My friends and I had been looking forward to this weekend for a long time. Our homegirl who had left for South Africa last year had graduated there, traveled across the continent teaching and working with the UN, and was now coming back home before heading to New York to start a masters' program in international relations at NYU. Did I mention she's only 23?? We were all so happy and proud, and excited to have a homecoming party for her. My friend is also of Arab/Jewish descent, and her identity has become an issue in our circle of friends.
My entire life, I've had wonderful friends of diverse backgrounds. I've always been proud of who I am and I know my history, and I'm secure with my identity. So I never felt my Blackness was diminished by having friends of different backgrounds. Sometimes I get together with my friends of all races, other times I'm in gatherings that are strictly Black. That's how I was raised, and I'm sorry to say that when I went off to college in San Francisco, joined the BSU and started taking Black Studies classes, it was the main reason people made fun of me in our rather segregated school.
It was at school that I met my friend Halima, an international relations major. She was taking Black Studies classes because she wanted the focus of her life's work to be in Africa, particularly North Africa where her family's roots are. She was kind, informed, and very driven, and she was soon part of our circle of mostly Black girls. A few of the girls took offense to this. One of my other good friends, who is from SL, was particularly infuriated by her presence in our group. When she thought of people of Arab descent, she saw Africa's colonization, and wanted nothing to do with them. She wanted Halima gone, and said that "if we were born in Africa, we would understand". Every conversation became not about this woman's character, but the history of the continent, and the strained relations between African and Arab people. A couple of our other friends felt the same, and began ganging up against her. She was not welcome at gatherings, and those of us who chose to stay friends with her had our Blackness and our loyalty questioned. We were, according to one friend, "on that multicultural shit."
It was ugly. But Halima handled it with grace. She ignored what the girls said, and was kind to them whenever we were all together in social situations. We all continued to cultivate our friendship (it was Halima who hosted that beautiful trip we took up to Humboldt county last summer), and ignored what others said. It was fine, but it created a group of girlfriends that was in many ways divided.
Friday, Halima returned from abroad. We'd been planning her homecoming for awhile. We would pick her up from the airport, then go to another friends house for a sleepover, go to a festival in Oakland the next day, and then dinner and drinks at our favorite African restaurant at night. We were ready to party! Everything started out beautifully: Halima brought us back wonderful gifts from Morocco, we stayed up late dancing and talking, then started the new day with tea, incense, and yoga. But something else was brewing.
Our friend from Sierra Leone had called the night before during the sleepover, wanting to know why she hadn't been invited. Did I have to point out the obvious? "You don't even like her!" Is what I was thinking. But I didn't say so. I knew the drill. The girls did this whenever we had gatherings with Halima where they wouldn't be included. If it was something particularly fun and they felt left out, they would turn sugary sweet towards her so they would have an excuse to show up and be part of things. "Put Halima on the phone," my friend said. I did, and she welcomed her back and told her she missed her...it sucked, but it was nothing new. Then when the phone was given back to me, she said she would meet us at the festival tomorrow and then come to the restaurant too. Halima quietly said she was tired of the fakeness, and we agreed with her. Either you like someone or you don't.
When we got to the festival, our friends who always talked about this woman welcomed her with open arms. It didn't feel tense, because it's what always happened. We had a wonderful time at the festival, and it seemed everything was normal, until it was time to go back to our friend's house to get ready to go out. We found out that not only would the friend from SL be joining us, so would our other friend who disliked Halima. We drove back to my friend's house, all of us chattering up a storm. When we pulled into the driveway, Halima made her first attempt at putting her foot down. "Will you be driving K back home now?" She asked. K was confused. "No, I thought I was going with you guys to the restaurant," she replied. "I brought my heels and everything!" Halima replied, "you know, I've been gone for a year, and I would really like this gathering to be just people who truly have love for me. I don't want to deal with any fake stuff tonight. I've been looking forward to this for months." A valid point, I thought. And I could tell this was about to get ugly. K's reply was that she had always had love for Halima, and that maybe there was some kind of misunderstanding. They started to go back and forth. I took that opportunity to get out of the car and call our other two friends who were on their way in a separate car. My friend picked up the phone. I told her about the argument, and that maybe it was better if our other friend didn't come. She told me she was just coming to hang out in the house, not the restaurant. Okay. Halima and K get out of the car, still arguing about K's true feelings towards Halima. Then we add our other friend who dislikes to that mix, and we're all heading upstairs to my friend's studio apartment. Bad idea.
While the two girls stayed in the kitchen, Halima curled up in a fetal position on the bed. She was so upset. "Not today," she kept saying. I coaxed her to get ready, people would be waiting for us at the restaurant. I finally got her into the shower. I offered K a ride, but the girls were not budging. They stayed in the kitchen talking to my other friend. Then Halima got out of the shower and went to the closet to change, and K lost her temper. She began to yell, telling Halima she didn't belong, calling her abusive names to horrible to repeat. Halima cried, and kept yelling back, "not tonight! We can talk about this any other time but not tonight!" but K kept going, insisting this was her friend's house, and she would speak her piece now. By this time everyone in the room was begging her to stop. She kept going until I said that was enough, it was time to go. She was so busy yelling she hadn't noticed I had gathered her things. I handed her her jacket, and she reacted with a mixture of shock, and wounded pride. She held back tears as I told her I would drive her to the subway station. As we drove, she angrily told me how this privileged White woman had come in and broken up a group of Black sisters. She was offended at being removed from the house, that we were "choosing" Halima over her. And she was angry at me for being the one to tell her to go. The whole thing was ugly, and it made me cry too. To see a person treated with so much disrespect, and to see prejudice and hatred that had been festering for so long explode in such a negative fashion...
Unfortunately I see this kind of behavior quite a bit in the Black community, at least in the circles I'm in. What happened with us was an extreme example, but I often encounter folks who think it's okay to mistreat folks of other races, as if they are not worth simple respect just because they aren't Black. I understand wanting some things/functions to be for Black folks only, but there's a graceful and respectful way to articulate that. It's also very unfair to try and force your views on someone else by peer pressuring them to associate only with their own race, and question their pride if they choose to do otherwise.
Some of my friends are angry at me for reacting the way that I did, but I will no longer be stifled by other people's insecurities and prejudice. I'm proud of who I am, and I'm proud of the people I call friends.