This Is for Enrico. And Everyone Else.
I recently got a DM from Enrico (not his real name) and it went like this—I’ve shortened it:
"Hey Dinah,
I really appreciate your posts. As a Mexican living in Belgium (not the real country, but close enough), it frustrates me deeply to see how native Mexican culture is often appropriated for capitalist or social gain. It burns.I study philosophy, which might make me more sensitive to this, but I don’t think you need that background to see how messed up it is. Your page has been a space where I can channel some of that emotional rage—thanks to my girlfriend for showing it to me.
That said, I’ve noticed that some of your supporters seem to be exactly the kind of people you're critiquing—those who preach 'love and ecstatic dance' without really understanding what it means to live in a collective or Indigenous-rooted society.
Do you ever think about that? That some of your followers might be missing the point, even as they applaud what you’re saying? Does it concern you? I’m genuinely curious."
Dear Enrico,
Thank you for your message—it was thoughtful and, I believe, sincere. And yes, I get the frustration you're talking about.
I'm pretty sure there are plenty of people following me, liking my posts, nodding along—without ever changing a thing about themselves. But that’s not really my concern. I’m not here to supervise anyone’s growth. I’m here to point things out. What people choose to do with it is their business, not mine.
When you’re on a decolonizing journey, you go through phases. Many of them are messy, necessary, and completely unsustainable long term. I remember a phase where I was furious—seeing colonizers everywhere. Even going to get a Thai massage was a whole inner war. I had a whole film in my head about what the massage therapist, a Thai lady, might be thinking about my darker skin, my hair, the stereotypes she might hold. I couldn’t enjoy a thing. But that time of rage was needed. You can’t truly decolonize anything if you don’t go through the fire. If there’s no rage, something’s off. Recognizing systemic injustice and not feeling anything intense is not decolonization, but disassociation.
But you don’t have to stay in the rage. Or at least, not in a self-sabotaging, ulcer-generating kind of way. That rage can be focused, can become fuel.
Yes, I know some of the people following me are the exact ones I’m critiquing. It happens. Some of them are tourists in these conversations. That’s a fact. But what can you do? No amount of clever words, educational content, or reality checks can change someone who isn’t internally ready to shift. Still, there are always a few who get it. They’re the ones I talk with.
Also—and I say this with deep conviction—I believe in the offline world. Secretly, I kind of root for an apocalypse-utopia where the power grid fails and we gather around actual fires, not Instagram Stories. In that world, you can't hide behind curated posts and comments. You’re just who you are. And people will find each other. Offline communities are the real thing. Social media is just a tool—and not a very reliable one—for feeding what happens in real life. If I delete my Instagram account today (which I think about regularly), what’s left of community?
There’s an African proverb that says: “When the music changes, so does the dance.”
That’s how I see it. Some people are still dancing to the wrong rhythm—but the ones who hear the shift will move differently. And that’s who I’m watching for.
Warmly,
Dinah
If this resonated with you, moved you, or made you pause and reflect – consider this your cue. I’ve set up a virtual tip jar via Buy Me a Coffee. No monthly commitments, no strings, no memberships required.
Your sweet kindness helps keep the thoughts flowing, the energy exchange intact, and the glow of my inner goddess alive. It won’t fix capitalism, but it might buy me five minutes of joy (or at least a cortado).
Gracias. Thank you. Jërëjëf. Merci. Obrigada. Danke. Arigatō. Medaase. Grazie. Hvala. Tack. Asante. Shukran. Teşekkürler. Dziękuję.
