Why I Had to Rise and Resist Against Those I’m Supposed to Rise and Resist With

An open letter to the white men and women who run and represent Rise and Resist NYC

Therese Patricia Okoumou, protesting at the foot of the Statue of Liberty. courtesy: The Cut

Like many Black people, I saw something different than you all did when Goddess Therese Patricia Okoumou hiked up Lady Liberty on the 4th of July, in protest of this country’s inhumane immigration crisis. I don’t think you understand that, for Black people, we didn’t see a protest. We saw a life at risk. We saw a Black woman get manhandled by the police, something we’ve seen far too often. We saw a Black woman, putting her safety, freedom, and rights at risk for people she’ll never meet. We also saw Sis standing there on her own, which gave us pause. She may represent your group, but when that Rise and Resist t-shirt goes in the wash, that Black skin that heightens every risk she’s ever taken remains. The intersection of race and gender has been ignored for too long and disrespected by too many. Regardless of how much you think you support her, if you do not understand the dangers and complexities that come with the intersection of race and gender, you’re not supporting her enough.

We can go on all day about how you attacked and challenged any person who called you out for that first-draft statement which distanced your organization from Ms. Okoumou, or the fact that there is no plan of action for a Black or Brown RAR member who gets incarcerated, or how you’ve been using Ms. Okoumou’s bravery and patriotism to pretend that you folks aren’t as white-centered and Black exclusionary as you are. However, I want to fast forward to the Rise and Resist meeting I attended last Thursday. I agreed that whatever was discussed during the meeting would remain off record. But, I never agreed that I would refrain from sharing the words I spoke to you at that mayo convention, and, I never agreed to keep any interaction (or lack thereof) that transpired before the meeting off record.

Once I walked in, I immediately recognized a man who I had just argued with. He was a man who marinated in misogynoir and white privilege while telling me off on the Rise and Resist Facebook page. Our exchange didn’t end until I told him he was being ‘cruel and misogynoir(istic)”. He sat in a chair on the opposite side of the room, talking with the man facilitating the meeting. The moment I noticed him avoiding eye contact, I realized there was going to be a shortage of olive branches.

I sat in a chair closest to the door. I did this because, why would I feel safe in a room filled with white people who speak at me? They made it clear they can only hold space for one Black woman at a time. Obviously, this week ain’t mine! As I debated on whether to eavesdrop on conversations or read some Audre Lorde, Martin walked in. He made a beeline to me, saying, “You’re the girl from Facebook that I was arguing with earlier.” Ready to rumble? While our exchange was tense at times, and no doubt, direct, it was far from an argument. I actually let Martin get a few jabs in during our online exchange. He sat down and we talked about books and such. He mentioned he loved book clubs and I told him I created one. Our exchange lasted no more than three minutes.

A few moments pass and in walks another member who I had an online altercation with, Harris. The first time I spoke against RAR for being ill-prepared to defend Black women getting arrested or otherwise harmed, this guy tells me to “stop spreading rumors” and that “truth matters”. He walks past me, but impulse makes me grab his hand. I squeeze tightly and give nothing but eye contact. I can tell he doesn’t want to look at me, but I pull Harris in close and I make him. “My name is Tamela,” I say this slowly. I let every syllable linger. “We spoke earlier on Twitter.” Everything about his body language suggested he was ready to keep that same energy he had online. He avoided eye contact with me for the remainder of the time there. I actually forgot that he was the one who invited me to the meeting. Odd.

I was eager to speak with the man who was running the meeting, Jeremiah, but, I wasn’t surprised when he didn’t bother to extend conversation beyond hello. I watched him lean against the wall, comparing tans with members who waited outside the courthouse, for Ms. Okoumou. I felt bad for Jeremiah. Not just because his melanin-deficiency causes him to cook in the sun like bacon. Jeremiah had no clue that the issue they were having with Black women and people of color was no longer about Ms. Okoumou.

I sat in that chair, adjusting to the uninviting energy in the room. I felt the corner of every eye on me, yet, not a single warm glance. I thought about how hard it must be to become a member of this group if you aren’t white. The stares, the isolation, the disregard. Moments like that proved why any political or social space that is not intersectional is infected with white supremacy and Black exclusionary behavior. No matter how many times I introduced myself to someone all I got were cold shoulders (except for one white woman named Jennifer who was a fucking delight xoxo). I wondered if Ms. Okoumou was safer, both physically and emotionally, on top of Lady Liberty instead of at one of these RAR meetings.

Jeremiah stressed how pressed they were for time, over and over and over and over and over again (each time, he would make brief awkward eye contact with me, which made me resentful to be singled out, yet, pleased to be seen). He didn’t flinch before deciding I would speak first. It was at that moment that I realized exactly how choreographed this meeting was. Martin, the only one to speak to me directly, both online and at the meeting; he’s probably the guy who deals with anyone who isn’t white. The online mean guys, who were all Tweet and no action, refraining from engagement so they could avoid accountability, or, heaven forbid, apologizing to a Black woman. By the time I stood up to speak, and Jeremiah struggled to make one last request to express ourselves with civility, I realized I was doing the curtsy to their tap dance routine. As is often the case with Black women in white-centered environments, controlling her space, policing her expression, and limiting her engagement takes priority over hearing her and ensuring her equality.

