It seems there are the empaths who deeply hurt right along with you and always know what to say. There's the “take it like a man” types who wouldn't be caught dead wincing about their arms being ripped off let alone some personal or mental struggle. I find the people who, in a sense, find a way to offer their problems in an enduring sentiment related to hope or faith the most interesting. They forgive themselves, you, and manipulate the word “complaint” into a life affirming resilient statement.
It seems to vary depending on what's being complained about. The other night a girl who spent a solid 10-15 minutes flirting with me turned and disappeared after I innocently said the way the bartender had tried to hit on her had been working for him for hours. This was before she pulled him in to explain how she doesn't appreciate it. I didn't mean to condone his style, or in her view, lack thereof, but there's a chasm between me and her concerning what we'll regard is worthy of special or perpetual indignation.
I'm not even sure if there's a right or wrong about it. Worse than that, I'm provoked to think I have a diminishing conception of things as “inherently wrong.” The harder you play the empathy game, you give yourself opportunities to grow and understand. With that said, I think that's where my concern lies. We're not an understanding bunch. We don't really care to try. We react and then seek justification.
Consider complaints about identity. I just watched “Lemonade” and read a piece about it being about black and particularly black women's identity. That they have to play the support role. It quotes Malcolm X when he says, “The most disrespected person in America is the black woman. The most unprotected person in America is the black woman. The most neglected person in America is the black woman.” I then tried to read a piece complaining that there isn't powerful art like Beyonce's that represents fat black women femme something something other qualifiers, and couldn't she have invited American Horror Story's Queenie to the party.
I started to think of the delusions of grandeur rich white dudes hold about their business savvy or political acumen. I started to think about Native Americans.
Surely you have the right and obligation to use your soapbox when you feel compelled to do so. You can never stop giving attention to a societal ill without sacrificing yourself in the process. I suppose I'm worried about the kinds of divisions we create in the kinds of identities we claim. You can be as defined by what you assert as you are what you're leaving out. Responses like “why aren't there any fat black women in your videos?” articles seem to ironically compound the problem.
Hopefully I can unpack this. You can say Beyonce is about anything. A celebration of capitalism, black women and identity, celebrity, love, empowerment, on and on. You can recognize how and why identities have been marginalized and the importance of artwork like hers. You can deeply empathize with her messages about family or infidelity. And it should be obvious, that in order to create or say anything, you have to leave many things out. How you talk about what's been left out makes a difference.
So you're concerned about fat black women not making the final cut. Are you trying to say you're more worthy than the disabled black women that didn't make it either? Are you saying Beyonce deserves blame and your community's anger? Why don't you feel compelled to create art celebrating yourself?
Humanity is the game we're playing together, inroads to a conversation are made in either noisily reacting to someone's creation, or taking what it affirms and incorporating it into our lives. One splits the identity further, the other provokes understanding. Just as I can only write as a white guy, I'm not saying fuck everyone who isn't me and you don't belong in my experiences with pain. In the reactive fervor we seem to weaponize our identities. We focus on the potential for scandal in Beyonce's personal life and tip our hat to her marketing team. We'll make claims we're contributing to the “cultural conversation” when we're really stewing in our defensive jealousy.
Do I agree with Malcolm X about the state of the black women? No. Am I capable of pulling back and seeing behind the words to know what he's getting at, to try and feel the level of pain that compels him to say it, to adopt the identity for a moment that's genuinely angry and hurt and feels that way? Absolutely. Do I think his words are an indictment of other oppressed people? Kinda sorta. What we need to ask ourselves when we get the microphone is whether the conversation is helped or hurt by not speaking to “one love” so to speak. By respecting all the nuances and potential for connection in the word “identity” when it's coupled with “black” “native” “fat” “disabled” “gay” or whatever.
For all the happy white family shows that are supposed to represent me and celebrate whiteness, those people don't feel like me. I'm not a CEO. I don't have that much money. I don't seek to constantly reinforce or believe in the strict lines about what it means to be white. I see bigger lines between rich and poor than I do black and white. Are the poor people coming out to complain they wish they could afford a car nice enough for Beyonce to consider smashing it?
I think by looking for an unsubstantial qualifier, you end up accidentally caricaturing yourself. To be black is as fluid a game as who's got the microphone. But that's the case for every individual. What you pay attention to. What you choose to incorporate and respect. Does “Lemonade” speak to me? Not really. I don't care about infidelity and don't believe in marriage, so the first half is out. I got a quasi-emo vibe from some of the poetry that felt overwrought and had me smirking. Slow motion shots alone didn't do it for me. And who cares? None of my views or criticism really matters, even to me. She's good at what she does, so props.
I'll remain concerned about how we think of identity going forward. How we think about the racist reactions. How we think about celebrity. How we'll hijack and piggy-back and shoot ourselves in the foot as we innocently claim to be enjoying or offering “constructive criticism.” Yes, to everything but ourselves.
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