Archives for August 2020

As a Black, Queer Identified, educated, Woke Woman, it’s easy for me to hate Trump. Especially today. From sanctioning White Supremacists masquerading as Police with his silence to murder, maim, and terrorize Black People, to destabilizing our democracy, making our nation vulnerable to terrorist attacks, I have plenty to hate.

But that’s his point.
He feeds off of hate.
It gives him power.

What makes White Supremacy so insidious, is it REQUIRES the recognition and participation of the oppressed in order to exist. Think about it. Trump hired producers from his former reality show to stage the Republican National Convention. What do you think would happen if nobody watches? Trump would have to do something even more egregious to keep himself in existence.

Hegel said it best: without a slave, there is no master.

It’s important to note: the closer we get to tearing down White Supremacy in the Justice System, the more the Police escalate? They are no longer trying to look like their lives were in danger. They are shooting unarmed Black Men in the back for walking away. As if to say, “How dare you nigger turn your back on me as if you are my equal. I’ll show you!”

So instead of allowing Trump and his KKK to emotionally manipulate me thereby making me their marketing machine, I refuse to hate.

I refuse to circulate their propaganda and social proof of their power by splashing tear gas, rubber bullets, and footage of executing Black Men.

But most importantly, I simply REFUSE to give them my power. You see, hate is actual rage turned inward. My rage IS my power and I can use it any way I choose. I can use my rage non-consciously and keep reacting to the next tragedy and the next. I could use it to become bitter and cynical about affecting any sort of REAL social change. I could use it to protest—peacefully or not.

I could.

What I’m choosing to do with my rage is to use it to fuel me to vote and have my people vote in numbers that can’t be ignored.

No matter what Trump and his constituents think, we ARE America: a democracy that’s built for each and every citizen to have a voice. The way to win this bare-knuckle brawl is to let your vote be your voice.

So, no hate. Just strategy.

But in order to execute, we—you and I—need a safe space to grieve the price of democracy. Our Men are being targeted to kill. So each time we hear about or read about yet another Black Man fallen stars the hands of the Police, what gets triggered is the cultural trauma of slavery. Right in our blood.

Yes, we do have our internal wounds to heal, especially between Black Women and Men. Slavery sold the Black Family apart, but with tools, we are healing us. I have a Masterclass series completely dedicated to our healing. And yes, there is also rage and grieving of wounded Black Men who embody and enact the values and behaviors of White Supremacy on us.

So I encourage you to watch this week’s video. As a people, the community is how we love. We take care of each other. We bear witness. We speak. We cry. We listen. Then we get back to work to ensure justice… for all.

I was at the chiropractor when I heard the news.

Senator Kamala Harris said yes to joining Joe Biden’s team as his Vice President running mate for the 2020 November Presidential Election. I cried when I heard. I have been crying tears of joy and relief ever since. I will tell you why in a moment, but first, here’s a snapshot of Kamala Harris.

SNAPSHOT

Harris has been a Senator from California since 2017. She is a former presidential candidate and has served as District Attorney in San Francisco and State Attorney General. She is considered a moderate Democrat. Her mom, Shyamala Gopalan, was a Tamil Indian-American who became a leading cancer researcher and activist and passed away from colon cancer in 2009. Her father, Donald Harris, is a prominent economist who worked at UC Berkeley, the University of Wisconsin-Madison, and Stanford University, and is alive and well. Both parents were big Civil Rights activists. She is a stepmom and married to Doug Harris, who adores and supports his wife. He is an attorney and of Jewish ancestry.

Just for the record, I love the diversity of her family and heritage. She represents love, blended family, inclusion, and the melting pot of what it means to be American.

WHY I CRY

Two reasons: Harris said yes and Joe Biden kept his promise. In America, we have a practice of killing off our leaders. Character assassination, lies, verbal attacks, dragging up old dirt—you name it. So for Harris to say yes is a gift to us. Being a public servant is a thankless job. Look how it aged President Obama. And as a Black Woman, she will be subject to a level of misogyny, racism, classism, etc., that is the hallmark of how America treats and relates to Black Women. There will be thousands of passive aggressive attacks on her looks, her ethnic name, her citizenship, nationality, her children, her husband, her sister, her parents, death threats, insulting memes, and name calling.

Count on it.

And you can bet there will be troublemakers who will stir the pot about her mixed heritage. Creating division within communities of color is an old tactic to keep us in-fighting while White Supremacy stack the deck in their favor.

So for Kamala Harris to say yes, stepping right into the ring of fire of Trump’s America, is nothing short of an act of generosity and bravery that inspires me to do what I can to support her safety, sanity, and success.

The second reason I cry is because Joe Biden, a white man, kept his promise. You know the drill. Politicians make promises to get your vote and then don’t do what they say. It’s the reason so many of us don’t believe our vote matters. White men tend to promise us the moon but then do what serves their agendas.

But Biden keeping his promise to have a female running mate, and then to choose such a qualified equal who will speak up where integrity is lacking, he has in essence put in place his succession plan. Biden is 77 years old. Upon election (yes, I am casting vision and speaking life into this future) if he falls ill, Harris, who is only 55, will become the President of the United States. Biden doing what he said he would and Harris saying yes gives me hope that we have a real shot at making a America a more perfect union. I was feeling defeated.

