Black to the Basics
“SAY IT LOUD, I’M BLACK AND I’M PROUD!”
That was the anthem back in the day. Afros, bell bottoms and dashikis adorned the bodies of the men and women who proudly declared their affections and pride in their African heritage. The decades leading up to, and more so following the U.S. Civil Rights Movement saw the liberation and vocalization of Black social consciousness. While the Harlem Renaissance ushered in a new space for Black expression, the late 60’s and 70’s echoed anthems of Black empowerment conceived in decades prior. The Bronx gave birth to hip hop culture, Detroit’s Stevie Wonder spoke up and out against black disenfranchisement, Chi-Town’s Chakha Khan demanded that we, “Tell her Something Good,” and Michael Jackson and the Jackson 5 of Indiana taught us our "ABCs".
Yes, poverty and disenfranchisement still existed. The Civil Rights movement did not end racism, nor did it close wealth gaps. It brought greater attention to the ills of both while aiming to create a wider bridge of access to resources and opportunities that the pre-Civil Rights administrations refused to support. And in the midst of this, Blackness was celebrated and glorified among a group of people who were not ashamed of the various levels of melanin in their skin. A people once treated as no more than property and less than human beings demanded their existence and humanity be seen to the fullest extent. The hot comb was dethroned. The creamy crack had been told to fall back. The fists were squeezed tight and held high. The fro covered the expanse of the sky and Black em(power)ment was in the spotlight.
To be empowered is incredible. To have self-confidence and dare I say taste and feel self-actualization after centuries of mandated oppression is earth shattering. Films, songs, scholarship, physical competitions and politics saw a new renaissance and the manifestation of this confidence. Gone were the days of the typecast Negro housemaid. Welcome to the age of the black superhero who acts as the vigilante and takes justice into their own hands like a bad mutha - “shut yo mouth!” Black-Americans didn’t just celebrate a newfound sense of honor in our tradition and pride in our identity, we demanded it from each other and passers by.
But in all of this lurked the evolving definition of Blackness. African Americans have been described by other communities as being welcoming and inviting or open. And while we are, we, like all racial groups, and dare I say tribes, tend to have a series of standards, a definition rather, of what it means to be Black; a litmus test if you will. In my conversations, observations and readings of historical texts and social mores, if you’re for us, then you’re with us and by “for us”, I’d have to say “ride or die.” “Becky with the Good Hair” could very well be Brenda or Brandy if she remains respectful and stays humble. The minute you deny the Black experience, and choose not to identify with the Black struggle, especially if you have what appears to be evident Black heritage and enough melanin in your skin and curl in your coif, your card is revoked and you are entered into the pool for the quarterly Racial Draft. In recent years, prominent and history making neurosurgeon Dr. Ben Carson was put on probation and opened up a seat for the talented and soul stirring musician Bruno Mars who isn’t Black, in case you didn't know.
Photo credit: @CREATEDBYJARROD
So, what is Blackness? Who has the right to identify as Black or African American? When Nkechi Amare Diallo, the transracial forerunner formerly known as Rachel Dolezal, identified as a Black woman, though born White, a number of Black folks revisited the “Black Standard Operating Procedures”. We knew about passing. The “One Drop Rule” and the historic act of a pale skinned person with African ancestry, fine hair and facial features opting to navigate society as a White person, wasn’t new, it was a choice of survival. We also heard about mistaken identity, where a fair-skinned Black person with light eyes and European features is assumed to be White and thereby privy to brutally honest conversation by non-blacks, usually White folks, until said Black person sophistoratchetly calls out the offender. But who goes as far as to fake being Black and convincing others in the process? Rachel had folks saying, “misappropriation,” in one camp and “we'll take her over Raven (Symoné)” in the other camp. And then there were the comments and memes featuring darker skinned Black folks giving their lighter skinned Black friends and family the side eye as if to say, “wait, are you, are you really Black or nah?”
That opened up a string of conversations asking the questions, "what is, “Black”?" likewise, “well, if people can be transgender, why can’t they be transracial?” And a chorus of laughter breaks out at the absurdity of me, a darker skinned Black person trying to pass for a White woman or at least being treated equal on all accounts. We all know that it would take a vat of skin bleach, some serious hair straightener and brainwashing away my heritage to do the trick, though we know it’s possible (God bless Sammy Sosa and Lil Kim).
