Drained

I’m feeling pretty out of it today because for some reason there has been an ongoing undercurrent of racially charged interactions/statements floating directly around me this past week. Usually I’m contented with the perpetual feeling of hopelessness that carries with me in regard to racial/social enlightenment and people’s disregard for racial overtones that permeate through everyday life. This past week however, I have been bombarded by a cacophony of comments and questions that revolve around skin color and it’s not even the weekend yet. 

I think the reason I’m writing today is directly related to talking about James Baldwin at work and really remembering why I wanted to be a writer. 

Sometimes I just get tired. Tired of staying silent when things bother me because I don’t want to have to delve into another long, exhausting conversation about why **insert seemingly innocent racial slight** bothered me. Tired because even though I know said comment came out of a place of unknowing and not maliciousness, it’s still bothersome and a bit worrisome. I’m tired because I don’t want to be labeled (which I shouldn’t give a shit about) but I don’t want to be a push over either. I’m tired because I’m always nervous about posts like these being taken the wrong way or misinterpreted but also tired of caring so damn much. I’m allowed to feel these feelings, but it’s that strange pang of guilt that shouldn’t even be present that makes me uncomfortable to share thoughts like these. Guilt I’ll hurt feelings, but for some reason don’t worry about my own. Whatever, I felt compelled to share today. It’s been quite some time since I did so. These feelings have been building up for a while and if I don’t write it out I fear I will explode. What with what’s been happening with the debates, this poor kid who was arrested for building a freaking clock, and the constant injustices done everyday to people of color, it’s hard not to be on edge. I am not ashamed of that and need to stop being such a patsy.

Sigh. I just want to read a James Baldwin essay, curl up into a ball, and listen to Sade.

Cat Calling: Conversation Repellant

There was this one time I was watching Ugly Betty when I was going through an emotionally trying period. Ok, I was just bored. Anyway, I was watching this scene where Betty was walking through her neigborhood and some men started yelling profane things like, “Hey baby, where YOU goin’,” and whistling obscenely. Now, I know you’re probably like, but how the hell can you whistle obscenely? Think of this cartoon when you try to imagine the person from which this seemingly innocent sound is coming…

Super sexy.

The thing that disturbed me immensely about that scene was that when Betty discovered those Neanderthals weren’t directing their sexually frustrated attention toward her, but some other innocent woman, she looked disappointed. I understand what the scene was suppose to mean. Betty wanted the men to find her attractive because she doesn’t receive that kind of attention very often, if at all, but that opens the Pandora’s Box to a whole new horrible wave of thought that women need men to validate their looks and that it’s acceptable to cat call women as long as it’s a “compliment.”

Women love compliments, amiright?! Unsolicited, explicit comments about their bodies because it makes them feel good that men notice. Yeah, you keep thinking that.

There have been a flurry of wonderful pieces about how frustrated women are by this age-old occurrence, and there’s so much to be said about the people who respond with, “You women are overreacting.” No the f*ck we’re not. Women can’t complain about mistreatment because then we’re seen as crazy, emotional hysterics or, even better, the abominable F word, which leads me to another rant about the stigma attached to feminism.

No, seriously, this is a real question. I do not understand women against feminism. I understand women who maybe don’t agree with a lot of feminist thought, but being actively AGAINST feminism? I imagine this demographic as being very young impressionable girls who have not yet seen the harsh reality of gender inequality and have not ever watched an episode of *insert CW show here* where women are basically mindless objects that are strictly obsessed with male characters on the show instead of, well, anything else. Sigh, I digress. Back to cat calling.

I can go through my plethora of highly irritating, creepster stories of men old enough to be my father “paying me compliments” while I begrudgingly walk pass, repeating in my head, “Please don’t say anything to me. Please don’t say anything to me. Please don’t say anything to me. Please don’t say anything to me.” I can share with you the sinking feeling when I am disappointed time after time by the effortless nonsense that flows out of these “gentlemen’s” mouths and their genuine bewilderment when they don’t get the reaction they believe they deserve. What do they expect?! "Oh, you like how my butt looks in my dress? Here’s my phone number.“

NOT GONNA HAPPEN, BUDDY. However, what I really want to share is the feeling I get when someone is telling me to "Smile,” or “I can eat you up,” or “Where’re you goin?” It’s not necessarily a feeling of fear or discomfort, but those are most definitely present. It’s disbelief. Because these men feel they can talk to me however they want, it makes me feel devalued, insignificant, unimportant, powerless. I cannot control someone else’s actions, but I would hope that in this world there is an understood undercurrent of respect we give each other, but when I’m cat called that respect is lost. It feels dehumanizing. When I just want to walk to the train to get to work early in the morning, I don’t want to have to walk by another human and pray they don’t ruin the next 10/15 minutes of my day with a disrespectful statement about my body. No, it’s not fair, and it’s not acceptable. It has got to stop.

 

Women do like compliments, hell everybody likes compliments, but there is a place and time that is appropriate for doling out these intimate observations, and that time is ON A DATE with the person or at least having spoken to them for some time. It’s not a conversation starter. In fact, it is the opposite of a conversation starter. It is conversation repellant.