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368 pages, Hardcover
Published January 23, 2024
"My Freedom can never be contingent upon someone else's unfreedom." As a Mexican American, Queer, AFAB Genderqueer individual, observing our government unleashing ultimate destruction to enact injustice, unfreedom, to my people in the name of justice and freedom to those who "deserve it," I'm becoming increasingly terrified every day. To spread fear in not freedom. To destroy some lives is not freedom. I am not free. You are not free.
"She was courageous in the face of violence and potential harm, and her courage encapsulated what it meant to be afraid and choose to do the right thing anyway." As I said before, I'm terrified. I'm scared and often feel helpless. However, I know where my privilege lies. I know that I am white, female passing, and educated. I need to be concerned about the day-to-day lives and the ways in which systemic oppression shapes our livelihoods, and the lives of Black and Brown Women, Immigrants, Disabled individuals, and other people who are oppressed by this world.
"Black women would often labor in silence, out of the public eye, and in ways that were frequently overlooked or ignored." I think this is something that I, growing up, didn't observe. I think I had this picture in my head that Black women were superheroes. That you have to be strong and resilient in her position. But I know now how damaging these thoughts can be, and the little attention this ideology has, how dangerous it can be (ex: the risks of childbearing for Black women) to not see Black women as just as vulnerable as any other human.
"It was not only a reminder that I was no longer "young." It was a reminder that I once was and that, when I was young, I was quite powerful. More powerful than I thought I was." I remember being in college and seeing my peers standing up to the fear-mongering, rage-baiting groups of all-white, male community members who opposed the Queer identity on campus. How my peers chanted louder, stronger, and more fearlessly than the men who hated our existence. The college said they had a right to be there. It was a public space. But a space that so many students wanted to feel safe in. Accepted. A friend of mine had said, at the time, that it seemed useless to chant and blast music at the strangers on campus because it just looked "embarrassing." I understand what he was getting at. That maybe this demonstration to show numbers and pride wasn't going to do anything. And in a couple years, Utah government, where my college was located in, would pass laws to further harm queer, trans, and Black, Brown, and Indigenous students at our school. No longer were we allowed to have a space for ourselves. The Center for Diversity and Inclusion was deemed oppressive to the students who felt "othered" by the office. Ironic, I know. My mom would call the fight for a Free Palestine "performative" and that us young people don't understand what we're fighting for. Why not? Why because we fight for the BLM movement and Queer Rights must we be ignorant to the situation just because we were born after its inception? How is that fair? But I know we can't give up. Can't give up on the movements that young people continue to fight for.
"The concept of respectability is usually framed a negative thing. It has been used to ostracize Black working-class and poor people like Fannie Lou Hamer and exclude them from full citizenship and access to life-sustaining resources." Genuinely, so often, it is so obvious that if you do not act in a whiteness, you should not be taken seriously. If you make one mistake, all your work to reach that whiteness, respect, is taken away. You are judged for everything that you are. "This process almost always excludes Black people, immigrants, trans and queer folks, disabled folks, fat people, women with multiple children (especially if those children are suspected to have different fathers), drug users, the chronically ill, those with mental disabilities, and anyone else deemed "other."
"And living this way in the face of increasing vigilante and police violence against Black people has meant that I am constantly reminded that not only am I not safe or protected, but my children aren't either." I saw someone addressing that the deaths of Renee Good and Alex Pretti as only national, international, news because they are white. He goes on to explain that people only care because there is suddenly a realization that it could be you. The white person who has perhaps acknowledge the deaths of hundreds of Black people, like Treyvon Martin, or learned historically, like of Emmett Till, but are only taking severe action because now it's one of them. Us. I am white. Or at least white passing, but either way. And it's a real point. To hold whiteness accountable is many things. One of which is showing "hey, you only care about this thing because even though police brutality, government overstep, has severely harmed People of Color, specifically Black people, for all of history, it now only matters because it harms you."
"They weren't magical women. They weren't superheroes. They were Black women. That meant they could do literally anything, and it wasn't because of some preordained social order that made it so or some fairy dust granting them superhuman abilities. They could do anything because surviving a cruel, anti-Black, misogynistic world taught them how to harness their innate power. They had to work for it. They had to earn it. But it was theirs." And you know what the funny thing is? It's cool for white people to tell Black women that they are strong superheroes, but to be a Black woman and announce you work hard to survive... she is suddenly "trying to hard." She could never reach real power. Or be as smart, strong, respected as her white female colleagues.
