I posted a link on Facebook recently to an article written by Didi Delgado. (A good read. Check it out here.) It is one of many articles I've read about the tension between current women's movements toward equality and the frustration of women of color. They are difficult articles to read because like many of you white chicks out there, I find myself listing all the ways that they can't possibly be talking about me. But they are. And that HAS to be okay. And I HAVE to sit in that uncomfortable reality and regardless of what I consider my "credentials" be willing to listen and learn and FOLLOW. But if you're still confused by the controversies or wondering how to be part of the movement without unintentionally undermining minority women, I'd like to share some stories from history that may help.
(note: these are summaries of events that are well worth your personal research)
In 1961, on Mother's Day to be exact, a group of mixed race, mixed gender protestors formed by CORE (Congress of Racial Equality) began a journey from Washington on two buses. Taking advantage of the 1960 court ruling which integrated intrastate travel, the Freedom Riders mapped out a path through and deep into the heartland of the south to challenge state segregation laws with non-violent resistance. One bus is set ablaze just outside of Anniston, Alabama; its passengers narrowly escaping with their lives. Meanwhile, the other bus is met in Birmingham by a mob of Klansmen armed with both weaponry and the assurance from authorities that they have 15 minutes to do as they wish with the passengers without any interference from local law enforcement. The beatings were severe. Post attacks and with many more obstacles from local whites backed by state officials, the group decided to give up and return to Washington.
Students in Nashville, led by a young woman named Diane Nash, heard that the Freedom Riders were ending their journey and immediately put plans in place to continue the rides. Many interviewed referred to the fact that these "northerners" (the original group) had only gotten a taste of what life was like everyday for black communities in the south and they simply refused to let the cause die at the hand of the KKK. Several members from Washington returned to continue alongside the students, including John Lewis (the man Donald Trump referred to as "all talk, no action." Yes, THAT John Lewis).
In this instance, when a group of outsiders (in a manner of speaking) "got a taste" of the injustices perpetuated against blacks in the south, their (completely justifiable) reaction was to give up. Likewise, white women, under our current administration and throughout his previous campaign year, have "gotten a taste" of what our compatriots have endured for literal centuries. And while the response has been overwhelming; the Women's March on Washington and sister cities across the globe was phenomenal, it stands to reason that minority women are wary of our stamina. They are rightfully suspicious of our staying power. We've only gotten a taste. What happens if those scratches become deep lacerations across your back? What happens if flesh wounds become soul crushing, dehumanizing weights of systemic oppression? The kind that women of color and marginalized groups have been fighting alone for a very.long.time.
Fast forward a few years to 1964 and the Freedom Summer Project. This initiative covered a mass of issues but their primary goal was to integrate the political systems of Mississippi through education and voter registration. But before the program was officially underway, three project volunteers disappeared; two black men -James Chaney and Andrew Goodman, and one white man -Mickey Schwerner. After nearly two months of little to no effort to locate the men by Mississippi authorities, Mickey's wife, Rita Schwerner, goes directly to Lyndon B Johnson demanding federal resources to aid in the search. The three men's bodies were eventually recovered in a deep grave but through out the process, Rita Schwerner kept the focus of the search on the greater cause, voicing frequent rebukes that apart from her husband's whiteness, she doubted any efforts would have been made at all to find the volunteers. And in a 2005 interview ("Freedom Summer" documentary aired by PBS) she explained that she knew if she allowed the media to make the story about "a poor white widow" it would have undermined and been offensive to everyone involved in the project.
This, my fair-skinned friends, is what today's movement needs from us. This kind of self-sacrificing, shirking off of privilege, eyes open to the bigger picture commitment; an understanding that my grief is no greater than yours and MAY in fact be lesser because I have only "gotten a taste." The last thing marginalized communities need to be expected to do is to pat us on our crocheted-pussy-hat-heads (yes, I have one and I love it!) while we lick our superficial injuries and say "there, there." They need us to come out of our own pain, some of it absolutely legitimate, and see the mortal wounds being inflicted all around us. We have to get over ourselves and stop thinking that we are the cavalry and become the support, the applause, the lifters of the fallen, the shoulders on which they stand -not so that we can be the hero but because we know that from within the fallen, the heroes will rise and we just want to have been part of the history, part of their story.
