admin As a Black queer woman living in the South, I love to protest, rally, and march in the streets for a good cause. Nothing is more righteous for me than protesting to assert the fact that Black lives matter and protesting against police brutality and racist vigilante violence.
The America that is currently being shown across every form of media is the America that I’ve always known. The violent killing of Black folks, many of whom are just living their lives and trying to survive in these United States, is unfortunately nothing new. Many folks within my community, including myself, are rightfully experiencing feelings of anxiety and hopelessness over whether racist killings of our people will ever end. This is compounded by the current reality that many of us are still isolating in our homes due to the coronavirus pandemic that continues to kill us at extremely high rates compared to those of white communities. But we continue to rise up and show out for Black lives. If we don’t advocate for the sanctity of our own lives, who will? We speak, we march, and we protest because we do not have the privilege of remaining silent while white supremacy runs rampant.
I support and applaud all of my Black friends and coworkers who are attending the various protests happening all over the world. But I, admittedly, am not attending the protests in person. For one, I live with chronic asthma—which is an illness that many others within the Black community disproportionately develop and that is, in my case, likely tied to environmental injustice and anti-Black racism in housing. It leaves me extremely susceptible to a more serious case of COVID-19 if I were to contract the infection. Secondly, I have high anxiety about a likely run-in with police at a protest.
While I have a lot of guilt about not being on the front lines at the protests, I remind myself that sometimes it’s okay to play a supporting role, especially if that is what my physical and mental health need at the moment. If you too are a Black person who is unable to protest in the streets for whatever reason, I see you. I invite you to rethink what protesting means. It’s possible to find ways to protest for the cause and define speaking truth to power on your terms with the ultimate goal of dismantling systems meant to physically, mentally, and emotionally imprison us. Here’s how I’ve been showcasing that Black lives matter in my own way—hopefully it can offer you some inspiration if you need it.
As someone who has the privilege of having a home, which allows me to quarantine safely, one of the most important things I’ve been doing is paying attention to the protests even though I can’t join in physically. I listen to live news coverage via apps like TuneIn, which streams free online radio access to the same shows I watch on television. Listening to the news helps me set better boundaries around my news intake and enables me to stay informed without feeling constantly inundated with negative visual stimuli.
I also try to support and uplift frontline protestors. I spend a calculated amount of time on Black Twitter with the goal of keeping up on breaking news from Black media outlets like The Root and Colorlines and hearing people’s stories without also feeling emotionally burdened by triggering content. I read think pieces by protestors who are out there on the front lines to hear as many perspectives as possible about what is really happening on the ground. And, on a more personal level, I check in with my family and friends who are protesting to ask about their mental health and to make sure they have all of the resources they need. My best friend, Darlene Harris, is a badass Black criminal defense and business attorney in Charlotte, North Carolina, who is actively using her law degree to bail protestors out of jail and to provide them with legal representation. Giving her encouragement and support makes me feel like I am contributing to the cause too.
Then there’s the self-care aspect. As a Black queer woman, resting and “reclaiming my time,” in the words of hero Congresswoman Maxine Waters, is one of the ultimate forms of protest for me. I take care of myself by reading Black literature, listening to Black music, and watching Black cinema. I am working hard to constantly find new ways to experience Black joy and Black laughter even in times of righteous rage, because as a Black LGBTQ+ person, caring for myself is paramount.
I’m also working to create spaces at my workplace for other Black staff to commiserate. I’ve started calling my other Black coworkers to see how they are doing and coping in this moment. The organization that I work for also hosts various identity-based affinity group spaces. Having a Black caucus has given us a (virtual) place to speak openly and hold each other emotionally and spiritually, even though we cannot be together physically.
Beyond that, I’m fortunate enough to be able to use my money to support Black businesses and the Black economy. The racial wealth gap in our country that began more than 400 years ago when the first slave ship docked on this stolen land continues still today. Black women in particular only make about 61 cents to a white non-Hispanic man’s dollar. This means that, on average, Black women need to spend almost 20 months working to earn the same amount a white non-Hispanic man makes in just 12 months. The wealth gap for Black queer women, Black transgender individuals, and Black nonbinary folks is even more startling. Furthermore, even though Black people and communities are often the trendsetters in creative industries like beauty, music, and writing, we typically do not get paid what we deserve and instead must side hustle to piece together a living wage. Spending money at Black businesses helps my beautiful community not only survive but thrive.
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You might also consider affirming the importance of your own Black life by using your personal gifts to promote the cause. For me, this looks like writing and public speaking. But I’m also taking time to dive deeper and get reacquainted with my greater purpose on this earth, which I believe is to feel my emotions fully, learn from them, and transform them into positive energy so that I can live a life with compassion, intention, and gratitude—which is a gift to myself.
Finally, I’ve been calling my local and federal representatives to hold them accountable to the Black Lives Matter movement. Our voices are so incredibly important. Representatives want to hear from us because they want to make sure they vote in ways that make them reelectable in the future. Remember, our representatives work for us.
Ultimately, my Black community, I hope that you remember this: To live in this culture in our beautiful Black skin is to physically embody the demand to dismantle white supremacy. Wherever we are, whatever we do, we protest. We must make our heartache, our rage, and our voices known to those in power in this country and around the world. However we choose to protest, it matters. We matter.
