"Refusal is Black culture." - Kellie Carter Jackson
In 5th grade I punched a white boy named Daniel for calling me a Nigger. One moment we were laughing and playing, and the next, we were tussling in the dirt beneath the shadow of a tetherball pole, scratching and clawing at one another like two stray cats.
When I came home from school that day, the collar of my shirt stretched and falling below my clavicle, my Mama did not punish me. Although I had disobeyed her teachings on non-violence, she also instilled in us teachings on refusal, and she chose to exercise grace and understanding with me that evening.
"Refuse to let anyone treat you less than human - no one should ever put their feet on y'all, spit on y'all, nor call y'all the N-word,” she would say.
In the words of Kellie Carter Jackson, "Refusal is Black culture. It is our anthem, a mantra, a way of being...we refuse and we build ourselves up." Refusal, as Carter teaches, does not ask how but what, what was the outcome. It is a third, more nuanced option between violence and non-violence that acknowledges Black humanity full stop, and as such, does not falsely equivocate Black folks' justified responses to the white violence and white supremacy that spark them.
I was, as my Mama reinforced that evening with her tenderness, well within my right to refuse the proverbial “boot on my neck.”
The school did not see it the way my Mama saw it however, and Daniel and I were both suspended from school, forced to miss a water-themed "Field Day," the ultimate play party that took place on the last day of classes.
To this day, I still feel a tinge of resentment while telling this story, not because of Daniel’s actions despite him being my neighbor, teammate, and one of my closest friends at the time. I resent being robbed of play by whiteness, a pattern of oppression that continues to follow me (and other racialized folk like me) all throughout our lives.
Blackness as a Barrier to Play
Play is our life force. We come into this world intuiting how to play. Before we ever learn to speak a single word, we connect with others and the world around us through play. Play enables us to feel into the different shapes and textures of curiosity, exploration, gratification, joy, cause and effect, and collaboration for the very first time.
As we grow older, play evolves into eroticism. Esther Perel, well-known psychotherapist whose work is centered around the erotic, teaches the following:
Eroticism is not just about sex, but a broader sense of aliveness, vitality, and connection that can be cultivated in various aspects of life. It's about the spark, the mystery, the playfulness, and the sense of excitement that can be brought into a relationship and even into one's own life. Eroticism is trying new things, going new places, making new friends. It's a practice of exploration, curiosity, connection - not just physically, but energetically, emotionally, and psychologically.
Play is central to the human experience. Dutch historian Johan Huizinga described play “as a primary mode of our existence" (Wright, 2018). Our pull toward play is deeply ingrained in us and we must, to the extent that we are able, be allowed to tend to it for the sake of our aliveness.
However, we do not all arrive at play the same. And our relationship to play is a dynamic one. Our ability to play is impacted by the oppressive systems and forces of white supremacy, ableism, anti-Blackness/fatphobia, and transphobia under which we all exist.
For most Black folk, play is slowly wrestled from our hands and from our psyches over time, as was the case for Caster Semenya, a two-time Olympic gold medalist runner, who was barred from competing in the Tokyo Olympics due to an anti-Black, transphobic ruling that her testosterone levels were too high to compete with the other women.
For some Black folks, our bodies are ripped straight from the soft cradle of play itself, as was the case for 12-year-old Tamir Rice, who was shot and killed by Cleveland, Ohio police officer Timothy Loehmann on November 22, 2014. Tamir was playing with a toy gun at the Cudell Recreation Center when a witness called 911 to report “a man pointing a pistol at people.”
Unfortunately, for all Black folks, play can be transmuted from birthright to death knell in an instant, based on nothing more than the fleeting whims of white people.
In her essay titled, “Are We Free to Go? Anti-Black Racism and Its Impact on Black Play,” Kisha McPherson writes:
“The extent to which particular groups of people can openly engage in any play remains limited by and confined within the power structures and social order of society that maintain anti-Black racism.The actions and activities of Black people since the beginnings of colonialism in the West have been managed and monitored. Through various historical and contemporary structures of control—from slavery to modern policing in Canada and the United States—the freedom for Black people to participate in activities for the purpose of play are constantly surveilled and criminalized.”
Play is Political
I think white people play too much.
I’m not bullshitting. I see white people playing and wonder what could possibly be so funny when there’s so much work that they should be doing. It’s like seeing someone who owes you money post pictures on a lavish vacation. I see white people playing and I wonder where my fucking reparations are. I see white people playing and wonder where the fucking indigenous land-back fund is. I see white people playing and I want them to stop playing, quite literally and figuratively, in our faces.
Now let me be clear here: I am not against white people playing entirely; after all, play is our human life force. But white people's access to play does not occur in a vacuum. There is a direct, inverse correlation between the abundance of play available to white folks and the complete lack of play available to the rest of us. Underlying this conversation about hopscotch and double-dutch is a rather obvious and plain conversation about power and violence.
I'm reminded of James Baldwin's words, “The innocence constitutes the crime. [White people] are imprisoned by ignorance, trapped in a history which they do not understand; and until they understand it, they cannot be released from it.” I am willing to give white people the benefit of the doubt here. I refuse to believe that they would continue on playing like they do if they were privy to its impact on the rest of us.
Play is political and should never be engaged, by any of us, without at least a passing consideration for how systems of dominance violently erect gates around play for racialized folks, poor and working class folks, queer and trans folks. We must be critical of white people and play because play rooted in whiteness (and therefore violence, power and denial of other’s access to play) can literally never be benign.
When you consider all the things that Black folks have contributed to this world - radical thought and critical analysis, all genres of music, poetry, visual arts, language, fashion - despite being robbed of our access to play, it really goes to show that The Work and play are not actually mutually exclusive. Which means, if white people engaged in The Work of liberation, and fully rejected the power and violence of whiteness, instead of the rest of us shouldering the lions share, they could still have access to play and it would open up more access to play for the rest of us.
The Sandbox is Open; Enter With Intention
A pal recently compared community building to "playing in a sandbox." That analogy lights my spirit up because I can feel, smell and taste it.
When we play in a sandbox and engage in community building, we enter into both spaces of our own volition. And subsequently, we agree to a collective process of co-creating a subculture. It usually looks a little something like:
This is who is welcome.
This barrier is permeable; come and go as you please.
We share these beliefs/attitudes/values.
We collaborate.
We play.
We reach across differences.
We harm and repair.
We grieve and pick each other up in these ways.
The future that we imagine is nothing more than a sandbox that we are co-creating through deep care and deep rigor. Everything, including play, is political. So we must be intentional. Intention is everything. It provides the nutrients that allow our radical values to bloom into action and paint the landscape of this fucked-up-white-boys-world with vibrancy, to allow more play (read: freedom) for all of us.
Reflection Questions
How do you feel in your body right now? (Ex. heart racing, sweaty palms, lightness, relaxed)
What feelings might you attach to your body's sensations? (Ex. anger, resentment, relief, validation)
What do those feelings communicate about you? about your beliefs around Black people and play? around white people and play?
Do you need to be more rigor in your critique of your own access to play? Do you need to be more gentleness in your exploration of play?
How can you facilitate more play for others? for yourself?
To listen to a reading of the essay, click the video below:
Grateful for your thinking and curiosity. Play is indeed political. As a minoritized person, it’s a challenge in my own work to make room for play without the story of shame or selfishness creeping in.