relationships-- romantic, platonic, and career based-- there must be reciprocity. Without reciprocity there is room for miscommunication, distrust, and resentment. To avoid these conflicts there must be clear standards. A few questions that are helpful in checking that our relationships are fulfilling are: What do I gain from this relationship? Am i affirmed in this relationship? Who would I be without this relationship? Do I give more than my partner? Could I be giving more in this relationship? These questions give us a foundation for understanding where our relationships may be more draining than they are fulfilling.

Going into a new year there are new chances to grow and evolve my thinking. One of the big growth targets on my list this year is not stop being a therapist to anybody unless I am getting paid. Unpaid emotional labor is a huge problem and I will no longer be doing sessions worth of work for free. I am no longer settling for one-sided relationships. That's over. 

The lesson to be learned here is simple: we are going after exactly what we deserve and nothing less. Do not settle for less in relationships. Accepting less support, love, and compassion than you require is a sin against yourself. Who knows how much your life could change with fulfilling relationships? Take time to shoutout the people who uplift you. Feeding positive relationships in our lives yields an abundance of positive results. 

Click here to read my blog featured on the Davidson Microaggressions Project site.