The Real Truth behind my SJW Ways.

Or: why I am so damn mean.

For many years often the response to my anti-racism work, from essays to Facebook conversations one of the first things folks often tell me is that I’m being cruel. That, regardless of the content of what I’ve said, that I am not loving, I am not interested in caring and nurturing. Like most other Black women and Femmes, frequently I am called a bully.

This happens the fastest when I deal with White women. A lot of the time they won’t speak to me directly, I will reach a point in the conversation that I feel gaslit and exasperated, if I show any bit of emotion or temper, someone rushes in to chide “us” to be loving and remember kindness. If those occurrences were dollars, I’d be wearing Fenty from the skin out.

I’ve been thinking a lot about community and love. Activism and art, the intersections of my burning need to shape spaces I inhabit and help people not be shitty and the point where I feel abused. I think about this a lot as I pull back from communities I care for because they have become abusive. I think a lot about how much time and energy I’ve spent, the tears, the messages telling me I’m the reason they won’t be a feminist anymore or that they hope I die.

I’ve taken the abuse, I’ve not retaliated. In some cases, I’ve moved out of those communities. I’ve cut myself off. I’ve not offered my time, my words. I silenced myself because it has been so important for me not to cause harm to these communities or myself.