Stop, don’t tell me that again,
I don’t want to hear it.
Don’t tell me your feminism is intersectional,
when you use the doubled broken backs
of black women
to elevate yourself.
Don’t tell me your feminism is intersectional,
if the only time you support black women and black girls
is when you see our faces plastered
on the campaigns of
Oxfam and Comic Relief.
When you want to be the white saviour,
receive the praise and feel comfortable helping them
knowing exactly that: it is ‘us’ and ‘them’
and they will never be close enough to have any real impact,
to ever shake hierarchies and alter your position.
You’ll gladly help the black starving and crying faces
plastered across your screen.
Gladly dig deep into your pocket,
but won’t help the black women here,
in your country and in your city.
Tell me why you will only help the children of Africa
and not the grandchildren of Africa,
relocated and replenished in the western world?
Tell me why.
She looks at me silent, not knowing how to respond,
not knowing when I am calm enough to break the silence.
But oh, I am calm,
this is not new and this is not a topic only concerning you,
this stems from the collective.
Black women have been the stools,
our backs have been the stepping stones,
for generations, for decades.
I have spent hours searching,
researching this topic
and now I am hoping you’ll understand your actions.
Allow me to fill the silence…
You fear elevating the black women,
the strong black women of your society,
you fear us being on your level,
because you need our backs to rise.
You need the stepping stones of oppression,
discrimination and marginalisation,
to reach your glass ceilings and to remain on top.
So, don’t tell me your feminism is intersectional,
because you hash tagged #BringBackOurGirls
and reposted shocking stories about the women
raped in the Sudan blackout.
Don’t tell me your feminism is intersectional,
because you bought a red nose
to raise money for comic relief,
and donate monthly to Oxfam knowing
Your£5CouldProvideAStarvingChildInAfricaWithAHotMeal.
Tell me how you won’t speak out for the black women facing
racist, sexist remarks at the office.
How you won’t comment when the black mothers,
are the only ones labelled bad mothers.
When black fathers,
are the only ones branded absent fathers.
Tell me how you remain silent when your daughter calls the
black dolls on the shelf ugly.
And tell me how you scream black men are violent and threatening,
but you’re still curious and lustful
of their exotic and erotic,
joking ‘once you go black, you never go back’.
Racial contradictions, dismissals and omissions.
So, don’t tell me your feminism is intersectional,
until it is.
Photo by Library of Congress on Unsplash