During a bathroom break or a trip to the bar, I’ll check my phone, and almost always there is a news alert telling me Donald Trump is attempting to curtail, or has just succeeded in curtailing, the rights of marginalized people in America.
It’s an odd thing to then go back to my date and continue the performance of “getting to know you.” I fantasize about walking up to him and saying, “Gotta go!
No matter how close I held the mirror up to their faces, sometimes their good and liberal wells of understanding and compassion were simply inaccessible.
It’s not that I don’t think white people are anxious; two months into Trump’s presidency, most of the white people in my life are activated.
Even more hurtful was the night he and I were standing outside a bar in Bushwick and someone we both knew started making racist comments.
While I tried to explain to this man why what he was saying was offensive, my boyfriend stood there in silence.
And too many times, those same white boyfriends decided to sit out being my partner.
I lost count of the times my boyfriend in my late 20s would tell me to “just leave” parties or social events when I complained of being the only person of color in his all-white friend group.