What I had planned to say and what came out of my mouth are two different speeches. Knowing that my presence was such a bother, and the time allotted for me to speak was more marginalized than my Blackness, all I wanted to do was get out of that room before someone called the cops. As I spoke I looked around the room, realizing how little you people understood or cared about anything I had to say. I believe I ended my words by telling you that I was leaving hurt and that you had to do better. I quickly dashed out the door before I could be further exposed to insult, or worse, give you the pleasure of watching defeated tears run down my cheek.

Even though dozens of Black and Brown Sisters thanked me for showing up to such a hostile environment, I still felt empty. Being the only Black woman in a room is always a lonely room to be in. Still, it’s so much worse when the people who are supposed to rise and resist with me would rather rise and resist against me and every other Black woman who lacks climbing skills.

That meeting was just another reminder of why I, like so many Black women, have divested from white-centered political and social groups. It’s the reason why my Black feminists book club, at close to two thousand women and non-men of different races, ethnicities, and preferred pronouns, voted to keep the door closed to men. That meeting was a reminder that white liberals will entertain Black women, but, only with conditions and the promise that they can stand on the strength of our bravery, our hard work, our voices, and our legacy. You have no skin in the game but you want to make all the rules. That’s just not how any of this works.

It was late last night when one of your members tagged me on a thread in the Rise and Resist page. The tag was accompanied with nothing other than a press release from Therese Patricia Okoumou. No explanation, no sense of speaking to me, just a tag and an article. What followed was another comment addressed to everyone {expect me? I was’t tagged that time}, applauding them for all their hard work and everything they had done. If I hadn’t known better, I would have thought that you were all standing on the foot of Lady Liberty with Ms. Okoumou. Matter of fact, your entire page is currently covered with images that celebrate Okoumou. The overkill is nauseating. As an organization with your melanin-deficiency… poor form.

After 72 hours of negotiating the terms in which you will respect and acknowledge me, I had enough. I tagged a group of women who would help me take on the white supremacy and misogynoir. From night, into morning, right now as I type these words, the discussion continues. But you will find that you are no longer part of the discussion because you have all retreated. Like the white folks who get out the pool when the Black family comes, you’d rather abandon your entire page than listen to Black women speak their truth. Pitiful.

I wasn’t surprised when a woman from Rise and Resist contacted me. She asked me what I wanted. My heart sank. After three days, one town hall style meeting, a thread with almost three hundred comments, Rise and Resist members hurling mud to Black women on every social media site they have access to, and my wants are still a mystery.

What I want is secondary to this situation. However, I will tell you what I, along with every other Black woman and person of color is owed:

• Public acknowledgement for failing to listen and respect Black women.
• Immediate, tangible action to provide a safe, welcoming, organically inclusive environment for Black women and people of color.
• Learn, respect, honor, and prioritize intersectionality.
• Acknowledge that white-centered spaces are not safe and/or healthy for people of color — especially Black women.
• Stop harming Black and Brown people with toxic masculinity, white feminism, white privilege, and white supremacy.
• Own that first statement. Rather than suggest that your distancing from Ms. Okoumou couldn’t be ‘farther from the truth’, acknowledge that the impact of your statement outweighs your intention.
• Apologize to ALL of the women you have ignored, dismissed, challenged, and disrespected.
• Stop acting like Therese Patricia Okoumou is a prize that you won. Put some respect on her name without claiming ownership of her bravery, her activism, and her voice.
• Accept that your problem is bigger than how you handled your statements. You have a serious white supremacy problem with a side of misogynoir.
• Treat me like a motherfucking human being the next time I show up. Look me in my eyes. If you’re one of the ones who spoke to me with disrespect, begin rehearsing your apology now. Several of you suggested that I was nothing more than an internet troll, stirring the pot in my ‘online community’. You got me fucked up. Black women are my lane. If you couldn’t tell that when I stood before you and told you to fix your ways, you surely know now that you’ve done your research. Your public page is filled with Black and Brown women and white allies from all over this country. Many of these women stayed up all night, determined to get you all to respect Black women. You might have thought I was just one Black woman standing in room 110, but, I had all the Sisters with me.

Tamela J. Gordon is a writer, Black feminist, and creator of the women’s empowerment group, Sisters with Aspiration, as well as SWA’s Black Feminists Book Club (open to all womyn and non-men). You can gift books for readers or send Tamela a monetary gift here: To contact Tamela for speaking engagements or creating your own women’s empowerment group, email shewritestolive@gmail.com