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Fellow White People: Wake the Eff Up. Black People are DYING.

Fellow White People: Wake the Eff Up. Black People are DYING.

I mean, I know that’s not new news. They’ve always been dying.  They were dying when we kept them as property.  They were dying when we desegregated.  And they’re dying now, even when on paper they’re supposed to have the same rights as us.

I’m as white as White people come. The glow-in-the-dark, lobster the moment I see the sun variety.  I don’t know shit about the Black person’s experience.  And guess what, fellow White person?  Neither do you.

We don’t fear for our lives whenever we walk down the street. We don’t constantly get told, directly or otherwise, that we’re second class.  We don’t know what it’s like to have to teach our children to be afraid of those that are supposed to help us.  We don’t know what it’s like to still be a threat when we’re already pinned down and helpless.

See, when we go on killing sprees, people chalk it up to mental illness and discuss all the ways they’ve could’ve helped us before we snapped.  They detail our lives, trying to figure out where society went wrong.  When we rape people, we’re given light sentences and sympathy, lest a harsher punishment wreak havoc on our gentle souls.   Even when we suck, we have privilege oozing out of our asses.  And when we get killed, society looks for someone to blame rather than wondering what we did to deserve it.

So yes, all lives matter, but our lives have never been the ones at risk.  We were born knowing we mattered, and quite literally every system of society has gone ahead and confirmed that for us repeatedly throughout our lives.  Even you, broke White person.  Even you.  So let’s do a favour and fuck right off with our whiny “what about me?” rhetoric.  I know it’s super hard when everything ever has always been about us and now for once in our silver-spooned lives this conversation isn’t.  Fuck off anyway – our fragile, privileged hearts will get over it.  I promise.

Oh and while we’re at it, let’s stop looking for the isolated incidents where we actually were targeted and acting like that’s totally the same thing as a society of systemic-built oppression and racism, m’kay?  We don’t have to worry our pretty little heads – society already cared more about those incidents anyway.  Because, oh right, our lives were already valued more than our friends of colour.  Tell me again how all lives matter?  Perhaps we can say that when it’s actually true.

For now, wake the fuck up.  Black people are dying.  Stop telling them how they get to react to that. Stop telling them it’s not fair that they don’t care about us – as if that’s what they were implying or that we ever truly cared about them.  Sit the fuck down, shut the fuck up.  Listen for once.  Listen to understand. Recognize that we don’t.  Ask how we can be good allies.  Ask how we can help.  And figure out, once and for all, that Black Lives Matter doesn’t mean that White lives don’t.  Indeed, White lives were the only thing that ever did. I’d be pissed off, too.

 

 doesn’t mean other lives don’t. Like people who say “Save The Rainforests” aren’t saying “Fuck All Other Types of Forests” – Matt McGorry

 

 

 

 

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Posted by on July 10, 2016 in privilege, Random Shit

 

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Tales From the Elevator

End of day, home time.  My zombified body presses the elevator down button and the suspect-at-best elevator finally arrives on my floor.  I stumble on, and press the P2 button.  And that’s when I hear a very strange sound.   I look around, confused before I finally realize it’s that emergency telephone ringing. 

FUCK.

The work elevator is known for its sketchiness and I’m now convinced that I’m doomed to spend the night in this steel cage.  Doing the only reasonable thing you can do when a phone rings, I open the telephone door and pick it up.  Much to my dismay, the phone cord is only about a foot long, requiring me to press my cheek up against the side of the elevator in an awkward sumo squat position.  In high heels, no less.  Luckily, I’m the master of grace and squatting (talents that should not be taken lightly), so I rock it. 

“Hello?”
Long Pause.

Oh great, I think.  They aren’t sure how to tell me I’m trapped.  That, or it’s like that really bad movie where the girl dials the random number on her cell phone and the person who answers is the only one who can save her from certain death.  I may be a squat master, but I wasn’t prepared to do it for the long haul here.  Plus how could I possibly run around like the heroine is supposed to if I’m stuck on the other end of this foot-long cord?  I feel like I’ve already killed her and she hasn’t even spoken yet.  That is way too much to have on my conscience at 5pm.

“Are you paying too high of an interest rate on your Visa or Mastercard?”

“Uh, I’m sorry?” This has got to be the strangest call to action that I’ve ever heard.  Granted, high interest rates cause thousands of financial crises per year so I guess they’re pretty terrifying.

“Transfer your balance to us today and enjoy a promotional rate of 1.9 % for 6 months”

At that moment, I realize that I’m talking to a recording and am being solicited for credit products.  Is no place sacred anymore?

“YOU’RE TALKING TO AN ELEVATOR!” I slam the phone down, smug that I showed that recording who was boss. 

I walk off that elevator, relieved that I don’t have to spend all night diffusing bombs and negotiating with terrorists but I’m a little forlorn about it as well because if that did happen they’d probably make a motion picture out of my story and then I’d be famous and not have to ride in that POS elevator ever again. 

Sometimes life just isn’t fair.

 
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Posted by on December 1, 2011 in Random Shit

 

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