Why I'm So Invested In Blackness
So... I've been pretty vocal regarding my feelings about all the goings-on between the "Powers that Be" and the Black community. Probably more vocal than I've been since high school. And I've noticed that since I've made my stance clear on the issues, a lot of people have fallen silent. And I don't just mean silent on the issues. I mean silent. Like I don't hear from them anymore. I'm not so much bothered by it because I'm lonely for friends; it's more like a weird occurance - I had a bunch of friends/close acquaintances, and then I started talking about my views on police brutality and racial disparity and they - poof! - disappeared from my social circle.
And I question this silence. I wonder: Is it out of reverence, where they don''t feel as if they have enough information or perspective to add to the conversation so they just don't say anything? Is it the type of silence where they actually disagree with me, but don't know how to voice their disagreements without igniting an argument? Do they just not care? Either way, I say that silence is equivalent to complicity. If you see that there's a problem and you choose not to speak up due to discomfort, you're contributing to the problem. But I'll save this particular discussion for another day.
The real reason for this post is to clarify my particular stance regarding race relations in the United States, particularly how women are (I am) affected. I have to say that I am so blessed to have grown up in a world where race really didn't matter, because everybody I knew was black and brown until I graduated from college, with the exception of a few teachers and professors. We were all in the same boat growing up, which meant for me that a lot of things that Black people who grew up around privileged White kids experienced did not necessarily happen to me. Oh, sure, I can remember watching commercials promoting beauty products and enhancers and asking my mom why she never bought them. Her answer was simply, "they're not for us." I didn't get it, and she wouldn't explain further. We've come a long way since then.
I know I'm saved, and I have heard the argument that God loves us all. And I believe and agree with that. I also believe that God is aware of the social constructs that we are living in and recognizes when one group is oppressed and struggles to free themselves of that oppression. He sees all, and He knows all. He knows when His children are being mistreated, and I believe He's perfectly fine with us advocating for equality. Newsflash: It hasn't been achieved yet!
What does oppression look like for me? I remember when I was in college and I had box braids. One day, I took them out, looked in the mirror, and decided that I enjoyed how my hair looked all puffed out. So I left it alone and headed to the cafe. On that walk, I got stopped by almost every woman I ran into and endured mini-lectures on how unkempt I looked and how I never knew who would pop up on campus and could be in jeopardy of not getting a job because of my hair. Because my hair was a direct reflection of my skills, talent, and work ethic.
When I was in elementary school and got my hair straightened for picture day, my friends shook their heads in disappointment to find out that no, this wasn't a perm; it was a press, and it would frizz right back up at the first sign of moisture.
I learned to not only tolerate but to enjoy the smell of burnt and chemically processed hair. I knew when my mom came home from the beauty salon because I smelled her hair as she walked through the door. Your hair never looks as good as when you come home with a fresh touch-up or blow-out, so coming home from the salon was always a big deal.
I had to learn how to downplay my early developing breasts and developing derriere. Granted, I'm not as well endowed as some people I know, but I knew from an early age that attributes that are more commonly found among Black women (big butts, lips, and hips), were appreciated within our community, but if we hoped to have a job, we needed to know how hide as much as possible. Notice I didn't say "cover up" for modesty's sake, but pretend as if it wasn't even there and draw as little attention as possible.
But that was really hard to do when every store catered to thin women, or thick women with minimal curves. Straight up and down. That meant that if you had a little bit of boobage, buttage, or hipp-ness, you were all on display. Again, we've come a long way. I'm just remembering.
Fast forward to later years. I went to a predominantly White graduate school, and was the only Black student in my cohort. I learned that racism is not just about skin color anymore; actually it never was - It's about culture, belief systems, values, and way of life that are associated or originated within a particular race. We rarely had discussions that were explicitly about skin color, but a lot of issues that could only be classified as race issues came into play, and I was quite often the odd person out because I came from the perspective of the very beliefs that were coming under scrutiny.
Then I started an internship. It was slightly more diverse, but not really. Most of the people of color were maintenance workers and paraprofessionals. There were two black specialists (myself included), and most of the staff were a little more willing to discuss racial injustices. However, I noticed that I was often confused with the other Black psychologist, even though she was at least 4 inches taller than me, pregnant, and looked nothing like me except we had similar skin tones.
So what's my point? Even though I grew up in a relatively sheltered environment, didn't really experience many of the horror stories we read about in the news and history books, I still grew up in a society that undervalues, under-appreciates, and under-represents me. It took a very long time for me to see myself as beautiful because I wasn't light enough, my hair wasn't loose enough, I wasn't tall enough, and my lips were too big. Even though I had people all around me telling me otherwise, it was so hard to believe that God didn't make a mistake when He created me.
I run into girls, Black girls, who are selling their souls, their bodies, and their self-worth because they are being given the same messages that have been on repeat since the dawn of slavery. And they don't have the family or support that I had. You want to know why I'm so gung-ho about natural hair, loving chocolate skin, and promoting Blackness? Because when we don't do it, we get overlooked and marginalized. It's as if we're not even here. We live in a world full of people who have been conditioned to dislike us, and not even know why. And because we're surrounded by people who don't know how to like, love, or appreciate us, we are hard pressed to like, love, or appreciate ourselves. Yet, somehow, mainstream society has no problem borrowing and taking inspiration from the very things it puts us down for. Cultural appropriation has run rampant, and it's usually the Black community, Black girls, who lose out. By being ourselves, our true selves, we put our opportunities for education, gainful employment, and chances of attracting a mate at risk. Nobody wants the Black girl with the nappy hair, big butt, and too-big lips, right? But I say that we WILL learn to love ourselves. By any means necessary. If that makes you uncomfortable, well...