Several years back news broke about tension between the Cherokee Nation and African American descendants of Freedmen with Cherokee ancestry. Indigenous Tribal communities have been at the center of heated conversations concerning their use of blood quotas to determine membership. To be fair, these extreme measures are influenced by the limited financial resources and restricting the number of people who siphon said resources under the guise of verbal membership. Do we follow suit and guard our resources and influence or do we welcome folks with open arms so much as they only have "one drop"? Do we run the risk of being like the European colonist who created a racial hierarchy in the U.S. by defining Whiteness based on skin color, eye color, hair texture, etc.? Or do we stop caring altogether and give out Black cards like Oprah gave out cars? And what is the risk or reward to either?
This question of how to define Black American identity isn’t a simple one to ask nor answer. Look at the Census. And as racially diverse as our world and our nation has been and is becoming, it wouldn't surprise me if it comes up more frequently than in days past. Especially as we unpack colorism, the "Browning of America," and wrestle with identity distinctions within the Diaspora, including those with slave ancestry vs. those without. Even "who gets to be an honorary citizen of Wakanda" since (SPOILER) not even Killmonger, someone of immediate Royal Wakandan heritage, had automatic access (another conversation for another post maybe?). One of my best friends is Ghanaian and Black American. Is she definitively more African American than me? We both have slave ancestry, and she grew up in the U.S. but her dad is from Ghana and she doesn't speak the language of her father's tribe. On the other hand, my Ancestry test suggests that I'm 22% Ivory Coast/Ghana, and a mix of other West African nations, but I couldn't pinpoint any tribes and I have no immediate relatives from either country. Is Barack Obama or the little girl with the Cameroonian father and Midwestern White mother more Black or African American than I?
And then there's my biracial husband who most assume is a lighter skinned Black person and not the son of Black and White parents. In an episode of Seriously.TV Shutting Down BS, commentator Dylan Marron interviews four multiracial adults and invites them to respond to a series of statements, or microagressions that they deal with daily. Three of the four people are brown, with two being a good two shades lighter than me and another much closer to the fair end of the melanin spectrum. They identify as Black or having Black ancestry, one going even as far as to say, “Black includes a multitude of things.” Despite checking the “other” box under the demographics category of a survey or application, they still embrace their Black identity and heritage. The guy who notes that diversity within Blackness states that, “as a person of color, as a Black person, I am “othered" in general, but even in the Black community as well”.
And that brings up the triple consciousness, where the “you’re not [Black] enough” becomes a never-ending challenge or test administered by Black folks towards multiracial people who identify as Black. Let’s be clear, this is the reality of many multiracial people among their families, not just those who identify as Black and (fill in the blank). I'm not flambéing Black folks for being selective, especially since we're often rejected despite our willingness to claim anybody who appears Black (Tiger, Mariah, Zoe, Meghan and 'em). Bruno Mars might understand enough (Puerto Rican) Spanish and (Filipino) Tagalog to get by, but might not have been considered "enough" of either to be fully embraced by one side. So, in the conversation on identity, how often do we explore the intersectional experience of the multiracial person who checks the “other” box while still identifying as Black, fully embracing Black culture? And what of the exoticism of the multiracial-other, who is racially ambiguous and is often fetishized?
Finally, how do we determine who is who, who is accepted and why? What is the criteria and what is the purpose? Who are we to say that the outspoken fair skinned black woman is overcompensating or trying too hard to prove her blackness? And is she wrong for marrying a white man and raising even lighter babies while proudly waving her Pan-African flag? What about the silent black man who marries a black woman? Is he less trustworthy or not woke enough to bring about change for the culture because he remains in the cut? In this process of regulating and defining, we run the risk of being like the very White men who engineered race to determine the beneficiaries, wealth and social buoyancy in a world they created “for them, by them.” Though some might say, “what’s wrong with being exclusive, especially if folks want to be us but not really?” Wakanda isn't for everyone and everyone isn't for Wakanda.
What do you say?
Photo by Nathan Dumlao