First of all, this is not me saying white guys are better or anything silly like that. The first and only guy who ever tried to stick his fingers in my panties – in full view of everyone on the dance floor – was a white guy. They may or may not know where his body is.
Kidding… but I came close. Close.
Anyway yeah, let me throw that in there before the reading comprehension challenged come at me because you see, being a black woman in this space where one constantly has to negotiate these two dynamics usually means that you can’t even criticize any thing a black guy does without the “throwing brothers under the bus” accusation getting lobbed at you.
But I will throw them under the bus. Heck. I will tie them up, toss them on the street and drive the damn bus myself in this case because I. Cannot. Deal. With. It. Anymore.
You and your girls are out and you just happen to find yourselves at a bar/club where the black:white ratio is a little lopsided, as it tends to be the case quite often here in the Midwest. But the music is good and the drinks are cheap and post racial America, so you go in and swing into things. You’re dancing and having an all round good time and inevitably a guy comes up and tries to dance with you.
This is how it usually goes down, for me at least.
If he’s white, he usually just wants to dance and maybe eventually get your number. If you say no, he almost always will back off. If he’s brave, drunk or stupid enough, he will try other shenanigans in which case he gets the “eye,” at which point every single stereotype he’s heard about angry black women probably runs through his head and he backs off.
The black guys are of three kinds:
1. Those who are normal and respectful and out to have a good time. They will be visibly disappointed if you turn them down but they will back off.
2. Those who don’t mess with black girls. As Luvvie would say… “All the welps that ever welped in Welpington.”
3. Those who come in expecting that since y’all are the only black folks in there, it is your civic duty bestowed upon you by Martin Luther King himself to dance with them.
It is with Type 3 that I have a problem.
These are the ones who will refuse to take a hint. These are the ones who if you dared to agree to dance with them, will never leave your side for the rest of the evening. These are the ones who will follow you around the room silently stalking you. The ones who will cuss you out for the horrible act of rejecting them. These are the ones who eventually you either have to call security, pretend to be lesbian or pretend to have a boyfriend lurking in the corners waiting to kick his ass to kingdom come if he doesn’t leave you alone (I used two of those three tactics last night). And if you turned them down and danced with a white guy, some of them will actually have the nerve (as one did last night) to come up to you and accuse you of “only liking white guys.”
First of all, notice I didn’t say I have a problem with Type 2. We all have preferences, whatever they are based on and I have neither the time nor the energy to dissect that.
But I have had it with black guys who have trouble managing their insecurities and shitty behavior and want to put it on me and other black girls. No, asshole. It’s not that I only like white guys, I just don’t want to dance with you or any of your friends who would stand back and let you act like such a dipshit. Martin Luther King didn’t die so you and your boys can have unlimited access to black girls on the dance floor.
This body right here? It’s mine to do with as I wish. If Vulcan or Klingon or Wookiee from Kashyyyk is what makes this body feel good, Vulcan or Klingon or Wookiee is what this body is getting and there isn’t a damn thing you can do about it.
Besides, I don’t see them lobbing accusations at their brothers who only mess with anything but black girls.
I will fight for your right to be treated as a human being. I will ride or die for you when the law treats you unfairly and you don’t get the justice you deserve. I will do my best to uphold you as more than what society has painted you to be. I will do all this even though quite often you brothers drop the ball in doing the same for us. But I will never hold you any less accountable for how you treat me and my sisters. If making that comparison is what will drive the point home, then so be it.
This is not The Struggle I signed up for.
This is not The Struggle I signed up for.