Bullying can be big and egregious like the foregoing, but it can also be slight and sneaky, like an ultra passive-aggressive friend who constantly called me and my actions “silly.” No matter its form, bullying is brutal. And bullying Black women+, who already endure oppression at every turn, even more so.
#3—Subjugating
Sometimes when I think back on the harms I’ve experienced in my friendships with white women, it’s less the big behaviors and words that hurt my heart and more the daily forms of dismissal. I can still hear the way my high-school bestie would scoff at me and my suggestions. I can picture the eye rolls and looks of disapproval. I am amazed at the ways I was made to constantly cater to, comfort, and center her and her well-being, be it always eating when and where she wanted or simply doing what worked best for her. The ways I was made to feel uppity and chronically told to “chill.” Forgiving myself for allowing these harms is an ongoing process. Some of the worst violence comes from actions so tenuous they could almost go unnoticed. Almost. It’s an often unintentional but entirely ingrained way of subjugating Black women+. As a queer Black woman, my colonial role is to avoid naming or rocking my white friend’s boat in any way, or suffer immense emotional, spiritual, mental, and/or physical harm by their hand dare I act out of line.
Another major way I have been subjugated by white women, especially cis white women, is through the use of money. Almost every close white friend I’ve ever had has used money in an attempt to repair harm, address their guilt, or otherwise make up for their inability to emotionally support me. Whether they knew it—and many of them didn’t—their buying me shit or whisking me off to their million-dollar “cabins” created a deeper division within our already off-kilter power dynamic. It made them feel like good friends for doing the bare minimum and left me feeling less able to call them on their bad behavior because “generous” friends must be good friends. Right? Wrong.
#4—White Feminism
Ah, white feminism and all its fuckery. I had a longtime friend who had taken my workshops and one evening, after many a beverage, wanted to talk to me about my racial justice “journey.” She shared a desire to support me and my work but was concerned as to her role in it as my white friend. On the surface, and at the time, this seemed like a compassionate sentiment. But what I came to realize is that her concern was actually about her comfort. She was uneasy about what our friendship meant when I would no longer be prioritizing her comfort within it. Just a few weeks later we were out for dinner, and I vulnerably shared the way I am frequently called intimidating because of my Blackness. She immediately belittled me for the mere thought, stating, “That’s not because of your race, silly, I get called that all the time. It’s because we’re loud women!” Ohhhh, is that it? Thank you so much for educating me on my own experience. This tendency to center whiteness and dismiss the experiences of Black women+ is classic white feminist bullshit, and I have no time for it.
* * *
What’s most telling is that my relationships with Black women+ are different. They’re deeper. And void of the same kinds of violence. The level of intimacy and understanding that comes from navigating the same systems of race- and gender identity–based oppression, and the toll that takes, is immeasurable. Don’t get it twisted, all skinfolk ain’t kinfolk, but in my experience we usually understand and support one another better.
White and non-Black PoC women and femmes, whether you’re friends with Black women+ or otherwise, you gotta do better. Like, way better. I’ve said it many times before and I’ll say it again: y’all are causing Black women+, myself included, mad harm. For those thinking, Not me—yes, absolutely you. Overtly or otherwise and in many ways unbeknownst to you. I know a lot of it feels unintentional and I know it’s 2021—not knowing about racial harm is intentional. And entirely unacceptable. Your ignorance is violent. So, what the fuck to do?
HOW TO BETTER SUPPORT BLACK WOMEN+
When it comes to better supporting Black women+ in friendships (and beyond), there’s no one size fits all. We have various life experiences, privileges, worldviews, triggers, etc. and our needs and wants for friendship will differ. What I can share are five suggestions for how white and other non-Black folx wishing to be my friend can begin to authentically engage with and support me personally. I believe many other Black women+ will benefit from the same.
