Allow us the space to grieve.

I completely acknowledge that Kamala Harris was far from the perfect candidate. My views on her are not a secret. Neither is my vehement disdain for everything Donald Trump has stood for throughout his election cycles and presidency. We can spend hours theorizing about what might’ve been the final nail in Harris’s coffin, but through all of it, please remember to give us, Black women, the space to grieve.

Before I get into it, know that I’m staunchly opposed to the people who are now revealing that they never cared about Palestine explicitly or advertising themselves as disregarding boycotts, being Islamophobic, hateful towards Arab people, laughing at Latinos getting deported, and overall showing themselves to be hateful and bigoted because their candidate lost. I am not speaking for or to these people. These people don’t represent anything I stand for and I’m disappointed that so many I’ve seen participate in such behavior are Black.

I’ve watched take after take roll across my Substack notes feed and Tiktok FYP. I’ve been bombarded with opinions in analog life and overwhelmed by the news of a second Trump term. Among all the takes and quips, perhaps the most understated is the necessity of allowing Black women our emotions. Up to 91% of Black women voters are grieving a future they dreamed of, fundraised for, organized for, and prayed for. 91% of them are yet again realizing how much this country is willing to give up at a cost to our lives. I’ve seen more Black women cry across my Tiktok FYP in the past few days than I’ve seen throughout my entire time using the app. Trans Black women especially, who are now processing what the next four years mean for them, are doing so with perhaps the heaviest hearts out of all of us.

And yes, I understand that we shouldn’t be striving to have the highest “powers to nuke the Middle East,” yet the reality is that people voted against our interests, our safety, and our peace of mind—even if it was just going to be a figment. People voted against us and that weight is a considerable one to bear. As Black women, we understand that the regression of this nation will always affect us the most. When our society moves backward, we get trampled on. Black women understand that when there are calls to control, exclude, and brutalize, our bodies will always be on the line. Even those of us who critiqued Harris through her campaign, like myself, understand the weight of this decision and some of us are feeling the rejection on a personal level. Allow us the space to grieve.

We shouldn’t be using Trump’s felony counts to justify why his place is not in the White House, yes. Still, it’s surprising this nation, which proudly proclaims its love for cops and refuses to rehabilitate a majority of the incarcerated population just elected someone who represents everything it claims to stand against. To many, Harris’s loss represents all the times we have overworked ourselves to be overqualified only to be overlooked. And our hope, that this time would be different, slowly collapsed as we watched through a long night or shattered in an instant when the news hit us, but either way, we bowed our heads in pain and cried.

When I woke up Wednesday morning and heard the news, I was surprised. I’m not one of those who “knew it all along”—I was fucking surprised. Kamala Harris did not represent much of what I stand for, but her loss to someone so…repugnant shook me. Likely, my internet silo did not allow me to see what was clear as day, but I could’ve never guessed that this man would be chosen against a woman who molded herself into what this nation claims it wants. I’m not naive enough to forget that misogynoir is the lens through which many of us are seen, but I hoped—hoped that the xenophobia, racism, sexism, and overall vulgarity were all more than enough to keep him out. I expected to be hurling critiques at her for the next four years and now…

Many have said this, but I’ll restate: the first time Trump was elected, I could be convinced that people didn’t know what they were voting for, but now—now the reality that we are surrounded by people who just couldn’t give a damn about us is unavoidable. As a Black queer woman, an immigrant, who considers her politics to be much more left-leaning than any of the proposed Harris policies, I am still hurt. I am still hurt that this country chose to elect a misogynistic, xenophobic, racist over Harris. And yes, maybe it was the economy, or maybe it was her insistence on rejecting the democratic base and the values they care for, or maybe her appeal to conservatives, or maybe her fierce defense of this country’s genocidal policies, or maybe it is everything that people are postulating and more, but all of that alone is insufficient when we don’t acknowledge that this country hates Black women. It loves our labor and our suffering, but it hates us.

It would be foolish to say that I did not understand why so many Black women have shed tears, are incredulous—angered—by the choice this nation has made because I too am angry, incredulous, and have shed my share of tears in the past few days because I understand that if this nation is committed to anything it’s upholding white supremacy. So yes, I understand that we shouldn’t strive to win the imperial game of white supremacist thrones—that’s very clear. But this choice, tens of millions of people choosing him over her is still fucked up, it feels shitty, and telling us to stop crying isn’t going to make it hurt less. So please, allow us the space to grieve.

We, as Black women, were never meant to win during this election cycle. Even if Kamala Harris was elected, it would’ve meant very little for our liberation in a country that has used Black labor and suffering as seed capital. The reality we are now faced with is perhaps worse, but many see it as a mere continuation of all that Black women have had to endure historically. Still, some of us have processed this as a personal rejection—aware of the looming unraveling that will follow the second term of that man. I’ve heard other Black women, more radical than I, say they are not grieving because they’re aware of the position we hold in this country and see this as a moment of preparation, a time to organize. I salute those women and wish this didn’t impact me as much as it has. Some are mocking us or invalidating our need to grieve. To those people, I say congratulations, you have won brownie points for being the most obnoxious and least compassionate in the room.

I’m writing for those grieving, who need time, and who don’t necessarily feel powerless, but immobilized with shock.

To suggest that we shouldn’t be impacted by this historically alarming moment is ignoring the position we were placed in during this election cycle. The Democratic Party has used Black women as champions for their cause for as far as I’ve been politically aware. This time around, we were put on the front lines as scapegoats. The weaponization of our experiences, hopes, dreams, and safety was heightened as we were placed directly at the forefront of critiques hurled at the party. Democrats are far from radical. Bernie Sanders himself has criticized their inability to reach working-class Americans and insistence on being increasingly pro-elite, pro-establishment—stances that impact the many Black women living in poverty, paycheck to paycheck, and otherwise outside the middle to upper-class ranges truly served by the party.

Yet, this time we have been compelled to take up defense for a candidate that is far from what we needed. Throughout the Harris campaign, the Democratic Party succeeded, yet again, in conflating Black womanhood with their politics. They succeeded in making being pro-Black women, pro-defense and protection of Black women, synonymous with supporting their election bid. I saw the many critics of Harris—myself included—having to defend our opinions with caveat after caveat that 1) we were pro-Black women and 2) we were anti-Trump. At the same time, I watched as some “critiques” degenerated into naked displays of misogynoir. That was by design. Democrats knew that putting her up against such an abhorrent figure would leave many with no choice but to pick up metaphorical arms in defense of such a lukewarm figurehead. They made her mean something to us (someone said they tried to “Obama-fy” her and I think that’s a perfect description of exactly what happened). Through this election cycle, we saw the conflation of Black womanhood with support for Kamala Harris and those of us who knew better—who knew that she was not our ideal candidate, who knew that she was far from representing the spectrum of Black women, and the politics that truly stand for us—were forced to come out and defend our collective right to be stunned by this moment. Despite looking like police state apologists, despite it going against our critiques of her, we took up the mantle of validating our right to grieve because we all know that this election of DJT meant more than just a simple changing of the guard. We understand the subtext. We it carries significance beyond Biden’s economic policies because we understand what it is like to be a Black woman in this country. Yes, Harris may not represent my politics even the slightest, but willfully ignoring why so many of us would be hurt at this moment is intentionally avoiding the position we, as Black women, were put in during this election cycle.

If you’ve made it this far, thank you. Holding your time and attention means a lot to me. I can’t promise that all my letters will feel or sound exactly like this, but if you are open to receiving whatever I can give, I invite you to stay. — ana