Summer 2020 was filled with national uprisings against racial injustice and police brutality. Conversations around power, intersectional identities, and injustice exploded into protests, riots, and lethal violence. As a queer, Black man, I watched people who look like me be murdered for simply being, as a global pandemic and the consequences of this nation’s legacy of slavery ran rampant. We watched soul-crushing footage of George Floyd’s murder, which impacted us all psychologically, emotionally, and physically.
The murdering of Black people due to systemic racism and implicit biases was not news to BIPOC (Black, Indigenous, people of color) communities, but the global response was unlike anything we had experienced before. One hundred forty U.S. cities and 20 countries around the world committed to the fight against racial injustice. If Cornel West is right when he preached that “justice is what love looks like in public,” then it is even more apparent that our “justice” system is nothing more than a hateful, injustice system. Systemic racial oppression is not love.
BIPOC (Black, Indigenous, people of color) experience racism in their everyday lives, and when a diverse sexual and/or gender identity intersects with a BIPOC one (or with another marginalized identity such as being a woman or a person with disabilities), an individual’s lived experience is not only deeply impacted by racism, but other systems of oppression, as well (e.g., homophobia, transphobia, misogyny, ableism).
“To bring about change, you must not be afraid to take the first step. We will fail when we fail to try.”
-Rosa Parks
It is well-documented that LGBTQ folks experience depression, anxiety, and substance use disorders at a much higher rate than cisgender and heterosexual folks. However, at the intersections of marginalized races, sexualities, and genders, we see more mental health crises, hospitalizations, and deaths by suicide and overdose.
With this in mind, how do those of us who hold QTBIPOC* identities take care of ourselves? How do we pull ourselves up by our bootstraps when we weren’t even given bootstraps to begin with? How do we navigate systems of oppression that keep us from thriving authentically? How do we watch the world crumble around us but continue to protect our hearts and mental health?
As a QTBIPOC, I engage in mindfulness throughout the day to ensure I am present for the world around me. I practice radical acceptance of myself and celebrate the beauty of my diversity. I spend time away from social media when I need to. When I am able, I get involved in activism, letting my lived experiences propel me forward. I have struggled with (and continue to struggle with) panic, suicidality, and recovery from addiction. In 2020, returning to therapy, embracing psychiatric medication, and pursuing alternative pathways to recovery outside of abstinence saved my life.
To those of you who do not identify as BIPOC, or QTBIPOC, speak up against racism in your spheres of influence, examine your own implicit biases, check on your BIPOC loved ones, and engage in political action. Protest, sign petitions, and call your state representatives to demand change. These conversations can be uncomfortable, but small moments of uncomfortability can spread into large moments of change.
“There comes a time when silence is betrayal.”
-Martin Luther King Jr.
Stay involved in the conversations, keep learning, and continue to educate others on the movements against anti-BIPOC racism and discrimination against other marginalized folks. Lastly, listen without judgment when BIPOC and QTBIPOC share their experiences of discrimination, microaggressions, and victimization with you. Let their stories inform your work. In the wise words of Angela Davis, “In a racist society, it is not enough to be non-racist, we must be anti-racist.” Anti-racism is intentional action always.
I am still learning how to be a dependable ally to folks who do not hold the same identities as I do. As conversations about anti-racism and allyship continue to happen, it is important to remember that most of us are doing the best we can to be solid activists. Nobody is perfect at allyship, advocacy, or activism. We are all growing and learning as our culture shifts and we engage more folks in collective direct action for justice.
To my queer and straight BIPOC, take care of yourselves. Yes, this work is forever ongoing, but anti-oppressive work can be traumatic, draining, and frustrating. We are not superhuman. You can’t be an activist who is pouring your soul into change if you aren’t filling up your soul with what keeps you centered. Water the garden of your mind with truths that keep you grounded: I am brave; I am enough, and I am valuable in this fight.
With that, I’ll leave you with an analogy I heard from Sonya Renee Taylor (Instagram: @sonyareneetaylor). Imagine you’ve baked a cake, and you realize that you accidentally put a cup of salt into it instead of a cup of sugar. If America is the cake and racism is the salt, we can’t rid America of racism, as it is built into the foundation of what America is. The only solution here is to dismantle the cake and rebuild it with systems that support BIPOC, QTBIPOC, and every, other vulnerable community. We still have a long way to go in the pursuit of racial equity and justice, so until that day comes, stay radicalized, love hard, and be loud.
