On An Election and A Country's True Identity

I'm not surprised. I'm saddened, but I’m not surprised.

I'm unsurprised that 59% of men of pallor and 52% of women of pallor voted the way they did. I'm sadly not surprised that after everything he said and will do to immigrants when he takes office, he still got 54% of the masculine-identifying and 37% of the feminine-identifying Latine and Hispanic vote.

I'm saddened, but I’m not surprised.

I am disheartened but unsurprised.

I didn’t need a reminder, but for those who did, this election was a firm reminder that the United States is precisely what it has always been: a country steeped in individualism and fear of moving forward, unwilling to be progressive and care for all its citizens, and legitimately uninterested in trying to be the country it likes to claim it is.

He won this election, and it wasn't even close in the popular or electoral vote. A party with a platform of hate, oppression, and regression will be in complete control of the Government come January 2025, and it wasn't even a fight.

And I know so many of y'all voted for this man and this party while playin’ in the faces of the people in your life who you know their policies and governance will do extreme harm to. Most of y'all are quick to bust out a Black Lives Matter sign or bring up trans and reproductive rights just to have a smoke screen to vote against everyone’s best interests.

I loathe that most of y'all won’t own your hatred and fear of losing what you think is exclusively yours - rights, privileges, and safety from tyranny.

I loathe that most of y'all won’t own who you are in front of those your choices impact.

I loathe that most of y’all will be shocked when the people you elected do the exact things you hired them to do and you find yourself and your families adversely impacted and in physical, mental, emotional, and economic distress.

But I’m not surprised.

You're Americans! That's what Americans do, right?

I'm saddened. I'm disheartened. I'm not surprised, though.

This is the American way, y'all.

Note: This poll data is from a subsection of the voter base from 10 states.

On Blackness and Being A Team Player

Being Black is being told you're not a team player for not allowing a workplace to place a metric ton of work and stress on your shoulders while you watch your “affable” co-workers of pallor do the barest of bare minimums while being lauded as great people.

Being Black is being told you're not a team player because you don't want to participate in work parties and picnics and prefer doing your job, doing it well, then going home to live the life you've worked so hard to create in a white supremacist capitalist society.

Being Black is being told you're not a team player because you have boundaries that you enforce and reinforce with co-workers who have none.

Being Black is being told you're not a team player because you don't want to be friends with every person of pallor in your office looking to capture a “Black friend” to co-sign their racist nonsense.

Being Black is being told you're not a team player and being subjected to oppressive actions and attitudes in the workplace that aim to break you and push you into assimilation or conformity as a fraudulent means of survival.

Being Black is being told you're not a team player so much that you start wondering if it's your name.

But real talk?

Being Black eventually comes with the realization that most of y'all don't know what a team player is because y'all are too busy being mired in the nonsense of white supremacist likeability politics.

But you know, keep telling Black folx we’re not team players while we're some of the only ones scoring points for the team.

On Melanated Olympics for Survival and the Responses of Pallor

I don’t think people of pallor understand or grasp the intricacies of the mental, emotional, and linguistic gymnastics that most melanated people, most Black and Brown folx, most Native and Indigenous folx, and all Black women and femmes engage in to maintain employment and stay safe in communities and workplaces of pallor. I’m talking about Olympic gold medal-level sh—.

“But Pharoah, I underst - - “

No. No you don’t.

“Really, Pharoah. I think I get it - - “

Nope.

“I’ve read about - -“

Oh, no boo-boo. You don’t want to say that.

“But - -“

Shhhh. Less talking and defending yourself and more acknowledging your complacency and participation in white supremacist culture.

Ain’t nobody got time for your Olympic-level deflection and defensiveness.

Listen. Learn. Disrupt. Own your actions and words.

We’re tired of medaling.

[Image description: A picture of the rapper Mase. He is looking at the viewer while holding his left pointer finger up in front of his mouth, essentially making the universal gesture for remaining silent.]

Image description: A picture of the rapper Mase. He is looking at the viewer while holding his left pointer finger up in front of his mouth, essentially making the universal gesture for remaining silent.

