It’s the eve of the election. If you’re reading this in the future, “the” election is probably something you know about. Do you need a year?
Let’s see…it’s 2016. We have a talking head from reality TV resembling the color of Fanta that’s been left out in the sun too long spewing hate that is too reminiscent of Hitler himself. As Luvvie says, he’s basically Hitler’s mentee. I mean…y’all! What in the world?!
And yet there’s nothing he can say that will turn his supporters away! Walls to keep Mexicans out? No problem. Tracking Muslims in this country? Sure. Grabbing a White woman by the pussy?
Wait. A. Damn. Minute!
Oh now you want to distance yourself. Chile! I can’t. We could peel that onion but it’s only gonna make you cry.
As the weeks have gone by, I’ve felt white women climbing on to that pedestal. Looking forward to winning the White House tomorrow and fully expecting the Black and Brown vote to deliver that into their hands. And yet…I’ve seen conversations attempting to crush the voices of women of color as they’ve pointed out the historical facts around the suffragettes and their blatant racism as a reason for why we won’t be wearing white.
Instead of listening, we find that, once again, white women are centering themselves in this story and providing all of the tears needed to quench a Florida-day-in-July’s thirst.
This was best illustrated today when Kelly Wickham Hurst (fellow disruptor, badass and professional burner of all the shit that is not serving us) critiqued an article written by the dispenser of previously mentioned white tears. What ensued was the type of erasure, dismissal and butt hurt that I’m afraid we’ve all grown to know all too well.
But such is life. It’s reminiscent of the hashtag #SolidarityIsForWhiteWomen circa 2013.
I’m not happy with this election. Not happy at all. I looked at my options. I thought of the history of elections and most specifically Florida in 2000 (I might still need therapy over that one). And, I specifically thought of the air of fear that mixes in with the humidity here in the south. The one that you can taste, feel and not name.
This election scares the hell out of me. I’m sure a lot of you feel the same but, I don’t think it’s for the same reason. I’m not worried about what happens on November 8th as much as I am worried about the lingering hate, apathy and cognitive dissonance that has bubbled up over this last year.
My brother texted me the hashtag #ImwitHERed and I thought it was perfection in the face of how I feel. Dare I generalize? How many people of color feel about this election cycle?
Have you ever tried to put boiling water back in the teapot? You can’t. It either has evaporated or, if you try to touch it, it will burn. And I’m very worried about who is going to burn as white women wear their white pantsuits in memory of suffragettes that would rather lose limbs than give a person of color the vote, celebrate their victory and forget about the votes that got them there.
But, hasn’t that been the general MO? I’m not surprised. But I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t a tad bit disappointed.
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