And I question this silence. I wonder: Is it out of reverence, where they don''t feel as if they have enough information or perspective to add to the conversation so they just don't say anything? Is it the type of silence where they actually disagree with me, but don't know how to voice their disagreements without igniting an argument? Do they just not care? Either way, I say that silence is equivalent to complicity. If you see that there's a problem and you choose not to speak up due to discomfort, you're contributing to the problem. But I'll save this particular discussion for another day.
The real reason for this post is to clarify my particular stance regarding race relations in the United States, particularly how women are (I am) affected. I have to say that I am so blessed to have grown up in a world where race really didn't matter, because everybody I knew was black and brown until I graduated from college, with the exception of a few teachers and professors. We were all in the same boat growing up, which meant for me that a lot of things that Black people who grew up around privileged White kids experienced did not necessarily happen to me. Oh, sure, I can remember watching commercials promoting beauty products and enhancers and asking my mom why she never bought them. Her answer was simply, "they're not for us." I didn't get it, and she wouldn't explain further. We've come a long way since then.
I know I'm saved, and I have heard the argument that God loves us all. And I believe and agree with that. I also believe that God is aware of the social constructs that we are living in and recognizes when one group is oppressed and struggles to free themselves of that oppression. He sees all, and He knows all. He knows when His children are being mistreated, and I believe He's perfectly fine with us advocating for equality. Newsflash: It hasn't been achieved yet!
What does oppression look like for me? I remember when I was in college and I had box braids. One day, I took them out, looked in the mirror, and decided that I enjoyed how my hair looked all puffed out. So I left it alone and headed to the cafe. On that walk, I got stopped by almost every woman I ran into and endured mini-lectures on how unkempt I looked and how I never knew who would pop up on campus and could be in jeopardy of not getting a job because of my hair. Because my hair was a direct reflection of my skills, talent, and work ethic.
When I was in elementary school and got my hair straightened for picture day, my friends shook their heads in disappointment to find out that no, this wasn't a perm; it was a press, and it would frizz right back up at the first sign of moisture.
I learned to not only tolerate but to enjoy the smell of burnt and chemically processed hair. I knew when my mom came home from the beauty salon because I smelled her hair as she walked through the door. Your hair never looks as good as when you come home with a fresh touch-up or blow-out, so coming home from the salon was always a big deal.
I had to learn how to downplay my early developing breasts and developing derriere. Granted, I'm not as well endowed as some people I know, but I knew from an early age that attributes that are more commonly found among Black women (big butts, lips, and hips), were appreciated within our community, but if we hoped to have a job, we needed to know how hide as much as possible. Notice I didn't say "cover up" for modesty's sake, but pretend as if it wasn't even there and draw as little attention as possible.
But that was really hard to do when every store catered to thin women, or thick women with minimal curves. Straight up and down. That meant that if you had a little bit of boobage, buttage, or hipp-ness, you were all on display. Again, we've come a long way. I'm just remembering.
Fast forward to later years. I went to a predominantly White graduate school, and was the only Black student in my cohort. I learned that racism is not just about skin color anymore; actually it never was - It's about culture, belief systems, values, and way of life that are associated or originated within a particular race. We rarely had discussions that were explicitly about skin color, but a lot of issues that could only be classified as race issues came into play, and I was quite often the odd person out because I came from the perspective of the very beliefs that were coming under scrutiny.
Then I started an internship. It was slightly more diverse, but not really. Most of the people of color were maintenance workers and paraprofessionals. There were two black specialists (myself included), and most of the staff were a little more willing to discuss racial injustices. However, I noticed that I was often confused with the other Black psychologist, even though she was at least 4 inches taller than me, pregnant, and looked nothing like me except we had similar skin tones.
So what's my point? Even though I grew up in a relatively sheltered environment, didn't really experience many of the horror stories we read about in the news and history books, I still grew up in a society that undervalues, under-appreciates, and under-represents me. It took a very long time for me to see myself as beautiful because I wasn't light enough, my hair wasn't loose enough, I wasn't tall enough, and my lips were too big. Even though I had people all around me telling me otherwise, it was so hard to believe that God didn't make a mistake when He created me.
I run into girls, Black girls, who are selling their souls, their bodies, and their self-worth because they are being given the same messages that have been on repeat since the dawn of slavery. And they don't have the family or support that I had. You want to know why I'm so gung-ho about natural hair, loving chocolate skin, and promoting Blackness? Because when we don't do it, we get overlooked and marginalized. It's as if we're not even here. We live in a world full of people who have been conditioned to dislike us, and not even know why. And because we're surrounded by people who don't know how to like, love, or appreciate us, we are hard pressed to like, love, or appreciate ourselves. Yet, somehow, mainstream society has no problem borrowing and taking inspiration from the very things it puts us down for. Cultural appropriation has run rampant, and it's usually the Black community, Black girls, who lose out. By being ourselves, our true selves, we put our opportunities for education, gainful employment, and chances of attracting a mate at risk. Nobody wants the Black girl with the nappy hair, big butt, and too-big lips, right? But I say that we WILL learn to love ourselves. By any means necessary. If that makes you uncomfortable, well...
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