Palatable Activism Leaves A Bitter Taste In My Mouth

Graphic by Na’iamh Banton

Last night’s pyjamas, packet of propranolol, back hunched over laptop – our activism of recent months has been anything but aesthetic. It has been angry and painful and unpleasant and ugly. And it has been completely and utterly necessary. But through it all there’s been this inclination to dress it up as something prim and proper. To make our rage seem palatable – acceptable and respectable. But radical change is not going to appear legs crossed, cream suit freshly pressed, sipping English breakfast tea while nibbling on a scone. Yet here we are suppressing and compressing ourselves to pander to this image. When we limit ourselves to a palatable narrative, we hinder our cause, we silence the most vulnerable, and we lose depth. 

Palatability first thrusts itself into the mainstream. Earlier this year, Vanessa Nakate, a Ugandan climate activist, was cropped from a photo, leaving only her four white counterparts. Although allegedly for photographic ‘composition’ (read: bullshit), the image now forces us to question how we are inclined to present activists. The mainstream activist aesthetic is white. Admittedly, we can capitalise off this to some extent– rich, white men in suits are more likely to care about a “colourless” cause. But, when we mould ourselves off the narrow desires of another, we lose sight of who we are and what we’re fighting for. Removing Nakate from the image not only disregards her hard work, but it also reminds us of how racism and the climate crisis intersect. It’s people of colour who will be disproportionately affected as we slip further into decline. This palatability, in which climate activists are presented as exclusively white, therefore pushes this white saviour narrative. Nakate doesn’t need saving – she, and others, are doing the work themselves. Under a palatable lens, the cause, and its truth, have been distorted. 

This white mouthpiece finds itself in the more radical as well. Activist, author, and illustrator Florence Given is a force to be reckoned with. Her Instagram and recent book, Women Don’t Owe You Pretty, discuss a range of feminist issues as well as racism, transphobia, fatphobia, and ableism. However, such truths are coming from her white, cisgender, slim, and able-bodied lips. It’s not that we don’t need allyship – we do. But we’re not speaking a different language here and so we don’t need a translator of privilege. Those with pre-existing prejudices are more likely to listen to someone whose image reflects their own but accessing activism, in this exclusively palatable dilution also acts to further ingrain unconscious biases – only now they’re less detectable on the surface. Individuals such as Given are great. But where is the book deal for those she’s advocating for? What we’re creating here is an acceptable activist template. The more we cling to this palatability, the closer we are to blurring into those we’re trying to subvert. 

And perhaps activism has to be palatable to a certain extent. Or at least not cause more harm than good. Videos of police brutality are not uncommon on my feed. Seldom shared by people of colour, these videos are, for many, triggering. Palatability isn’t the answer, but neither is seeing black death on repeat. And so, we’ve moved on: from videos which kept us up at night to activist Instagram posts looking like a Too Faced eyeshadow palette. These posts are a graphic design student’s wet dream – they’re eye-catching, easy to read, and very, very pretty. To some extent, that’s a good thing. Ease of consumption means a message spreads like wildfire. Over recent weeks I’ve seen people I went to high school with call for the defunding of the police in the name of Black Lives Matter, their Instagram stories morphing into a neat selection of activist gospels. But this feels skin deep. Come the weekend a lot of them will be singing the n-word at a flat party, touching your hair, and then complaining their hands are sticky with Cantu. Likelihood is they reposted an image hoping the black person they’re into will get with them – but, of course, they don’t care enough about them and their race to do more. 

Pure Nowhere recently published an article by Tallulah Frigo, ‘The War on Drugs: Inequality in Incarceration’; the magazine later posted on their Instagram story that over 1000 people had shared the aesthetically pleasing graphics which went along with the piece, but less than 100 people read it. When we position oppression next to prettiness, it seems no one is listening, not really. There’s the hitch: are we supposed to close our doors on anything visually appealing? Of course not. But we do have a responsibility to read further than the Instagram post. We must advocate for change even when it’s not aesthetically pleasing. Our causes are not surface level; but dispersing purely whitewashed, pastel-hued posts communicates otherwise. An Instagram post resembling a Mr Kipling cake is futile. Others are going to lick that baby pink icing, feel the grain of the sugar against their white veneers, and taste only sweetness. Oppression is not sweet, exploitation is not sweet – this system is not sweet. 

But, surely, something must be said for sweetness. The last few months have been rough. Well and truly rough. And humour is a coping mechanism. If you don’t cry, you’ll laugh – to some extent. I turned the story of me crying over a boy all through Mamma Mia! Here We Go Again – we’re talking from ‘When I Kissed the Teacher’ to ‘The Day Before You Came’ – into an anecdote reminiscent of Bridget Jones. But I can only make fun of it because he literally just got bored of me after a few weeks and left me on read. The same cannot be said for oppression and exploitation. And yet, here we are making memes out of it all. I’ve done it myself, reposted an ACAB meme or two when feeling hopeless and powerless. Quick, simple, accessible, painless. But we are under scrutiny. The slightest sign that our cause is a humorous one will be, and is, used against us. Humour undermines the severity of what’s going on here. Activist memes are not Gaviscon and the revolution will not be easy to stomach. This is not going to be comfortable – and that’s the point. 

Becoming radical in our selfhood, beliefs, and practices is difficult and exhausting and oftentimes I don’t want to do it. But the alternative is sitting back, getting comfy, and watching oppression and exploitation go by without batting an eyelash. Keeping ourselves palatable will wear us down and wipe us out. And who are we even sugar-coating ourselves for? Who are we hoping might listen if we look a little nicer, talk a little nicer, act a little nicer? All palatability does is make it easier for them to ignore us. The place for suits is in the courtroom – that has its value but it also comes after. The rage must come first. I don’t want a seat at their table – it’s built on oppression. And so, we must use our rage to take it apart, piece by fucking piece. The aftertaste of that, however, is actually pretty sweet. 

By Eilidh Akilade

(she/her)

Edited by Halima Jibril (@h.alimaa)