The Invisible Black Woman

It’s been a wild day. Most of the US is enjoying a day off. I’m not so naive to think that all are celebrating. So I’ll just say most of us are enjoying some good ole fashioned holiday pay.

I kinda sorta am for the most part. And because I know not all skinfolk are kinfolk or are subscribed to this channel for the right reasons, I won’t do my “fans” the pleasure of really sharing what I feel.

But imagine on Labor Day of all days, having your work erased without so much as a hello, can you confirm, please provide? Just gone. That is exactly what happened. Spotify in their “infinite wisdom,” took down The Invisible Black Woman Chronicles and told me after the fact. Because a claim was filed against the name. Specifically, The Invisible Black Woman. Imagine sharing your deepest, toughest, darkest pains about what it is to navigate this world as a Black woman just for another Black woman to decided they “own” The Invisible Black Woman? So much so no one else is allowed to lay claim or use it. Because they have the right to use it commercially and profit from it exclusively?

That is where I find myself today. Though this didn’t begin today by any means, but I digress. So another fellow Black woman filed a claim asserting rights in The Invisible Black Woman. And apparently that means no one else gets to use those words in that way. Despite countless of us feeling many a time across our lifetimes, at work, at home, and just hell, earth, Invisible. Black. Woman.

My God TUHDAY.

So I made the difficult decision to rename the LinkedIn page. Not because things are done and “resolved,” but because if Spotify can so flippantly review one side and determine it’s enough to remove your content. If they can so nonchallantly decide you are guilty until proven innocent, well then damn. Lemme do what I do best and protect my labor (pun very much intended).

So that is what I have done. I have renamed the LinkedIn page to a very much on the nose name that I’m surprised was still available. And yes, I secured the domain and yes, I done put the TM stamp on it because Jesus Christ and the Latter Day Saints forbid.

So, Unseen and Unmuted™ (FKA The Invisible Black Woman) is now the new name. It’s a mouthful, I know. But I’m leaving the tail end up long enough so y’all know it’s still me.

As far as all the nitty gritty? No can do. All I can do is share what’s factually happened so far that led to the name change. I refuse to allow someone’s cravenness to lead to my literal erasure and invisibility (really and truly the gag, as Keke would say!). And cravenness sounds harsh, I know. But why exactly would something that we as Black women collectively experience often on the daily be proprietary to one individual, especially when this concept and idea has been in existence since—as Mumma would say—the devil was a boy!? And trust, we gon get into it, into it, but more on that later. I just wanna know for a friend.

I truly just don’t have the words. But it’s something I have seen rampant on social media and shared spaces at large. Often, we as Black women believe in scarcity. That whatever “it” is must be ours and all ours. No one else can share the space because God forbid, what about me? And sometimes that scarcity shows up in the things we do outwardly and behind the scenes to undermine each other so we can stay on top. And so the cycle continues, on and on and on.

And it saddens me. I’ve experienced it as the real me more times than I can count. It’s wild. And the treatment here versus in real life? Also wild. The need and attraction to “followers” and using that as the lever that determines someone’s worthiness. Truly just utterly sad. And I don’t think it’ll ever change. Because we believe that somehow someone else’s shine in the same space takes away from us. So rather than uplift other Black women, we allow our ego to lead.

And don’t get me started on the, “do for me but not for thee.” The expectation and entitlement of believing we are deserving of support but never calculating the cost of returning unto others the very thing we crave and desire and pursue and believe we deserve. Yet we find ourselves often at a loss when it seems it’s not reciprocated.

I have so so so so many more thoughts on the matter but for tonight, I’ve said enough.

Until next time, I wish you nothing but sunshine, rainbows, and unicorns, which are no less fictitious than the deserving of support and recognition of your labor you are.

Always,

Tibwe