Day 11

Y'all's president blamed DEI for the unfortunate and fatal collision of an American Airlines passenger jet and a military helicopter.

You read that right - he blamed DEI.

Dozens died, their families grieving, after the deadliest U.S. air disaster in two decades, yet somehow, Black and Brown folx, queer folx, and people with disabilities are the reason this happened. Not the FAA being in disarray due to his executive orders; no, that can't be it. According to y'all's president, it has to be the Blacks, Latinos, and people with disabilities whom the FAA and airlines have hired "overqualified, intelligent" white cis male candidates.

Sounds about white.

He has no evidence of anything regarding diversity, equity, or inclusion having ANYTHING to do with this horrific tragedy, but, you know, white supremacy and bigotry have never had to have an excuse for levying out hate, even in the most inappropriate moments like, I don't know, people mourning the loss of their loved one.

60% of cis males of pallor and 53% of cis women of pallor voted for this. You voted for this lack of empathy and humanity. You voted for misinformation, deflection, and no accountability. You voted for a man who fired the heads of the TSA and the Coast Guard on his second day in office because he felt they were "too woke." You voted for a man who is so harmful that the previous head of the FAA resigned rather than serve under him (he was likely going to get fired like the heads of the TSA and Coast Guard). You voted for a man who gutted the Aviation Security Advisory Committee. What's that? Oh, just a bipartisan committee created to examine safety issues at airlines and airports. Before he disbanded the committee, the group included representatives of all the key groups in the aviation industry — including the airlines and major unions as well as representatives from groups that represented the families of people lost to airline bombings. The vast majority of the group’s recommendations were adopted over the years. But they don't really exist anymore.

Because, you know, DEI.

It's day 11, y'all.

How to Cook Like The People You Just Deported

Image description: a faux cover to a cookbook entitled, "How to Cook Like The People You Just Deported: Authentic Ethnic Flavors for Bigots who Don't Deserve Them."

It never shocks me how much ethnocultural impact communities of color, the Global Majority, Black and Brown folx, have on people of pallor and what they think is the "American way" of life.

There is no "U.S. culture" without melanin building its foundations and giving the whole thing flavor and life.

A whole lot of y'all hate AAPI communities, yet love your Christmas Day Chinese dinner.

A whole lot of y'all hate Black folx but love fried chicken, peanut butter, every bit of southern cuisine on the continent, and hundreds of dishes and food combinations created by Black folx as the original struggle meals that you now posit as "upscale cuisine."

A whole lot of y'all hate Indigenous communities but have stolen their fashion and cultural heritage to use as aesthetics to deck out your bodies and homes.

A whole lot of y'all hate Mexican, Hispanic, and Latine communities but enjoy the creature comforts of the food they harvest, cultivate, and grow.

But, you know, gon' 'head and deport and endanger the legitimate backbone of your country like it's not going to upend the comfy-ass multi-colored tapestry of an existence you live in and benefit from.

[Image description: a faux cover to a cookbook entitled, "How to Cook Like The People You Just Deported: Authentic Ethnic Flavors for Bigots who Don't Deserve Them."]

Day 5

I've lived in my house since 2012. I have lived around the same neighbors, give or take a few, since 2012. There's a woman of pallor whose house I've walked by at least 100 times in the twelve years I've lived in my neighborhood, whether on the way to doing something or just taking a stroll. This woman of pallor has seen me at least fifty times in those twelve years and has never spoken a word to me. Today, while pulling my garbage and recycling cans from the curb and into my backyard, this woman of pallor talked to me for the first time.

And she questioned me as if she was planning to call ICE to knock on my door.

This woman asked me my name, my MIDDLE NAME, if I owned my home or had children.

This woman has never said two words to me in twelve years.

She asked me all these questions and then tried to frame it with, "Well, you can never be certain. It's dangerous out here, so it's good to know who's in your neighborhood. With all this 'woke' stuff? You just never know. It wasn't like that in my day." She also tried to invoke her religious convictions, giving me her information and stating that God would not let her ask all these questions without introducing herself.

I guess Elizabeth Ann wanted me to know the name of the person likely to call ICE on me so I know who to thank when they show up at my door.

It's day five of what 60% of cis males of pallor and 53% of cis women of pallor voted for.

Five f'n days.

Five. Of 1,460.

Thanks, people of pallor. I'm feeling great. I've watched people I know and care about sit in fear with millions of other citizens over the past five days; as the world unravels around them, their rights and privileges begin to disappear, and the current administration does everything it can to deport them or threaten their existence. And now I get the added icing on the cake of being extra vigilant about having three forms of identification on my person whenever I leave my home while being prepared to defend people being harmed by hateful people and ICE agents.

