I keep starting to write posts, long ass posts, and then I throw them in drafts and leave them there. My focus is just gone sometimes. I think it’s from reading the same shit over and over and over, which influenced this post and has been a lot of what I’ve been thinking about lately.
I don’t understand. Or maybe I do. But regardless. We want so badly to be oppressed. We NEED to be, we need to feel like we get it, we experience it, we have to live with it. But at the same exact time, we make it very obvious that we don’t want to know.
Shit. The amount of times I’ve seen people reblog posts of Black folks spilling their hearts out about how hard it is to live in a nation full of people who are still stuck in a slaveowner mentality, still don’t see Black folk as people, and responding to those posts with NOT ALL WHITE PEOPLE ARE LIKE THAT, WHY DO YOU HATE WHITE PEOPLE, ALL THAT HAPPENED A LONG TIME AGO, and we so desperately need to turn the focus onto ourselves and try to channel all of that pain and frustration into ourselves when you know damn well that we didn’t absorb a single fucking thing about how fucking awful it actually is.
We have romanticized oppression. That shit didn’t start with Gone With the Wind and this shit will not end with The Help. We make it so beautiful and so brave to be oppressed, and we make silent heroes of the oppressed. But we can’t stand not being the hero, and we definitely can’t bear with being silent.
We want to bad to experience it But also don’t actually want to know what it’s like. This is white privilege. Where people who are being actively oppressed (by us) are getting too much attention, and so we have to get in on some of that, too.
Like old men who’ve never left a chair sending children into war and speaking of the horrors of battle.
We don’t want to know.
We just want to make it sound good.