Dear white people…I’m tired
By Melita Belgrave
In the summer of 2020 I wrote a song titled “Dear White People” as a response to what it feels like to be a Black woman in higher education. In this song I share what it feels like to try to explain to others what microaggressions feel like. I share what it feels like every time I have to explain that indeed that was a racist act, and no, I don’t need you to provide me with another point of view just because you can’t sit with the fact that racism is alive and well.
As I continued to process my life in song during 2020 I found that I was writing fewer songs about life and relationships and way more songs about social justice, my value system — which by the way doesn’t align with White Dominant Culture — and my resilience as a Black woman.
I’m shocked by the responses I often receive from non BIPOC people when I share the song “Dear White People” or any of the other songs related to social justice. There seems to be a response of, “Oh I hear you now.” But why must I put everything into a catchy tune with keyboard, a funky bass line, maybe some strings, and beats for you to hear me? Because I usually only write the song as a response to not being heard when I use my words. When I clearly say what I’m experiencing, it seems to go unnoticed.
As I stepped into my new role of associate dean for Culture and Access I started to notice the same thing.
BIPOC students are performing their pain from racist acts done to them to get the attention of our faculty and leaders. Now I know we are artists, but...
Why do I have to perform my pain for you to hear me? Why can’t my words be enough?
Why do I have to raise my voice for you to hear me? Why can’t my words be enough?
Why do I have to throw a tantrum for you to hear me? Why can’t my words be enough?
I woke up with joy on Monday Feb. 1, thinking, “Hey it’s Black History Month, the weather is warm, I have energy again, my students are doing an amazing job in their music therapy class.” I’m rocking my day, until I received multiple communications regarding a flag removal incident. Two flags purchased and hung by students, a Black Lives Matter flag and a LGBTQIA+ Pride flag, were removed from a community space in our buildings without a conversation.
I was horrified by the strong nonverbal message that the removal of these flags signaled to the students. I believe this removal signaled that not everyone belongs here. I also wondered if someone was offended by a Black Lives Matter flag in a building that I regularly frequent: Are they bothered and offended by my Black body? Do I have to rethink the spaces I go, and where my safety might not be guaranteed? I also can only imagine the various inequities that members of our LGBTQIA+ community face as well and the harm that was felt when the Pride flag was removed.
We can all say the beginning of the ASU charter by heart: ASU is a comprehensive public research university, measured not by whom it excludes, but rather by whom it includes…
Most people stop there, but the rest of the sentence goes on to say: and how they succeed; advancing research and discovery of public value; and assuming fundamental responsibility for the economic, social, cultural and overall health of the communities it serves.
“….by whom it includes and how they succeed.” Shouldn’t succeeding include the need to feel safe? Shouldn’t succeeding include symbols and signs that tell you that you belong here? Responsibility for the “social, cultural and overall health of the communities it serves.” Wouldn’t the social, cultural and overall health of marginalized students, faculty and staff be included in that part of the charter as well?
I ask you to listen to the song “Dear White People” and then to think deeply about the idea of signs and symbols that signal belonging.
Melita Belgrave is the associate dean for Culture and Access in the Herberger Institute for Design and the Arts and an associate professor of music therapy in the School of Music, Dance and Theatre.
