I look down but sense him moving towards me, reaching into his pocket. As I shift myself to potentially repel an attack, he shows me a text on his smart phone. “Take M or R to Steinway,” it says. He asks me, in a low and very familiar voice: “Am I going the right way?”
It takes every ounce of restraint in my body to not say: “You talkin’ to me?” Instead I simply reply: “Yeah, it’s just a couple of stops. I’ll let you know.”
“I have watched the Black Lives Matter movement bring massive attention to police violence against black and brown people and I am in awe. WAY more women of all races / ethnicities are getting killed by men and crickets are chirping.”
Not too long ago, while leaving the gym, I overheard a conversation about the best female tennis players of all-time. As I walked home, I pondered my own list and came up with five women with whom we’re on a first name basis: Serena, Steffi, Martina, Chrissie, and Venus. When considering who might be next, I suddenly remembered Monica Seles. This led to the realization about how she could’ve/should’ve been number two.
Breaking news: Oppression is not a costume, performance, or identity.
Over the years, my decision to avoid college dovetailed nicely with my radical awakenings. Soon, it became common to hear me brag about being “self-educated.” Even as my income options dwindled and negatively impacted my personal life, I stuck to my subversive guns.
Activist Tip: Don’t do what I did.