Look Back and Change

Posted on 2024-08-15

Sometimes I give in to the impulse to reach out to people I lost contact with. The results can be… jarring. Especially when the other party stayed the fucking same. Wait, no. That doesn’t seem fair. I suppose everyone is dynamic– it’s just a matter of how they changed.

If it feels like someone didn’t change at all, then what they always seemed to be is just more obvious. That was how I felt when one of the oldest friends briefly flared back into my life. With distance and growth, I saw them as they always were. The friend, on the other hand, was stunned at how different I’ve become (“Glowed up” was how an acquaintance put it). And I could see that, like, of course I did, and I was offended. I remember thinking What on earth did you do these X amount of years, stagnate?!

Well, no.

They just moved perpendicular to how I did. Our catching-up stories included eyerolls at the same pratfalls we keep making, but we laughed in delight as we traded news about a new hobby or love we found because of course we’d be into that, should’ve seen it coming.

Then again… the only person that underwent change could’ve been just me. I knew a friend group that’s frozen in time. A good damn almost-decade later it had shrunk down to the bare essentials and core folx. And oh, yo, have I outgrown a lot of shit. My prime objective no longer meshed with their mission, and our attempts to work around that fact caused significant friction.

And I think a lot about my post-college growing and learning when I was in my second Serious Relationship. Not only was I finding additional facets of my queerness, but I was putting words and concepts together about how I move around in this world and how it treats me. Frankly, my then-partner couldn’t keep up. We split due to the growing incompatibilities– and that included what I would no longer tolerate. We couldn’t make it work as amicable exes either, for the same reason.

Change happens, always, always in flux.

You either outgrow or grow into or reveal.

If you find us walking along the same beach, I suppose I’ll ask if you’ll change with me. I expect you to. I’d be worried if you didn’t.

I Keep Me Safe

Posted on 2023-12-16

Albi

This man knows not of how this information has affected me

But he knows the color of the car I just drove away in

“Flinch,” by Alanis Morissette

Triggers and C-PTSD are a motherfucker. I’m not sure if I’m using the correct terminology, so let me just paint the scene. At any rate, my reaction was as visceral as those song lyrics.

You’re mindlessly scrolling on your social media of choice, when you come across a thread. It seems like a cool idea, an outing or event, and you’re actually free that weekend. So you scroll.

And you see a familiar name. It takes a moment, but you remember.

And you want to throw up.

Because this name is no longer a friend of yours; you stopped speaking to each other after a heated argument. A major one, you can say; that was no pineapple-belongs-on-pizza debate.

I remember that morning.

I tried to explain how wrong it was to post and share the murder of a Black person, even if it was for a supposedly noble cause, because institutionalized racism even affects how our deaths are portrayed in the media a mere trauma porn– no dignity, all spectacle. It is about Impact, not Intent. But she doubled down, screaming about so-called justice. She did not listen. She ignored nuance. And somehow my concern translated to “you want those cops to get away with murder.”

It has happened before. And I have a feeling it will keep happening. Because to those so worried about justice, the end will always justify the means– and if that means my pain is a stepping stone to a slap on the wrist for a cop, then so be it. “Justice is served! Sorry about your mental health, though. Have you tried thinking about the bigger picture?”

I’m tired of that racist shit, the same conversations.

And I’m tired of this coming from people who I thought I could rely on.

I cried that morning. “Why are people like this!?” I wailed on my girlfriend’s shoulder.

I’m tired of my pain not mattering, and it hurts.

I saw her name, and it came flooding back.

So what did I do?

Before logging off for awhile for a nice bubble bath, I let a few people in that thread know. Some understood, others opened dialogue with me and respected boundaries when I ran out of spoons.

Only one said she “understood” my point of view but didn’t see it that way, and hoped that I didn’t hate her for “partying with this person once a year.” I said I didn’t. And it wasn’t a lie. But I thought, if you’re willing to overlook such gross thought patterns for a giant bonfire and booze, how long will it take before you reveal something heinous of your own? Would you have my back if The Pattern asserts itself? Could I cry on your shoulder?

I didn’t know.

