Silence is not consent.
I say this as a woman who has been sexually assaulted more than once in my life. But I also say this as an anti-racist white person.
I don’t consent to racist acts just because I stay silent. I stay silent about many things in life before jumping into action and the same went when I was terrorized by my abusers. It’s not because I haven’t learned to speak my mind or say no. It’s because now I’ve learned to avoid putting myself into danger as much as possible. A crowd full of possible white-hating people is not where I’m going to plant my feet and pretend anyone can or will protect me. I don’t run naked through a room full of rapists or tie steaks to my body and hang out in a lion’s den.
I need that fear because I am a person that often trusts too easily and puts others ahead of myself when I do start to care about them. Abusers can smell prey like me and I can’t give them any opportunity to get close. So crowds are absolutely out of the question for me.
And I am afraid. Because I have been hated for the color of my skin, even in danger because of it. Black people aren’t my enemy but there are always wolves among any crowd of people.
And internet opinions? Forget about it. If I don’t simply echo the popular opinion or someone misinterprets my words, then the shit show begins. Rather than address real issues, I might be called Karen or told to die or worse. Some people these days go so far as tracking you down, trying to get you fired or finding out where you live, and so on.
Long ago, I even stopped confronting strangers on the street because people have pulled guns and shot total strangers on a whim. Is my anger, no matter how righteous, worth losing my life for? No. Not even a little.
Want more excuses for why people choose wisdom and laying low? I’m not the picture of perfect health, mentally or physically. I can’t outrun someone and it’s easy to hurt my feelings and cut too deep. I’m not tough and my convictions have never been worth dying for. I’m an atheist but I’ve pretended to believe in god for zealots that have really scared the shit out of me.
My point is that there is no amount of pride that will make me speak before I think. There is nothing I treasure about my impulses that will make me speak when people can be hurt by my words. But then I suppose I’ve been privileged with a child-molesting uncle and a psychopathic brother to teach me how to tip-toe through the minefields in life.
Yeah, don’t get me started about privilege. I just don’t meet the squeaky little white bread criteria that white people supposedly carry. Is it because I’m a woman? Mentally ill? Socially awkward? Some mix of all of them? Either way, I’ve been fucked over by the system, by men, by POCs, by people in general.
It’s not anyone’s fault but the ones that hurt me. I stayed silent about them for a long time because no one believed me. Still, there are times where no one wants to believe me. And so I have learned to save my words, to find an effective way to use them, effective places to say them.
Again, silence is not consent. Silence is contemplation, revenge, justice to the weight of what comes next. I choose the battles to fight, whether I have the weapons to fight with.
Then I speak.
With any luck, my words will carry clarity and truth. But I can’t speak for everyone when I am not inclined to speak even for myself.
But I guess you can bet your ass I’d raze cities for the people I love. Because I’m damnably human and flawed nonetheless. So don’t think I don’t get it but ultimately think it’s foolish and pointless. It’s only satisfying selfishness. Don’t kid yourself otherwise.
I’m not going to say that all lives matter because it’s a sentiment that’s been bastardized to include telling women what to do with their bodies. When people say black lives matter, all they are saying is that they matter TOO. Feminism is also, very unfortunately, ruined by extremism. Where women have real systemic issues, there is also misplaced hatred for men. But there will always be assholes that come along to use movements for fame, greed, and destruction, there to attempt to destroy any real progress because the money is made in the struggle, not the solution.
I’ll say it again, I avoid labels whenever possible. They are inhibiting to growth and often stop people from thinking out of the box. What I wish for people is true equality, autonomy, visibility and empathy. We’ve strayed, people. We cling too much to pasts we were never responsible for in our lifetimes. We create guilt and strife where struggles are already hard enough.
I wish I could tell you to always love thy neighbor. In reality, sometimes your neighbor is a serial killer, a rapist, a pedophile. So be careful, especially with your convictions. Take time to untangle the great depth of grief and emotion, to insert some sanity and logic to those fears and doubts. Nothing taught me that more than losing my mother.
My opinion though. I’m not going to paint everything I’ve said here as fact. I’ve just thought about it a lot and this is what I can make some sense of. Staying at home gives me ample time for contemplation. I may not have the courage to stand in protest, but I attempt to use the system, vote and petition. Play a part. Somehow. Try not to consider bitching on social media as effective. That’s just screaming into the void. If you want to make an impact, actively fight the system, play the system, learn the system so you can understand how to change what doesn’t work.
Don’t give up on yourself or your ability to do some good in this world. Aim for that balance of selfish and selfless to make the most of it. Get really uncomfortable with silence because that is where you’ll find yourself. Then listen to some music, unwind, fight more battles, rinse, repeat. Just stay safe, if you can. Being a hero is usually tragic, the stuff usually glorified in the telling but cold in the reality. Sometimes, being resourceful is far more effective.
