The Invisible Black Woman
Did you know that black women are invisible? I didn’t either until about five years ago in Las Vegas. My friend visited me from Trinidad to watch me perform in a show I was doing there and I took her to Red Rock Canyon for some touristing. After a light hike, we drove to the Lookout Point where, you guessed it, there’s a great view of the Las Vegas strip. Weekdays at Red Rocks can be pretty empty of people. On this particular day, as we parked our car at the lookout, only one other car pulled up at the same time. A white couple emerged from that car just as we stepped out of ours. All four of us walked up to the lookout point at the same time and my friend wasted no time in posing for a picture. As I aimed my camera phone in her direction, the white woman of the couple walked further toward the edge, hand over her brow, seemingly mesmerized by the view. She stopped exactly between my friend and me while I was trying to take this photo. I waited... and waited…. in awkward silence…. because surely she’ll notice that we were there... She didn’t. I finally said, “Excuse me” and she let out a genuine “Oh my God! I’m so sorry”, as she stepped out of the way. My friend rolled her eyes and, after I took the photo, asked me, “Are black people invisible to white people or something?”
I had never considered it before, but I could not explain this. We were literally the only four people on top of a mountain and this woman was somehow unable to see us. Immediately following this we went sight-seeing throughout some of the popular hotels on the strip. Now, the Las Vegas Strip is notorious for its crowds of wide-eyed, often drunk, tourists zombie-marching in every direction, so I should not be surprised that many people were bumping into us. However, with this question my visiting friend asked hanging in the air, I started to notice things I hadn’t noticed before. Like, how it seemed like I was expected to move out of the way or get run over while the mostly white crowd had no problem avoiding collision with each other. And that even though it started to feel like it was a black thing, I realized that white people made it a point to move out of black men’s way. Of course, why didn’t I see this before? Black men are feared and black women are invisible.
I began to put this theory to the test in uncrowded areas. I took a trip to West Palm Beach, Florida for a wedding and while out there, invited my best friend to go out with me on the West Palm Beach strip the night before the ceremony. I decided to see what would happen if I stood my ground instead of moving out of white people’s way as they expect. We parked our car far away from the bars and I stood next to it on the empty sidewalk, while my friend collected her purse from the vehicle. In the meantime, a well-dressed white woman strutted towards us, game-face on . She walked right up to me, looking past me, and I did not move. She was then forced to stop in her tracks and make eye contact with me. What followed was a look that I can only describe as utter disgust. A look one might make after discovering someone had farted directly into your mouth. She didn’t say anything, but she held that look for as long as possible as she was forced to make the arduous trek around my body. I was confused. The sidewalk is wide enough for both of us, why did she have to walk directly into me?
I never forgot that look. It’s easy to remember because I have seen it countless times since. I’ve seen it at the airport, the grocery store, while driving and I’ve seen it while walking towards a restaurant and passing a white woman outside who is walking to the valet in Los Angeles (more than once). It’s not like I expect everybody to move out of my way like I’m the Queen. To be fair, if I’m in someone’s way I will move. But this was happening in spaces where the other person had several path choices and picked mine. Every time I hold space, I get the look, because I didn’t do what I was supposed to do, move out of their way. Sometimes the look comes with bonus curse words. Whenever it happens, it is not a crowded Las Vegas strip like the first time I noticed it; it’s a sidewalk, a parking lot or somewhere with plenty of space but the person chose from a long distance, only to aim for my direction. I thought I was the only person who knew about this phenomenon and was actively trying to hold space but it turns out that this is pretty common. More Links Below. Here’s one of a white woman tired of moving out of men’s way. (Draw your own conclusions on hierarchy).
One time I was coming out of a coffee shop and was having a hard time balancing my coffee, purse, phone, sweater and whatever else I was holding while trying to open the screen door. Through said door, I saw a white woman waiting for me to get myself together so that I could open it...for her. The courteous thing would have been to just help a person out by opening the door, she had to come inside anyway, but that’s not what the status quo has taught her.
Another time I had a gig and was the first to show up. In an empty dressing room full of tables and chairs, I put my bag down on a table in front of its corresponding chair. In walks a white female performer who, amid pleasantries, plops her bag down on the chair by which my bag is clearly placed and where also I was actually still standing. She then proceeded to sit on that chair. She was talking to me and decided that in this vast dressing area, the perfect place to set up was on top of me. She stayed there and made herself at home long after our conversation had ended. I did not know how to react. I was stunned. I would love to know the psychology behind this. I have accepted that I’m invisible, but when you’re actually talking to me and decide to prove my insignificance regardless, I can only assume that you are subconsciously claiming your superiority. After the comfortable amount of time for me to say something had passed, I quietly picked up my belongings and moved to another chair. Why would I make the gig uncomfortable for both of us, right?
And that brings me to the point of how much black people keep inside to protect the feelings of our white friends. Our invisibility is just one example. I have countless more. It’s one thing to stand up to complete strangers but standing up to your white friends can mean risking not having friends at all, especially if you are in a place where you are a clear minority. So we hold it in. Even now, I feel as though I have to explain these stories carefully so that they’re not brushed off as a few encounters with assholes but as the social violations that they are. It is interesting for me to watch, in this reckoning of a post-George Floyd era, how my various white friends are handling it. Some are finally accepting the truth of which I’ve been advocating for years. And some feel like the criticism of white people is too much for them to handle so they fight it, they look away, they distract or they ignore. Why should they be made to feel bad for something that their ancestors did? Are they guilty just for being white? It’s so unfair! But even if we set aside for a second that what their ancestors did is intrinsically woven into the fabric of our lives today, I can assure you that there are subtle everyday things that even my most liberal of friends are guilty of. That privileged behavior has been ingrained in them since childhood, and the reason why they never knew about it is because black people like myself have actually been pretty understanding of their ignorance on the matter of race and privilege for too long. We know that the education of those subjects are not taught in their households and that they would never actually see something that does not affect them. We know our white friends are unaware of how their words and actions chip away at our souls. Black people are way more accommodating than they think. Or is it that they’ve grown accustomed to our passivity on this? If we’re not passive, we’re hostile amiright? We made excuses for them, saying that they didn’t know better. We let a lot of things slide and we endured pain so that they didn’t have to, and to keep the peace, and now it’s all a big surprise. It was easier for us to do this than deal with the fragility and fallout that came with our friends finding out that they possibly did something racist, and now we’re tired of doing that. Yes you may have done something racist but it doesn’t make you a member of the KKK. It does, however, make you blind and complacent towards your own privilege and the effects that may have on others. Well, now you know. What are you going to do about it? Will you make any changes in your everyday behaviour?
The macro result of black women’s invisibility looks like missing young black women and girls going unpublicized; black women’s views often going unheard; black women receiving the worst healthcare; black women receiving less media attention after dying at the hands of the police; and the lack of justice when black women are murdered at the hands of the police….just to name a few.
For me, I will continue to wear my armor everywhere I go, making sure that I don’t have that icky feeling I get when I let my guard down and move out of someone’s way undeservedly. I prefer the dirty looks. And I will continue to have difficult conversations with the people who still want to be friends.
Other Resources:
https://bahaiteachings.org/are-black-women-invisible/
https://www.theroot.com/why-am-i-stepping-off-the-sidewalk-for-white-people-in-1790876628