I still remember it clearly; sitting in the back of a liberal white woman’s car as she yelled at me for not supporting a female presidential candidate. The same female presidential candidate who had decided to actively turn her back on my friends, family and entire country; a small island in the middle of the Caribbean, that 70% of the mainland US do not know is a US territory. Yes, 70% of the people in the USA do not know that my home, Puerto Rico, also known as "Borinquen" or "Perla del Caribe" is in fact, a US territory. We do not need passports. We are not allowed to vote in the presidential elections, although we have been graced with the great honor of voting in the primaries. We are in an economic crisis, our hospitals are shutting down, our schools are closing and our police force is a "zombified" army of the government. I don’t trust police, I don’t trust politicians and I no longer trust white liberals; not after that night.

The night began with laughter shared among a group of women which, with increasing levels of alcohol, slowly intensified. One of the women at this gathering pointed out that we all had to visit her favorite tea shop in Pittsburgh. It was this quaint little tea shop, with authentic Moroccan cultural theme, tables, seating, attire, food and even special Moroccan tea. This being around the time frame of elections, hate crimes increasing and talk of banning Muslim individuals, I asked her if she knew how locals felt about an African Muslim establishment. She chuckled and indicated that the staff were White American, to which I uttered the dreaded question: so they’re culturally appropriating a community for economic gain? Needless to say, this did not transfer to her well. After what seemed like a long scolding, accompanied by awkward and bewildered stares from the other two women who remained at the table, tensions settled.

One ride to my car later, a political discussion took place, in which I indicated that I could not support either candidates. One was a bigot, while the other turned their back on over 3 million minority individuals during an economic crisis, while still claiming to care for the people of this country. I’ll never forget the way she turned and almost lunged at me as I sat in the back seat of her car, while she yelled at me to “suck Bernie Sanders’ ****”. I remember contemplating deeply, ever since that moment, on the inner workings of white feminism, the systematic refusal of accepting that minorities are ignored and how socialism is too radical. How do so many allow political and socioeconomic injustice to be the norm? And how had these, along with other historic and social constructs, led to this moment, where I, a minority individual, was being verbally assaulted by a white liberal?

Until this moment, I had never encountered someone white who truly identified as a liberal. Back home, this is a foreign term and I had only arrived to Pittsburgh a little over a year prior. I had learned to develop a thick skin to defend myself against the overwhelming paranoia I felt, after hearing that a Puerto Rican had been shot for speaking Spanish, and the micro-aggressions directed at me on a daily basis; phrases such as “go back home, then”. But, this was a new experience that was destined to forever change my view on white liberals. I now find myself in situations where, no matter how liberal someone may claim to be, my guard is up, as I await that one comment that will justify this nagging suspicion of white liberals.

My only belief at this point is that truly non-minority liberals do not identify as such. They simply prove it, unequivocally, through their actions.