I have been so beat up by Trump’s shenanigans, the pandemic that seems to be out of control, and the continued practice of killing Black people—no matter how much we march—that the fire of hope that has warmed my soul since getting off the streets has dissolved into smoldering embers. Biden’s announcement poured gasoline on those embers. Hope is alive in me again, fired up and ready to do the work to win.

No candidate is perfect. No team can win without the support of the community. We have to heal as a community to vote and to NOT squabble over tiny battles, but focus on winning the war. As a people, we have a practice of in-fighting when we need to unify. Especially Black Men when it comes to feeling “respected” by Black Women. Wounded Black Men will withhold support, their vote, and undermine the women who love them if they feel like they are not being valued in a way they deem appropriate. Look at history. Hell, look at powerful Black Women who were sabotaged by wounded Black Men they loved: Madame CJ Walker, Tina Turner, Beyonce. These women didn’t let the wounds of the Men who truly loved them stop them from fulfilling their destiny. And neither should you.

So to that end, I am doing a 3-part series around healing the historical wound that is at the root of the tug-of-war of power between Black Women (yes, we have a wound that plays RIGHT into his!) and Men. My intention is to empower us to heal our wounds so completely that we don’t react to his. That way we can keep our eye on the prize AND heal history… together.

Join the 3-part series here: https://venusopal.com/healinghistory

I love you,

Dr. Venus

I love being a Black Woman.
I love everything about us.
Our swag.
Our passion.
Our undeniable sense of style.

Here’s me rocking my new denim jump suit! You can’t tell me I’m not #blackgirlmagic struttin’ in these quarantine streets! And I appreciate all the love from my sisters who took the time to celebrate me feeling beautiful and blessed.

I.
Love.
Black.
Women.

I love that we love with a fierce love.

So when one of us is struck down in any way, be it with laws, fists or bullets, it feels like I’m being struck down.

I am a daughter of Black Feminist Thought, Womanism & Queer Theory. I live life like the personal is political. I am in a long line of Black Women who have chosen to use my life to set my people free, specifically my sisters in success. So when I watch the dwindling energy for Breonna Taylor’s justice, I’m thrown back into history.

Black women, since the inception of this country have been treated and regarded as disposable, replaceable and only as valuable as we are useful to upholding White Supremacy, systemic racism and yes, patriarchy. Black Masculinity was born in the womb of White Supremacy. So when thing gets hot, Black Men lash out at those closest to him—physically and emotionally—the Women and children who love them.

Be clear—I LOVEEEEEE Black Men. As far as I am concerned, they are absolutely exquisite. So when I address the disparity regarding the fervor with which we march for George or protested for Amaud for MONTHS after he was murdered by an ex-police and his son, I’m not pointing to Black Men. I’m addressing Black Women’s value for Black Women’s lives.

Think about it. Black Women are at the forefront as well as the workforce behind some of our biggest movements in history.

From the March On Washington to the Women’s March to Black Lives Matter. Black Women pour our hearts and souls into fighting for justice for all. But have you noticed that when that “all” centers around a Black Woman’s body, we don’t scream as loud or long as we do when it’s a Black Man’s body?

Don’t take my word for it. Just check out what’s trending and for how long.

It’s been four months since Breonna was murdered by the police. Sandra Bland’s lynching inside a jail cell was casually dismissed as a suicide. Atatiana Jefferson was shot dead through her bedroom window when a concerned neighbor called the police because her front door was open. Kathryn Johnston was 92 years old when an undercover police shot and killed her in her home during a botched drug raid. Korryn Gaines, who miscarried while held in custody by police, was shot by police and one bullet went through her and crippled her son for life.

I could go on but you get the point.

How come these stories don’t trend? Because we don’t insist they do. All of these incidents were in the news at one point. But I wonder: if George had been a Black Trans Woman or a Black single mom named Georgette, and we watched her public execution on TV, would we have marched? Would the world have galvanized around her? Would we have burnt down buildings and police precincts for Breonna?

I don’t think we would have. Why? Because we didn’t.

Here’s my point: since the institution of North American Chattel Slavery, the Black Female Body has been disposable, less and completely okay to beat, maim, or murder with little to no consequence.

There isn’t a hierarchy to pain.
Apartheid.
The Holocaust.
Hiroshima.
The Trail of Tears.
Kosovo.
Rwanda.
Colonialism.
Antebellum Slavery.

I honor each and every culture who has their own cultural trauma that haunts them like ours does us. And I deeply appreciate all of our allies who are standing with us against White Supremacy. I am addressing one question on which the November 2020 election hinges: will Black Women fight for Black Women the way we fight for our men and children?

We train the world how to treat us.

Until we stand for each other like we do for our babies, our brothers, our boos, the world will continue to relate to us as the cash cow of the American Dream.

I love you sis. But I have to ask: do you fight for Black Women the way you fight for those you love?

This article is not a slam. It’s a wake-up call to remind us that we matter, too. Our lives are just as worthy as the lives of the people we love.