Two nights ago I couldn’t sleep and was reading about Charlie Hebdo and I posted an article on Facebook called “Everyone is talking about the French massacre, but 2,000 people just died in Nigeria.” I almost stopped myself (in part because I have french friends grieving and marching) but I didn’t, I was angry, devastated, confused at the scale of tragedy around the world and the inordinate attention that 12 deaths in France are garnering.
In the morning a few more radical black friends had made comments (I almost expected this) but what I didn’t expect were friends commenting from Pakistan, India, Turkey, a white woman from South Africa, a few white friends from the USA.
You see I’ve been struggling this days – feel like I’m painted into a corner around race, mostly around pieces of work I’m writing. I often divide the world into two parts – a group of more radical black people (in a few countries) whom I trust and converse with – and the rest of the world. I bump into race / racism all day long, watching its long fingers curl its way around the necks of friends, and I retreat in anger and incredulity. But maybe allies, connections, comfort, resistance is in more places than I realize . . .