Nicole Locklear, on male violence, Threads
Posting this with some hesitancy. The problem is bigger than Renee Good and has been going on longer. But I think I reached a breaking point yesterday.
Please be gentle: This is the Anger:
This is the anger they warned us about.
The one we're supposed to swallow,
Sweeten,
Apologize for.
The anger that comes from being told
From the moment we are born girls:
Be nice,
Be kind,
Be quiet,
Be careful,
Be soft.
And the bar for men,
Which is the only one that matters,
Is this low, this brutal, this obscene
Please don't kill me.
Please don't rape me.
Please don't take my body as permission to harm.
Not all men.
But always a man.
I am angry because history keeps repeating
And calling itself surprise.
Because for hundreds of years men have ruled
And we're supposed to act shocked
By the blood on their hands.
They stripped rights
They built wars.
They engineered famine and grief
And then told us to be grateful
For the scraps of safety they allowed
And now HE will get away with it.
He murdered her in front of everyone
And the country is already rehearsing it's excuses.
Policy.
Process.
Procedure.
Words that bury bodies cleanly.
Black women warned us.
They said they would not save us again.
They said that we had already chosen this.
And even though I didn't vote for this cruelty
Enough of us did.
Because it isn't all white women,
But it is always a white woman.
Standing close enough to power
To pretend she didn't hear the screams.
I am furious at the forgetting.
At the way women are taught
That compliance is safety
Until compliance is a coffin.
I am a volcano
Praised for my stillness,
Rewarded for dormancy,
Told my restraint was maturity
While pressure rewrote my insides.
Now the ground is cracking.
I want to rage without dying for it.
I want to scream without becoming a target.
I want to tear the lies down
Without becoming another name
They say softly for a week
And then move on from.
We used to be warriors
We used to be leaders
They had to erase that memory
Because a woman who remembers is dangerous.
I remember.
And I am angry because remembering hurts.
Because I was complacent too long.
Because I am tired.
Because I am older and wiser
And standing in the wreckage asking
Where the hell do we even begin?
This anger is not hysteria.
It is clarity sharpened by grief.
It is love with nowhere safe to go.
It is fear that refuses to lie down
I am angry
I am afraid
And I am done pretending
That any of this is normal
