Tonight I (mistakenly) glanced at the news on TV. The jaw-dropping headlines:
Syrian Kurds NOT invited at Peace Talks.
EU Scolds Greece for Irresponsibility in Migrant Crisis.
So remember when all that Yale controversy was going down last Fall, you know, with the black students?
I was all like YES! THIS!!!! and got shocked that even one of my usual (black, yalie)-allies dared to try to tell the smart young rebels of color at yale to “sit down and shut up” in so many words… then I was like 👏🏿👏🏿👏🏿 to another yalie I didn’t even know that well in school who told a moving personal story about racism, racial profiling, and shaming at one of yale’s libraries. that resonated strongly w/ my experience at yale. I fucking hated that place that much is clear already. but why?
at that time I just was like so certain and so fired up, emotional, proud, relieved… that it wasn’t that I couldn’t find the words to express myself as much as it was that I was feeling the movement so intensely I couldn’t slow down to recollect and hear my own actual and painful stories, one by one, from my time at Yale. I tried to kill myself there. I dropped that burden finally last year in an xojane article, so that’s public already.
