How Instagram helped me listen to Black (feminist) voices
I’ve been deep in thought the last week, since the murder of George Floyd. I have been non-stop on social media, and the internet, reading everything everyone has written and posted about Black Lives Matter.
I have been actively working to dismantle my own prejudices and biases for most of my adult life. I thought that I couldn’t possibly be biased or prejudiced because I am a BIPOC, and understood deeply the pain of racial discrimination and injustices, having been the recipient of racism in all its ugly shades. I also believed that I was a fierce feminist who understood that women, and women of color, non-binary people of color, have also been affected by the systemic racism and injustice. I thought I understood justice equity and economic equity.
I was wrong.
It started, maybe a few years ago (yes, I am admitting I still had a lot to learn fairly recently), when I noticed a young Black man looking at his phone on the bus. I didn’t mean to be staring at his phone but the bus was packed and there were only so many places I could comfortably focus my gaze on. I noticed that his feed consisted of mostly Black people. I thought to myself, huh, that doesn’t really look a lot like my feed. I wonder if my feed is full of Asian people? Then I started questioning. What is in my feed? Who is in my feed?
Because my social circle was already racially diverse, my feed was also racially diverse as far as friends went, but I realized in terms of the larger cultural narrative, I had not been following enough Black intellectuals, writers, journalists, celebrities or influencers. I had been following Asians who were making an effort to change the narrative around Asian stereotypes and perceptions, but I realized that the easy thing to do on Instagram had been to follow White influencers. White people with really beautiful homes. White people who traveled the world. White people who spent all their time outdoors with fancy outdoor gear. White people doing yoga. White feminists.
Then there’s ads. When I clicked on an ads by companies making athleisure clothing or swimsuits or outdoor apparel, I couldn’t help but notice the homogeneity in the narrative. White women posing with or in products with a sprinkle of Black or Brown women. Or Black/Brown/Asian women who were clearly hapa or mixed race, who had skin so light that they could nearly pass for being White. In any case, I couldn’t un-see the tone-deaf-ness in the marketing of all companies, big and small. They were still using token <insert non-white race> persons to justify their walls of White women on their instagram feed or online catalogue, perpetuating the narrative of the dominant race.
It shocked me even further that I was in my mid-thirties before I realized this was just plain wrong. I knew it was wrong but I didn’t really see how wrong. Seeing mostly White women represented in my online shopping was so normalized that I rarely questioned what I was looking at. I thought we were making progress because there were women of color represented at all, instead of questioning why there weren’t equal representation between all the ethnicities in marketing and media.
I want to take a pause here and be clear that saying all of this, and advocating for greater BIPOC narrative and Black Lives Matter, doesn’t mean that I am anti-White. I am anti-racist and anti-capitalism, so perhaps if you are a racist, or a capitalist who doesn’t understand the impact of your actions on BIPOC then perhaps I am anti-your-beliefs-and-behavior. I want to be clear that I am not advocating to erase the voice of White people, what I am advocating for is for there to be truly equal parts of everyone’s voices but the system we have built in the United States (and perhaps the greater Western world) does not allow for that to happen.
Once you see something, you can’t unsee it. It started pissing me off that ads were targeted at me, an Asian woman, for companies that did not represent my race sufficiently or if at all. It pissed me off even further that there weren’t enough Black women, period. For every 5 White models, there might be one Black model. I began to realize that I was being force-fed the lifestyles of affluent White folk, their furniture/gear/underwear/shoes/water bottles/hats/cashmere throws etc., because that’s what we’re meant to aspire to.
So, I started choosing where I spend my money based on how racially and socially equitable I perceived a company to be. I found small women-owned business operations like Nooworks, Altar, and Wildfang who not only showcase women of color but women with different body types. As far as big retail stores, I continued to shop at Uniqlo, a Japanese clothing manufacturer which has done decently with diversity though they also have room for improvement. I do have to give it to them for selling hijabs and fashion aimed at Muslim women, which I have not seen a large retail store do, ever.
I also started following more Black people on Instagram. Not that I hadn’t followed Black people on IG before, but I wanted to flood my personal feed with their voices. How am I to dismantle my own biases without changing who and what I’m listening to. The media is already full of White mainstream voices. Dr. Martin Luther King condemned the White moderate.
“First, I must confess that over the past few years I have been gravely disappointed with the white moderate. I have almost reached the regrettable conclusion that the Negro’s great stumbling block in his stride toward freedom is not the White Citizen’s Counciler or the Ku Klux Klanner, but the white moderate, who is more devoted to “order” than to justice; who prefers a negative peace which is the absence of tension to a positive peace which is the presence of justice; who constantly says: “I agree with you in the goal you seek, but I cannot agree with your methods of direct action”; who paternalistically believes he can set the timetable for another man’s freedom; who lives by a mythical concept of time and who constantly advises the Negro to wait for a “more convenient season.” Shallow understanding from people of good will is more frustrating than absolute misunderstanding from people of ill will. Lukewarm acceptance is much more bewildering than outright rejection.”
— Letter From a Birmingham Jail, 1963
(I also wrote a thing about why being a political moderate is not recommended)
The big aha moment for me was when I began following the hashtag, #blackfeminism on Instagram last year. That’s when I felt I had arrived at the sources of truth. I had heard somewhere before that we, as a country, have not achieved freedom for all until Black womxn were free, because Black womxn are the most vulnerable people in society. So, as late in the game as it felt, I started listening to the voices of Black women.
It may sound silly that the growth in my progressivism had something to do with Instagram (though of course it wasn’t just Instagram, I have been fortunate to be immersed in progressive culture/discourse living in Portland), but because so many people are on that platform, I want to challenge and encourage others to consider the same questions I asked myself. What does my feed look like? Do I follow enough people that are different from me? Do I follow enough Black thought leaders, hashtags that would allow me to learn and hear the voices of people who have been historically and continue to be oppressed in our society?
If Instagram happens to be a platform you spend a lot of time in, I hope you can take the time to dismantle the biases in your own feed.
