The Comments

Ah my friends and oh my foes the fucking comments.

I’ve gotten a lot of them.

You’ve seen very few.

Why?

Because I control the comment section. That’s what moderated comments means. And I know, I know, never read the comments. But it’s my blog so I kind of don’t have a choice.

So yeah, I got a few of the standard death and rape threats.

This can’t be a surprise. I’m a woman on the internet. I get at least one each, every week. So that was nothing new.

I also got a remarkably large number of self-identified White Feminists™ who decided to go the Patricia Arquette route and tell me all about how I, as a Black woman, don’t really understand how good they are to us and how grateful we should be to them.

Hey, guess, what, I really do understand, I am not grateful and you still need to get your shit together.

A~ already gave you the overview of how to weaponize your privilege on behalf of the marginalized, which was the most common Twitter question. You should go read that. It’s pretty brilliant.

She is exactly this scarey when roused.

But I want to talk to about how she goes about this. Because that isn’t just brilliant, it’s a work of art. It award worthy. She literally presses a hand to her bosom, lets her eyes get wet so she can blink back her fake tears and even manages to sound convincing when she stutters over her canned, pre-packaged sentence.

“I-I think…I really think we should listen to [insert marginalized person whose voice has been ignored.]” And then she does it again. And she does it again. She wedges herself into conversations and wriggles just enough to form a space for marginalized people. It is a delight.

It’s also exactly the kind of weaponized privilege that is expected of all of you.