Reflections on America as a Black Woman
“The mule finds itself tortured and burdened with hardship for no reason other than the sake of burdening it. With no voice or agency of its own, the mule reminds her of the black woman in America who must suffer and endure.” - Zora Neale Hurston
When I tell people I travel alone, they (mostly women) often ask, “How do you feel safe?” The truth is, I don’t. But as a Black woman in America, navigating everyday life means contending with an environment where risk is a core part of existence—risk of bodily harm, risk of misperception, risk that simply being may be met with hostility. Whether in Macomb, Michigan, New York City, or Mexico, safety is a luxury that society does not afford equally. And so, I travel, knowing I am no safer at home than I am anywhere else. You cross the street if there’s a man walking behind you, always make it seem like you’re with someone, phone in your hand, cover your drink, be polite, but not inviting. A recent interview on Graham Norton with Saorise Ronan highlighted this and I’ve said as much to many people, many times. So I wish I had remembered that there is no ‘safe’ for us when I was preparing myself for the outcome of the election.
I knew this was a possibility and thought I had braced myself for impact. I have spent weeks riddled with anxiety which all centered around one person, Donald Trump. And on the other side of November 5th, that aching fear around his policies and their impact is just as prominent as I had imagined. What I didn’t plan for, however, was for the center of that fear to grow to include an additional 71 million+ people, who voted against the safety and rights of others. Who voted for a candidate with a history of crime, violence, and misogynistic and racist rhetoric. How do you continue to hold community with those people? It’s both isolating and terrifying to go to pottery or the grocery store knowing that the people around you couldn’t be bothered to care enough if others live or die.
I’ve tried to reconcile in my head supporting him. And what that means for the treatment of each other. Not only because he advocates for harmful changes to the country, but what does it communicate to give someone convicted of felonies who has abused others the most important job in the country? That there are few consequences, and in fact there are rewards, for violent words and actions for powerful white men.
Kamala is smart. She’s talented, charming, accomplished, hard-working. A Black woman with a vision and drive I could identify with. When I was a child and people asked what I wanted to be when I grew up, I would say President of the United States. And I would get teased by my peers because somehow that dream for a little Black girl was more far fetched than the 10 kids who wanted to be astronauts. My goals have changed but I still strive for success and leadership, to influence and support. When I cast my vote for Kamala yesterday, I was overwhelmed with emotion as it felt like seeing a version of that dream taking form. The euphoria of that dissipated quickly. Maybe those kids were right.
Today was a hard day. Full of harsh reminders. That Black women continue to be devalued in this world. That I am not safe, even in regular everyday situations. And that there are [many] others who don’t think that fact is very important.
