Tuesday night, we elected Donald Trump as the President of the United States. Over the last 80 something hours, a lot of emotions have risen to the surface for me: anger, fear, sadness, and yes, even peace.
I'm not going to speculate on how we could let this happen as a country. Not here, at least.
What I am going to say is this: I'm giving up.
No, not on humanity. I'm giving up on silence.
I am what most, except my mother and boyfriend, would call an agreeable person. Someone that others see as nice and easygoing. I oftentimes say "I don't care where we eat" or "I'm fine doing whatever" when trying to make plans. In most of those cases, I'm telling the truth. In these instances, I don't feel like being easygoing is a bad thing.
Unfortunately, there are times when my easygoing and agreeable nature have not been good. Times that I'll admit, I'm ashamed of.
I've sat at the table with people while they spewed their polite racism, saying things like, "my dad would shit if I brought home a Black guy." They'd then look at me and say, "well, you know what I mean." I've smiled, acknowledging that I understood their point, but in reality, I didn't.
I've listened, cringing, while people I know start out discussions with "I'm not a racist, but..."
I've had people say to me "Look, I voted Yes on 8, but like, I have gay friends. It's just not a lifestyle that I would choose."
I've sat in a room with people watching George Zimmerman's trial while they said things like, "well, clearly, the kid must have done something wrong. People don't just shoot people." I then went home, called one of my only black girl friends, and cried.
I've heard all of these things and more, yet I have rarely spoken out.
Why?
Because growing up as a biracial female in the conservative, predominately white Central Valley of California was a near constant reminder that I wasn't like everyone else. For one thing, I looked different, with darker skin and a wild tangle of curls that refused to lay straight. I also lived in a single parent environment, unlike the two parent homes that most of my friends experienced.
I mention all of this to show that I already had obvious differences from my peers, so speaking out as the only black girl at the table seemed risky, especially because I wanted people to like me.
And even though I am now a college educated woman in her late twenties, at times, I still feel like that young girl who spent hours in front of the mirror trying to flat iron my curls and erase my differences.
During most of the exchanges I mentioned above, I would think to myself, if I call them out, then it will make them feel uncomfortable, and I don't want to seem angry.
Yea.
But you know what? Staying quiet makes me uncomfortable. Staying quiet hurts people I know and love. Staying quiet makes me angry.
So, this is my resolution: I'm giving up the silence. If I am engaging in conversation with someone and witness them committing everyday racism, sexism, homophobia, and/or xenophobia, I'm going to address it. It's not fair that I, and millions of other people who can relate to my experiences, should allow their feelings to sit on the back burner.
And if your reasons for liking me were my agreeable and easygoing attitude, then you probably aren't going to like me anymore.
And I'm okay with that, too.
