On Black Jobs and Being "The Help"

One of the many things that people of pallor do that always hits a particular nerve in me is the seemingly unbridled desire or unconscious urge to automatically assume that Black and Brown folx, Indigenous people, and people of color are "the help" so they should be addressed as such.

A chunk of the generational trauma that people of pallor navigate the world carrying in their brains and bodies is built upon biases, stereotypes, and a belief that most jobs and tasks aren't worthy of being jobs people of pallor should have or tasks they should have to do. And there seems to be this innate inability to refrain from making jokes about people of color doing manual labor for people of pallor. Hell, chattel slavery was built on these ideals, so it's not surprising that this messiness is imprinted in the DNA of generations of people of pallor.

But just because it's not surprising doesn't make it any less oppressive or mean that people of pallor shouldn't unpack and unlearn this sh—.

This nonsense has happened to me my entire life. Most people of color, Black and Brown folx, and Indigenous folx deal with this in some capacity. I have been stopped while shopping dozens of times by people who think I'm "the help." It doesn't matter what kind of store I'm in or that store team members are usually in uniform with a name badge on their lapels – I still get pegged as "the help." I have been in shorts and flip-flops and still have people of pallor asking me where the Brita filters are.

It happens when I'm gardening and minding my business in my yard. I've had people of pallor ask me for my card because they "think I do good work." Many jokingly quip, "You can come down to my house and do my lawn next," "I've got some weeds you can pull," or some other "funny banter." These interactions occur at least once a week in the summer months and too many times to count throughout the year.

I can't even wash my car without dealing with this nonsense. I washed my car yesterday, and as I was detailing the tires and interior, some woman of pallor cheerfully said, "I'm going to pull my car up, and you can do mine next!" I looked at her, stone-faced, and quickly said, "No. Not today." She obviously didn't expect my response because she reacted like I spit at her feet before quickly complimenting the job I was doing and moseying her ass down the street.

Let's be real: there is nothing wrong with any job. All jobs have merit and are good jobs. I will never denigrate anyone's job. Jobs of all kinds keep the world moving forward. Thousands of jobs ensure our lives are collectively easier, safer, healthier, and a little more assessable at the behest of people's blood, sweat, and tears. But this inherent assumption that many people of pallor carry that some jobs are beneath them and that melanated people are always here to serve? It's preposterous.

There are no Black jobs, Karen. There are just jobs. Period.

Your white supremacy is showing.

You might wanna tuck that in.

Joy

I'm not going to sit here and say things like, "Everything's gonna be alright," while the world is literally and figuratively burning because I think that's a lie. Everything is not alright and hasn't been alright for a long time. I think many of us know this, and our families have carried this trauma for generations. So many of us are fighting for a better, safer world, much like our ancestors were, and we're feeling the weight of it all like our ancestors did.

None of that means we can't have joy.

None of that means we shouldn't love our families and communities and continue celebrating and elevating our people.

There's still a lot of life to live.

I get it. It feels heavy. In these trying times, joy might even seem like a privilege. But joy is not a privilege - it's a right. You have the right to love life, your people, and all the positives and happiness triggers in your life.

It's not easy to find joy when the world seems dim, but we owe it to ourselves to seek out and embrace the things that bring us joy. We owe it to our families to model how there's still joy and wonder in this world to engage with. Unbridled joy is one of the many things that stop us from mentally, physically, and emotionally breaking under the weight of our oppressors. Joy is fuel to fight for the things you believe in and the people you love. Joy is protest. Joy is rest.

The possible future ahead of us could try to take many things from many of us. Please do everything you can not to let it take your sunshine.

Embrace joy.

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 Being Called the "Whisperer"

Hey, people of pallor with power and privilege and those who seek to curry the favor of white supremacists and "societal norms!" Here's your Wednesday reminder that a person being melanated and sharing their experiences navigating white supremacy in your workplace does not mean that person wants to be your "racism whisperer." The same goes for queer-identifying folx not wanting to be your "LGBTQIAA+ whisperer" and people with disabilities not wanting to be your "disability whisperer."

We didn't sign up for that.

We want to do our jobs well enough to be proud of our work and keep our jobs while dodging your ever-increasing scrutiny of our work due to your unwillingness to unpack your sh-- and then go home. If we share an experience we've had with you in the workplace, it was likely shared to educate you to the point that you will hopefully quit doing us and people like us ongoing harm.

You will never pay us enough to be a "whisperer" about anything in your white supremacist workplace environments. No money can ever supplant that sick feeling we often get in our guts when we have to be around you, listen to you say hateful and ignorant things, and mull over when is the right time to educate you instead of telling you where to go and how to get there. No money will ever aid our nervous systems in not feeling like the moment we put ourselves out there to gently call you in or teach you that our livelihoods are in danger. No money will ever make us feel OK with being tokenized by you, pushed to share our stories repeatedly with you, or make the number of boundaries we must have while in your workplace to exist and not be harmed by you feel any less burdensome.

Leave us be and digest what we shared with you. Own your actions instead of commodifying human beings.

On Whiteness, Identity, and Sliced Bread

One of the most dangerous things that people of pallor created when they decided that being accepted as a person of pallor was somehow better than sliced bread was creating the homogenized identity that we all know as whiteness.

People of pallor are so generationally removed from their identities, their cultural identities, and so deep in the trenches of white conformity and norms that a person of pallor being "unapologetically white" is a hate crime waiting to happen. Like so many people of culture, Black, Brown, and Indigenous folx, folx from AAPI communities are so proud of their identities and wear them proudly. I'm unapologetically Black. I have rarely felt fear when a person of culture shares how proud they are of their culture and heritage. But the moment I see and hear a person of pallor screaming about being "unapologetically white" or "white pride," I feel a chill up my spine because it always comes with a bucket of hate speech, fragility, and violence.

Think about how messed up it is to create a construct to trumpet to the heavens that you're somehow superior to any person with deeper tones in their skin than your own, only to make the most paper-thin and traumatized faux culture in the history of the world, one that has done irreparable generational damage to people of pallor while placing everyone else in a constant state of danger.

I prefer sliced bread.