Freedom is being myself without feeling like both a spectacle and invisible. 

Read the rest of COURIER’s What Is Freedom series here.

I’ll never forget the first time it happened; I was a teenager. I went out with some of my non-Black friends one day for some window shopping at a California mall. We loved the Hello Kitty store and popped in to browse. We started off looking together, but eventually everyone spotted something that drew them to another part of the store. 

Just as I set my sights on the Hello Kitty cups, I felt a sudden fixed gaze. The Asian woman who ran the store was staring at me with absolutely no shame in her eyes. She looked angry and accusing, as if she would be restless until I left the store and it was my fault, not hers. I looked at my friends as they happily perused the merchandise and I felt so lonely. It’s not that my parents didn’t warn me that being a Black woman would get me profiled—I just didn’t know how I could be prepared for it. I didn’t know how anyone could ever be prepared for it. 

That was the first of many times this would happen to me. I wanted to cry, but instead I pretended like it never happened as I chatted with my friends as we left the store to get some food. 

Freedom is people saying my life matters and them actually meaning it. It’s not being a pawn to get more purchases, social media likes, election votes, or diversity hires. It’s going shopping and only having to worry about whether or not they have an outfit in your size.

A few weeks ago, I went to a big box retailer to look for clothes. The entire front row of the women’s clothing section had a presentation that no one could miss. In big letters, the section was labeled, “Black Lives Matter.” All of the shirts were covered with slogans and historical Black leaders. I browsed for a bit and then moved on to the dresses section.

It wasn’t long before I felt eyes on me. A sales associate was watching me from the aisle adjacent to the dresses. I wanted to believe anything but the truth, but I couldn’t ignore how she attempted to nonchalantly fold clothes while monitoring my every movement. 

I was no longer a child, but nothing had changed. This was my life and sometimes I believe it always will be. I wasn’t in the mood to shop anymore. The negative experiences of my childhood had grown into the triggers of my adulthood. No matter how many years, no matter how far I tried to run, the white gaze followed me. 

Freedom is being myself without feeling like both a spectacle and invisible.  It’s going to the store to buy a dress, and coming out of the store with the dress and not being labeled a criminal. 

Freedom for me as a Black queer woman is to be myself without fearing that my body is only valuable for commodification or death.