DANCING IN THE RAIN
By: Debra Smith
Tags: Female Empowerment, Racism, Social Justice, Black Women, Kamala Harris

Photo by Diego Rosa on Unsplash

In an October 23, 2020, column in the Wall Street Journal, conservative speechwriter, and columnist Peggy Noonan, criticized VP elect Kamala Harris, for dancing in the rain to Mary J, Blige’s female empowerment anthem, That Work, at a campaign stop in Jacksonville, Florida.

She accused Ms. Harris of coming across as “insubstantial and frivolous,” and criticized her for “laughing a loud laugh.” This article appeared in print at a time when Ms. Noonan and others appeared to hold out hope for Donald Trump’s electoral field of dreams, before they died like wilting dandelions in the hot sun on Election Day.

When I first heard about this, my initial reaction was what gives Ms. Noonan the right to tell a grown A — woman she can’t laugh or dance when the music fills her with joy and the rhythm causes her sneaker clad feet to dance along to Mary J. Blige’s contagious song.

What gives her the right to control a black woman’s expression of joy? It would have made more sense if Ms. Noonan had criticized the content of Ms. Harris’ numerous speeches delivered when she was running for president or the substance of the Biden/Harris plan for America, which the nominees frequently discussed while they were on the campaign trail.

I know Kamala Harris is not afraid of Peggy Noonan, as sure as I know the bright sunlight of day chases away the darkest night. Kamala Harris was born for such a time as this. She fearlessly debated entitled white men on the national stage like a courageous warrior queen, and she boldly questioned judicial candidates who started to sweat before she opened her mouth to ask a single, soul-withering question.

If Kamala Harris wanted to, she could have used her brilliant words to reduce Peggy Noonan to dust, like the unlucky wicked witch of the east, who lost her life and ruby-red slippers when Dorothy’s house fell out of the sky and unceremoniously landed on her. Ms. Harris absolutely does not need my help to respond to petty disrespect.

Eventually, I realized that my anger at Ms. Noonan’s remarks stemmed from my own countless memories of hurt and outrage when white people tried to steal my joy. Living under the complicated, ensnaring grip of racism is the same as living with post-traumatic stress disorder. You carry in memory the trauma of a lifetime of psychic injuries sustained from racist assaults. You hear a phrase or smell a familiar scent, that transports you back in time to an injury or defeat you prayed would stay forever hidden in the mystery of memory.

Photo by Kingsley Osei-Abrah on Unsplash

The doctrine of white supremacy is not just about political and economic dominance; it is like a roaring lion seeking first to destroy the hearts, minds, and souls of black folk. White supremacy wants to control our joy. It cannot thrive or prosper unless it destroys the very essence of the people it oppresses. But if we control the rhythm of our own beating hearts and the ability to feel joy we arise to fight again and remain a threat to white supremacy and its proponents.

Ms. Noonan’s remarks sent me back to another place and time, where a white woman tried to steal my joy. Twenty years ago, I worked for a supervisor who subjected me to constant harassment, which included daily microagressions and gaslighting. She created assignments that were more like twisted scavenger hunts, where she engaged in active misdirection and withheld the vital information that would have allowed me to complete an assignment without the constant companions of stress and frustration.

The issue that finally pushed me over the edge was that every single time I planned a vacation she would create a fake crisis, which turned my efforts to leave for vacation into an obstacle course full of misery and grief. I knew her actions were intentional, because I could see the crazy gleam of satisfaction in her eyes when she realized I knew another vacation was dissolving into ruins. Unfortunately, I understood a system based on oppression was not going to denounce this woman’s campaign of terror.

The doctrine of white supremacy is grounded in deeply ingrained falsehoods that support the belief that nonwhites do not have the same value in society as white people. This allows white people to convince themselves that people of color are not entitled to exist peacefully in the spaces we have earned through hard work and education. Throughout history this doctrine has been used to support slavery and countless other atrocities.

My supervisor consumed by her own false notions of white superiority did not believe I was entitled to celebrate the ritual of vacation like my white co-workers. She harassed me in the office and was determined to deprive me of the right to leave it behind for a brief respite from the almost daily hell she created. When I finally confronted her about her racist behavior, she turned bright red and cried a river of blue-eyed tears. She insisted she was not racist, and claimed with false conviction, “Everyone who knows me, knows I’m not that way.”

Her behavior had its intended affect. I started to lose little pieces of me, until I almost disappeared. I was deeply ashamed that the need to support myself, bound me in complicity with a system that discriminated against people who looked like me and insisted on destroying the very things that made me unique. My self-esteem plummeted, my hair fell out in huge clumps, and my heart started beating rapidly, like I was running up a steep hill, even when I was sitting down. The stress of living under siege year after year took root in my body and created disease. Twenty years later I’m still in recovery searching for the missing pieces of me.

I think Peggy Noonan was disturbed when she saw a powerful black woman, dancing in the rain, and perhaps her deeply rooted, poisonous notions of white superiority whispered to her: How dare this black woman openly demonstrate her pure joy for the world to see.

Perhaps Ms. Noonan was afraid that Kamala’s joy would spread like wildfire, and women of African descent all over the world would hear Mary J. singing and start dancing in synchronicity until the towering edifice of white supremacy crumbled to the ground and left only dust in memory.

African American women and all women of color it is our time to rise up like sister-warriors and reclaim our birthright to joy and all the bounty that flows from the possession of joy. We must take back with authority what the devil has stolen through violence and deception. We must let the devil know he cannot possess our souls or control our hearts and minds. Our joy and its expression belong only to us.

Photo by Zach Vessels on Unsplash

In January on inauguration day, I want to celebrate the Biden-Harris victory. I want to feel the cool, healing raindrops fall on my skin and wash away the wounds and tears of a lifetime.

I want to dance unashamed in the rain with Kamala. I want to dance with unbridled joy, like King David danced before the Lord when the Ark of the Covenant was returned to its rightful place. I want to dance until the joy of the Lord falls all around me and peace comes over me, like a river overflowing. I want to dance until “justice rolls down like waters, and righteousness like a mighty stream.” I want to dance in the rain again and again…