Last week I went on a bit of a tear, talking about religion so I thought "Let's keep the ball rolling" and talk about race. Specifically, what does it mean to be "Black, African-American, or Negro", according to the 2010 U.S. Census...
Besides being completely put off by that question on the census (and I'm not telling which one I checked, it's probably not the one you think), I was having a conversation with friends and the question came up about my "blackness" and whether I was "black enough"...
First thought in my mind was "Black enough for what?". Second thought was "Okay, I'm offended". I know it wasn't meant to be a racial comment, nor was it in any way mean-spirited. But it got me to thinking about what it means to be Black, for myself at least.
This is an argument I have been fighting for years, having too many people tell me that I was "trying to be white" or "not black enough". Growing up, it was confusing to hear. I would look at my father and think "he's Black" and then look at my mother "yep, she's Black too"... and I would look at myself and wonder what exactly about me wasn't quite "Black".
Later, with several relationship years under my belt, after having a conversation with my ex-husband, who has told me several times of his preference for "black women", I asked him if there was something "not-Black" about me. His answer? I wasn't "ghetto"-enough, loud enough, I didn't act like I was going to "cut" him on a daily basis, I wasn't a big hip-hop fan, I occasionally listened to country music, I watched "Friends" re-runs, I had a major crush thing for George Clooney...
Of course, this was all said in an easy, joking tone, him not realizing how big of a deal it was to me. In Miami, especially in the part I grew up in, you were Black or you were Hispanic, and if you were Black, you had to be prepared to deal with being a minority to the second power. I never had a problem with race, making friends with everybody, eager to learn about different cultures, wanting to believe that it was/is possible to be color-blind.
I'm older now and not as foolish.
There is no way to live color-blind. In fact, those same people who try to tell me they are color-blind, they're the same ones who swear they are "blacker" than I am. :) I love them, but I also pity the fact that, in refusing to acknowledge a difference, they lose out on an opportunity to see what we, as a people, are really capable of. The contributions, the culture, the change.
When I see a person - any person - I do notice color, but I don't let it stop me. I'm not afraid to be the only "black person" in a room. I do take offense when I suddenly become the "token minority" in the room. It burns my ass, I'll tell you.
There was a time when I didn't want to be Black. It made me different in school. Teachers would call my name during that first roll call and I would get a "look". Kind of like they were telling me not to be trouble. I'm not a trouble-maker, but because of my name, my race, my skin color, it was assumed that I would fit into some kind of stereotype. I had a bit of self-hatred because of it, and I envied my sisters for their lighter skin, straighter hair...
When I left Miami, almost three years ago, I encountered something similar, people trying to fit me into a box because of my name, skin color, race. I swear, at that first school, it was one surprise after another for them. My husband was a handsome Latino. I spoke a little spanish. I didn't wear a weave. I was nice to everybody. I made blondies and gourmet coffee. I listened to Linkin Park, loud and proud.
I had someone stage-whisper that I thought I was "too good". In reality, I was just being myself.
And that's what my point is really. For me, Black is not a state-of-mind, it's no more a choice than homosexuality. You can't stop being Black anymore than you can start. You can't act Black, sound Black, look Black... either you are or you aren't.
As soon as I accepted that, it made it easier to look at myself in the mirror and smile. To look at my Black brothers and sisters and smile. To wish for a little brown girl or little brown boy of my own, to raise, to share, to love, to make proud...
Because, in the end, my heart may be color-blind but my brain is more realistic. I can see beautiful in every race, in every face, and that in itself is something I pride myself on.
Makes me feel a bit like James Brown though, because in the end I am a beautiful Black woman - and I'm damn proud of it!
Aman Malay!
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