White Spaces: Race, Dating White and Otherness

LET’S BEGIN HERE… I am supposed to be angry about my blackness, angry about slavery and angry at white privilege. But I am not. At least not on a personal or venomous level. Race feels like something that happens on the outside of my world, something distant, petty and lazy. I am mostly disappointed with some aspects of human behavior in general, as opposed to directing that disappointment at one race or one gender. While I recognize that I am a part of the dance whether I feel the beat of the music or not, this does not change my lack of attachment to organizing myself, my life and my existence around race. When I stack, meaning layer myself with my prestigious labels, like educated, well-traveled, college professor, etc., it’s because I want to further distance myself from everyone’s cube (box) of stories, whether the onlookers are white, black, yellow or brown. However, it is white spaces that dominate my environment, and white stories that flood my media and white people who are dangerously clueless about the implications of race. And since by and large, I am not angry, do not see whites as powerful saviors or feel as though whites are somehow better off than me simply because they are white, or view my blackness a burden to be carried laboriously, a perpetual deficit; I feel it is my duty, moreover, my responsibility to speak candidly and fearlessly about my black experience in white spaces; professional white spaces, academic white spaces, recreational white spaces and romantic white spaces. I am Yasminah, and this is my truth.