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“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.”—Malcolm X As a Black woman, to say that I feel disrespected, unprotected, and neglected is an understatement. The truth is, there are no words to describe the plethora of emotions that seem to have been consuming me in the months since the election. But how can one be expected to articulate the emotions that arise after witnessing half of the country side with a convicted felon, who has a proven record of racism, sexism, homophobia, and an almost comic-book villian level of other atrocities, over a…Black woman? To have this Inauguration Day be shared with Martin Luther King Jr. Day truly adds salt to a wound that doesn’t seem to heal. I was 17 years old, and a senior in high school when Hillary Clinton was defeated. I remember staying up late to watch the results – I had an AP Government project that required me to fill out the Electoral Map with my projections, and I was committed to making sure I was right. But then I watched Pennsylvania flip to red, and although it was still too early to call the election, any hope that I had deflated like a balloon, and I turned the television off and went to bed. Waking up to the election results the next morning was a soul-crushing experience. But in that moment, I didn’t feel discouraged. I felt activated. Instead of following the STEM path that I was on, I was determined to dedicate my upcoming college career and life to politics – to fighting against the people who so clearly didn’t have my interests as a young, Black woman at heart. I was 21 years old when Joe Biden was elected President, and true to 17-year-old Aniya’s wishes, I had indeed committed myself to the political world. By this point, I was a month away from graduating college with degrees in Literature and Political Science, had worked on several political campaigns, held statewide positions in the Democratic Party, and had just contributed to successfully flipping one of the reddest seats in San Diego. To say that I was immersed in politics is an understatement, but I was so proud of that immersion, and I knew that 17-year-old Aniya would be as well. Now, at 25, I’m tired. And I regret to admit that I’ve unfortunately found myself wondering over the last few months – what was any of that previous work for? The sleepless nights analyzing voter data or strategizing the best field tactics. The literal blood, sweat, and tears. The money. Why did I commit myself to fighting so hard for this country, when this country has shown me time and time again that it has absolutely no desire to fight for me? And if I’m this tired after less than a decade, I can’t begin to imagine the exhaustion that people who have been in this space for decades are feeling. I was told from a young age to never give someone the power to take my joy, which has been a teaching that I’ve always believed and held onto, and am desperately clinging to now. Whether that’s losing myself in a good book (although I’m currently staying away from anything regarding dystopias or evil regimes), treating myself to a meal that I know will make me feel good, or buying a pair of the fluffiest, fuzziest, pink slippers, I’m trying to find joy in every little activity because that’s critical now more than ever. Additionally, I’m fortunate to be able to work in a space with incredible people who don’t make me feel as though I have to tiptoe and skirt around my emotions. I know that it’s a privilege to even be able to capture my feelings down here. The support that I receive from my colleagues on a regular basis is not something that I take lightly, as they all in their own way have helped keep me energized and centered on the mission and the work that we know – and don’t know – is ahead. While I remain determined to hold onto my joy, peace, and dedication to the work that we all have to do, I also know that from here on out I will be looking at this country through an entirely new lens, and I will not let myself be disillusioned again. Also, I’d be remiss to not say Happy Martin Luther King Jr. Day. In Solidarity, |
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Aniya Brown, Communications Associate |