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By ChristinaManch and Sam Common Cause the platform of Congolese women fighting for peace and justice for women in the Congo and the diaspora, marked the launch of their Manchester branch on Saturday 30th March 2013 with a ‘Special Congolese … Continue reading
By ChristinaManch and Sam
Mama Nzita is a founding member of Common Cause UK. In an interview with Black Feminists Manchester, she shares her thoughts about the ongoing campaign to raise awareness and end violence against Congolese women and girls in the Democratic Republic of Congo. She tells us more about the Common Cause Manchester group that formed in December 2012 and their upcoming peace vigil.
Int: Can you tell us about Common Cause UK?
MN: “Common Cause UK are a platform for Congolese women based in the UK ,we empower ladies, teach them to know about their rights because ladies are not aware of their rights, they are suffering and facing many problems in this country, so that’s why Common Cause was set up to help ladies in our community.”
Is it specifically for Congolese women?
“At the beginning yes it was for Congolese women, but we have grown now and can help other women, but the focus is for Congolese women.”
Tell us more about your own personal involvement with Common Cause UK?
“I am one of the founders of Common Cause, when we came in this country we faced many problems and back home many ladies are facing many problems; violence against women, rape, that’s why we said together, ‘let’s do something for our community’, because it’s becoming worse. We’ve got the skills and we asked ourselves, ‘can we help people and do something for the community?’ So people can come and learn about what they can do to help each other. That’s why I became part of Common Cause, it was set up by a few ladies who were committed in the community.”
What are your main objectives for Common Cause UK?
“Empowering ladies, knowing your rights, building a stronger community and acting when something is happening.”
Historically there have been different political leaders in Congo for the past 10-20 years, what would you say has been the biggest impact on Congolese women under these different political regimes?
“I was grown up under Mobutu government, ladies were respected in that time, when Kabila (senior) came into power, he came with Rwandan soldiers. When their mission was over, they were asked to go back to Rwanda, but they didn’t want to and from there became a conflict between Rwanda and the Congo, this was around 1998. And behind the war there are international people pushing Rwanda telling them to do whatever they want to do. They never stop them, even the military don’t talk about it because they know what they are doing.
Now Congolese ladies are being raped, killed and even buried alive. 40 ladies were buried alive. Ladies have been tortured, raped, I don’t know how to say, they have seen different kinds of violence, ALL the kinds of violence and now they have to escape. If you have money or you know someone, you have a chance to escape, but they are dying. There is HIV, children -they can rape even a 4 month old baby, never seen in the world, but in the Congo this is happening every single day, that is the impact.”
We don’t hear much about the Congo in the media, occasionally celebrities such as Ben Affleck and Angelina Jolie will go out to the Congo and it will be reported, but it doesn’t seem to have as much coverage as countries such Sudan, Somalia and the Arab Spring for example. Can you give us a reason as to why that is?
“Because international people know that if they talk about it, people are going to say it’s not good and it’s not fair, it’s going to be a shame for them. They know what’s happening because they have got their own businesses there. For example the UK, they have businesses out in Eastern Congo, they have agents working there taking the resources, the minerals and they bring them here (UK). They can’t talk about these things because their business is based there. It is for their own good because when Congolese women are suffering its better for them to live, you know, they are living because we have to suffer for them to have a good life here. That is the only one reason they cannot talk about it. It’s for all Congolese women and other communities to help Congolese women and do this work, otherwise they are going to finish all the ladies there, they are going to disappear one day. Everything is about money they don’t care about human beings.”
Can you tell us about the upcoming Common Cause events in Manchester?
“We are going to have a special Congolese women’s day, we are going to talk about what women are supposed to do and what is going on in our country. Even in the UK, ladies are also having problems, we will talk about what kind of help they can get from Common Cause, what they can do, where to go. There is going to be a big meeting as well, ladies are going to come from Belgium, London, different areas and countries to be together, there will also be celebrations.
The vigil is going to happen in Piccadilly Gardens from 12.30pm til 2pm, we are going to raise awareness of violence against Congolese women, because I think people are not aware of what is going on in the Congo, because the media does not want to talk about it. That’s why we will campaign, to demonstrate about the massive violence that is going on in the Congo, how they are raping and killing people , how they don’t even consider them human beings, we don’t have the right to live, that’s why we are going to be there in the cold, to show people.
