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Mind the Black Girl.
If my technorati rating means anything. What little readership I have, has shrunk dramatically. (I like to think those who stay, those who come and go, those who are here, are quality. Thank you.) This period of relative silence (with the occasional outburst of intellectual epiphanettes) has been one of deep introspection for this black girl in real life and on the web. As I think about who I am, what I am doing in this world, what I am doing as an artist, and what the HELL I am doing in a doctoral program--I am also thinking about what it means to be a black girl and be visible. To be a black girl and have a place on which to stand, and where to stand too. What would it mean then, when faced with a microphone, an open space to speak, for me to give the world what is in my head? Its not pretty. To sit in the subconscious of this somewhat awkward black girl is not exactly the most safe place to be (especially for me). What would you find? Fears, tons of them. Fears of inadequacy, fear of not being black enough, not woman enough, certainly not beautiful enough, not Spelmanwoman enough, not middle class black woman enough, not not wealthy black woman enough, not smart enough, not healthy enough, not thin enough, not spiritual enough, not this coast enough, not american enough, not that cost enough, not enough for any nation, not wealthy, shame, shame, not worthy, not worthy, not worthy. on the other hand: Insightful epiphanies about identity, trauma, self awareness. Moments of overwhelming feelings of love for humanity and the universe. Dreams, poems, songs. What then would you find if I just let you sit with me through the course of a day? A messy apartment that I am ashamed of. Audible outbursts of self pity and self hate. Looking away from mirrors. Tears, tears, dirty laundry. on the other hand: Spending long moments in the mirror admiring myself. Long bonding moments with my cat. Dancing to good music, and very very loud singing. Sudden moments of creative clarity. The manifestations: poetry, music, painting. Do you need to know all of these things? Maybe. I think the mind of a black girl (which I will call myself as long as i can while taking myself seriously) is something that has not been explored. I think there, lies what society has left us. What is there--lies the answers for large questions we've been waiting to have answered. I think what you'd see in the course of a day is what we do with it. It is all incredibly remarkable, brilliant, and sad. But what will you do with that? Will that matter? WIll I just be speaking to other black girls with the same things and more in their heads. Would it matter even if we spoke this, loudly, to each other? I think so. And so... Labels: black girls, blogging, fatness, racism, self-hate, self-love, sexism, society uttered by a black girl at 9:25 AM. | 1 comments
Okay out of third person. This email I received made me aware of an online blog/mag named Jezebel with a centrally white readership that is asking for pictures of embarrassing hairstyles from Black women. (I’m not even going to the not-so-ironic-irony of the name of the magazine.) In light of a past two years of white-supremacist fetishization over Black women’s hair (i.e. Imus, Boortz) you’d think white folks would just pretend they don’t have an issue. Instead, the recent years has merely given permission for frank white-centered discussions about how different, crazy, wild, and wacky Black women look. I’m actually not offended by the idea itself. We (women across the racial spectrum) all have embarrassing photos of our hair at one point or another—particularly if we’ve lived more than two decades. For example, I have a picture of an ear-to-ear bang via the 80s that is absolutely INSANE and in my teens I rocked a wave-nuveau which was inevitable for me in killer Kali. Sisters can crack up about it as much as I do (especially those who know what I wave nuveau is!). But in the real estate of thought its all about context, context, context. There is a way in which this racialized voyeurism (i.e. white chicks wanting to specifically look upon Black chicks) lends itself to a Beauty Battle Royal of sorts. A spectacle of excessive Blackness through black hair, that also is a reminder to Black women of the unattainability of Eurocentric beauty. Look but don't look, they say. Don’t desire this thing, this thing is not yours. The racial context of this contest raises an eyebrow, and rightfully so. I would like to see how this whole thing pans out—how far viewers comments go to dance around their horror, awe, and amazement of the gravitational defiance of Black women’s hair. Lets see how many or how few comments directly drop the p word (I don’t mean pussy.) to describe youthful female blackness. We’ll see if "nappy" even comes up, with arms folded, lips pursed, eyebrows raised. We’re looking at them, looking at us. Defiantly. And so the post blackness of my generation allows that much. Allows the chance for the white gaze to do its thing as it will (they will even look at us as we look at them). As we watch, analyze, and understand ourselves in the process. I’d hope we’d heal, as is the call for much of our "take the power back" discussions. Not through this kind of ish, but in spite of it. I cringe when "take the power back" means join them in their jeering and peering. It’s as sad as teased children