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When I discovered in February that Chicago’s principal mayoral election would culminate in a runoff involving two black girls, I was thrilled. In spite of the numerous variations involving Lori Lightfoot and Toni Preckwinkle, I trust that a black lady will hold the wide variety of interests and problems that mayors carry in a way that attends to the complexity of the city’s history. Knowing that Chicago’s subsequent mayor is assured to be a black lady tends to make me really feel confident—in a way I haven’t felt before—that regional politics may possibly move closer to the values I cherish: amplification of voices that have not been heard, financial policies that raise up individuals who have the least, and types of justice that take into account the legacies of the previous as effectively as present situations.
For some time now, I’ve been convinced that if the arc of the moral universe is going to be bent toward justice, black girls will have a lot to do with it. But an report in today’s Chicago Sun-Occasions tempers that sort of optimism with the cautious tips of regional black girls. Amara Enyia, a neighborhood leader who came in sixth out of the 14 candidates in the February election, worries that whoever wins today’s runoff will be topic to unfair expectations. She explains: “As black girls, we have to be so a lot improved, so a lot smarter, so a lot additional savvy, and we do not get the advantage of the doubt. . . . Even even though I was operating against them, I nevertheless recognize and empathize with that struggle as a black lady.”
White supremacist imperialist capitalist patriarchy can not be undone with a single election. Even if it could be undone—or, additional probably, if it could start to be unraveled as the outcome of numerous regional, state, and national elections placing a multitude of black girls into positions of power—I’m fairly certain it is not fair for me to count on it to.
I was reminded of this at an academic conference final fall when I attended a panel focused on the intersections involving sexual trauma, the #MeToo movement, and black women’s experiences. When I walked into the space, I was shocked: all 4 of the panelists had been white girls. Immediately after the panelists study their papers, the moderator—a black woman—masterfully led a discussion about the causes and effects of white girls speaking about (and occasionally for) black girls. Black women’s bodies have been place on public show for so extended, the moderator recommended at a single point in the discussion, that possibly it is unfair to count on black girls to create academic papers about how their bodies have been sexually abused. (A month and a half later, Surviving R. Kelly was aired and the bodies of black girls had been when once again place on public show.)
Considering that that panel, I’ve believed a lot about the expectations that white women—myself included—often place on black girls. I’ve believed about how a lot we take from them and how tiny we supply in return. We use black women’s stories, their voices, and their history for our personal pedagogical or rhetorical purposes even though avoiding concrete actions that would alleviate some of the burden that is been placed on them by that history. We rejoice in their competence and spot our hopes in their leadership without the need of acknowledging that our expectations for them could be but yet another kind of surrogacy.
I do not imply to recommend that white girls can not ever advantage from the efforts of black girls, or that a white scholar must under no circumstances create about black women’s bodies. And I never assume it really is incorrect to think that justice requires giving the tools of power—things like duty, voice, authority, and monetary resources—to individuals who have traditionally been denied them. But it is incorrect for me to count on black girls to bear the burden of fixing every little thing that is incorrect in our society. Specially if I use that expectation as an excuse to ignore the possibilities I have to do some of that repair function myself.
Provided the realities of our planet and the reality of my personal whiteness, my celebration of black women’s agency and accomplishments will probably generally be ethically fraught. Nevertheless, today’s election provides me hope. It disrupts invisibility. It gives a uncommon glimpse of democracy operating in a genuinely representational way. It puts a wise lady in charge of a city that I care really a lot about. And it reminds me that even though I can not save the planet, I have a part to play in my personal regional politics.