We need a solution and we need these things to be stopped, it has been happening for too long, the media have to talk about it, because this shame is not good, because people are dying there. Imagine if in the UK, if they rape a lady, they show it on the TV and that person has to be reported to court. In Congo it’s happening every single minute, every single second, how many people are raped a day? Here, if you rape an underage (person) you are going to be called a pedophile but there, there is no pedophile, they can do whatever they want, that is why we want justice to be done, the big reason why we are doing what we are doing is because we want justice to be done.”
The Common Cause peace vigil will take place from 12.30pm to 2pm Saturday 30th March 2013 in Piccadilly Gardens Manchester. All welcome.
By Sam
I am not content with accepting the status quo, where men predominantly view women the way a parasite views its host. Where generations of mothers, sisters and wives are still conditioned to cater to the needs of men; where, in return for sustenance and comfort women are often betrayed, met with conditional love, hostility, violence, physical or mental death at the hands of men. To remain silent, assist in the oppression and violence against women, or escape are not the way women should be expected to exist.
On 9/3/2013, I joined over ten thousand women and girls, as part of Million Women Rise, we marched on central London. On entering Trafalgar Square we were enveloped by the sound of a sole female voice chanting ‘one woman – one body – one song – one love’, the beating heart of a sisterhood.
At the rally, women of the UK, DR Congo (as part of Common Cause UK), Sudan and Pakistan amongst others shared their experiences of the atrocities inflicted upon women worldwide. Individual women, collectively, calling upon the government, demanding an end to male violence against women.
Women spoke of their ongoing work to eradicate violence and linked oppressions stemming from patriarchy: rape, systematic rape of women in wars, domestic violence and death, sexism, racism, homophobia, re-educating men about ingrained male privilege, the effect of patriarchal misinterpretations of Islam were all addressed. Southall Black sisters informing of their demo on 23rd March 2013 ‘From Delhi to Southall: Freedom is our Right!’
For many women experiencing oppressions, our lived experiences are testament enough.
Those of us that go in search of positive black female role models who speak to us of the liberation of women, universal truths of our shared experiences of multiple oppressions and the interconnectedness of women, often turn to the more visible and accessible words of black feminist thinkers, as bell hooks, Audre Lorde, Patricia Hill-Collins, Kimberle Crenshaw…
Positive black female role models can help to drown out patriarchal white noise; their words can provide nourishment and assist self actualisation, encouraging women and girls to stand firm in their truth.
One woman that caught my attention – for she is the first South Asian woman I have discovered on my search for diverse herstories – is Roquia Khatun (1880 – 1932).
Speaking out against patriarchal oppression for Bangladeshi women, she challenged traditions and women’s rights. She believed education was key to the independence of women, so amongst her many achievements, her one woman campaigning, resulted in setting up a girls school in Calcutta, challenging Islamic misinterpretations designed to drive patriarchal traditions, founding the Islamic Women’s Association and publishing ‘Sultana’s Dream’ which has been described ‘as an early example of utopian feminist science fiction.’
Roquia Khatun exemplifies the impact one woman can make when she stands in her power. Before Roquia and over a century later, revolutionary women across continents have challenged patriarchy and created change, there is a need for more sisters to step forward and speak out collectively.
This year, over ten thousand women gathered in London traveling across the UK and overseas to stand against male violence.
What will the power of a million women strong sisterhood create?
Million Women Rise on International Women Day in London on Saturday 8th March 2014.
When I think about the power of sisterhood and unity, I’m reminded of words from bell hooks’ Feminism is for Everybody:
‘…Feminist sisterhood is rooted in shared commitment to struggle against patriarchal injustice, no matter the form that injustice takes. Political solidarity between women always undermines sexism and sets the stage for the overthrow of patriarchy…’
By Shakira Lewis
As a child, one of the first books I remember reading was Mary Hoffman’s ‘Nancy No Size’. The story was about a little girl who existed almost completely in between two worlds. A young black child in a world of opposites, Nancy spends a great deal of time trying to salvage a sense of identity from two worlds that she doesn’t fit in to. At the end of the story (sorry for the spoiler), Nancy finds solace in her distinctiveness. She learns to craft an identity, a sense of self, out of her unique position as an outsider. Out of her sense of discontent, she finds happiness and contentment.
For much of my life I have felt very much like Nancy. It’s a feeling that the black women I have met throughout my life, black women of the Diaspora, often share. It’s a feeling of discontentment and disconnect – not feeling quite part of one world or another. W.E.B Dubois and later Paul Gilroy called it ‘Double Consciousness’, a sense of not fitting into either the ‘white’ world or the ‘black’ world. For black feminists like myself, this sense of disconnect can come from not fitting into either the ‘mainstream’ feminist movement or Afrocentric/black activist movements. Trying to reconcile the commitment to black liberation and feminist liberation can be isolating.
