Shortly after we wrapped filming on Ninety-Two: The Rest Rebellion No One Saw Coming, which is about Black women’s unscheduled (but on time) retreat from systems-wide service and self-sacrifice, a whole new conversation opened up about how other people have responded to our post-election cocooning.
I raised the example of when Kamala Harris, who pulled off a nearly flawless 107-day campaign for President, went quiet after her opponent was declared victorious. Some people (not Black women) were outraged.
How could she leave us like this? After everything we’ve done for her?
Admittedly, I was flabbergasted. Are you serious? She applied for a job and didn’t get it, but you still want her to work?This unfettered entitlement to her labor, combined with what felt like a national repudiation of Black women, contributed mightily to my own and many others’ silent rebellion.
Harris traded her personal obligations (and sleep) for trains, planes, and automobiles…podcasts, television appearances, and innumerable speeches…all-night strategy and scriptwriting sessions…and non-stop, ever-intensifying scrutiny to do her level best to shield us from the greed and self-interest that threatened the balance of humanity. When voters (not the majority of Black women, Black men, or Jewish people) said, “no, thank you,” and she accepted that answer—stepping back to reclaim her life, some wanted her to keep sacrificing. Keep fighting. Keep laying herself bare.
I watched this “die for me” energy (shout-out to Crystle Johnson) erupt all over social media, and it made me sick to my stomach. You wanted her to keep working until what? Until she falls apart? Until she ends up in the hospital? Until she loses everything?
It wasn’t just VP Harris. Black women’s communal withdrawal bothered people. They took it personally, as if we were mad at them. Giving them the silent treatment. Refusing to play with them at recess. Not inviting them to our birthday parties. But it wasn’t then, and it isn’t now, about other people. This rebellion is about self-preservation. It’s about unlearning service as a gateway to approval. It’s about discerning between giving our all and ending up with nothing. And it’s about putting ourselves before the world, so that we don’t completely destroy our helper spirits and lose what little optimism we have left.
The uncomfortable truth is that people aren’t accustomed to us putting ourselves first. They are used to relying on us to guide them through emerging cultural crises, assuage them of their guilt by association, make hard things easier, and be a nurturing presence in their homes and in their workplaces. They are used to—whether they ever meant to get used to it or not—our limitless and unbound service.
Enough. We are people too.
When we promote resting or gardening or painting or writing or reading, we’re not celebrating futility. We are remembering who we are without the assignment. We are healing. And if you truly care about Black women, you will let us heal without making demands. Without condemnation. And without making it about you.
Last, don’t worry. We’ll be back, but in a more genuine, sustainable, and reciprocal way. And when we move forward together, it will be on equal footing or not at all. Until then, keep doing the meaningful work you feel called to do. The world needs your care and concern more than ever, and we who believe that every good-hearted person has a role to play in this precarious moment are cheering you on.
Tara Jaye Frank
Still photo by Ku Nakagawa