These actions aren’t a surefire way to friendship, because nothing is. But given the grave amount of harm I and so many Black women+ have and continue to endure at the hands of non-Black women+, and cis white women in particular, these are my current precursors to rules of engagement with any non-Black woman+ seeking friendship moving forward. I encourage you to check in with the Black women+ in your life to understand if and how this will be of benefit to them, and take similar action to address your relationships with other BI&WoC.
#1—Admit You’re Racist and/or Anti-Black
Whether you intend it or not, racism is the status quo of whiteness, and anti-Blackness is inherent in all races. If you are committed to minimizing harm to myself and other Black women+, then you will acknowledge and address your learned white supremacy and its consequences. If you can’t recognize that you belong to a race that as a whole has oppressed Black people to build and maintain your privilege and understand the power dynamics at play in our relationship as a result, you’re not someone I can feel safe with or trust. This means educating yourself. Reading books is great (thanks for your support!), but passive education is insufficient, especially in the absence of critical analysis from Black and Indigenous women+. I suggest the best way to begin is ongoing active education led by Black and Indigenous racial justice educators. This also means engaging in conversations about racism, white privilege, and anti-Blackness (and not in a manner that requires the unpaid time, energy, and emotional labor of Black women+), learning and using proper terminology, committing to doing better, owning and apologizing when you fuck up and cause harm—because you still will—and continuing to dismantle your white supremacy and/or non-Black privilege for the rest of your days. It is also imperative you own your other privileges, be it from class, gender identity, sexual orientation, ability, age, religion, or otherwise, especially in friendships with Black women+ living at additional intersections of oppression. There’s no silver bullet and your work will never be finished, but it’s on you to do it every single day for the rest of your life. Or not, but that means you and I can’t be homies #sorrynotsorry.
#2—Do Your Inner Work
I can’t say it enough times and there aren’t enough ways to say it. In addition to admitting your participation in anti-Black systems and all the ways it (and you) have caused Black women+ harm, there’s the deep inner work of actively addressing that racism and/or anti-Blackness and doing your own healing work to address your grief and trauma in order to show up and take action in support of Black liberation. If you haven’t addressed your ancestral legacy, inherited trauma, and the areas keeping you stuck, you can’t engage in racial justice in a meaningful and sustainable way.
#3—Acknowledge Me
This sounds incredibly simple, doesn’t it? Yet I’ve found it unbelievably challenging for non-Black women and femmes to do. If you want to authentically engage with me, then you need to fully acknowledge me, as in all parts of me. Not just the parts you like or want to co-opt. Not just the bits that you understand. Certainly not just the parts that make you comfortable. ALL of me. Including my Blackness. I am humxn, just like you. Shit ain’t hard (especially if you’re addressing your own anti-Blackness). Accept me. Acknowledge me and my experiences. Support me in my anger and do your best to appreciate how and why centuries of misogynoir would leave me so damn pissed off. Believe me. Even and especially when my experiences make you uncomfortable. In the words of Audre Lorde, “The history of white women who are unable to hear Black women’s words, or to maintain dialogue with us, is long and discouraging.”2 Same holds true for many other non-Black women+. Acknowledge. Us.
Not everything is about you. This may come across as facetious, but it’s a simple truth pill many white and non-Black women+ have a tough time swallowing. If you expect me to educate you on race (unpaid and outside of my role as an educator), comfort you as you process your anti-Blackness, send you love and light after you’ve caused me harm, or engage in discussions about your hurt feelings re: anti-Blackness (or my resulting boundaries), you’re making this entire thing about you. It’s not. Countering your misogynoir with the discrimination you face as a woman+ and/or non-Black humxn does nothing but silence Black women+ and perpetuate more oppression. Conduct an honest review of our friendship, of race-based harms you’ve caused myself and other Black women+, and figure out if you can honestly and earnestly attempt to fix that harm—for our benefit. Not just yours. I’m tired and I don’t owe whiteness a dang thing, including an explanation.
