White Liberals Who Want A Black Person To Rescue Them From White Guilt.

I Ain't Cummin.

The other day, I attended a potluck dinner at my local community center.

As soon as I arrived, I took note that I was the only black woman in the room. In fact, aside from the woman working the front desk, I was the only person of color in a room full of white, mostly older people wearing the usual Birkenstocks that dominate the local fashion scene.

I was used to this scenario, and I accepted it. Because, although it was my first time attending this event, I was mentally prepared to be the only one.

In any case, I was primarily there to slog my ass out of the house and eat a delicious meal. As far as those boxes were ticked, I was content.

I set my little tuna and egg salads on the far side of the table, and was second in line after a small child to load up 3 plates full of various quiches, chilis, salads, and pastas. The hostess of the gathering was told me she was impressed with how I dove right in, noting how most people tend to be shy to be first in line.

“Oh, you know…I’m hungry, and I’m not a fake person so…why not?”

We laughed about it, and then I moseyed around the room to find an empty table.

Within a few minutes, a youngish “normie” looking white woman joined me at my table and we made small talk over our meal.

Moments later, a young white man and woman joined us. The guy had brightly colored hair and a name tag that stated his name with “they/them” pronouns underneath.

This guy was giving beta vibes…so I assumed he was the woman’s best friend, until they mentioned that they had recently moved here from Texas, as a couple.

Oh…y’all are those hetero-queers…typical.

Moments later, my acquaintance showed up—a jewish gender-critical woman. I welcomed her to the table.

So, I was sitting at a table full of millenials—and I was the only black person.

At some point, we started talking about our various experiences in this town—my hometown.

I mentioned that I had spent the entire winter traveling throughout the Mid-Atlantic, so that I could be in more diverse cities, because this area is so homogenously white, and I struggle to find community here. In fact, I am preparing to move elsewhere soon.

“Not only is it super white”, I added, “It’s also culturally suffocating. There is too much coddling and no acceptance if you think differently. Like…everyone here thinks they want diversity but they don’t. Y’all (speaking generally about white liberals) don’t actually like muslims and Africans! Y’all wouldn’t agree with the way they think!! Y’all just like the idea of different colors.”

I gesticulated emphatically, with passion. I was annoyed as hell.

They nodded along, saying that I made some good points.

My acquaintance giggled, knowing exactly what I was talking about when I mentioned lack of diversity in thought.

Then, the white woman in the “queer couple” said,

“Yeah, I get that. I mean…this place is unfortunately, really white.” Then, holding up her fingers to count, she began to list the reasons why they packed up and drove all the way across the country, leaving one of the most diverse cities in the U.S. to settle down in this extremely white area:

“Personally, we moved here because number one, this area has the best protections for trans people, and this is where we can be queer….”

Then her boyfriend chimed in:

“Yeah…but there are definitely drawbacks. And the amount of white people here is definitely the worst part… I mean, even though we’re adding to it. Heh…”

He looked over at his girlfriend as if trying to gain consensus, and she nodded back as if they just made an important couple decision together.

I gazed at them, silently.

…

Their performance about how the staunch whiteness of this town was-not just a huge problem, but their deepest woe—after moving here for the specific social benefits it offers them…infuriated me.

I had so many thoughts swirling through my mind, but it made no sense expressing any of them. These people were drowning in white guilt, and I wasn’t coming to the rescue. Talking to them would be like talking to a brick wall.

God, I can’t wait to get the fuck away from y’all!!!

When I speak honestly about my experience with racial / cultural isolation, I have noticed that white liberals love to “come down” to my level and try to relate to the weight of being a racial minority—through expressing distaste for fellow white people.

What they never realize is that—given the context in which we are having our very conversation—they are reinforcing the fact that-although they sadly do not receive any woke points for living in a white bubble, they are indeed quite cozily comfortable being right where they are.

They respond to my pain by acting like we’re in the same boat—right after they unconsciously reveal their dirty little secret of how much they love being immersed in whiteness, both culturally and physically.

It’s crystal clear that while black people like me are a fun little novelty—and they certainly enjoy us when we arrive in the right packaging—they couldn’t give a damn if they have any as their neighbors because we’re simply not that important to them.

Black Lives Matter!!!

They would like to believe that the pain that comes with being a black minority in this country all boils down to the inconvenience of whiteness; how annoying white folks are.

…

I mean, Gosh Nevline. I totally understand.

It’s such an inconvenience that white folks even exist, right?!

The root of the problem is, quite simply—that white people suck.

Not the legacy of slavery and colonialism that caused you to become a minority who is isolated and constantly subjected to our ignorance in the first place!

Let’s put a bandaid on it and hate on white folks together, so that I can feel better.

So I won’t have to associate myself with them.

Yours Truly,

They/Them.

…

Their shame keeps them locked in a blind stagnancy, incapable of true allyship

Scrambling for quick relief from the bleakness of their own self-fulfilling prophecy.

Deep down, they hope that performing hatred towards their own kind will facilitate my distribution of brownie points and head pats.

When their efforts bring nothing but silence, it makes them uncomfortable.

This dance is exhausting, and it’s one reason why I regularly take retreats in the hood.

I look forward to the day when I can breathe easy.

When I don’t have to get caught in these sorts of conversations…or at least, when I can attend more potlucks where I won’t even have to give it a second thought.