write for her.
“If there's a book that you want to read, but it hasn't been written yet, then you must write it.”
I’ve read that toni morrisson quote maybe a hundred times, and last night it took on a new meeting when I watched an old video of her being interviewed by Junot Diaz.
During the quarantine, I have returned to the cozy spot on the rug at Morrison’s metaphorical feet as if she were a statue of a mythical god seeking a deeper understanding of the white gaze and contextualizing that literary term into the broader concept of internalized racism and oppression. and how they influence and impact our participation in and with systems. Often, my reference points about racism go back to studying English in college and using literary criticism to make meaning of texts (books, songs, and even long late-night conversations). It’s the storytelling thing. In the words we choose to say, sing, and even slur, we can unpack our belief systems about ourselves and those around us.
Morrison tells us that our past memories, our current experiences, and the reimagination of ourselves do not have to be parallel to a white experience. We are fully human. There is a life we can live and must seek to live in where we do not have to look over our shoulders or edit our experiences to create comfort for others. The white gaze does not like when Black and Brown people deviate from stereotypes, but we must not worry about that. Our responsibility is to connect deep within ourselves and tell our stories from the way see it from deep within ourselves.
She reminds us that you can do this with writing, just as she did. But, what would it be like if we practiced removing the white gaze from our self-talk? How would I talk to myself?
It’s making me think about the pages in my journal, and the ways in which I write to myself with compassion and love. I am never unkind to myself in my journal.
Words are spells. Words are things. Words have the power to make wishes and harms come true.
It doesn’t mean I don’t tell myself the truth, but I am not allowed to judge myself as being anything less than a loving spirit who is seeking a higher expression of herself. I decided to assign myself a few writing assignments to get me out of white fragility and frankly, white people shit.
Fall Writing Assignments
Write about the ways in which you comfort for yourself and dig deep into your mind as sport for the woman who is lonely.
Write poems for the woman who picks up bugs and examines their wings wondering what shoulders and back would have to look like to have her own pair.
Write about the real conversations and even in the ones in your head you have with warm friends for the woman who thinks she has to do it on her own.
Write about the way you stand in front of a room with your shoulders back and your heart open to a group of strangers for the woman who has to be reminded of her own light.
One of the questions to ask yourself if you’re ever wondering if you’re speaking from your wounded and traumatized racialized self is to ask, “Who am I talking to you?” When I’m in denial of my imprisonment, I ask, “Which slang am I choosing? Which vowels are hard? soft? How many R’s have I left in? How many of them have I rolled?”
Okay. That’s it. I am ending this now. The woman who needs to stop procrastinating on work needs this to be over and appreciates it.
