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An acquaintance—a Black woman named Misty Boyer—wrote a Facebook post reacting to the President’s 4th of July speech. It is reprinted here, in its entirety, with Misty’s permission.
“Today, without my advice, encouragement, or instruction, Clorissa went out to protest for the Fourth of July.
She did this while the President of her country identified her as a fascist. Claimed that she’s trying to destroy the fabric of the country. That she’s a “danger” who needs to be taken care of. He encouraged other Americans to rise up against me and my daughter because we don’t agree.
Because we believe our lives are valuable enough to say that they matter, we’re terrorists.
And now, for the sake of the children, every conservative– including the ones who still have me on their friends list– has been called upon to RISE UP.
This is one of the most horrific and terrifying speeches I’ve heard from American leadership in my entire life. I’ve heard this man say terrible things across the years, and watch people constantly excuse what he says, pretend he didn’t say it, claim he made a mistake (how many times does one accidentally retweet horrible things before one has to accept that he means to do it?)
Now, my daughter– who, like the vast majority of protesters, hasn’t committed a single act of violence or crime, and of all the protests she’s gone to (a fair number at this point) every last one of them have been peaceful
because most of them are, contrary to what anyone says< she’s a terrible traitor against whom all of you need to rise up. If you’re Real Americans, that is.
Is that how it is now? I’ve seen sane people spread conspiracy theories, claim that arguments (which suck, but that’s what you get in an argument) are the exact same as threats. That to say that my life matters is somehow the exact same as saying theirs doesn’t (which is pretty weird and flies against basic grammar rules).
And now, if you’re a decent person, you must rise up against me, and the implication of violence is clear. My political disagreement makes me an enemy of paramount importance that all good conservatives must rise up.
I could cry. I could fucking cry.
My entire life has been marked by racism, it’s been affected, and I grew up having to work harder, try harder, make myself appear stronger and better because whenever I fuck up, I’m viewed more harshly, punished more harshly, treated more harshly. The only thing that’s ever saved me was figuring out early (I was a smart kid) that the best thing to do was learn how to “talk white” and make sure I showed off just how smart I am, because I’d rather be treated like someone’s pet smart black than to be treated according to the stereotypes.
And if you know me, and you’ve never heard me say these things, there is a reason– they make people uncomfortable. To speak out about what life is actually like as a black person is to have people who might otherwise be decent to you roll their eyes and give an ‘oh not again’ expression, or decide that you’re playing victim, or that you’re just angry, or that you’re militant, or you want handouts.
I’ve long thought that I could do more to impact the racial divide by being someone unexpected. Someone so against the stereotypes that people would think twice and maybe revisit some of their ideas. In reality, I was just swallowing all of the pain and horror of living in a country where someone like me
who has spent her ENTIRE LIFE trying to be kind, forgiving, and Christlike
could still have a car of white men drive by and call her a black whore, even when I was wearing an ankle-length skirt, a t-shirt, and flat sandals because I was out camping
to have a white mother in a grocery store grab her child’s hand and shrink from me in horror, yanking the poor girl away from me like I was a snake about to bite her
of having someone at a rock concert intentionally slam into me and then ask, really obviously, “why are YOU even here?”
of walking down a city street to lunch after working a job programming, feeling safe just to hear the word ‘nigger’ for the first time in my life
and let me tell you
there is a reason why people hate that word
that word is like dark magic, it is infused with a hatred that’s hard to describe, you can feel it crawling over your fucking skin and in the middle of a sunny day all of a sudden I thought I was going to die
not because I was being dramatic
But because when people say that word it carries within it a hatred that’s hard to describe, and I reacted instantly and with a primal TERROR
or how I was pulled over and illegally searched by the police on some bullshit claim that they had a report that I matched and the only fucking thing that saved me was that I was smart enough to pull over in my friend Nikki’s driveway– a black girl whose mother was with the D.A.’s office
coincidentally, as soon as they saw her they scattered
Oh, I could go on, and on, and fucking on about how even me, a short overweight woman who smiles and speaks well and is smart and a hard worker and a team player
have been mistreated by individuals and institutions alike.
But people like it better when I focus on the ways that I picked myself up by my bootstraps. That’s a much nicer narrative, a more comfortable one, one that allows so many of them to say that I’m one of the rare ones or better yet that I’m proof that every other black could accomplish the same things.
I’m not a terrorist.
My daughter is not trying to “indoctrinate” your children. Millions of Americans– yes, we’re AMERICANS, no matter how our own President tries to paint us as horrible. And disagreeing with you doesn’t mean we’re threatening you, it means that we’re just going to have to sit down, discuss things, and figure out how to get along together in this world.
This may well lose me some followers, and that will suck. I’ve been very happy knowing that it’s possible in this world for liberals and conservatives to get along. The conversations I’ve had here – contentious sometimes but always somehow ending with a respectful understanding of each other – have taught me how to put my feelings aside and be more rational and understanding.
But in my 42 years of living, I’ve never seen an actual President deliberately pour salt into wounds that I’ve devoted my entire life to trying to help heal, one small encounter at a time, one friendship at a time.
If you really think I’m someone you need to rise up against, that breaks my heart. But I won’t go quietly.“
Misty sometimes posts publicly to facebook, and her essays are always worth your time…Just an hour ago she posted about
https://www.facebook.com/paganmist
