Anger, pain, discomfort, and space

I’m hurting. A lot of people are hurting. Everyone feels pain. But there are different types of pain, just as there different types of happiness and different types of anger. But I don’t know what it feels like to not carry around anger and pain in my heart. This anger and this pain don’t always have visceral or explicit manifestations, but they are always there. What is it like to be happy without any strings attached? Janani from Darkmatter is right: If you’re happy and you know it, shut up and stop taking up space.

That’s not to say that we shouldn’t be fighting to be happy. Even temporary moments of happiness are fragile and must be celebrated. I acknowledge this. But these moments of happiness must not derail or ignore others’ very real anger and pain. Think about the power dynamics in your interpersonal relationships. If you don’t actually consciously think about them, you have a certain privilege.

There’s something else. Anger does not always need to be civil. It does not always need to be “productive.” We cannot continue to permit calls for structured conversations, for productive dialogue, to take precedence over someone’s pain, anger, suffering, life. But my anger means something different than a white person’s anger. I’m expected to restrain my anger, to express it as diplomatically as possible, because if I openly express the anger that I carry around with me, the consequences are a lot higher. There is more at stake. What does it mean for me to silence myself just to be heard? What does it mean for me to take up less space, both physically and in conversation, so that I can be taken more seriously?

There is so much raw pain in the world. We can’t erase it. We can’t mask it. Because when we internalize our pain, it comes out all at once. When we are not granted the space to express this pain, we feel as though our pain has been normalized. It’s easy to tell people not to be “irrational” in their anger, to not make “rash decisions,” to not “react instinctively.” But if we don’t act on or at least express our anger and our pain, we are unable to be honest with ourselves.

We create structures and institutions that normalize brokenness. We feel as though we are supposed to be creatures of pain, supposed to be okay with everything the world throws at us, to prioritize the numbers and identifiers that characterize us over our internal turmoil. This, in turn, prevents us from celebrating our own power and joy, because those things are not deemed as important in a space where pain has been normalized, and are therefore harder to achieve.

Think about being given the space to vocalize anger and pain in the spaces you occupy, both physically and mentally. Who is always speaking up, their assertions going unchallenged? Who is not speaking, or perhaps not being their authentic self because they feel the space does not enable that? What does a safe space mean, and who is it safe for?

In our communities, there will always be discomfort. Discomfort can, of course, be a good thing, and it can be an opportunity for growth — but only if it is wrestled with and challenged. Discomfort rooted in systemic norms and implicit biases MUST be challenged. It cannot simply be aired, with the expectation of acknowledgement and respect, without any anticipation of an opposing assertion. Everyone is uncomfortable when confronted with their own privilege, but it is absolutely necessary for us to do this work. We must assess why we are uncomfortable in certain situations, and find a way to grow in those moments. Growth isn’t supposed to be easy. It’s hard work. And we have to do that work.

Discomfort can spawn fear can spawn hatred, unless discomfort is dissected at its roots. I think I have reached my limits. I don’t want to be told that being brown in America doesn’t mean that I’m “unequal” anymore, because my personal truth is that I’m still living racism, and I’m still hyper-aware of my brownness in predominantly white spaces. I am tired of my friends being unable to find outlets to express their pain because the expectations that they will simply survive, without any conscious efforts being made to enable and prioritize their survival, are impossibly high. I am sick of seeing my loved ones harassed and targeted in the streets, dealing with everything from hate speech to death threats, simply because they have the lived experiences they do. At a certain point, we can’t just keep taking it! There isn’t a limit on the love and compassion that we can feel, but there is a limit on how much pain a person can feel before they break. This limit varies from person to person but there is only so much pain a person can internalize before it becomes too much. And when we create spaces that firmly deny the existence of this pain and anger in favor of prioritizing a privileged person’s comfort, we forget what it means to be human.

Unlearn the phrase “oppression olympics.” Condition yourself to stop thinking that certain people’s pain and anger are more important than others’. Instead, affirm other people fiercely and consistently. I am trying to catch myself when I am apologizing for my pain. It breaks my heart to see my friends stop themselves when they are on the edge of vulnerability, because we’ve created — and constantly contribute to — an atmosphere in which being vulnerable is too dangerous to be worth it.

We should not have to apologize for experiencing pain, anger, and suffering. There doesn’t always have to be an eloquent reason for these feelings, laced with jargon and poetic expressions of resistance. We don’t always have to have the answer—we don’t always even need to know the question. It seems as though people will care about other people “unconditionally,” but really only until it stops being convenient — change that. It is an act of rebellion to take up space in these moments, an act of courage to vocalize that anger. Make space for that, because it is so difficult to claim that space on our own.