Gender violence within antiblackness is so complex that it continuously moves us into a deeper spiral of contradictions and impossibilities. Every Black person dies in the death work of gender.
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If their diet is Black death, the revolution is to starve them. When we attempt to save those who will never see us deserving of the life that sustains them, we must recognize that we’ve committed ourselves to an eternal and repetitive morbidity.
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Where do you go when the world wants you dead and the people who love you want you free? Where do you run when there is nowhere to hide from antiblack violence, and there’s nowhere to tell the truth about wanting to die?
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The danger in maintaining the gender binary is that it’s not just misgendering that happens to folks who identify outside of the binary, it’s the repetitive death of your existence. Every time I experience erasure, I die a little.
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The reality we must face is that even when liberation comes — people who cause harm may not choose to transform.
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Why don’t we ever know Queen and Slim’s names until they’re dead?
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When you use the wrong pronoun, you’ve crossed my boundary but you could never misgender me.
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Surviving can be a process, a destination, a title, a feeling, a moment, a lifetime. And surviving can also be a world we never arrive at.
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There is no transformative justice without Black life/ Black people at the center.
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