Before I discovered black feminism, my first encounter with anyone who thought like me was in my Year Seven English class. Our English teacher, hell bent on widening our horizons, presented us, in our first week at the school, with a long list of ‘recommended reads’. As my eyes passed over the ‘classics’ – Bronte, Austen, Wilde – they came to rest on Maya Angelou’s ‘I Know Why The Caged Bird Sings’. An avid reader, I collected the book from the library on my way home. I soon found myself lost in Maya’s world, reading the book in a day and ordering her back catalogue after finishing the last page.
In Angelou’s books I found myself – a young black woman, unsure, ungainly, removed from her surroundings but intrinsically part of them. Angelou’s reflections on her self-image as a teenager forced me to confront my own unhappiness about my place in my surroundings. More than anyone else in my life, she made me realise that the narratives that surrounded me – the ones that told me that my hair was too ‘nappy’, that my skin was too dark, that I was too fat, too intellectual, not fashionable enough – did not have to define me. I was free to throw them off and carve my own existence. I could be Nancy – I could find solace in being the me that only I knew how to be.
The feelings Angelou’s books invoked in me would not be awakened again until my years as a university student, when I discovered the works of Patricia Hill Collins, bell hooks, Toni Morrison, Zora Neale Hurston and Alice Walker. Angelou’s books remain on my shelf as a reminder of my ongoing transformation and every so often I pick them up again and lose myself in the richness of Angelou’s writing. One day I hope to hand one to my own daughter, so that she may too learn Angelou’s secrets. I am hoping however that she will not need the book to initiate the process of self love in the same way that I did.
By Sonia
‘’Paki, terrorist, black bitch, lets paki bash, you aren’t gay you’re Muslim.’’ Now those statements sound like they come from the EDL or BNP but they don’t. They come from gay clubs, gay villages and gay people themselves. I spent most of my life condemning my sexuality; I struggled with being a Muslim and a lesbian. The two identities seemed miles away. By convincing myself I’m straight I got through life. It was only when I was part of the student movement condemning who I was became so difficult as LGBT people surrounded me.
Coming from a close knit Muslim community I had no gay friends nor did I know LGBT people, well not the ones who were visible. Slowly I started to meet people like me who were religious and also LGBT. The more I talked with my new found family I started to think about being Muslim, Asian and lesbian isn’t impossible, actually those identities are beautiful together.
I remember meeting a very open gay Muslim, thinking, “gosh he is brave being so out”. The reality for me as a young woman was finishing my degree eventually getting married. I came from a household where Western feminism was considered a failed notion, neither did I think feminism fought for the struggles of Muslim women like me. But as a passionate Muslim feminist I refused to conform, I refused to be told how to live my life, as my Islam encouraged me to go out in the world and do amazing things.
It was at a national conference where a gay person said to me “I thought you might have an issue with me as a gay person, you know many
Muslims usually do”. Without losing my temper, I looked at myself. Did my brown skin and colorful hijab scream homophobe!!?
The assumption this individual made was that I must dislike gays because I’m Muslim and of course I wear a hijab which obviously makes me a more radical Muslim, it would never occur to people that my hijab wasn’t forced upon me nor was it a religious compulsion, it was my feminism. Further, they assumed I was straight, that clearly I can’t be a lesbian – that could never be, how can a Muslim woman who wears the hijab be a lesbian? Surely lesbians wear check shirts and have shaved heads or real lesbians look like Justin Beiber.
I started to understand I am seen as a threat in the LGBT community, that I’m seen as the homophobe. When I walked through a gay village, a place supposed to be a safe haven for LGBT people, I was ambushed with racist comments and I was told I was not welcome. It occurred to me I’m not welcome in that community, a community I thought I belonged too, where once in my life I would feel comfortable.
Embracing my sexuality with the help of my religion, and attending my first UK black pride, was the most empowering experience of my life. I saw men and women who looked like me who dressed like me, I saw women with hijabs and men dressed in traditional Asian attire, even as a closeted lesbian I attended, I felt I can be a Muslim and lesbian.
I still felt that the only people making me feel like I should be back in the closet aren’t Muslims it’s actually racist lgbt people. My experience isn’t a unique one; many black & Asian LGBT people face open and direct racism. I had friends who were racially abused in gay bars and clubs because of their skin color. At a national Pride white gay men spat and verbally abused a group of Asian lesbian and bisexual women with racist taunts and remarks further one of the men even threw things at a Muslim woman who was wearing the hijab. Over a thousand people walked by and did nothing at all to help the women but also no one dared challenge the racism.
