This particular write-up is inspired by my dear mother, who stands at 5 feet, (she says), I say 5-feet-one—but, I digress; she is tiny in stature.
My friends know her for her friendliness and her sense of humor. Her nieces and nephews know her for her generosity and sentimental nature. She is really fucking nice, and much slower to anger than I am, (thanks to my father’s genetics). Recently, my mother, who lives in a predominantly white area, took a pair of pants to the cleaners. My mother—just like many boomers—visits the cleaners often, and has been a loyal customer at this particular cleaner for maybe 20 years or so.
About a month or so ago, my mother dropped off some pants to be hemmed (short people problems), and was given the designated timeframe for them to be ready. When she went to pick them up, she was informed that they could not find them, but because she was not pressed to wear them, she was fine with coming back. She then went again and was told they could not find them.
On her third trip, she encountered a woman with whom she had never spoken previously. They still could not find the pants, but they found the fabric they cut to hem them. The woman was not an English speaker, so she had another person who worked there translate. She asked my mother where she got the pants and how much they cost and when my mother responded “$60” and “the Bahamas,” she reacted by telling my mother that she did not get the pants from the Bahamas, but that they did not cost $60.
I am not sure the translator was supposed to repeat that part, but either way, my mother got angry, and rightfully so. It was not as if my mother said they were $1000 pants she bought in Monaco. These were $60 linen pants, a price that does not seem that outrageous. Why would my mother lie? With such a low number—and you can’t even handle your own business—why are you in my mother’s? I highly doubt she would’ve been denying the vacation and clothes budgets of her white customers.
The insult was real and so was my mother’s anger.
For a woman who generally ignores rude strangers, she said this one felt too blatant to ignore, too in her face. She even told me how she felt that she could be more vocal because there was no one else in the store, and more importantly, that it felt good.
About 10 years ago, I was at the grocery store in racist ass Boston with my aunt, who looks and responds to general rudeness in a way that her taller sister does. At this grocery store in racist ass Boston, I stepped in line with my aunt, who was already standing in front of an older white couple, in a short line. Granted, I did have some items, four actually, deli meat, a can of beans, cat food and cat litter, which pissed off the woman who insisted I respond to her calling me rude, by stating it multiple times, as if she couldn’t take that I didn’t want to engage with her. It was as if I owed her an explanation for standing in line with someone who was already in front of her, with four more items. If my aunt had picked up four candy bars, and put them on the conveyor belt, would they have been upset, too? Do you know how many people I’ve let in front of me with more items than that? Next thing you know, the nice older couple from racist ass Boston, were dropping thinly veiled racist insults to someone who was just trying to ignore them.
Sigh, they eventually got me to engage.
The conversation got heated enough that its end was accompanied by my lavender-painted index finger in her face and the exact words, “no, you shut up, who the f*ck do you think you are STARTING with me and then telling ME to shut up, YOU SHUT THE F*CK UP!” The lady did as she was told, and she and her racist ass Boston husband promptly moved to a different check-out.
I remember telling a good friend that story and more importantly how many times I had reserved my RIGHTFULLY EARNED anger because I didn’t want to come across as an angry Black woman, to which she responded, “So what?!?!? They’re going to think you’re angry no matter what you do, you might as well say what you want to say.” She was right, and maybe it was the confirmation bias that I was afraid of, but why should I care about conforming to the moral compass of people who have proven that they are sh*tty?
Having to contain the anger I had a right to access, felt like an additional violation. Being forced to not address the racism because I did not want to contribute to a racist stereotype was kowtowing to racism and giving them the compliance and lack of accountability that they desired.
Phillis Wheatley’s name is often mentioned in history as a great poet, but the true importance of her story is how she defied stereotypes of Black people’s intelligence and sentience.
Part of the propaganda to perpetuate slavery was that Africans were not sentient, and therefore the cruelty inflicted by white Americans and Europeans was just, because we were nothing more than soulless animals with human body parts. Wheatley was educated and could read many Greek and Roman classics in their original language. When her poetry became popular, there was a whole trial held to verify if she had indeed written her works. Meanwhile, in reference to Wheatley, Thomas Jefferson denied her work was even worthy of critique by denying her ability to feel an emotion deeply enough to access that the type of intelligence it takes to be creative.
He wrote, “Misery is often the parent of the most affecting touches in poetry. — Among the blacks is misery enough, God knows, but no poetry. Love is the peculiar; oestrum of the poet. Their love is ardent, but it kindles the senses only, not the imagination. Religion indeed has produced a Phyllis Whately; but it could not produce a poet. The compositions published under her name are below the dignity of criticism.”
Well, is it oochie wally or is it one mic; is she not smart enough to make these poems that are not smart enough for critique?
If someone validates your anger, and your right to it, then that means they will have to respect your boundaries and your autonomy, when they come across it. We are not angry for no reason, we experience both racism and sexism, which are both equally as exhausting and dehumanizing, and we experience both simultaneously. Both Black men and Black women are asked to mute their anger, while still playing best magical negro in a supporting role to maladjusted white leads in the major motion picture of their lives.
Black people’s emotions, but especially Black women’s, are forcibly compartmentalized.
You can be talented enough to sing with emotion and evoke emotion, but not emotional enough to write the song. When white people are angry, it is considered galvanizing; it is considered actionable. My anger isn’t a waste, my anger isn’t an overactive response, my anger is valuable, it is necessary, and it is just as valid as anyone else’s. I would not be a whole person without it.
Denying myself the right to my anger is allowing racism to shut me up, and ultimately win.
