I don’t want to harp on this or drag it out, so I probably won’t make another post, but this situation is beyond frustrating, exasperating, and defeating. Some POC I know simply don’t have white friends. I think friendships across ethnicity and racial lines can be and are so, so valuable. But I also understand why some people do feel they’re protecting themselves by not having white friends. Because it’s frankly terrifying and heartbreaking when (TW for racism, xenophobia, and classism mention) your friend values their own ego over you. Its exhausting to go through the emotional labor of explaining something in a way that won’t freak them out. To carefully explain how a comment they made was insensitive and inappropriate (because it was racist, classist, and xenophobic) without using the ‘buzzwords’ that tend to scare white people the most. It almost comes as no surprise when said friend immediately goes full nuclear and decides to remove you from your friend group chat and to angrily message you on another platform about how they feel “betrayed” and “attacked” and “how could you say that as a friend”, as if friends can’t and shouldn’t hold each other accountable. I try to hold myself accountable if I make a remark that is fatphobic or ableist, because I know now I have those two things internalized pretty hard despite being both chubby and disabled. It’s even more frustrating and exasperating to gently remind them that you’re a PoC (or some marginalized group) and therefore have firsthand experiential knowledge, or if you’re like me, that you have a major in women and gender (feminist) studies with a minor in social and economic justice (it’s all in the name, + human rights talk) so you—so I—bloody well know what I’m talking about and again, that friends should be able to hold each other accountable. Sometimes you just have to be that “killjoy feminist”, that person of color who can’t let racist and xenophobic shit slide, even from friends and family. That worker who wants to be in solidarity with other folks of your class or lower and won’t stand on their backs to elevate yourself. That loud queer, that “angry black woman”—I’ve been accused of both in my life, and maybe I am both, and maybe I have every right to be. We should be loud, we should be angry, about every injustice, no matter how small. We try to be gentle with others when we explain things, if gentleness is what they need, if soft words and carefully worded explanations is what they need because they’re so fragile they shut down at any sign of disagreement or concern. But sometimes that still doesn’t work. The ego, white guilt, and white fragility come to the forefront and you’re not heard: you’re just the killjoy feminist, the loud queer, the angry black woman, to someone who cannot hear you over their own ego, their own inability to handle an uncomfortable truth. And the rich irony is that we are both Loki’s people, that Loki has in lore been involved in revealing and sharing harsh truths, that he goes so far as to interrupt a feast and call out the other gods on their hypocrisy and wrongs. The burden of white guilt and white fragility lies heavily on us, is silencing to us. How can we have proper dialogue if someone refuses to entertain the possibility that harm =/= intent, that their words or actions could be harmful to someone, disparaging to someone. The brunt of emotional labor over racism and xenophobia should not lay on your PoC friends; the brunt of emotional labor of queerphobia should not lay on your queer friends; etc al. We are all imperfect, and we all have a fluid nuance of interlocking privileges and oppressions. The word privilege is not a death sentence or condemnation. Owning it is only acknowledging a perspective you do not have, cannot have, and should try to make room for in your conversations and spaces. Being a good ally means giving the oppressed the space to express discomfort, concern, hurt, struggle—it means allowing yourself to be vulnerable, to move past your guilt, to not let your own fragility break your solidarity.
