Petty Queen

In the cyber, social and physical world of Radical Black Politics, some of us claim (to be) spaces of transformation, embodiment, right relationship and deep connection. We talk about the worlds we build and the “work” we do. We talk. A lot.

We’re amazing actors. We pretend to listen. We make the right sounds. Our heads move up and down in agreement while folks talk. Our mouths say, “Go off!”, “You right.”, “Preach.”

When really.

We are crafting responses. Making fun of. Relying on marking and making arbitrary requirements about who belongs and who doesn’t. Who is worthy of being believed, witnessed and listened to. Who we deem deserving is also about attraction, voice and delivery. Who gets to say which rooms are the best fit. Who gets to be measured by these rooms and these papers and fancy wrist watches and four types of forks.

We go to other rooms and think they’re too small. We forget that our grandmamas are here and since they are expansive that means this room has to be big. This room has to be worthy. This room is the best fit.

When we flatten vibrant, complex, multidimensional stories of Black folk in order to strengthen our arguments, egos and need to be separate from, we engage in anti-Blackness and transaction. When we attempt to cleverly underscore and simultaneously couch our hatred, dislike, disgust and disapproval, we limit potential connection and growth . When most of what we do is self serving, we build echo chambers that reinforce how worthy we are. By extension, we note who gets to remain and why. Who should be removed and why. Who does not get to be saved and why. We don’t ever say the why but we know.

We claim critique as praxis. And yet, we aren’t clear on where the critique comes from, where the aim of it lies. We expect folks to fawn over backhanded compliments disguised as constructive criticism.To call unprotected spaces safety, sanctuary, honoring.

And sometimes, we critique out of love. We critique out of a commitment and request for internal and external growth. We critique to restore and engage.

Often, we strengthen a culture of calling out that doesn’t consider alternatives before reaction. That ignores connection, accountability, community and movement. We start to look at folks as static, irredeemable creatures that are always their worst decision, embarrassment, mistake. The result of this is a type of activated disconnection that amplifies pettiness, shade, beef and miscommunication. It is rarely direct. It situates us into confusing shadiness with closeness, quality time with how long and deeply we can talk about folks who aren’t in the room and shifts us out of noticing that we are reinforcing anti-Black methods of disposal, disregard, destruction and unease.

We conveniently forget that this staticity also relates to how we engage with ourselves. What narratives, traumas, glories (and developments) we allow to be named in public and private spaces. What mistakes we are still making and how/ if we talk about them.

Some days, I don’t mind shade. Sometimes these things are cute, creative and funny. Other days, they feel too close to showing love by making fun of, harassing in order to let someone know you like them, claiming care while harming, asking to be paid attention to without being direct. Some critique and think pieces aren’t about any of that. Some are about more or less.

I wonder what “the work” we do would look like if how we move is informed by more grounded critique, instead of by who we are/ want to be friends with. I wonder what our connections would be experienced as if we divested in dragging culture. If our connection centered touch, tears, food, elders. I wonder how this culture informs our interactions with children, Black mamas, folks with disabilities, our readers, ourselves.

You/ we are not participating in transformation. This is not an act of liberatory practice.

May all the flattening you do, hold you hostage for a while. May it curl up on you. May it unearth you. May the rifts that you struggle between force you to remember our fullness. May you always act in relation to and in service of that.

Considerations:

Pay close attention to who you say you are when no one else can hear it.

Consider the things you’ve said and the things you are saying right now.

Listen to who, what and how you answer.

Mantras matter. They settle in the bones.

Who have you told yourself you are? Why? For how long?

What grace do you not grant yourself? What’s the relationship between this and how you do/don’t grant grace to others?