Ceasing to center yourself also means you understand that you cannot and will never understand my experiences as a Black woman because you have never endured anti-Blackness. White women+ have never endured white supremacy (and if you disagree, then we can call this whole “let’s try to be friends” thing quits right now). If there are things I’ve shared or tried to explain, or behaviors I’ve exhibited, that you simply don’t understand—have some fucking compassion. I am enduring a daily onslaught of hate and discrimination that you could not begin to fathom. If I say it’s about anti-Blackness—it almost certainly is. Your attempts to tell me otherwise are usually violent and about your need for comfort over mine. Stop it. Lastly, prioritize and fight for the needs, wants, and comfort of myself and other Black women+, even and especially when you don’t feel you directly benefit—not just in the wake of Black death or other times you seek to “feel better.”
#5—Support Me
Support means nurturing and uplifting myself and other Black women+ emotionally, mentally, spiritually, and physically. That means checking in on me regularly. Ya know, like a friend. Having to constantly navigate global anti-Blackness is painful and exhausting on a good day, not to mention in the wake of, say, Breonna Taylor’s murder or a global pandemic disproportionately claiming Black lives due to four hundred years of anti-Blackness. Support the work to dismantle anti-Blackness and white supremacy by partaking in it yourself and helping spread the word to other white and non-Black folx. Support my humxnity by, as a start, calling out other non-Black folx who partake in anti-Black acts toward myself or others, paying Black women+, using your privilege to address racial justice and anti-Blackness, and ceasing to associate with folx who refuse to do the work. If you believe you’re “doing the work” but your BFFs, hubby, clients, and closest circle aren’t—you’re lying to yourself.
Still with me? Good! I just spilled some mayjah tea, but these are some hard but incredibly important truths you needed to receive. I’m not asking you to become an activist (and when it comes to racial justice I don’t believe white people are worthy of the term), but you do need a willingness and capacity to face your discomfort and unpack your privilege.
Unplug from the matrix of white supremacy and help us all, yourself included, get free.
WHEN WHITE WOMEN+ WAKE UP
Let me change gears for a moment and share some insight as to the wonderful relationships I have with white women+ doing their work. I don’t want to leave anyone with the impression that white women+ and BI&WoC (or non-Black WoC and Black women+) cannot be friends. We can. We are. And if we are ever to have a fighting chance at ending oppression, our friendships must continue. Though my relationships with white women+ have caused me a lifetime of serious suffering, those I’ve been able to forge with white women+ committed to racial justice have been invigorating and inspiring. When white women+ start doing their work, they realize that being a part of the system of white supremacy hasn’t just been about causing harm to others—though it has, and they need to reconcile that—but they also learn the ways in which they’ve caused harm to themselves and had to disconnect from their own heart space in order to buy into this system of dominance. It’s similar to how men+ can understand that heteropatriarchy is a system of toxic masculinity that actually also causes them harm—to a lesser degree than women+, of course. These women+ have been cracked open and are now able to cultivate truly integral and intimate relationships, not only with me but with themselves and so many others. They are doing the work of facing their shadow and tolerating their discomfort. And as a result, they are empowered to support themselves and, most important, Black women+, better. For example, one such friend joined me on a retreat I spoke at in Peru that was entirely Black aside from her and an East Asian woman. I invited her myself, an invitation I was happy to extend only because I know her to be doing her racial justice work in authentic and active ways. At the retreat, she led a room otherwise entirely full of Black women+ through a deeply impactful session where she explicitly addressed her privilege and created a space where we could all feel supported and sufficiently safe. I don’t think many, if any, of the Black women+ in that room had felt that kind of support from a white woman before—and they all deserve to.
