I don’t like having to elbow my way into a conversation. At the same time, the feeling of being treated as inferior and invisible is maddening. I am sick of all the empty and hallow DEI talk by administrators, law schools, and universities. That doesn’t even begin to touch the surface of the day to day racism I face as result of my mere existence. I just dropped off the ABA CRT and Academic Freedom webinar because I just have to process my morning commute. The webinar is not being recorded, but I don’t care, because I live it everyday 24/7/365.
This morning as I was driving my kids to school, a guy with a bumper stick that said, “Joe & the Ho Gotta Go” with a tractor trailer on the back tried to drive into my lane instead of waiting for his turn to merge. It was my lane. I had the road. I had to swerve off of the road to avoid colliding with his van. Like he literally thought it was okay to drive me off of the road. Since he forced himself in front of me, I just waited my turn. I didn’t want to drive behind, because he was going 15-20 mph below the speed limit with his rickety van and messed up trailer. I also didn’t want to have the trailer have things fly off and on to my vehicle. But when he drove in front of me I didn’t have a choice.
Five years ago, this type of incident would have seriously upset me. I would have been unnerved.
But I know the driver thinks that the because Trump had an election stolen from him, it’s okay to try and drive me off of the road. I have studied the psychology of these people very well. I know what racists look like, how they hide, how the try to ruffle feathers. I won’t let it get to me.
As soon I was about to overtake him after the two lanes merged into one lane and then opened back up into two lanes, I had my bird finger waiting to show him. He had an angry scowl on his face. I just glanced briefly. He had his middle finger up, too. I don’t think he expected that from me. I barely glanced to look at him. But he was gone. Gone from the rearview. And just gone. Maybe I will take a different route tomorrow. That’s not how my mom would have handled it, but my sister would have done the same plus probably honked the horn 50 times at him.
All in a Day’s Commute for the Not So Secret Kamala Harris Operative.
People think I am a Secret Kamala Harris Operative. That would be news to me, but I actually fit the profile of Kamala Harris operative.
Instead of “I am speaking. I am speaking.”
It’s “I am driving. I am driving.”