The Awkwardness of White Joy
I’m glad you’re trying to figure it out, but where the hell have you been all this time?
Four days later, the results were final. Joe Biden and Kamala Harris were in. Donald Trump and Mike Pence were out.
I spent that Saturday morning sifting through the latest updates while watching the coverage and joining the chatter on Twitter (yes, the Black one).
When the news hit, I watched Black joy in the form of GIFs, memes, and clever takes. We laughed while embracing all of our pettiness, mocking the racist cartoon Trump and his MAGA supporters had become in the wake of their loss.
I watched the joy of Black women.
I watched the joy of Brown women.
I watched the joy of AKAs.
I watched the joy of women and men who attend(ed) HBCUs.
I watched a collective release. An exhale of the stress and anger that simmers and boils over from Black folks’ collective souls onto the collective conscience of America.
Black joy has flair. It has a style and a heft that reflects all the resilience necessary to survive often unhappy situations, and even pull happiness from them. Every smile and laugh is earned.
