- Mar 11, 2015
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It's time the tone policing stopped. It's time for all people of color to stop telling each other it's wrong to be angry about how we get treated. Whites get angry about things they make up and demand that we must join them in their outrage or we are not American. 1-6 is proof of how far they will take an imaginary wrong and turn it into outrage. We as blacks, original nations, Asians of all ethnicities, hispanics and all women have 245 years of documented reasons to be angry and no longer shall we allow the creators of our anger to gaslight us into silence.
Representative Bullock spoke a home truth here. We should come together and use our collected outrage to rearrange the American system to meet those words inscribed on parchment in Philadelphia way back in the day. No longer can we be allowed to be shamed about justified anger by people who make up fake reasons to be angry all the time.
America, I am an angry Black woman. I’m OK with that. You should be too.
Donna Bullock
“I’m angry.” I finally said these words at a Black Lives Matter rally, the words that had been buried deep inside me, and a burden was lifted.
Following the murder of George Floyd, members of the Pennsylvania Legislative Black Caucus successfully led the charge to pass several commonsense police reform bills, but as the legislative term ended, many of our bills remained untouched in Republican-controlled committees. As a state legislator, I wonder if we are doing enough to close the racial and economic divide that puts Black lives at risk. Will we ever move meaningful bills to address gun violence, keep Black mothers alive or reduce lead exposure in schools? It’s frustrating.
I seldom admit to anger. Doing so would mean I am the angry Black woman and can be discredited for that simple fact. But the lack of progress on issues that matter to me as a Black woman and mother of two Black boys has worn down my soul.
It happened in my first few weeks in office. I was sitting next to an elder statesman, an older white man whom I respected and who I believed wanted to be a mentor. Colleagues were debating a budget impasse. He leaned in to talk. “I like you,” he said. “You’re approachable. You’re not loud like those other Black women.” He peered over his glasses in the direction of a colleague who was at the podium, speaking passionately about her constituents.
His comment, well-intended or not, was a warning. It forced me to strategically determine when and how to express myself. Like many Black women in white male spaces, I avoided at all costs the perception of being the angry Black woman. I tried to assimilate, work across the aisle, ignore racial and gender divides. It was exhausting. Eventually, the “compliment” from that elder statesman and all that followed, silenced me.
When I dared to break that silence, I learned that the voices of Black legislators, specifically Black women, were too often dismissed. It was depressing and traumatizing. That comment haunted me as I walked the halls of the Capitol. “You, Black woman, don’t belong here.” For my first five years in office, there have only been nine Black women in the General Assembly at any given time. There are 253 state representatives and senators.
My experience in the Pennsylvania Legislature is a microcosm of what our country is going through. Today, people demanding representation and accountability from our government are demonized. We are told that protesting is bad, and we should return to law and order or just get back to normal. Exactly whose normal is this of which we speak? In other words, you can’t get angry if you’re Black, yet we have every right to be, and to be heard.
America, I am an angry Black woman. I’m OK with that. You should be too.
Representative Bullock spoke a home truth here. We should come together and use our collected outrage to rearrange the American system to meet those words inscribed on parchment in Philadelphia way back in the day. No longer can we be allowed to be shamed about justified anger by people who make up fake reasons to be angry all the time.
America, I am an angry Black woman. I’m OK with that. You should be too.
Donna Bullock
“I’m angry.” I finally said these words at a Black Lives Matter rally, the words that had been buried deep inside me, and a burden was lifted.
Following the murder of George Floyd, members of the Pennsylvania Legislative Black Caucus successfully led the charge to pass several commonsense police reform bills, but as the legislative term ended, many of our bills remained untouched in Republican-controlled committees. As a state legislator, I wonder if we are doing enough to close the racial and economic divide that puts Black lives at risk. Will we ever move meaningful bills to address gun violence, keep Black mothers alive or reduce lead exposure in schools? It’s frustrating.
I seldom admit to anger. Doing so would mean I am the angry Black woman and can be discredited for that simple fact. But the lack of progress on issues that matter to me as a Black woman and mother of two Black boys has worn down my soul.
It happened in my first few weeks in office. I was sitting next to an elder statesman, an older white man whom I respected and who I believed wanted to be a mentor. Colleagues were debating a budget impasse. He leaned in to talk. “I like you,” he said. “You’re approachable. You’re not loud like those other Black women.” He peered over his glasses in the direction of a colleague who was at the podium, speaking passionately about her constituents.
His comment, well-intended or not, was a warning. It forced me to strategically determine when and how to express myself. Like many Black women in white male spaces, I avoided at all costs the perception of being the angry Black woman. I tried to assimilate, work across the aisle, ignore racial and gender divides. It was exhausting. Eventually, the “compliment” from that elder statesman and all that followed, silenced me.
When I dared to break that silence, I learned that the voices of Black legislators, specifically Black women, were too often dismissed. It was depressing and traumatizing. That comment haunted me as I walked the halls of the Capitol. “You, Black woman, don’t belong here.” For my first five years in office, there have only been nine Black women in the General Assembly at any given time. There are 253 state representatives and senators.
My experience in the Pennsylvania Legislature is a microcosm of what our country is going through. Today, people demanding representation and accountability from our government are demonized. We are told that protesting is bad, and we should return to law and order or just get back to normal. Exactly whose normal is this of which we speak? In other words, you can’t get angry if you’re Black, yet we have every right to be, and to be heard.
America, I am an angry Black woman. I’m OK with that. You should be too.