Why It’s Time to Retire The “I Don’t Talk Politics” Bit

I grew up speaking one language and writing and reading in another. It went like this. Somali was for conversation, Arabic was for studying the Qu’ran. This was typical in most Muslim households where Arabic was not the native tongue.  When I relocated to Jersey City with my family in the ‘90s, English became the first language that I would learn to read, write, and speak. I was good with languages, mostly due to my fascination with literature, but the euphemisms and other American sayings were confusing to me. The first time I heard the phrase, “We don’t talk politics at the dinner table,” I was in high school. By that time, I had overcome my ignorance on the regional colloquialisms.  Still, I was taken aback by this prescriptive yet subtle choice of words. Later, this phrase would extend to religion and sex. More things that we do not talk about.  I began interrogating, on an internal level, what these politics were about. This led me down a rabbit hole that culminated with a degree in Political Science, and yet this phrase, “I don’t talk politics,” still perplexes me.

Right now, we are in the midst of a historical moment where Black people are being murdered in the streets (and even their own homes) by the police.  Dare I say, it is time to talk politics.

Censorship and Language

Conservatism takes many forms,  perhaps, there is no greater form than the policing of language. In Somali culture, there are few parameters placed on the discussion of public issues, like voting, equality, racism, and socio-economics. As a result, I grew up feeling free to speak my mind about the tribalism that has torn my country apart. For my American friends, this was not the case.

By the time I had entered college, I had friends who practiced their political affiliations based on whether or not their parents voted Republican or Democrat. I wondered what was the lesson there? What were the issues or policies being presented to my peers? Speaking on matters that impact our lives has never seemed political to me. {Here, offer what is has meant to you.  For example, “It was normal to discuss politics and question things that I sensed were not fair; it was all a part of learning.”]  I yearned to be informed and take a stance by tending to my education. Not talking politics is impossible.  Moreover, not talking politics has more to do with language than censorship.

I am not speaking of the censorship that was imposed on rap music in the ‘90s. Though that is a very literal manifestation of the way we police language. The truth is, America has a long history of censorship that was spawned by the evolution of mass media and the advent of the internet. But this is not about that kind of censorship. It’s an investigation into how the language we use in our homes relates to the way we perceive the events that unravel before us, specifically on our screens. It is about how some people can watch a man get murdered live on television or their computer or their smart device, and not be moved to articulate the violence and the injustice that they have witnessed. When I hear people say “I don’t talk politics”, in light of police brutality, I hear something different. Something far more dangerous.  I hear apathy.

A culture of apathy breeds systems that perpetuate injustices that go unnoticed. Injustices that go unnoticed become cancers that are no longer benign. Benign tumors are not prone to taking human lives unless they become malignant and enter our vital structures. Malignant tumors have cancerous cells that spread to other organs and tissues. That is where we are as a society. We are dealing with a cancer that we can no longer ignore.  And so, we must tend to our vital structures in our home. We must ask ourselves what we are not talking about behind closed doors before we confront the nuances and the gravity of the civil unrest that has us protesting in the streets.

Silence is Political, Black Lives Are Not

One of my favorite signs to hold up is “Silence is Violence.”  The language here cuts through. So what does silence refer to? For me, the silence is a reflection of how we politicalize human rights issues to offer a comfortable perspective. I must point out that this comfort does not extend to Black people or People of Color for that matter. It is a white comfort. I recall the times I have spoken about this to my white friends, they’re appalled when I dissect my experiences and relay it to them. “I had no idea. I am sorry that you feel this way.” “I am sorry that has happened to you.” I would like to unpack that.

Black people have language for this because it is in our everyday experience. We are intimate with this. It is not a new phenomenon that needs to be studied, nor is it something we have control over. It is in our homes. It is exhausting. We know that. We know how emotionally draining it is to talk about race and othering and injustices. But this is a reality, and just because it is being faced by a certain group of people does not take away from the collective humanity. Racism impacts us all. The fabric of our society can only be balanced by equity. Equity cannot happen if a society is filled with apathetic silence.  If there are members of society who feel that they can opt out of these conversations, it will not only delay progress and the fight for equity, it will hinder it.  Shying away from these conversations, calling them non-issues makes it tolerable.  This removes the humanity of it all.

I met a woman from Texas recently who remarked that she does not talk politics to friends when the topic of the protests came up. This is where the violence part of “Silence is Violence” comes into light. This is the difference between life and death for George Floyd. This is where those eight minutes and forty-six seconds count. That window of silence that allowed for a man to be murdered in public by a police officer, while fellow officers remained in silent compliance. Black lives are not political. I come from a country with a history of political and social violence, and I can say that no life should be political. Black people are not disposable. We are not a non-factor. We are not an inconvenient truth that is better off not being talked about. We are not an amendment that needs to be written into the books to ensure our freedom. Black children are not a liability. Blackness is not bi-partisan. Blackness is not something to be feared or controlled or policed.

Let’s consider what is political. Voting is political. Running for office is political. Lobbying is political. When Koch Industries funds campaigns in the interest of big oil and conducts studies at their Think Tank Americans for Prosperity, studies that are stark in opposition to climate change, that is political. Black lives are not political, and letting Black lives fall on the spectrum of politics is harmful because it does two things. First, it removes the human element, making it impossible for a Black person to be seen. Second, it negates any promise of accountability. How can an officer be charged if no one is bearing the responsibility for ending a Black life? How can it matter if the issue is tucked under a comfortable blanket of “we don’t go there.” But we do go there. We’re already there. This is happening right now. The camera on George Floyd may be off, but  the recording is still going. The lens just shifted to Rayshard Brooks. It went to Atlanta next. And until we start talking about it, it will keep spreading. The cancer will continue to grow.

A Better Way to Connect

For years, we have been adjusting language to better capture the complexities of our rich culture and people. Consider the  LGBTQIA movement. How we are shifting to be more inclusive when talking about sexuality and the way we think about gender. Recently, the acronym PoC has been extended to include Black and indigenous peoples (BIPOC). There is no doubt that language, when given the flexibility, can be very powerful. I am not saying that we need to change our personality or our character. I am not advocating that you become loud or obnoxious or inconsiderate of other people’s ideas. What I am saying is opening up our vocabulary allows for better discourse. Productive and compassionate discourse. Not talking politics is limiting. Whether we like it or not, politics is in everything. We are governed by it. We are informed by it. Some benefit from it while others suffer at the hands of it.

I advocate for an America that does not shy away from the harsh reality of injustice. A place where people can come together and talk frankly about their experiences without having the luxury to turn a blind eye to inequality. When we begin communicating this way, we can head towards connecting rather than. We can reach across the table and acknowledge the suffering of one another. Most of all, this will render silence impossible.  Because when people begin to connect, they see each other. When I see you, you become real to me. When I  become real to you, we can leave the politics for the lobbyists. Instead, we can commit to keeping each other safe. There is a caveat though. There will be discomfort for white people. But that is just a small part of it, and justice for Black people is not about making white people feel comfortable.  Watching Black men die, men who resemble my little brothers, is more than uncomfortable. Fearing for my life as a young woman traveling alone during a contentious time, is uncomfortable. However, silence is the loudest form of discomfort.  That’s why it’s always time to talk about these things, even if you think it’s just politics.