Look, the election affected me. I’m not going to pretend that it didn’t. I drank. I raged. I cried once. I allowed my mind to rush through all of the possible ways in which I could do my part to clean up this mess. Then it hit me [again].
This is not my mess. Therefore, I am not required to clean it up.
I did my job. From the looks of it, me and mine did our jobs a hell of a lot better than white people. Story of the United States of America, amirite?
But I’m not here to patronize or demonize, white friends. I’m here to cheer you on from the sidelines. You have acknowledged that the racialized system in power from which you benefit has fucked all of us over AGAIN. You are out there on the streets, talking to your representatives, writing letters, signing petitions and forming grassroots organizations. White friends, you are out there trying to fix the mess that your culture made, and I love you all the more for it.
I just can’t, nay, I won’t be there to help you clean it up. Mammie don’ left the plantation, and she takin’ the good seasoning with her.
So, I will be over here making my set of Lisa-Frank-Only-Wishes-She-Had-This-Vivacity pom-poms and working on my endurance, because real talk, white friends? You’re in for one hell of a rough ride.
As a kick-off to my long-term cheerleading routine, I’m gonna leave you all with Samantha Bee’s wonderfully insightful post-election monologue. Girlfriend has definitely earned an invitation to my family’s next barbecue.
So, good luck, white friends. Seriously. As part of the demographic that’s been cleaning up after your demographic for nearly 500 years, you do not have an easy task before you.