Since it’s been proven time and time again that I’m just unimportant collateral damage to the culture at large, I have to find my own ways to protect myself. On the outside it’s callous, unforgiving, with ghosting tendencies, and kinda mean. But for the people that have been burned like this one too many times– for those on the margins who would rather not risk their safety for the possibility of friendship– they get it.

And with my adult life punctuated by moments like this… is it any wonder why I just wouldn’t bother? It’s not a difficult choice when you frame it like that, and I’m saddened that it has to be this way. Sad, and resigned.

It sucks.

I didn’t stick around long enough to find out if she knew that the company you keep could be a yellow or red flag for most people, and to be honest, I didn’t explain either.

At the end of the day I didn’t hate her. I just couldn’t trust her.

So I lost her number.

Background Radiation

Posted on 2022-12-01

Albi

Two panels. The first is a Batman sketch done by Amber, but is accompanied by the text "drawing out for you the same ol' microaggressions and straight-up harassment that has made up the majority of my internet adventures."

Second panel: We see Amber now; she has brown cropped hair and glasses. She is holding up her sketch to the other party, a man named Arch who is visibly disturbed by her output.

Arch says, "Th-that art makes me feel uncomfortable."

Amber, with an expression of weariness, replies "Welcome to the background radiation of my life." — I’d apologize to Willis, but I’m not particularly sorry about this. Amber’s line is just too relatable. SRC: Shortpacked by David Willis.

While Twitter is having its meltdown (due to sabotage or genuine ineptitude, or both), Mastodon is another microblogging service receiving a massive influx of new users. Some are just trying it out; others plan to migrate permanently, and you’ve probably heard about it by now.

It had certainly been a learning curve away from Twitter’s centralized style, for Mastodon is made of individual instances (think: different servers) that can “talk” to each other. And the Mastodon instances can also “talk” to other decentralized services within the Fediverse! Check out Fedi.Tips, by the way; that site can explain things better than I could.

There’s been some… issues. Some users have been calling it “growing pains” or (cue eyerolling) “Eternal September: Mastodon Version.” The problem with these red herrings is the implication that the current problems are just the effects from the deluge of new users. And that said problems are a recent phenomenon.

It really isn’t, and I’m not talking about the technical stuff.

A marginalized person enters a space and realizes it is intolerant of their lived experiences and right to exist. This isn’t just limited to blatant declarations– microaggressions, the papercuts of experience, can add up over time. The prevalence of the overculture allows the same harmful attitudes to carry over because someone refuses to see beyond the tip of their nose (and, you know, unpack their privilege).

And it has become apparent that Mastodon (among other things) has a racist problem. Here are some recent examples, and certainly not limited to…

the Content Warning debacle: requests to put politics behind a content warning, ignoring the fact that sometimes, entire lives are politicalized (another version of “censor your life for my comfort!”),

the history of PoC-led instances being harassed and even shut down (Look up what happened to PlayVicious; I’ll wait.),

Black people being told to “just move instances/block” instead of admins/moderators doing the necessary work to ensure spaces are safe from the get-go (it’s giving strong “segregate yourself” vibes, for starters, and the onus on the marginalized to change their behavior),

not to mention how one instance’s “I’ll allow it” is another person’s “WTF?!” Unfortunately, sometimes that “wtf” has been trolling, hate speech, and other unsavory topics that’ll get them defederated from more decent instances.

Marginalized identities, in general, don’t have the luxury of “just picking” one or “starting fresh” in a new place. It has to have policies that align with their comfort and safety, and hopefully the moderation to reinforce it. And it sucks if we pick the wrong one: shitty mods, toxic culture, or just a petri dish of grossness.

This wasn’t “just a migration” for a lot of people, self included. I lucked out on discovering an instance that was explicitly queer-friendly, anti-fascist, and so far has been a safe(r) space for people of color– but this would be my third time moving in my 6 years of using the Fediverse, and I may move again. So it goes.

Background radiation, indeed.

