Edit: Someone asked why some folks care whether black women's hearts feel when encountering non-black infants' pain. I tried to explain it.
I guess in summary: So white people get to mold our very souls and hearts, too? Uggh! I reject it! We don't have to become them at the heart level, I don't believe. One of my favorite things about black women is how much like God most of the ones I meet seem to be. Even in the face of it all. It's truly divine. Of corse, no one is like God. He is above all, and we're just human and all fall short. But black woman are so beautifully-hearted to me while being strategic.
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Original post:
I'll share why it concerns me, though I know it might cause me to get a lot of unkind replies. I'm just answering because the topic was brought up.
I won't return to this thread because I know how people are going to start replying at me. I apologize ahead of time for bothering people. I DON'T MEAN TO. I really like everyone and believe we are free to decide how to feel, even if you don't afford me the same freedom.
I'll answer with this illustration.
My 15-year-old niece: I went on the hair site you recommended.
Me: Great! Did you get assistance?
Niece: Yes, and I learned to hate and have hearts like white people, because if I care about a white infant, I won't have enough care in my heart left over to care for a black infant. Also, the deciding factor about whether I guard my heart and have the kind of thoughts and emotions and heart that God would have me to have is whether evil-hearted people express care for black infants.
Me: What?
Niece: Yes! And when white people's heart are unmoved by pain, it's because they're evil or unloving. When I do it, it's not because I'm reacting to who they are thereby letting them design me, but because I'm being smart. God likes this--my new unmoved heart at infants' pain. Because it's not possible to multitask -- to still feel at others' pain, put my efforts though into blacks, and raise issues of injustice. I must also turn my heart off to infants' pain.
Me: Ummm . . .