Many lesbian & bisexual women who don’t fit a stereotype of what gay women look likes are not welcomed in gay women social spaces. I didn’t allow myself to become immune to racism, even when it got worse. I refused to be silent, that would have been an insult to my values, beliefs and to all those people who fought for equality.
More and more black & Asian LGBT people face racism daily, this leaves people more closeted and isolated.
While we strive to eradicate homophobic bullying and fight for equal marriage, we need to be honest about racism in the LGBT community.
We need to collectively make a stand and give no room to racism in the LGBT community.
It’s sad that my experience of embracing my sexuality was bombarded with such racism, but it did get better because I refused to allow such racism to isolate me or remove me from lgbt social spaces. So many other people don’t have the same attitude as me; many black and Asian LGBT people can’t bare the burden of homophobia and racism so they become silent.
Without UK Black Pride, NUS BSC, Imaan, Safra and the amazingly diverse LGBT social spaces like Liberte, Urban Desi and Habibi, I don’t think I would have ever had the courage to become comfortable within my sexuality nor would I have had the strength to challenge the racism and Islamophobia.
So to all my sisters & brothers, we have struggled, we have been attacked in every direction, giving up has never, nor will be an option for us. The fight must go on as more people are being racially abused in places, which are allegedly safe.
I will end this by the pure Sufi words of Rabia Al Basri ‘‘in my soul there is a Temple, shrine, a mosque, a church where I kneel. Prayer should bring us to an altar where no walls or names exist’’.
By Mia
When we talk about ‘white feminist spaces’ what we mean is the default mainstream feminism of the UK, (Europe and USA). A feminism that considers itself superior to women’s movement’s throughout the world, using it’s white privilege to cherry pick which women (of colour) and oppressions are worthy of attention or rescue, viewed through a myopic authoritative white lens.
White feminism must evolve and integrate with multi cultural societies if it is genuinely concerned with the liberation of all women. Barr a few switched on individuals, many white feminists (WFs) I have encountered in the UK, view ‘woman hate’ as the only form of oppression requiring eradication, for women to be free. I wish that was true.
What many WFs still forget or fail to notice is that, women of colour making up the global majority of the women’s population, they face and challenge multiple oppressions i.e. racism, classism and sexism, via organised structures supporting capitalism such as colonialism, neo-liberalism and patriarchy amongst others.
What disturbs me more than these systems of corruption destroying women’s lives worldwide; are the WFs, who profess to be fighting and overthrowing the patriarchy, when in fact they are capitulating with the patriarchy, by choosing to ignore, silence and even deny racism.
Yes that’s right – there are WFs out there who believe racism no longer exists!
Racism towards people of colour is not even close to extinction. To deny or silence racism is racist.
In 2012 I was asked by two WFs, what feminist women of colour ‘want us to do to make feminist spaces more inclusive of women of colour?’ It prompted me to review my observations and experiences of WFs in feminist spaces in 2012.
For a WF to deny a woman of colour’s experience of racism, by stating her experience of oppression ‘…was likely to be sexism based and not racism based..’ and ‘…how would she really know the difference.?…’ is racist.
For a WF to roll her eyes and display defensive body language, when a woman of colour brings up racism as part of feminist discourse, is racist.
To invite women of colour to feminist events to teach majority WF audiences, about global women’s struggles and not invite them to discuss job cuts, abortions, body image, rape, sexuality etc, is racist.
To involve women of colour as entertainment or free catering service at feminist events whilst failing to involve women of colour in visible lead speaker or panel roles is racist.
Labelling a woman of colour ‘aggressive’ and ‘angry’ when she challenges a white woman’s view point, in a non aggressive way, is racist.
Bursting into tears and or running away, when a woman of colour challenges your racist attitude and behaviour, is racist.
Ganging up with other WFs and psychologically bullying a woman of colour because she called out your feminist sisters’ racism, is racist.
Ignoring the view point of a woman of colour, then collectively celebrating the same view point copycatted by a WF, moments later, is racist.
WFs minimising their activism or suddenly becoming inert when asked to support campaigns and movements predominantly aimed at women of colour, is racist.
WFs saying: ‘… we have plenty of problems of our own in this country like abortion rights to deal with! …’ when asked to support campaigns for women of colour, is racist.
