I’ve been wanting to write for a very long time. It feels like it has been a lifetime. In truth, it may have been. 

The life we’ve known is dead. Witnessing the downfall of the American lie hasn’t garnished the feeling I imagined it would. You know when you see someone you never liked fall, but you’ve been so invested in the  journey that there is a sense of loss, although it is exactly what you know is needed? 

Like, when you knew someone would pass away and you think you’re ready, and you are?

When it actually happens, there are moments that are surreal. As you watch others experience the loss; some are blissfully unaware of the consequences and carry on pretending everything is the same. Some are almost unreasonably devastated, as if they never thought death could happen. Others are numb, while a few are outraged at the injustice of the circumstances. Even when the particular circumstance was written on the walls. Watching the disbelief is more than disheartening. 

I’m not talking about “democracy.” I’m talking about the myth of whiteness. 

The lies behind capitalism. The truth about the American Dream. Most honestly, the way we have conducted the systems of democracy are suspect. Our society is the epitome of, “If you say it with confidence, they will believe you.”

If they don’t believe you, make them suffer, and they eventually will fall into place. 

Are they having an identity crisis? The intense questioning and uncertainty about one’s sense of self, values and purpose. It would certainly seem so. The question for me is more than what they seem to be discovering about themselves, and how they are handling it, but more so where the strength, collective wisdom and courage it takes to endure this level of rapid degeneration of perceived moral integrity will come from.   

I hate to be the bearer of bad news: It’s the same strength, collective wisdom and courage it took to look at themselves deeply when the opportunity hit them over the head in recent years, like 1992, 9/11 in 2001, 2016, 2020, 2024, etc., etc., etc. 

Yet, those of us who have been fighting for the right to exist free of the psychological anguish of perfection in code-switching. Free from the physical torment of navigating to what degree our skin tone offended any one in control of our housing, our education, our access to clean water or food. Free from the emotional toll it takes to realize and distance yourself from your life long “bestie,” believing and expressing that they thought you were just “one of the good ones.” What should we do now? 

The oppressive and ruthless system is crumbling, and our hands are free. I’m an idealistic person, and I want to believe we will reach out for those of us that have historically been pitted against each other. I hope that we, like them, see the lies that have fed our compliance. The truth being clear. We are connected through a common thread of birth, loss and regeneration that mocks the hatred and absurdity of the American Dream. 

My position is not for everyone. As this myth falls, recognize what breaks free. I wouldn’t try to tie it back. It’s time to start from a deep place of humility. For us, these moments are filled with affirmation. Enough affirmation to let it stand, let it be. Yes, we knew, yes, we tried. Yes, we are tired. It’s time to let our collective story heal. For them, let us hope they do not shrink from the pain revealed by the uncovering of their truest selves. That their eyes are opened to how many ways their complacency echoed into others’ torment. That they cannot separate themselves by virtue and donations. That the consequence of this white myth is collectively theirs to own, dismantle and hopefully — in my most idealistic version of possibilities — let go.  

Ayisha Elliott’s podcast, Black Girl From Eugene, centers the perspective of the “othered,” where Black and Brown bodied people can feel free to express truths and release trauma without oppressive influence, but rather through our own collective intellect, humor and joy. Find it on all major podcasting platforms. You can support BGFE at Patreon.com/Blackgirlfromeugene_1 or follow on Substack @blackgirlfromeugene.