Words by Mya Abraham.
Being a double minority has never been so apparent in my adult life than now.
Tuesday, November 8, was a night America failed me as a sexually fluid, black woman. I felt sick. I had no words. I was angry, fearful, and unsure of what was coming next. I wasn’t here for anyone’s bullshit, slick comments, and ignorant views. I’m still not. Like many, I did consider leaving the U.S., but that would be a cop-out. It’s what the unqualified man who has been elected as President would want. It’s what his supporters would want.
I was never one for confrontation, but this is bigger than me. I’m standing up for not only myself, but for the LGBTQ community, people of color, and women–especially women of color. I consider myself apart of all three because, aside from the obvious, I don’t place limits on my sexuality. I have dated a woman and I would never be ashamed of that or her.
The fight that’s brewing is for all of us.
Hearing from my college friends, and reading what is happening across the country, is not only sickening, but sad. The America we all knew was there has brought itself to the forefront, but there’s unity. Initially, we were all pissed off and upset, but all these emotions are taking the form of an impetus for us to get off our asses, pay attention, and fight back against whatever is coming for us.
I fell in love with my blackness the night President Obama first got elected in 2008. I never viewed my blackness as a problem; it was something I never fully acknowledged because nobody made it into “something.” New York City had sheltered me. I attended a very diverse high school, entered a HBCU for my first semester and then transferred to a PWI. I’ve always had a very diverse group of friends and at times, even my family felt that I didn’t have enough black friends. I had people in my life who loved and accepted me for who I am and vice versa. Our ethnicity and complexions varied, but didn’t divide us.
I’m no longer afraid that this man is becoming our President, because he doesn’t know what he’s doing. It’s his Vice President, and everyone who he’s calling upon and who will influence his decisions, that concerns me–but I’m ready.
As a sexually fluid, black female journalist, I was made for a fight like this one. “We gon’ be alright.” We, the people, have to be ready for any and everything. Get educated. Pay attention to what’s on the horizon and prepare accordingly.
In the words of the great Kid Fury,”My heart and my soul are tired, but my mouth and these hands are just getting started.”