WFs dismissing racism by suggesting ‘racist remarks delivered as flippant comments are not really racist’… is racist.
Demanding to enter black women only safe spaces because you … ‘want to watch… ’ only to sulk and attempt to justify your rights to enter a black women only space by stating ‘how else are we supposed to understand if you won’t let us watch?!’ When the purpose of a black women’s space is explained to you, is racist.
Telling women of colour they are only othering themselves by self organising as black women groups, is racist.
Playing the white privilege card to justify un- intentional displays of racism is transparently racist.
Simply throwing around terms such as ‘intersectionality’, ‘white privilege’, and book titles written by black feminists does not eradicate racism or prove your feminism will be intersectional.
A racist cannot be a true feminist. Racists who claim to be feminists are nothing more than handmaidens of the Patriarchy.
Addressing ALL oppressions faced by women of colour solely within a ‘global women’s struggles’ framework, is the othering of women of colour.
Firstly it seems to have escaped some WF’s attention that all women live ‘on the globe’ including WFs.Secondly such framing is symptomatic of colonial mindsets. Framing women of colour as one entity outside of whiteness, creates invisible boundaries between us. It objectifies women of colour. ‘Global women’s struggles’ tend to focus on Africa, Asia, Latin America and the Middle East and are usually viewed through a white lens. The focus then shifts to a default, dominant, white, feminist perspective of women’s issues in the UK, omitting and dismissing the experiences of women of colour in the UK, Europe and USA.
Although the attempt at inclusion and diversity is recognised, we must remember, the practise of ticking ‘diversity’ boxes only perpetuates othering mentalities, it is a neo liberal method designed to reinforce racism and other isms.
Woman hate does not exist in a vacuum; it is part of and influenced by connected oppressions. To challenge woman hate whilst ignoring or supporting racism and other oppressions of equal importance is foolish.
Understanding the purpose of black women spaces and realistic representations of women of colour in feminist spaces is key. 
Creating mainstream feminist spaces and campaigns organised and led jointly by women of colour and white women, whilst supporting feminist campaigns of all races is essential.
Racism amongst WFs has been rife for decades. It is prevalent amongst all classes. This piece is not the first to address racist WFs and until such women actively listen to women of colour and choose to support the women’s movement, rather than corrupt it, this won’t be the last.
Audre Lourde stated: ‘What does it mean when the tools of a racist patriarchy are used to examine the fruits of that same patriarchy? It means that only the most narrow perimeters of change are possible and allowable.’
Women of colour will never accept racism, especially from WFs.
There will never be liberation of white women without the liberation of women of colour; actively listening to feminist women of colour is a must for WFs. It will create a sisterhood that works more effectively for collective/collaborative radical change.
Women of colour, who understand multiple oppressions firsthand, are organised and challenging oppressive systems head on, every day. The only ‘feminist’ option for our white sisters is to stand side by side with black feminist sisters in solidarity and activism, not contempt.
By ChristinaManch
Initially, this piece was supposed to be a follow-up to a blog post called ‘Response to “An end to self care”: how about an end to the activist martyr complex’ by Afro feminist writer and activist Spectra . Spectra’s piece was a direct response to an article called “An end to self-care” published on Organizing Upgrade by B. Loewe, an activist who “proposed bringing an end to the individualism behind “self-care” and, instead, called for community care”.
I opted to do a follow-up to Spectra’s piece rather than a direct response to the article by B. Loewe because I only really read things written by women of colour, on some rare occasions men of colour and on even rarer occasions white, usually queer/feminists women (throughout my education I was constantly fed the lie that women of colour do not write hence why they were not on the course syllabus/reading lists; since I found out this was a lie I stopped reading male/white authors to make up for lost time) and since the original article, “An end to Self-care”, was written by (I’m assuming) a white man I did not want to invest time in reading it.
But, in my attempt to write a meaningful, amazing, non-boring follow-up piece to Spectra’s blog post, I ended up procrastinating (writer’s block is not a joke) and I eventually read B Lowe’s article – well, just the opening paragraph (men’s writing is so boring!), and it pissed me off so much that I thought a direct response was needed.
Here’s the opening paragraph to B Lowe’s “An end to self-care”:
“I’m going to say it. I want to see an end to “self-care.” Can we put a nail in self-care’s coffin and instead birth a newer discussion of community care?
As I most often hear it, self-care stands as an importation of middle-class values of leisure that’s blind to the dynamics of working class (or even family) life, inherently rejects collective responsibility for each other’s well-being, misses power dynamics in our lives, and attempts to serve as a replacement for a politics and practice of desire that could actually ignite our hearts with a fuel to work endlessly.”
