The Fifty-Three Percenters
I remember way back in time, early 2020, when we were all different people, I dropped a blog entitled, Dear Random White Women, No Thank You.
It did not go over well. It didn’t go over well in the sense that it made people uncomfortable. People I care about, and people I didn’t know existed, all had something to say.
“You can’t make a blanket statement like this.”
“This doesn’t track with who you are.”
“I hate you see me this way.”
It’s the closest I’ve ever been to going viral, and it spread just far enough that I needed to post a clarification. Clarified as in I doubled down, naturally. In Dear Random White Women, Part 2, I wasn’t retracting, I was ensuring everyone who had something to say knew their feelings about it didn’t matter. While I love that when I write people can relate, this is my space to do with as I please, and to express what heals me.
In these instances, it was to describe a niche experience of being a Black SAHM in spaces around White women, and what that made me feel… uninterested in exchanging platitudes with anyone I hadn’t vetted as a “safe” person.
Looking back, I just want to say, I was right. Not that I ever questioned it, but every year since then it has only solidified the fact that I can’t trust random White women. The quiet part needed to be said out loud. What so many missed in their faux outrage was the equally loud point, they don’t trust me, or my children either. Almost 5 years later, both of my Littles are too big for random compliments now. Go figure, they’ve grown out of being adorable children, now, they’re just Black kids.
Underneath the shock of the title, there was no malice, no call to action, and no follow up. At the end of the day, my rightful mistrust encourages me to be guarded. I am cautious. Their mistrust and discomfort lead to a president 47. It led to Donald fucking Trump being elected again.
Do you see the difference?
I said it in a blog, they said it with their votes. All fifty-three percent of them. Their comfort was in danger and now my life is. My children’s lives are. My family, my friends, my community… we are now all in danger because over half of White women decided they were more comfortable upholding a racist patriarchy as the second in command. That means over half the time, I am probably talking to someone that is actively plotting on my downfall. I’m not kumbaya-ing with the opps.
Why don’t I mention White men? Well, I’m not around enough of them in intimate settings to have to smile and grin through the bullshit. They also aren’t on Tiktok trying to start a movement of wearing blue bracelets to virtue signal they are an “ally” like they did with those damn pink hats.
No, they stand on whatever fuckery they subscribe to, and I can maneuver accordingly. So, they get the side-eye and stiff arm for other reasons. This is about the women that seek a comfort not afforded to anyone else, who want to be consoled for failing the group project.
I had a completely different blog to post this week, but I felt it was important, no imperative, that anyone that comes to this site understand, much like the rest of the Black woman’s collective, I’m curating a place of safety for me, and mine. I didn’t care five years ago how that made people feel and I damn sure don’t care now.
Proceed with caution.