What doesn't get said

I’m biracial and I’m angry. It’s new. And it’s not just what’s on the news.

Recently I overheard some very nice white people discussing a case of a police shooting and the inner workings of DA’s offices. They were troubled by what they’d seen, and proposed how police oversight could be tweaked so that officers might be more likely to de-escalate and officers could get mental help from the stress of the job before they start shooting people.

And I had indigestion the whole time. Not because they said anything racist. In fact, this was exactly the kind of discussion I went to grad school so I could get in on. Detached, objective, logical, polite, specific, thorough. The kind of conversation had by people with the positional power to execute a few local changes.

And as I listened to them, my heart was racing and I felt like I might throw up. It wasn’t what they were saying. It was what they weren’t saying.

How can you weigh the legal merit of a single case without acknowledging the systemic tides that create the same patterns over and over? How can you talk about mental health on the force when the model for community policing is war? How can you talk about the toll on police officers without acknowledging that the brown person in the story who let himself express some anger paid with his life?

I could have jumped into the conversation, but I didn’t. Because I knew, from being around this kind of conversation my whole life, that being upset means you lose. That not being able to articulate your concerns perfectly means you lose. That bringing in larger issues that can’t be fixed by small tweaks means you lose. That making it “political” means you lose. That making people feel bad means you lose.

Better to just keep your mouth shut, grit your teeth and be glad. Even if the white people in your life don’t always talk about the big picture, don’t feel the human toll in their bones, don’t have grandparents whose land was stolen and parents who fled the KKK and had all their fears and sorrows poured into you like old wax in a new mold.

At least they aren’t wearing red hats and calling for a police state.

What prompts my anger is not these people or this conversation. It’s my own dawning integrity, thanks to some successful trauma therapy that has reunited me with my own voice. I’ve been trained since birth to keep my feelings in check so that others can be comfortable, and I just can’t do it anymore.

The voices in my head telling me to keep my mouth shut are the voices endorsed by my black parent. They meant to cut me off from my blackness to keep me safe.

You’re not allowed to be angry because this is just how the world works. There are always gonna be people on the losing end of society, and we don’t want it to be you. You’re not allowed to be angry, because look how white you are! You’re not exactly a “regular” black person. Why would you want to side with them?

You’re not allowed to be angry because you’ve never let anger distract you before – are you sure you’re not just being intellectually lazy?

You’re not allowed to be angry because emotion means you aren’t objective, so you automatically forfeit. And you’re so smart, we’ve invested so much in your education and your ability to have polite discussions with people who have power – you want to toss that away?

Of course I don’t want to toss away logic and discourse. But neither can I keep ignoring the messages of my heart and body to keep up the pretense of polite discussion. Those messages keep coming out anyway - if not in words, in delay and procrastination. In dissociation and blinding depression. In self-sabotage and upset stomach.

They call it double consciousness, the process of constantly policing yourself by evaluating yourself through the eyes of an oppressive society. What am I really trying to say here? What would be the point of speaking up? Where do I even start? Oof, my stomach’s all aflutter, I should calm down first.

But shouldn’t I go ahead and be angry to authentically show them how I feel? Do I deserve to be angry? Can I afford to think about this out loud like they’re doing? If I’m angry, it will make them feel uneasy, more guarded around me. What if this moves me into a different category in their mind – won’t I be paying for it later?

By this time, someone who doesn’t have to think that hard has already filled in the airspace, and the moment is gone. So I end up smiling and shrugging, Well, what difference would it have made. I guess I’ll get another chance later. No, sure, glad to hear your thoughts, yup yup, everything’s fine.

I’m still saying that. I still have a stomachache. And yes – I’m still angry. I don’t know where this is all going ultimately. But I can’t stuff it down anymore. I have to bring words to it, or else this rift between what I’ve learned in my head and what I know in my bones will keep ripping me to shreds.