Lady Phyll pens letter to Black womxn for Queer Britain
Lady Phyll for Queer Britain: A Letter to Young Black Womxn
born in babylon
both nonwhite and woman
what did i see to be except myself?
– from “song at midnight” by Lucille Clifton
Many years ago, before my daughter, UK Black Pride and refused honours from the Queen, I was a young Black girl watching wide-eyed as white supremacists marched down the high street near my house. I was ushered into a shop, a watchful woman pushing hard against my elbow and giving me a quick and stern look I’ve come to know well. I remember this moment because of its brazen energy. White men marching with such pride and rage is an image that strikes at the core of Black people. Whether on British high streets in the middle of the day or by torch light in the Southern states, we inherently understand this spectacle as one of immediate and ancestral danger, as if imprinted on our DNA.
It’s been a long time since that march, though the danger of our current moment suggests a meaningful and global reckoning is of great urgency. White men (and women, in their specific ways) might not march down streets (as often?), but white supremacy and its poisonous tentacles are responsible for much of what we’re experiencing and bearing witness to now. We’ve seen anti-Black racism embedded, entrenched even, in our political, social and cultural institutions, and we’ve heard the rise in divisive and dog-whistle language that calls for a return to a distant past when Britain was apparently more white, more pure, more British. But to speak only of white supremacy and the attendant delusions of white people would do a disservice to Black people, queer Black people and Black womxn, to whom this letter is addressed. We are much more than the structures they uphold to minimise us.
So let me make this personal, a potent distillation of my lived experience offered as a tonic to any uncertainty or doubt you may feel right now. I remember grabbing at the sides of my stomach, as I examined both my skin and my figure in the mirror in my bedroom after a day full of taunts at school. Left in the mouths of white children, I would have been devoured by self-hate. Like Audre Lorde, I would have to create, know, love and define myself for myself and that would take a steely and defiant toughness rooted in vulnerability, compassion and knowledge. I would have to discard what the world told me about myself, knowing that the messages were dripping in anti-Blackness, misogynoir and sexism; in a history of racist science, medicine and philosophy; and in the insecurities white people project onto our bodies because of their inability to see themselves. It would take me, and will take you, an active pursuit into the essence of multiple Blacknesses – our cultures, our histories and our triumphs – after which I would emerge, as you will, into an unapologetic appreciation for and devotion to my Black body and those of others, in all the ways they show up in the world.
My biggest and most enduring transformations have taken place under cover of night, silk and tenderness, and as Black womxn have given to me, so I have given so freely in return. The symbiotic and determined love that Black womxn give each other is both magic and hard work. It lights up our skies and casts others into shadows. Together, we conjure up the energy necessary to not only survive in an anti-Black world, but to thrive and with love. So when Lucille Clifton writes in “song at midnight”, “come celebrate / with me that everyday / something has tried to kill me / and has failed”, I give thanks that in a world that so often tries to crush us, I’ve found such comfort and healing in the arms of Black womxn.
As you learn to love yourself and others in ways that are impossible to capture in words, you’ll see the world around you transform. Which is not to say that it won’t still be bad (I am, after all, writing this letter to you at a time of a rise in blatantly racist and anti-Black rhetoric), rather that you’ll be able to convene around you those who will lift you up and act as your battalion. They will protect you, fight for you, stand up for you. They will come to you in the dead of night and drink wine with you. They will babysit your daughter as you work an extra shift to make sure she has a new school uniform. They will hold you as anger pulses through your body after you experience the racism of white gays and lesbians in spaces they call “safe”. And they will be front row at the event you build for other queer Black and brown people to celebrate themselves. They won’t always and only be Black womxn, but many of them will be, and you will learn that no matter the circumstance, the mistake or the success, you will have surrounded yourself with those you’ve loved hard. Love hard.
You will learn to love your body as you fall into the arms of yourself, which is to say, you’ll love yourself as fiercely as other Black womxn will love you. You will learn that you have within you an endless reserve of energy and patience for women like you. You will learn to cast that net of generosity further, and you will fight for others who also walk down the street harassed and defiant in the face of red-faced rage. You will have some very bad days. You will look up into the night sky and long for the distance the stars taunt you with. You will want to crawl into yourself, make yourself small and think it better you don’t exist. And you will survive it because you will come to understand yourself as bigger than these moments of despair (which are natural).
As you begin to understand the power of your hips and the strength in your shoulders, you’ll discover that your body is a symbol of resilience, hope and fortitude for you and for others. You’ll learn that the history of Black fists raised in defiance is a history you know intimately, one deep in your bones, because it’s a history marked by fierce Black womxn who refused to be silent or to accept the scraps the world cast them because they knew that they had every right to live in a world worthy of their being. You are a marvel, a wonder, a feat of divine engineering and if you don’t know that right now, you will. You are a fortress and a being of unyielding tenderness. The skin you once tried to scrub off is laced with diamonds, magic and teflon; and your body is a temple, sacrosanct and testament to the survivors who brought you here.
I love you, and if you haven’t heard that often, you will. I assure you, as sure as I know my heart beats gently in my chest as I write this, that there is a world of people out here who are rooting for you. I am rooting for you.
In love and unity,
Lady Phyll
This letter forms part of a campaign between Queer Britain, Levi’s and the Post Office to capture untold stories about LGBTQ people across the UK. Find out more here.