I posted this on Facebook but I'm reposting it here too. Disclaimer: I'm autistic and trans myself but I'm white and I'm bad at wording shit, please correct me if needed. I mainly would like to give attention and platform to black voices who have additional hurdles to jump in the fight against systematic racism. I want to see and learn from more black trans/GNC people talking about their experiences, more black autistics, disabled people, everyone in the margins. I want to hear your voice too, if you have the energy to speak it.
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Attention is finally being brought (to people outside our usual rather queer groups) that black transgender and gender non-conforming people face some of the highest levels of discrimination, and it is more important than ever to keep talking about that. However, while we do that, I want to also see people talking about other at-greater-risk POC (mostly black) too.
For instance, from personal experience, autistics. Black autistic people are far, far less likely to be diagnosed thanks to racial biases in our healthcare (we need to push for major reform here too), and are much more quick to become labeled as "suspicious and dangerous". We have different body language, difficulty with eye contact, communication hurdles, we shut down easily. All that is a recipe for an extremely dangerous, and very possibly deadly, encounter with the police.
We're not safe until we're ALL safe.
Link to pictured tweet: https://twitter.com/steve_asbell/status/1268691249810288646?s=19
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On Raising White Daughters
Dear mothers of Black Daughters,
I understand that the ways we parent our babies has to be different. I will not judge you for your ways, and I ask that you won’t get upset at me when I allow my white daughter to be the weird kid who speaks up when things are unfair.
The world will correct her according to where it is, and she will speak out against it when it happens. I hope that she makes the world safer for Your Daughter. I hope I am making the world Safer for both of them right now, but I’m not that optimistic. But I am optimistic for generations to come, as have generations before us have been.
God gave me three daughters into this particular world. To me, that’s no accident. I am meant to learn something from these girls, while also stewarding and investing their lives through a world that will try to force them to conform: conform to the idea that they’re better and have more worth than your daughter when they Do Not. And I have to teach them to identify that lie early, before it’s too late. Before the world has the first say.
I have to raise my daughter differently.
I have to first teach my daughter that she is a woman, and there is pride in being a woman. Women come in all shapes and sizes and skin tones with all kinds of different hair. Women’s bodies are unique each and all, and do different things maybe, and sometimes maybe not.
When my daughter learns that she is a woman, she suddenly realizes she is part of a sisterhood of women, and will start to bond with her peers. Thank you for letting your daughter be one of my daughter’s first friends.
I have to teach my daughter to be an outspoken advocate for your daughter starting on day one.
I have to teach my daughter to break the system, so that when it breaks, it breaks for your daughter too.
I have to force my daughter to see the differences in your daughter and to get comfortable talking about race, boundaries, respect, and consent. I have to teach her before she goes to public school because she will be elevated--as I was--over your daughter every time, even though your daughter is smarter.
I have to teach her that your daughter is just as smart as she is, and that society will tell her otherwise.
I have to teach her about the wisdom of Black women, how to pay special attention to what Black mothers say, what Black sisters say, how to hold space for Black voices in a crowded room.
I have to teach her then, and only then, about the different ways that the world will treat her compared to your daughter. She will speak up for your daughter, but will she have the fortitude to fight for her when it is her money on the line? When she feels entitled to something? Will she still advocate for your daughter because it is the right thing to do, and not the comfortable thing to do?
She will never walk in the same shoes as a Black woman, and although she will feel the warmth of Black culture, I must teach her it is not ours to take. I have to teach her how to observe culture, support it, how to think critically, how to see and respect boundaries, and how to set boundaries of her own.
I must teach my daughter to see the ways that the world will try to change who she is, who she is right now deep inside: someone that loves her friends through everything, that will stick up for them behind their backs, that will tell them who is and isn’t safe. I must teach her to be a bridge while also being a wrecking ball.
I was just taught to be a wrecking ball, but the world trained me to demure and play like I wasn’t smart. To gently turn a head instead of force someone to see.