So, as always, Black people are having to carve their existence into a space. Like what we’ve done on Twitter and the many platforms before it. We’ve been finding each other and talking. We’ve been remembering servers come and gone and still holding on despite the insidious grip of casual racism. We’ve drawn boundaries. We’re comparing notes. We’ve been having dialogue. We are claiming space.

For Mastodon to not only supersede Twitter but to thrive in its own merit, it needs to not only listen to the vulnerable among us, but implement changes for a better Internet culture. The tools have been there, and so have been their highlighted shortcomings.

Now what will they make of it?

On why I just leave.

Posted on 2021-11-11

Albi

Two weeks ago, I had to leave an online space.

It was an oasis-in-a-desert type of online space. If you’re in a marginalized group, you know exactly the space I am talking about: the kind where it’s a safe haven, a group to contrast the harshness of the rest of the platform. No microaggressions (hopefully), calling in (as opposed to calling out) where it’s warranted (and the concerns actually heard), but most importantly: you get to be yourself.

In this instance, I was able to be Black without worrying about the white gaze; I could be unfiltered without creative code words to talk about my experiences.

Then the cishets ruined my chill. As usual.

As tempted as I am to relay in excruciating detail, I’ll hold my tongue on the specifics. Because honestly, I’ve done this song and dance too many times to not collapse it into one narrative. But one thing stood out to me about all this, is that this space tried.

They specifically noted in their guidelines that anti-queer sentiment was not tolerated. And yet, a post by a trans woman turned ugly real fast when a cisgender heterosexual man commented the usual transphobic notion that trans women might try to trick him into sleeping with them.

And the only people calling him out (and in my case, cussing him out) were other transgender people. The mods stepped in late into the game after the heavy lifting was already done. And after we used the dedicated venting space to, well, vent about this incident, the mods suggested we become mods ourselves.

Months later and that suggestion still bothers me. Because, holy shit, instead of taking out the fucking trash you gotta make your minority in a minority do your dirty work? You couldn’t do your own due diligence, as a mod and self-proclaimed ally, to clean up the mess your peers have made?

Listen.

I’m all for education. I’m all for people getting called out or in. I’m all for spaces that allow growth from being told bluntly or sweetly that you’re wrong, and this is why, and you should stop doing that.

But it’d be nice to let the rest of us know about it, first.

Because if I knew my membership dues were tolerating willful ignorance and sealioning under the guise of Educating Them, I would not have bothered joining.

Because if I knew this space was just going to be a sea of unchecked bigotry that I would have to wade through constantly because the moderators don’t care about the safety and well-being of all of their members, I would have scrolled past.

Because (and this has to be in threes), if you’re so committed to not throwing anyone out of the group, even if they have repeatedly spouted harmful rhetoric, even if they have repeatedly made the space unsafe for some members, then I would have told you to fuck off.

I am a fierce defender of the spaces I call mine.

While I do agree with spaces that are a little forgiving for people that don’t know better (or simply didn’t know), my tolerance tends to be lower than most for two reasons. Both have me occasionally clash with how some spaces are ran:

~~I’ve dealt with too much damn trolling to tolerate that bullshit~~ I’m more aware of common bad faith arguments and derailment techniques… and therefore have no patience for them, and
I’m a subscriber to Good is Not Nice. My interpretation is this: I won’t sugar coat my language, and I will certainly cuss your ass out if I get mad enough.

And for my spaces, I run them differently: there is room to grow but the safety of my members is paramount. And if a member is constantly making others unsafe or otherwise jeopardizes their well-being, well. They’ll just have to learn elsewhere.

It crystalizes into my first rule: No one’s safety is worth anyone else’s lessons.

And if a space appears to not adhere to this, I just leave. I fight too many battles as it is. Some, alone, and I don’t want to add another where the tide may be against me.

The last comment I replied to was somesuch bullshit about trans women. At this point he was a broken record of willful ignorance. I’ve lost track of my comments, and how many people have tried talking to him. And there were more like him that wouldn’t be thrown off the island, so to speak.

So I said, simply, “shut up.”

And I left the group.

FUCK TRUMP

But remember. We will have each other. Remember mutual aid, community, helping one another.

“Don’t panic. Organize!”