Racism and misogyny never take a day off. On Leslie Jones, and my friend.

Racism and misogyny never take a day off. A good friend of mine recently decided to treat herself to a holiday, and so she went to a beautiful and supposedly liberal city in a Western European country. She was the only black person in her group of friends, and racism and misogyny conspired to taint her visit. While her white friends took in the sights and enjoyed their time off, she found herself incessantly subjected to all manner of indignities – everything from snide glances, to vocal expressions of contempt. Her experience was so unpleasant that, on one particular day, she said that she pretended she was ill, just so that she could stay inside and not have to face it. I can’t lie – the thought of my proud, brilliant friend forced indoors by such a torrent of prejudice is heartbreaking.

Some people will tell you to rise above racism and misogyny, but in many cities – most cities? – that’s the same as telling someone to walk barefoot on crushed glass and not get cut. Some people will tell you ignore the racists and the misogynists, but that’s not much of a comfort if you’re a black woman trying to building a career in Hollywood and you get daily hatred just for being visible. Leslie Jones and my friend are the same. They are just black women making lives for themselves, and maybe even enjoying themselves as they go. My friend just wanted a nice break, and racism ruined it. Leslie Jones just wanted to put out a feel-good movie, and racism forced her away from the Internet, where she should have been celebrating with appreciative fans.

I have regularly written that I hate writing about racism, and that has never been more true. I write about it from a sense of duty. I hate writing about it because it reminds me that it exists. I hate writing about it because every time I do write about it someone tries to comfort me by telling me that it’s not as bad as it was in the old days and that things are improving. That is probably about as comforting as being told that the acid someone splashed in your face could have been even stronger. The people who tell me that are the people who can go on holidays to those Western European cities and remain blissfully oblivious to the racial hatred so firmly embedded there. They are the same kind of people who will listen to my friend first with incredulity, then sympathy, and then barely-masked irritation when she tells them what she experienced just for having the nerve to be a black woman in public. Because their primary concern is not to make my friend feel better, but to make themselves feel better that the world in which they walk freely is not capable of being so monstrous as this suddenly troublesome black woman is making out. Because, for them, racism and misogyny are as simple to deal with as watching an atrocity on the evening news; they merely have to change a channel, and they no longer see them. But for my friend, and for Leslie Jones, the grim truth is that even when you do stop thinking about racism and misogyny, they don’t stop thinking about you.

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