As with most of you, in times of adversity I find solace in the Angry Black Women of Salon.com. But other than for those with a fetish for macabre tedium, there’s little cause to click the link. It is a, by now, rote exercise in black lamentations. The palest man alive could pen it from osmosis.
I’m tired of suppressing myself to get along with white people.
I longed to crawl back to my tiny black universe. A place where I could create a sense of peace, identity and acceptance, a place where I could sit there, trying to untangle my fro and make sense of what it means to be an African-American woman in this country, rehashing our history while facing present pain.
I sent myself into a 200-year-old tizzy, reckoning with outdated ideas on race, tampering with prejudice and stereotypes. I became enslaved by my emotions.
Then I’d have to make my living situation salvageable by pocketing my black rage
I was tired of catering to everyone else’s comforts. How much of my day-to-day experiences as a black woman do I have to filter?
or white movie stars on their I’ve-lost-count remarriages and those other white pop stars I could not care less about
Walking home that night, I unleashed all my tears. I wanted to reach out and hug a black man.
what I’m up against every single day: the unintentional ignorance of white people.
I need to reveal myself more. I need to start sharing about my history and my culture and how it plays out in my everyday life as an African American woman
I want to be able to publicly express my honest admiration for being black, outside of my little black planet.
Yes, it’s her manifest inability to publicly express blackness that so grieves. Perhaps one day she’ll cross this personal Bridge over River Kwai and write openly about blackblackblackblack. Maybe even for a far far left webzine that starts with an S. Regardless, we’ll pray for her emancipation.
Though Salon’s solipsistic ABW gibberish isn’t much the point. What caught my eye was an accompanying comment.
Priscilla Ward, I adore you. Thank you for this article. I can relate to your words and emotions in a myriad of ways.
My skin is white but inside I feel I am all colors, white being the least of them. That is not some cheesy, eye-roll-inducing statement I just typed -“I feel all colors”. It is freeing but it is also a burden I live with every day – being able to feel all colors. I have a deep longing for equality and justice. I have a strong need for everyone to be treated with compassion and fairness and when someone is not, it rips me up inside. And I largely suffer in loneliness because I rarely meet other white people with the same sense of outrage when another race is mistreated.
I knew all about Ferguson as it was beginning to unfold. My twitter feed started flooding with tweets from the black power groups I follow and my African American and enlightened white twitter friends. I literally watched the rage in Ferguson release itself live via twitter and the front seat it gave me to the real feelings of African Americans and what this experience meant to them is something shamefully missing from the mainstream media. My feelings were and are the feelings of the Ferguson residents. I screamed in rage. I pumped my fist in the air and cried tears of joy as I saw pictures of the protesters throwing tear gas canisters back at the police…
Here we glimpse a racially pure SJW 👯 in its natural habitat. The chains of righteousness weigh heavy indeed. But rather than shoot two oblivious fish it’s more important to discuss modernity’s most pernicious lie: Diversity is a Strength.
I doubt any strength in history has so weakened more polities. And on a personal scale, its daily accumulation of misery seems drawn from an infinite vein. One could choose Salon, or any other brown dwarfs in the same constellation, and archive a yottabyte of diversity-derived hatred and torment. They are quite fulsome in its expression. Whites and blacks have now suffered hundreds of years in each other’s company, both here and abroad. As Salon ABWs will artlessly attest, the relationship remains no less repulsive. So we assuage the grief by adding more.
Perhaps it’s not even intended as a lie, but a vetting gesture–a cultural handshake. Those who know Diversity is our Strength! are identifiably on a side. And as a marker, it’s hardly relevant that that side results in eradication of human diversity; one undesirable element of it at any rate.
Though the cultivation of inter-group conflict is not at all Our Strength’s greatest weakness. But rather its corrosive effect on intra-group relations. Diversity + proximity not only equals war, it equals war between whites. Take note of the quoted commenter above. In a homogenous society this meager girl wouldn’t give blacks a first thought. And, as her faculties hardly provide for the exertion, both she and those around her would be immeasurably more healthy and content for the absence. Instead she would publicize her virtue by conspicuously harboring animals or adopting a fern. Though corrupted by diversity she now renounces her own heritage, screams in rage, and weeps openly for those who despise her. Diversity molds the witless into janissaries. Their ranks are substantial.
And so liberalism continues its acidic work creating factions where none exist natively. Racists on the side of their children, and SJWs on that of the angels. Any more ‘strength’ than this will surely be our demise.