What Doesn't Kill You Makes You Blacker

by Damon Young

White supremacy is so gargantuan and mundane that sometimes its existence and its proficiency can’t be measured, addressed, or even seen without a stark change in perspective. It isn’t like gravity. It is gravity. It is a ceaseless pressure intended to keep blackness ground-bound and sick.

It was assumed that they were a bit rougher and a bit less inhibited and a bit more adult than the average kid. Which is a presumption that exists for black kids, and black people, in general. And the poorer the person, the stronger the presumption.

I think about how black women are socialized to be enduring and steadfast and forgiving and giving giving giving so much that there’s nothing left of them but dust. I think about how this dynamic exists both within America’s general white dominating culture and in black American culture. I think about how its existence in black American culture is perhaps even more hurtful and dispiriting, because there’s no deliverance from it in what should be your home and your people. I think about how black women are praised for their strength the way you’d praise a mule or a swarm of ants or a handshake or a really expensive garbage bag. I think about how praise of black women reads like a word association game where someone just placed strength in a thesaurus and found the synonyms. Black women are stout. Black women are unyielding. Black women are stable. Black women are durable. Black women are stalwart. Black women are firm. Black women are poised. Black women are reliable. Black women have grace too. But grace is just another way of praising them for being strong for everyone else while also juggling and then ignoring the urge to firebomb the entire fucking planet.