My friend asked if I was celebrating as he met me on the patio for coffee. I looked up from my drink with tired eyes as cars passed honking and took up the space I had to answer. I wasn’t sure what to say. He knew I had come from a march, but didn’t he realize that it was unrelated to the presidential election? That homelessness is still expected to rise? That racism will continue to run rampant? He couldn’t know that the previous two days I had been watching my phone religiously to see how my friend was after being incarcerated after protesting without adequate access to life-saving insulin. He couldn’t know the sadness I felt after serving as an election judge and watching only people of color being turned away from their right to vote at my precinct. All he knew was that I had asked him to register to vote, that I followed up asking about his voting plan, and Trump had seemingly been voted out.
I wasn’t sad that Trump had lost, but that didn’t change how close the counts had been or the fact that the issues that really mattered to me would still be up in the air. My friends and coworkers of color still share concerns for the frequency of the blatant racism they face, unjust housing and safety are still a concern in a pandemic, and many fear changes in LGBTQIA+ rights and abortion access. My honest answer is that I’m still tired.
Our organization took some time after the election to rest. A coworker and I made a last minute decision to go to the mountains and get some space. We spent days reflecting on our religions, personal beliefs, and how we made sense of the world. It forced us each to remember what had brought us to ACER and what we were looking for moving forward.
“If you have come here to help me, you are wasting your time. But if you have come because your liberation is bound up with mine, then let us work together.”
Lilla Watson: visual artist, activist, and academic focused on women’s issues and epistemology.
A common concern and hurdle for many white people is the idea of the white savior complex or wondering if we are inherently seen as the enemy. We don’t experience racism the way Black, Indigenous, and People of Color (BIPOC) do, but that doesn’t mean we are indifferent to caring about it. I’ve never felt like the enemy or unwelcome at any of the demonstrations, protests, or marches. What we have to realize is that we all have a reason to fight. The question for us becomes: why do we care?
I‘ve shared bits and pieces of my story but it hasn’t ended there. I’ve lost track of the number of times friends have called asking if I’m in a safe place so that they can share. I’ve lost track of the number of stories I’ve heard of womxn (a spelling to be inclusive of trans folk as well) not being treated as equals. I’ve become desensitized to the times I’ve heard about abuse, neglect, harassment, and manipulation. It’s not separate from me, it’s all around me and directly impacting me. I have yet to find a girl that I know that hasn’t faced something, and we’re taught to believe it’s normal.
Fights for equality have to be intersectional, meaning we can’t strive for justice in isolated areas without seeing how they all overlap. My interest in anti-human trafficking was originally a sole-issue passion until I kept learning and seeing the deeper intricacies. We’ve seen historically how fighting for women’s rights ends up unintentionally advocating only for cisgendered (not transgendered) white women. By being more intentional about how we approach our activism, we shorten the journey. Fighting for the most marginalized inherently fights for ourselves. When I work for an organization that helps reallocate funds and is advocating for political and social equity for African Immigrants, I am also creating a world that leaves more space for me.
I am a white woman. I’ve felt the discrimination of being a woman, I’ve felt discrimination based on how I choose to express myself, and I’ve felt the insecurities my friends and I face when we choose to go out. I will never understand what it is like to be Black, but I see that similar societal factors and historical (and legal) patriarchal practices are perpetuated by the same systems that perpetuate racism. I know that by fighting for Black Womxn, I am also fighting for myself. As I’ve continuously said, the United States is a great country (for some more than others), but that doesn’t mean we have to stop it from becoming even better.
Marching this past weekend wasn’t because Trump was in office. Marching was because there were extreme injustices that a change in presidency can’t fix. Electing Biden was a step in the right direction, but it was a quick fix that will need a lot more work and accountability to make the necessary changes. That being said, joy is oftentimes considered the most vulnerable emotion. To me, that makes it one of the most powerful. Regardless of how you feel about the election, the election results, or what’s coming next, I encourage you to join me in finding the little moments of joy.
My coworker and I took in the views and dreamed about what our careers would look like. We remembered what was at stake for each of us, what we enjoyed doing, and what we were motivated to contribute moving forward. It’s overwhelming and exciting and I tried to explain that to my friend as we finished our coffees on the cool, noisy, COVID safe, patio.
I encourage you to take time to reflect as well: what are you fighting and advocating for, and why? If you’re not actively involved in some capacity, are you okay with being complacent? How can you relate the issues that are currently impacting you to the broader movements you have seen spread across America?
For those who are people of faith: How does your faith motivate you to keep listening, learning, and growing? How do you connect the teachings found in the Bible to what you’re seeing today? Jesus himself made a lot of political enemies, how can we make sure that we are not settling for what seems safe, but rather for what is just?