On the NABJ and Not All Skinfolk Being Kinfolk

I don't have much to say about yesterday's NABJ Conference debacle and the messy events that preceded it, mainly because Black folx across the internet and beyond have covered all the bases and then some. But one thing that frustrates my soul is the interviewers and the heads of the NABJ trying to put a positive spin on this sh—.

I've seen and heard multiple messages and sound bytes since yesterday’s 30-minute sexist, racist, fragile ego-driven, anti-Black shindig trying to spin this mess as “eye-opening for voters” and doing the service of “showing us who [name redacted] truly is.” But you see, NABJ, there is one problem with this news cycle-level spin job:

WE ALL KNOW WHO HE IS.

Who the f—- didn't know who this man was and what he believed about Black people, women, and intersectionality before yesterday’s hateful antics?!

He didn't need stage time at your conference. None of us needed to watch another round of him attacking women, chastising and harming Black women in front of an audience, and being an absolute racist and white supremacy-driven sack of human excrement. Unless you've been in a coma or trapped in an underground bunker like Kimmy Schmidt for the past decade, this raggedy felon the NABJ scrambled for days to get on their stage for clout and headlines has shown us exactly who he is, to the point that you don't even need him to open his mouth to know how he feels. Did y'all think the public and your association members would buy that this was some altruistic venture, especially when all the behind-the-scenes shenanigans came to light?

Spin that nonsense somewhere else, NABJ.

Take your L. Make amends. But don't sit there acting like this all went pretty well unless you're referring to that well Buffalo Bill had at his house.

Don't act like you created a learning moment for us unless the lesson was that some people are still shocked when a leopard bites their face off.

And don’t act like this all pretty much went according to plan unless you planned to harm Black women.

It looks like the NABJ needs to learn that misogynoir and anti-Blackness can easily be stoked and fomented by Black people.

How about y'all research and investigate that, then get back to us with your findings?

This Week's Opening Thought: July 29, 2024

This week's opening thought: I recently turned 42.

I'm not one to celebrate birthdays, achievements, or milestones. It has always felt wrong. For decades, I thought I disliked celebrating little moments because I felt they weren't worth the time and energy. Real talk? I walked across the stage for my high school graduation and ran to one of my two jobs without fanfare. I graduated from college and was like, "Meh," when my wife wanted to celebrate my achievement. I stopped celebrating landing jobs or opportunities long ago, looking at them as blips in my timeline.

I have spent most of my life lumping these situations into not being worth my time. "I've got sh-- to do" is one of my favorite lines to mutter when people want to celebrate me. But as I get older, wiser, and healthier, I've unearthed why I don't celebrate birthdays, achievements, or milestones.

I'm Black in the United States, and everything feels like borrowed time.

I didn't start embracing joy until my 30's. I didn't start doing anything for my birthday until my mid-30s, and I'm still reticent to do more than some meals at cool restaurants. There's a trauma that I've spent time unpacking over the past few years, one that is deeply embedded in my soul. At its root is a simple yet complex question:

Do you celebrate today if it always feels like there is no tomorrow?

I find it hard to celebrate much in a society that allows police officers to walk into my home and murder me without provocation. It's difficult to tap into joy when I could be lynched at a moment's notice, and my family would get no justice for my Black body. It's unsettling to know that for every high, racism and white supremacy are dangling over my head like the sword of Damocles waiting to "take me down a notch."

I'm learning that I don't want to live that way anymore.

White supremacy does not get to dictate me taking a victory lap every now and then for how awesome I am. (Yeah, I'm feelin' myself.)

I've embraced joy. Now, I know I need to embrace that regardless of how dangerous the world is around me, I deserve to be celebrated. My achievements deserve to be honored and acknowledged.

And sometimes, just sometimes, I deserve a fresh huckleberry lemonade.

To all my Black people: celebrate you, your people, and your achievements. Don't let this "white-a-betes" that systems of pallor want to inflict you with take away from honoring your family, friends, and your achievements in the face of a system that has never believed we should exist.

Enjoy your lemonade.

[Image description: This is a picture of me at Solstice Restaurant in Hood River, Oregon. I'm making a whimsical face while holding a freshly made huckleberry lemonade.]

Image description: This is a picture of me at Solstice Restaurant in Hood River, Oregon. I'm making a whimsical face while holding a freshly made huckleberry lemonade.