"These women were intentional about their decision to break away from the mainstream race, gender, and queer movements to pioneer what would later be called "intersectionality." It was from their theorizing that we came to understand that oppressions are interlocking and exist simultaneously for Black women, especially those who are also poor and working class, queer, and trans." Last year I fell in love with Riot Grrrl. Even though I'm not a girl, it was the type of Feminism that I lusted after. Punk, DIY, political activism. And while I was diving into the music scene that upheld this movement, like Bikini Kill, Bratmobile, etc., I sought after books to read too, like Blood and Guts in High School by Kathy Acker. I also read the autobiography of Kathleen Hanna, lead singer of Bikini Kill, Rebel Girl: My Life as a Feminist Punk. In it, she mentions that though this was a movement she believed in, Riot Grrrl became exclusionary to white women. She said she should've been more attentive at the time of the racist happenings in this fight for feminism, her regret and guilt that followed. Hanna goes on to talk about how we should leave Riot Grrrl in the past. Make a new something of feminism that includes all people. I did research following reading this book and found the word "intersectionality." I immediately put it in my TikTok bio: "Intersectional Feminism = Punk" to show everyone what I was about. But it was only until reading this book, did I know where Intersectionality came from. It's meaning and purpose I have and still align with, but I realize it's very important to know the history of what I'm preaching before I preach it.
"She was keenly aware of the fact that white people, across gender, had been socialized to "not see" differences like race, gender, sexuality, and ability. Thus, in their not seeing, they would frequently feel challenged and aggressed when these differences were acknowledged. She elaborated that white women feminists had failed to truly grapple with race, class, gender, and the like in social life. For Lorde, white women even those who were well meaning, were key in upholding white supremacy, thus preventing solidarity between white women and Black women." Jackson goes on to talk about "allyship." How allyship is only a whisper next to action. I remember the safety pin symbol. In my circles, it was regarded as a message to trans individuals as a "hey, I'm a safe person to go to if you need to talk or need help/are in danger." I see now there were many meanings to the safety pin. I don't think it's inherently wrong to show support/allyship or even "hey I'm also trans, etc" if it's not immediately obvious. I find safety pins relate a lot to my political identity of being punk. It's important to me. And I can also acknowledge that some instances of allyship are performative. If A-List celebrity is at the Grammy's wearing an "Ice Out" pin, I don't immediately assume they are doing everything in their power to stop the system of oppression. Maybe that makes them "fake," or at least unreliable. I know that at the end of the day, I and others need allyship. But more importantly, myself and others need people of action.
"As Davis explains, these murders were an indication that the white supremacist terrorists did not care about Black people's lives, and neither did the people who allowed their actions to become the norm." Back in 2024, while I was working at this K-12 school, I was assigned to assist in a high school English class, during which time they were reading Stamped: Racism, Antiracism, and You, which I read with them. In the book, it explains the difference between "anti-racist" and "not racist." Not racist being a denial to being racist while allowing inequities to persist. Anti-racist being against racist policies and ideas, and requiring active consistent fight against such things. Furthermore, it talked about how some abolitionists, while opposing slavery, still held assimilationist views. Assimilating to the white American idea of what a person should act, look, sound like, and be. Knowing this, we can see that even though America claims to be anti-slavery and anti-racist, that is clearly not the case. Jackson shows us that the 13th Amendment allows for the loophole to continue the anti-Black existence in the United States. How the prison system, and the system of policing, is just different names for slavery and slave-catching. WE are not in an anti-racist institution. WE are not in an anti-slavery state. WE ask those who are "other" to assimilate, "leave your identity at the door." The capitalist pigs spew out a new line of clothing for Black History Month at Target: "Queen 'Tings," "Dope Black Woman," "Brown Suga," "Pretty Brown 'Ting," "Rootz." They monetize off Black Women and get rid of DEI. "Capitalism is racial capitalism, and I think we need to confront that today and more in the direction of envisioning and hopefully building a socialist society."
"It took me months to face her being gone. Even as I write this, I can't control the emotions. Tears are all that welcome me. I've only been able to go on because I know what love is and what it does. I believe we are still connected and that our love is expansive enough to transcend time, space, and even death." After finishing this chapter, I called my grandma, my dad's mom. I have not seen her in many years. I believe my mom and her had a fraught relationship after my dad died, back in 2008, and I never really got to see her again. I didn't have the means and money as a kid, and then I was in college, trying to start life. Now, being out of college, 25 years old, I wonder where the time went. I called her and listened as she asked me the same question once, twice, three times over. "I'm, you know, 83-84 or something," she says to me. I ask her for her address; I need to see her soon. I'm 25 and my dad, my Tio Mike (one of his brothers), and my grandpa (their dad) have all passed. My mom's dad is getting old. I saw him back in October and he asked me if the floor was moving. All these people in my life and I feel like I'm loosing them all. They may never see my wedding day. Or meet my children, if I should have one. I'm 25 and I feel like I don't have enough time to show them all how much I love them.
"Here are five lessons this process taught me: 1) Sometimes you have to build the world you want to see, 2) Our trauma is not who we are, 3) Scarcity isn't real, 4) There is no time limit on learning, and 5) Black women are always teaching us. We just have to listen." I take these lessons with me, and all that Jackson has helped teach me.