[Edited to remove disclaimer and blog cut.]
Ilyka Damen recently left blogging.
Not long ago, she put up a post about how difficult it can be to act honestly as a white anti-racist. Systemically, this society is set up to bolster racism. It does not like people who fight against it.
That’s not to say that white people who want to be anti-racist have it easier harder [damn copy editing…] than black people. Clearly, that’s not the case. But I was interested in Ilyka’s acknowledgement that truly trying to be an ally to non-white folk will mean that one has to deal with criticism, and the loss of friends — even lefty friends who are more attached to their privilege to justice.
I’ve had the experience several times now of watching feminist discussions go down the racist toilet. Sometimes I have this sensation of standing next to some train tracks, watching the comment thread hurtle toward a mountain. “No!” I want to cry to certain white feminists. “Stop it, stop it, Oh, God, don’t say that…”
Inevitably, the train crashes.
I have this weird sense of twinned consciousness when I read those threads, because I feel like I can forecast the certain white feminists’ half of the script. Well, part of that’s because the script of racism is depressingly predictable. But it’s also because I know what I might have said five years ago. Oh, I probably wouldn’t have said it as publicly, or vehemently, but the thoughts certainly would have been there.
And, when the white feminists are slapped down, they metaphorically stand there with their hands clapped to their faces, their eyes huge with shock. Because how, why? What happened? What did I do wrong? I was trying to be nice! Why are black people so angry?
I recall that dislocated sense of confusion. The feeling of not knowing where I stood, or what drove the anger. Black anti-racists felt scary and feral and unpredictable. I understood that they were not scary and feral and unpredictable, and so I tended to stand back and shut up, but I still didn’t *understand*. I remember once crying because I didn’t understand something that Nubian said, and I wanted to so much, but the lightbulbs just didn’t go off.
And it’s not that all my lightbulbs are lit now or anything, but I tend to understand when black feminists are going to get mad, and why they’re mad. More than that, I get mad, too. I’m sure it’s a ghost of the anger that people who suffer the injustice feel, but it’s real anger.
Often, I haven’t been a very good ally. I don’t always fight. I don’t fight as hard as I can. I get distracted by other things. I am still lacking in many a clue.
But it seemed to me that in her last few posts, Ilyka was posting some things about working against racism that were fiery, and startling, and cathartic, and scary, and right. I had a sense of cleansing when I was reading her posts, the way I do sometimes when I read Twisty on I Blame the Patriarchy — a sense that the writer had, through anger, dissolved the clouding veils. To me, it seemed that she was finding some important truths.
I keep wanting to describe Ilyka as having been “on fire.” Maybe that analogy is too apt. The posts she was writing were brilliant, but not pleasant. Her words were necessary, but it can’t be enjoyable to be alight with them. She flared, and she’s burned out.
Much of feminist and anti-racist blogging seems to be about the realization and refocusing of unpleasant truths. News-oriented posts seem easier to take, with their easy, story-like narrative. Of course, I feel rage when I hear about the Indiana man who was beaten to death for being gay. But there seems, to me, to be a deeper kind of despair to uncovering the systemic cultural truths that underly patriarchy and white supremacy, because they underscore not just the horror of specific events, but an enduring horror that promises those events will keep on happening.
There’s hope in activism. There’s hope in a lot of things. There is even a strange kind of hope in seeing how embedded racism and sexism are in American minds, which is why I Blame the Patriarchy is full of black humor.
But there are walls, too. I’d like to thank those people who have spent their time identifying those walls — Ilyka, Nubian. Trying to see clearly seems to come with a high cost.
Hi, Mandolin.
Are you referring to Ilyka’s “Skedaddle Alert”? I’m very confused.
Well said.
Remove the cut from this post, please.
In American discourse we frequently privilege “having the answer” over having some thoughts which don’t constitute The Solution To Everything or The Explanation For Everything. I think it’s silly and even vaguely patriarchal. I think it’s very sad to see such an incredibly thought-provoking post go ignored because it’s hidden behind a cut tag with an ambiguous, non-information-containing message in front of it.
Thanks, A.J. I’ll do that.
Bonnie, I’m sorry the post was confusing. I didn’t take a whole lot of time editing it because the form seemed to be a little more raw than that. Ilyka Damen had started writing a lot about racism after the Jessica Valenti thing. Ilyka dida good job, in my opinion, of speaking in radical support of the view that was presented by the majority of women of color bloggers. More importantly, though, in my opinion, she did a good job of moving from that specific subject to the treatment of women of color in the blogosphere in general, in particular illuminating some darker things about the role of allies.
Her posts seemed very important to me, and very angry, and very dark. In retrospect, it’s not surprising that she burned out, having and writing those kinds of revelations.
For the record, I don’t know that I’d endorse every word that Ilyka wrote on the topics, either about the Valenti blog war, or the more general topics. But I had a sense of frame shifting when I read her work that felt important to me.
Mandolin,
Just wanted to let you know that you aren’t alone.
I have felt the same struggles and not fought the good fight probably as much as I could/should, and that is due to the privilege of not having to. And that sucks.
I find myself having to sometimes tune things out and walk away because it’s all so incredibly depressing. It really is very very sad when people who undergo similar types of systemic oppression (not exactly the same, but historically long, institutionally ingrained) are unable to recognize it and take a step back and shut up and LISTEN. I’m also really tired of the politically correct talk – as in, there’s a lot of lip service about “inclusive” feminism – because we all know we are supposed to be that way. But, sadly, most of the time it is just that – lip service. I’d almost rather people put away the PC stuff because it’s harder to fight that which is cloaked, ya know?
I don’t really have a point. Just wanted to let you know that you are not alone in these struggles and in trying to get better.
Mandolin, thanks.
I will miss Ilyka. I loved her blog. The post about stopping to apply make-up while riding her bike, was genius. (I actually saw someone do that the other day, and thought of her!)
The problem with being white and coming out and saying something about your own racism and anti-racist process, is that other white people immediately disassociate from you: NOT ME! I NEVER THOUGHT THAT! I dunno what you are talking about!
Whites do not readily cop to racism, so you are all alone out there.
The white people plead innocent and act superior, while the POCs certainly feel no sympathy (and I don’t expect them to, of course). White people hardly ever JOIN IN and affirm what you are saying about whiteness. They rarely interrogate their own prejudices and assumptions and make it a group process, which would make the whole thing worthwhile. They are too busy trying to LOOK GOOD, which BTW, is part of whiteness.
Anyway, I think that same pattern manifested with Ilyka. She was so “on fire”–that for awhile she didn’t care. But eventually, it caught up with her.
I hope she’ll be back.
Off topic, Mandolin. Love you girl, but next time could you please give the post a name related to the topic. LOL!!
Do you know how many times I skipped over this post? Yeah, I’m a lazy one, if the headline and the first sentence don’t strike me, I’m gone. I finally figured out what it was about while moderating comments (with my lazy self), and I was like ewww good topic.
“Love you girl, but next time could you please give the post a name related to the topic. LOL!!”
Done. ;)
Great title :))