I’ve lived a life where I have been pushed and squeezed into a very uncomfortable box where women aren’t allowed to think differently, to answer first, to have a differing point of view than The Man Speaking.
I’ve lived a life where every partner has been abusive--looking to me to save their lives, be an in-shape sex symbol, hold intelligent (but not too intelligent) conversations, and also be a stand-in for their mothers.
I am seeing the direct consequences of not confronting and talking about Race play out in my own marriage. I talked about it a lot before we met, and yet I still had to wake up. How quickly I was lulled into complacency with more opportunity to participate in society, to get married, to have a family, to build safety after getting beaten up by a world that did not value women, and especially not Autistic women.
I MUST change this cycle.
I Must educate my girls about the real ways of the world.
I also Must teach my daughter that the world is Wrong about her. That there is an ideal to fight for: one in which it won’t matter what she wears, where she can go on a run at night and not worry about getting raped, where she and her Black friends can enter the world on equal footing. One without guilt and shame.
If I never tell her that the world is wrong, she will believe that it’s right. She will believe that she is special. She will believe that she has earned everything she gets, neglecting to see that her white skin, her blonde hair, her blue eyes, and her trim shape (as well as her parent’s educational background, skin color, White Supremacist heritage and the horror of it in full,) she will think that it doesn’t exist because she won’t be able to identify it.
I was an activist before I was a mom. I fought my whole life to have my own voice. It wasn’t until I moved to Texas--out of my community that basically dealt with me and let me be because I was incorrigible--that I felt the full weight of the world come down on me. The way I think causes me to have physical pain when I feel the need to say something to rebut an untruth.
That’s dangerous. I know it’s dangerous, because what is True for you is not True for me. And that’s not my fault and it’s not your fault--it is the system that has told me that I’m special and that I have earned this house, this husband, this life. I didn’t. My White Privilege did, and hitching myself to a college educated white man did.
It’s also the Truth that lets me acknowledge that if I had known that I was mentally diverse, disabled, or whatever you want to call it at a much younger age, I would have believed more in myself and specifically in my brain and intelligence. I’ve watered myself down, made myself palatable, and enabled my husband and worse, myself, to get comfortable in this white suburban way of life.
I even fooled myself into thinking that I was somehow not participating in this society. The lull of capitalism, of getting a bigger better house, of getting completely out of debt. A light was at the end of the tunnel--we were almost there! Almost Rich! Like, objectively.
And then one of my friends asked me why I was so scared of getting uncomfortable, and the answer in my mind was, “I already am uncomfortable enough.” That was a lie. That was a lie the world had told to me that I bought into and fed. I’ve earned this comfort. I’ve paid my dues.
Those are lies.
I haven’t honored what God gave to me, the strengths he gave to me. I am supposed to help and be a bridge. I have to teach my daughter to not only be a wrecking ball like me--tearing down her life after she’s already made it--but to instead to intentionally build the life that she wants, and build the world that she wants along with it.
I want to teach her to get out of the way of the Black women in her life, to always seek out voices that are diametrically opposite of hers: the homeless, the physically disabled, the uneducated, the poor, and in all of those categories looking for people of color. I have to teach her how to have a diverse group of friends, because she has to work toward it. She’ll be grouped with only white kids.
So I have to teach her to do the things that will make her the most afraid, and to believe in the people that this world will tell her are untrustworthy (anyone seen as different).
When she aligns herself with the oppressed and learns how to weaponize her privilege for her friends, how to speak up when she sees injustice, no matter where she is , or who she is with, it will be abundantly clear because she won’t be alone. She’ll have your daughter by her side, if I do my job right.
Thank you for helping me, thank you for letting me fight against the system for you, thank you for helping me see that my voice is my gift and I should stop being ashamed of it.
I owe Black women, and it would be my pleasure to strive for discomfort and growth for the sake of our daughters, together.
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