And to complete my day of being a right on, airy fairy Gobshite :-) here is a piece of montage video art, using part of a poem I wrote (below) and this wonderful song by Georgia Anne Muldrow, Keep it real.

The song talks about how it feels, as a person of colour, to navigate the minefield that is living under the subtle drip drip oppression of structural racism and how that feeds down to street level, even sometimes your own social circle. IE the under currents of othering we feel from white peers, friends, work colleagues, bosses, family, lovers even who are white. Racism is endemic and unavoidable and by racism, I refer to the structural process of marginalising one group of people, politically, economically, historically. IE racism against poc. It is unavoidable because we've been living under the regime of white supremacy since back back in the glory days of the transatlantic slave trade, when the  enslavement of African people was justified by viewing, couching (to the masses by the elite) them as sub human, as inferior in intellect and soul. As unevolved and closer to animals.

I hate to bang on about it but poc are still feeling the ripples of those glory days (I say glory because soooo many countries, England, my own country, being one of the biggies, benefitted so much from slavery, that this could help to explain huge differences in the wealth of groups of people in certain territories). Feeling it financially and socially. Because racism is now structural, institutional. Yes, there are still the odd random idiots out there that will overtly use racist  language or directly discriminate against a poc, violently or verbally but here in the UK, especially, most people are too aware of how unacceptable that is and British politeness can be suffocating. That restrained, forced friendliness out of trying to project the correct image. It makes racist tendancies go underground, or become so assimilated (as normal thoughts because 'i can't be racist, I'm above that so therefore none of my ideas are') they end up as fully automated.

This is my perception of the othering I feel I've experienced. People genuinely still thinking it's acceptable to just, touch my hair for example and make a noise cos, 'ooo, it feels funny' like their whiteness is the standard of normality I should be measuring myself up against. People telling me, in all earnestness that they don't think of me as black, because they don't register someone's colour, they are colour blind (good for you honey! Great that you feel you don't have to register colour, acknowledge that you are white, because your whiteness is never held up as an issue as you move through life. Great that you can refuse to acknowledge that my path, by virtue of my colour is so very different. How lovely for you.). People assuming things about my persona simply because I have an afro, never mind my skin tone. Like, the music I should like, the clothes I should wear, the politics I should hold, the colour my children should be, the food I should eat, the way I should talk, the level of humility I should feel in certain circles. Uh uh, no ma'am, I is jus' lil ole me...

That brings me on neatly to the poem (below) that features in the video montage. It has always proved controversial when I post it on any social media platform. I've had many white friends kick off and tell me I'm being unfair to suggest this exists. But it does. It's not constant or with every white person I'm close to but it's way more prevalent than is necessary. Fetishisation.

Fetishisation, as a word, has many applications but in this context refers to the fetishisation of blackness by white people. It is meant, by the person projecting, acting it out, as a positive, as a compliment, as a show of their total lack of racism. But is unfortunately just incredibly offensive and transparent and is often a form of virtue signalling which has ramifications beyond self delusion. The poem (and the video) probably says it more subtly than I would if I continued :-)

FETISHISATION

Am i that Black Queen
Your white face and heart
Dream, about?
Have me painted in
Red, black and green
Fierce as Asshata
Beautiful like Nefertiti
Assuaging the bitter shame
You feel
At your inherent privilege
Hoping somewhere deep down
That this attraction
Wipes the slate of
Your discomfort clean

I am not that caricature though I’m afraid...just ‘lil ‘ole me...

White brothers looking
(down?) upon me
With a lust that weighs heavy
Like the chains of
My oppressor
From days gone by
Like that Great white hunter
Like those benevolent missionaries
Desire to take (all their projections of their whiteness out on their projections of my blackness... upon?) me...beyond the realm of my meagre existence

I am not that caricature though I’m afraid...just ‘lil ‘ole me...

My white sisters
Holding me and my inherent wisdom
Close but at arm's length
Oh the fetishised perspective
Of the oppressed by those
Who steer
Thru life’s seas with a sail
And an easterly wind
No
I am not your black quartz charm
I will not validate your compassionate
Heat
I will not give you special tickets
Front row, best seat
To your own private idaho
Buddahood minus the meek
No
You are still just you
And i, I’m afraid am still
Just ‘lil ‘ole me...

Peace and out
❤️✊🏼❤️✊🏿❤️✊❤️✊🏻❤️✊🏾❤️