imma-talk-back

[imma-talk-back]

I am learning to love the sound of my feet walking away from things not meant for me.

Unknown (via qvotable)

[imma-talk-back]

Yesterday, I was called a Nigger.  Within mere minutes of being in my favorite store, it happened.  Without warning, a gentleman bisected my path and seemingly reflexively blurted it out.  It was if the word had a life of its own and was pushing forth from his mouth at a full sprint. I say this not to emphasize the innocence of the man, but to shed light on the immense power of that word. 

Yeah... I thought that’d get your attention. 

Frankly, I’ve always been one to prefer Target to Walmart.  I appreciate the structure and organization of the store, and though I am a person who thrives in areas of “organized chaos”, I’m afraid, I find Walmart to be a little too chaotic for my liking.  As someone who suffers from The Big Bad Beast that is Anxiety, I experience a visceral uneasiness in certain environments, but generally speaking Target is one of few places I nearly always feel safe in.  There are of course the antsy customers who brush past me on occasion or ride my tail too closely in the checkout, but for the most part, to me, Target represents the epitome of comfortable shopping experiences.  It’s almost as if the structure demands it’s patrons to be on their best behavior.  Unfortunately, not everyone heed these demands... 

Please allow me to begin by laying the ground work; let me explain just how much effort I put into a simple trip to the market.  You see, one of the many awful things about this lovely condition that is Anxiety is that it has the potential to make even the most mundane tasks feel insurmountable.  A quick errand run the average person puts little thought into, can for someone like me, be a delicate tightrope walk; from the moment I leave the safety of my car and began my trek though the aimless herds of self-focused patrons, to the exact position of my body in accordance to yours, while in line.  I see you in a straight line, but I take several steps to the right or left, creating a meticulously crafted triangle between you and the person in front of me; all with the intention to grant me just a bit more security.  You see, I’ve been socially distancing since before COVID made it cool.  

Well, it’s about time I get to the point, isn’t it?  So, here goes...

So here I am.. and on top of dealing with my typical feelings of sporadic and unannounced paralyzing panic that may rise at any moment during my routine errand, whilst in the midst of none other than The Zombie Apocalypse that is 2020, I am the victim of an unprovoked physical attack in on of my few “safe” public spaces.  Notice, I consider this a physical attack, because of slew of negative bio-mechanical implications it presented me with, after all the word Nigger cannot be compared to that of Bitch, or Asshole. No, when spat with the right amount of hatred, the word surge through your veins like a poison. 

Thus, I instinctively stopped dead in my tracks and felt the heat of pain and rage radiate through my body.  I shook my head, dropped my gaze, and took several steps forward before stopping.  Rather than metaphorically quietly quivering in the corner, I decided to act. 

I turned around, sought out an employee, mustered up all the poise I could find, and collectedly said something along the lines of: “Hi, I just walked into the store, and within moments upon entering, a gentleman wearing a white blazer called me a Nigger.  I would very much like for him to be escorted out of the store”.  It was important that I used the full word to convey the level of discomfort I felt in having it thrown at me.  Perhaps that did the trick because the woman responded with a look of genuine shock, without hesitation confirmed the direction the man was walking towards, and urgently called for security. I said my peace and entrusted my safety in the store to the woman’s follow-through.  

It wasn’t the first time and I knew it wouldn’t be the last. I tried my best to continue on my journey as if he “hadn’t gotten to me”, but he had, I rush through the store, in search of whatever had prompted me to enter.  I can’t for the life of me remember, I imagine because I moved through the store in what can only be likened to a fear-induced haze.  I walked through the isles wondering if the gentleman would return and found myself looking at every Black passer-by, wondering if they had, or would soon experience the same. 

I power walked through the store with a combination of sorrow, profound fear, inexplicable anger, and incredible gratitude.  It instantly pained my heart to hear that a complete stranger could have so much hate in their’s for me, it still does.   Although I don’t imagine the N-word is typically equated with fear for non-Black people, for someone like me, it can be terrifying.  Despite the ever-so-obvious gravitas of that word, I know it hardly represents the tip of the iceberg of the hatred that lies below the surface.  As such, I feared retaliation from the moment I reported the gentleman, throughout the store, to my stop at the gym where I went through my daily workout routine, to the moment I drove home, parked my car, and double-checked the locks to all the doors at my house.  

Though this wasn’t the first time I’ve experienced this sort of overt display of hatred in a public setting, it was without a doubt, the first time I have ever felt seen enough to report it.  The death of George Floyd exposed just how serious the issue of racial injustice in this country is, and made it unmistakably clear just how prevalent, not to mention perilous it is.  After 34 years of just taking it, and doing everything in my power to “not let it get to me” or knowing “it’s just the way it is”, I finally feel seen enough to say; look this just happened, and you have the power to make it so this isn’t just how it is. 

You see prior to May 25, 2020, we could all live with a degree of ignorance in the matter; you could deny my life was actually different because of my skin tone and I could feign my perception of equality, but that shield has been lifted.  We have awakened from our socio-normative unconsciousness... That was deep, I know, but rather or not we choose to stay woke is up to us. The US needs a reckoning, regardless of if recent demands for equality stemming from the death of Mr. Floyd, Ms. Taylor, and Mr. Arbery can transition this moment into a movement, I am here to remind you of its importance.  You see, I was Black before you ever heard of those names and will continue to be such even when they began to fade from your memory.  I am here to remind you just how vital that demand for equality is.  

The fact of the matter is that the woman who essentially “came to my rescue” by respecting the seriousness of the matter was in shock not only the verbal brutality spewed, but also in part I imagine from simply awakening the reality that such an incident actually happened.  This brings me to my anger... you see I am beyond grateful for the fact that I can finally stand up for myself and declare something like this has happened and be taken seriously, but I am equally as enraged that in order to be taken as such, the entire world had to witness a man be crushed to death.  It goes without saying that, the level of enlightenment that the entire non POC (people of color) world is having right now is just as appreciated as it is enraging. 

On a final note, I want to draw your attention to the fact that I referred to the man who accosted me, as a gentleman.  There is certainly two contributing factors to consider in this; one I was simply raised right- with manners and respect for everyone, and I knew this man couldn’t have been in his right mind, and two, I knew the importance of remaining composed in even the most daring of times, to counter the very real likelihood of simply being written off as an Angry Black Woman.  Think about that... even in an assault, I must maintain my composure, because society says an emotional Black woman is an Angry Black woman, society doesn’t question her countless motives for said anger; no, it merely writes her off.  

Well... let this first blog entry be a testament to my Eloquent Black Rage--sitting posed, with perfect posture, well read, well spoken, highly educated in fact... with well manicured fingernails and an accented middle finger nodding to a less than subtle, “fuck you”. 

In close, I hope in writing this I have helped to explain the depth of feelings that stem from such a verbal attack, the long term impact it has, and that I have drawn your attention to just how often injustice occurs even when they are not spoken of or otherwise exposed. 

This is my very first Blog-entry, it originally started out as a wordy Facebook post, but decided I needed a more appropriate venue for my voice.  I sincerely thank you for reading and hope you continue to peek into my mind from time to time.  Congratulations, you’ve earned 10 Friend Points and good karma! 

#blm