So, first thoughts: I always switch off when people (by people I mean mostly white men and women) start talking about class in relation to oppression – I went to a hippy uni where I was surrounded by white middle-classed-pretending-to-be-working class-heteronormative-privileged folk who really had nothing to complain about so they constantly preached about how great Marx was and how evil the government and corporations were and how we should all get along because being a white working class person is exactly the same as being black/queer/disabled [insert oppression here] and ultimately we all share the same ‘struggle’; these times I couldn’t even pay my rent let alone have the luxury of reading theory in my spare time – ok, rant over! My point is that seeing the overused ‘evil middle class vs good working class’ rhetoric used by white middle-classed activists was an immediate turn off and reconfirmed exactly why I stay away from such authors.
My decision to read only women of colour is actually part of my self-care practice; for me and my community (by community I mean other queer people of colour/women of colour I hang out with) self-care is a method of survival. I’ve come to realise that if I am not careful racism/misogyny/homophobia will eventually kill me. Reading Alice Walker; Buchi Emecheta; Ifi Amadiume; and Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie is essential for the well being of my mental health. I need to read books where people of colour are not being used as just a backdrop to a story about some white person who goes to Africa or Asia (or some place where the native people are not white but have been, at some point, colonised by white people) and saves the natives and/or they find the secret to joy. I need to read books where feminism does not just mean the liberation of white women; books, in which the only time women of colour are mentioned is in relation to FGM (female genital mutilation: white feminists love to talk about this topic so much they gave it an abbreviation). I need to read books where the word ‘woman’ does not automatically mean white woman; I need to read books where the word ‘people’ does not automatically mean white people.
Self-care is about survival; it is about healing. I read and listen to Stacy Anne Chin because the wounds and scars of sexual abuse in my childhood and adulthood continue to haunt me. I read and listen to Stacy Anne Chin because I know I am not the only one who still suffers from these wounds but I am afraid that speaking to others will open up wounds that they thought they had recovered from. I read and listen to Stacy Anne Chin because, thanks to patriarchy, we still do not have the mechanisms, the words, the space, and the time to talk about and deal with sexual abuse even with our closest friends.
Self-care means that I will not go to feminists/LGBT spaces where the needs and contributions of people of colour are actively ignored because the white organisers do not think it is always necessary to talk about race.
Self-care means staying away from spaces where white people think it is ok for me to educate them because they simply “do not know” about race and racism so it is ok for me to give up my time and energy to give them the racism 101 time after time.
Self-care means staying away from spaces where I have to begin every sentence with “as a woman of colour” in order to validate my opinions and experiences.
Self-care is the reason I watch Nollywood; because despite its problematic, Western-obsessed-heteronormative narratives, I need to be reminded that people of colour exist.
Self-care means spending more time with women of colour because, frankly, I am tired of constantly having to speak eloquently with little or no emotions because that is the only way men will hear my voice and opinions; even though they can talk as much shit about nothing and everything and have the whole room listen and then applaud, simply because they are men. I should have the freedom to disagree without being called ‘emotional’
Self-care means spending more time with women of colour because I am tried of being demonized every time I tell a man (of colour) that he is being misogynist; because, apparently, reading bell hooks means that they automatically become the liberators of women and therefore can not possibly be misogynistic ever again.
Self-care means spending more time with queer people of colour because, again, I am tired of being silenced and shunned every time I talk about sexuality and homophobia with straight people of colour; I am tired of being told that it is not appropriate to talk about sexuality and that homosexuality is not a ‘real’ issue for people of colour.
Self-care means that it is okay to say no; and it is okay to be tired. I am tired of having to uphold the notion that women of colour are strong, unbreakable, super-human beings who have to make sure that the whole family is fed before feeding themselves. I am not ‘Nanny’; nor am I Neyo, Drake or Lil Wayne’s misogynistic fantasy of the ‘independent’ woman who cooks, cleans, fucks, and still looks flawless whilst doing so.
Self-care is about the preservation and betterment of my physical and mental well being. It is the reason I drink more water, sleep more, smoke less and stay away from processed foods.
Self-care is the reason I stay the hell away from spaces/people who think that educating them on racism/misogyny/homophobia/disability has to take priority over my well being. I should have the freedom to choose who I educate/engage with.
Self-care is about “living my life like it’s golden” (yes, I just quoted Jill Scott) because if I don’t, I will actually go insane.
