I changed my mind — I hated yesterday's Death of the Party grief event. It was a very unsafe space for people of color, and more specifically, for me. The space was oppressively white, and I felt incredibly unsafe as the only Asian American attendee. It was not a safe space to have a non-Anglophone name. I automatically reverted back to my high school self, code-switching subconsciously to exist in that space. I hated the somatic experience — I hated touching strangers, and feeling like I had to do it because it was a part of the event. It felt like forced and rushed intimacy, much like my experience at church on most Sundays, and I hated it. The founder of the organization did some white-woman-cover-her-ass-everyone-is-suffering-equally bullshit, where she mentioned the immense privilege we have to grieve together, while the people in Gaza, Israel, Ukraine, Sudan, Democratic Republic of Congo, and even the U.S., do not. Saying that the perpetrators of a genocide don't have the space to grieve — just like the Palestinian people of Gaza — is an asinine and completely false thing to say. I didn't feel like I had the space to voice any of my rage, discomfort, or disagreement. It's not my fault. I am not responsible for other people's ignorance. I'm proud of myself for figuring out that this is not a safe space for me. I will not be going back.

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