Some of my closest and longest friendships are still with white women+. They understand their role as oppressed oppressors. They are unpacking their need to be good and right, to people please, and to avoid conflict. They work toward causing less harm and dismantling white supremacy every damn day. These women are the exception, but that does not make them exceptional. They are white women+ doing their work, just as all white women+ ought to be. Until we dismantle white supremacy, white women+ will cause Black women+ and all WoC harm any time they engage in any kind of relationship with us. And anti-Blackness from all BI&PoC will also continue to cause Black women+ harm. You must understand that the most unprotected person in this world is a Black woman+, and to authentically engage with us means you must acknowledge the harms inflicted by white supremacy, including the personal harms inflicted by you. In the words of healer Destiny Turner-Vanlear, “I don’t expect anyone to come into my life fully whole and healed because I know I’m still walking the path to remembering myself… I just expect you to be eager to heal, and to be willing to do the necessary work.”3 So do more. Do better. And do it now. You’re already centuries behind.
Spiritual Soulcare Offering/Call to Action
Below is an opportunity to explore the racial and other power dynamics within your friendships, how and when (not if) race plays a role, and the harms you’ve caused and/or been subjected to within them.
Friendspection Exercise
REFLECT ON THE FOLLOWING:
Which friend do you feel most safe with (if anyone)? Why? Are they the same race as you? Why do you think that is?
Is race acknowledged in any of your friendships, especially with friends of a different race? If so, how? If not, why?
How many friends from different races do you have? Why or why not? Who holds more privilege in your friendship(s)? Do you acknowledge and address the way differing power and privileges is likely causing harm? If not, why? If so, how?
Have you ever been oppressive toward or oppressed by a friend because of race? If so, how? Have you ever been oppressive toward or oppressed by a friend based on other identities (ethnicity, shade, sexual orientation, gender identity, class, age, body size, etc.)? If so, how?
How does white supremacy impact your friendships and the power relations inherent within them?
For Black women+: Do your friendships with white women+ and non-Black WoC nurture, uplift, affirm, and support you as your whole Black self? Are these friends actively addressing their anti-Blackness? Whose comfort most gets prioritized, and why?
When you finish, examine the why and why nots of your answers and marinate on the implications they have for you, your friendships, and, most important, your most oppressed friends. Journal if you need. After you’ve taken at least a few days to digest, if you feel you have sufficient tools to do so, ask any friends who ma
y be impacted by your answers if they are able, open, and willing to discuss or review this exercise with you. Ensure any request is first and foremost about the friend with the least power and privilege (whether that’s you or them) and that person’s well-being. Respect your friend’s right to decline, as well as your right to amend (or end) your friendship as and how needed.
SIXTEEN
What’s Love Got to Do with It?
The moment we choose to love we begin to move against domination, against oppression. The moment we choose to love we begin to move towards freedom, to act in ways that liberate ourselves and others.
—BELL HOOKS, “LOVE AS THE PRACTICE OF FREEDOM”
White supremacy not only invades our friendships, it harms all of our loving relationships, especially our most intimate ones. It robs us of vulnerable connections, subjugates the well-being of women+ and demands our unacknowledged emotional labor. This oppressive dynamic has specific consequences for Black women, who, as online user data has proven, are consistently deemed the least romantically desirable (alongside Asian men).1 It is no surprise that as a Black woman I always felt it was my job to work for love. To prove that I was lovable or risk love evading me altogether. The oppressive harms that played out in my intimate relationships started from a young age. I had no role models of healthy or lasting love to draw upon—both my paternal and maternal ancestry are rife with physical and sexual abuse, infidelity, and other relational traumas. An experience that is rooted in systemic racism and anti-Blackness. My father, born and raised in colonial-ruled Jamaica, was emotionally unavailable on a good day, physically, verbally, and emotionally abusive on a bad one. Having suffered grave violence and trauma himself, violence and trauma his parents had handed down as learned from enslavers and colonial rulers, he continued the cycle of abuse and oppression. When I was just two years old, my mother witnessed my dad strike me across the face and left the next day. Their divorce soon followed. The interactions I had with my dad growing up always left me longing for more—more love, more support, more protection. But he has neither the tools nor willingness to show up for himself, let alone his (many) children.
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