This Week's Opening Thought: August 12, 2024

This week's opening thought: just because you can cook doesn't mean you should be passin’ out plates to everyone.

Everyone doesn't deserve a plate.

Everyone hasn't earned a plate.

Proximity does not make getting a plate a given. Neither does blood relation or history. Real talk? Those things often make it very clear who has and has not earned a plate.

You get to determine who gets fed from your well of knowledge, experience, and empathy in all areas of your life, not the other way around. You get to decide who deserves to be nourished and who doesn't nourish you. Don't let any person or workplace tell you otherwise.

Stop letting people and workplaces invite themselves to dinner.

They better go warm up a Hot Pocket.

This Week's Opening Thought: August 5, 2024

This week's opening thought: Every cishet man who has ever said to me that they’re uncomfortable with being alone with a woman that isn’t there spouse or partner because they don’t want to be accused of sexual harassment, lewd acts, or psychological abuses never seem to realize that the feeling of discomfort is mutual.

You’ve got icky energy, homie.

If your brain automatically turns to thinking someone will report you for your actions when you’re left alone with them?

Methinks thou knoweth thou art a creep.

You’re telling on yourself.

On the NABJ and Not All Skinfolk Being Kinfolk

I don't have much to say about yesterday's NABJ Conference debacle and the messy events that preceded it, mainly because Black folx across the internet and beyond have covered all the bases and then some. But one thing that frustrates my soul is the interviewers and the heads of the NABJ trying to put a positive spin on this sh—.

I've seen and heard multiple messages and sound bytes since yesterday’s 30-minute sexist, racist, fragile ego-driven, anti-Black shindig trying to spin this mess as “eye-opening for voters” and doing the service of “showing us who [name redacted] truly is.” But you see, NABJ, there is one problem with this news cycle-level spin job:

WE ALL KNOW WHO HE IS.

Who the f—- didn't know who this man was and what he believed about Black people, women, and intersectionality before yesterday’s hateful antics?!

He didn't need stage time at your conference. None of us needed to watch another round of him attacking women, chastising and harming Black women in front of an audience, and being an absolute racist and white supremacy-driven sack of human excrement. Unless you've been in a coma or trapped in an underground bunker like Kimmy Schmidt for the past decade, this raggedy felon the NABJ scrambled for days to get on their stage for clout and headlines has shown us exactly who he is, to the point that you don't even need him to open his mouth to know how he feels. Did y'all think the public and your association members would buy that this was some altruistic venture, especially when all the behind-the-scenes shenanigans came to light?

Spin that nonsense somewhere else, NABJ.

Take your L. Make amends. But don't sit there acting like this all went pretty well unless you're referring to that well Buffalo Bill had at his house.

Don't act like you created a learning moment for us unless the lesson was that some people are still shocked when a leopard bites their face off.

And don’t act like this all pretty much went according to plan unless you planned to harm Black women.

It looks like the NABJ needs to learn that misogynoir and anti-Blackness can easily be stoked and fomented by Black people.

How about y'all research and investigate that, then get back to us with your findings?

This Week's Opening Thought: July 29, 2024

This week's opening thought: I recently turned 42.

I'm not one to celebrate birthdays, achievements, or milestones. It has always felt wrong. For decades, I thought I disliked celebrating little moments because I felt they weren't worth the time and energy. Real talk? I walked across the stage for my high school graduation and ran to one of my two jobs without fanfare. I graduated from college and was like, "Meh," when my wife wanted to celebrate my achievement. I stopped celebrating landing jobs or opportunities long ago, looking at them as blips in my timeline.

I have spent most of my life lumping these situations into not being worth my time. "I've got sh-- to do" is one of my favorite lines to mutter when people want to celebrate me. But as I get older, wiser, and healthier, I've unearthed why I don't celebrate birthdays, achievements, or milestones.

I'm Black in the United States, and everything feels like borrowed time.

I didn't start embracing joy until my 30's. I didn't start doing anything for my birthday until my mid-30s, and I'm still reticent to do more than some meals at cool restaurants. There's a trauma that I've spent time unpacking over the past few years, one that is deeply embedded in my soul. At its root is a simple yet complex question:

Do you celebrate today if it always feels like there is no tomorrow?

I find it hard to celebrate much in a society that allows police officers to walk into my home and murder me without provocation. It's difficult to tap into joy when I could be lynched at a moment's notice, and my family would get no justice for my Black body. It's unsettling to know that for every high, racism and white supremacy are dangling over my head like the sword of Damocles waiting to "take me down a notch."

I'm learning that I don't want to live that way anymore.

White supremacy does not get to dictate me taking a victory lap every now and then for how awesome I am. (Yeah, I'm feelin' myself.)

I've embraced joy. Now, I know I need to embrace that regardless of how dangerous the world is around me, I deserve to be celebrated. My achievements deserve to be honored and acknowledged.

And sometimes, just sometimes, I deserve a fresh huckleberry lemonade.

To all my Black people: celebrate you, your people, and your achievements. Don't let this "white-a-betes" that systems of pallor want to inflict you with take away from honoring your family, friends, and your achievements in the face of a system that has never believed we should exist.

Enjoy your lemonade.

[Image description: This is a picture of me at Solstice Restaurant in Hood River, Oregon. I'm making a whimsical face while holding a freshly made huckleberry lemonade.]

Image description: This is a picture of me at Solstice Restaurant in Hood River, Oregon. I'm making a whimsical face while holding a freshly made huckleberry lemonade.

About Sonya

Sonya Massey.

I'm not going to watch the bodycam footage. I stopped that practice many years ago. I can’t keep watching my people die, so I refuse to engage in the trauma porn of our constant suffering.

Doesn’t make the reality of it all hurt any less.

I honestly have no more words for the ever-present harming and willful disregard of Black women. I have rage, sadness, deep sorrow, but no words that verbalize how jumbled it all feels in my brain, body, and soul.

I advise every Black person, every Black woman, to not watch the footage. Please don’t do that to yourself. That said, if you’re a Black person, especially a Black woman, and you feel like you have to watch, please do everything and anything you need to do to take care of yourself in the moment and after you’ve finished viewing it. Your mental and emotional health matter.

Black women just want to live without constant threats to their lives and livelihoods.

I don’t know why this is so damn difficult for people of pallor to want to understand.

Sonya Massey.

Say her name.