Are we great again yet? Let me know when we're great again so I can circle the day on my calendar.

A Quick Sit-Down on Juneteenth

Hey, people of pallor. It's y'boy, Pharoah. Not "your boy" - y'boy. Believe me when I say there is a difference.

But I digress.

We've got bigger fish to fry, so let me pull up a chair and straddle it like Commander Riker so we can have a quick chat.

You sitting down? You comfy? Alright. Awesome. Let's "rap."

I don't know the proper "greeting" or "well wishes" message that someone who isn't Black should offer to Black people on Juneteenth, but y'all wishing me a Happy Juneteenth does not feel right.

It gives "progeny of oppressors hoping you will give them a pass because, hey, you're getting a federal holiday for your ancestor's suffering, so why are you uncomfortable with me acknowledging the holiday that exists because of my ancestors oppressing your ancestors" vibes, which is not a good look.

So I'm gonna float a few alternatives your way so you don't have to insert your foot in your mouth on some fetish sh--.

Maybe you shouldn't say anything to the Black people in your lives outside of maybe hoping that today is a day of rest for them if they have it off from work.

Maybe you could not treat Juneteenth like a summer barbecue holiday and not diminish its significance like you've diminished Labor Day, Memorial Day, or even Independence Day.

Maybe you could take some time today to learn Juneteenth's history and significance while enjoying your unearned federal day off.

Maybe you could legitimately volunteer your time and energy to a cause supporting Black communities in your city while enjoying your unearned federal day off.

Maybe you could recognize that Juneteenth only represents the emancipation of enslaved Africans in Confederate states and that enslaved Africans as a whole weren't free across the United States until the passage and ratification of the Thirteenth Amendment in December 1865, so Juneteenth, while being a significant moment in Black U.S. history, isn't the "Black Independence Day" y'all have been led to believe it is.

...

You're gonna go ahead and ignore everything I said because it feels uncomfortable in your tummy and wish me a Happy Juneteenth anyway, aren't you?

Of course you are.

SIGH.

Well, I tried.

"Good talk."

[Image description: A cartoon of Star Trek: The Next Generation character Commander Riker awkwardly straddling and sitting in a chair.]

Image description: A cartoon of Star Trek: The Next Generation character Commander Riker awkwardly straddling and sitting in a chair.

On Ryan, Diane, and Wishes

As I take a moment to reflect on the week, like I do every Friday, I think about how much I want my people to feel safe, seen, heard, and rested.

I think about Ryan Gainer and how he should still be here if law enforcement officers were taught that the intersection of race and ASD often leads to fatal action at the hands of those claiming to serve and protect. I think about how his family will never be settled. I fear for the next Black person on the spectrum who finds themselves dealing with the police.

I think about Dianne Abbott and how she should be able to speak truth to power without being silenced and diminished by people of pallor who can't fathom the reality that their niceties are neatly packaged hatred. I think about the calls for violence against her life led by a pale millionaire who will likely face no repercussions for his rhetoric.

I sit with all of this and wonder why this is part of the Black existence, this pervasive fear for our lives, livelihood, and safety. Questions pop into my head:

How does it feel to be carefree and never honestly think about your life constantly being on the line for just existing?

What would people of pallor do if they were looking at a lifetime of scrutiny and danger for doing everyday things they take for granted?

What if having a disability increased their chances of being harmed by society because of the melanin in their skin?

Would people of pallor tell the truth about their traumatic experiences at the hands of the so-called dominant class if their lives and livelihood were in danger because of the discomfort those truths caused?

I ask those questions and then check myself because I know these questions never arise for most people of pallor. I know they never put themselves in our shoes; even if they did, they'd complain about the fit.

I wish Black lives and safety weren't a novelty.

I wish we could rest with a deep, whole-body rest that allows our bodies and brains to cry, exhale, and cry some more until we feel less weary.

I wish for things I'll never see in my lifetime, but that doesn't mean I'll stop wishing.

I want my people to feel safe, seen, heard, and rested.

I know that's too much to ask for in a world fueled by white supremacy.

[Image description: Two images. The first picture is of a young Black man from California named Ryan Gainer. He can be seen smiling at the camera while standing in a parking lot. The second picture is of a Black woman named Diane Abbott. She was the first Black woman elected to the British Parliament. She is seen smiling at the camera.]