making fun of themselves in the face of bullies. I’d hope that we’d heal not by joining them, but by putting the burden where it belongs, in the arms of white supremacy. By pointing to the irreverent and insensitive racism. By gazing back. Relentless, unforgiving gazing back. This has certainly been a process for me. An un named uber leftist white woman with… matted hair tries to make comparisons to my locks and share "hair stories." I simply reply no, and look at her (as to not embarrass her in the professional setting we were in) so as to remind her that her hair is blond, long, and fine, and her eyes are blue. "We" have no shared hair stories this was not MLK’s dream. I’m with a friend who has been invited to her neighbors’ house. Her neighbors are a white lesbian couple who have recently adopted a black baby boy. They hem and haw around the issue that they don’t know what to do with his hair (acknowledges collective exasperated sigh from sisters everywhere). What they’ve told me is that they wash his hair every day and put tea tree oil in it. They still don’t know why his hair is dry. I give some basic pointers for the sake of the poor kid and hope the books we’ve given, along with the little djembe my friend has given him will give him some smoke signals early on. (I’ll discuss the unhealthy black hair generation to be raised by "colorblind" gay white folk some other time.) This is not to say that I cannot talk to white people about hair in general. This can happen (and it has with white folks who know that there are hair differences not only visually, but historically), what cannot happen is a conversation about hair that assumes a similar and parallel history when it comes to my embodiment as a Black woman. I cannot be the one to consistently educate white people on Black hair and the politics of it. Ignorance of some of these basics is merely evidence of white supremacist notions of racial and aesthetic normalcy that results in a "what’s the difference?" "black people are so sensitive" response to Don Imus or Neal Boortz’ comments on Black hair that reveal a deeply historic and psychic fetish about Black hair. The very moment calls for a direct and serious gaze back. To let folks know that they are looking, and looking as if difference merely belonged to us. To let them know that our sensitivity is rooted in a history that has maintained whiteness as normal and default. That we are gazing back not only to neutralize their gaze, not only to reveal to them their outright racism, but to access our embodied power, to challenge the fetish. To take off our blindfolds in this battle royal. Labels: black women, blogging, history, nappy headed ho, race, racism uttered by a black girl at 6:17 PM. | 0 comments
I have a theory: If we can't unite, these emails or at least the sentiment behind them, have something to do with it. This past week in anticipation of the National Blackout, I was horribly frustrated by the ways in which Black people talked about my people. It was entirely Black people talking about why the boycott wont work, how disunited Black people are anyway, how Black people are lazy, etc. It was like being at a Klan rally with nothing but Black folks. These conversations always come with some kind of superior air about being so disunited: "I would involve myself if I knew that Black people were united, but we aren't. If a brother has an opportunity to buy some rims, he will." It always comes with the speaker as a "good" Black person, down with the people, fiscally sound, educated... but those other Black people... they need to get it together. Just shut up. I wonder sometimes with these emails and others about Black people not doing enough XY or Z how the morale of Blackness is? Does scaring black people by berating us on what we think we aren't doing work? How does how we perceive ourselves as Black people affect how we organize? Who is mediating this? Where are these assumptions coming from? Why do we so quickly beleive them? Who does it Ultimately serve? I thought the Literary renaissance of the 1970s and 80s proved to publishers that Black people read. What has suddenly happened that we assume we don't? There is an industry targeted at us as readers--now we can discuss or dispute the "value" of what is being read but it is an insult to writers, scholars, students, and readers who are Black that there is this blanket assumption even amongst ourselves that we don't read. New mantra for Black people: Black people love Black people, Black people want to support Black people, and Black people read. So now I'm off to buy 3 dozen books of stamps of Hattie McDaniel and to purchase a few books published by Third World Press from Karibu Books. In Love and Blackness, Bettina Labels: black folk, emails, internet, race, racism uttered by a black girl at 11:20 PM. | 1 comments
For this white man, it references savagery, wildness, and "hideousness." Black folks have definitely made the link from our hair to our African roots. This is definitely why the Afro became a popular hair style in the seventies. It was a way to shed a white standard of beauty from imposing on our Black bodies. It embraced the "nap"* and although the Reagan years brought on an unfortunate descent into the Jheri Curl, the black community held on to natural hair as a referent to our African roots. That is what is unacceptable here—the ways in which the nap is an outright rejection of American (read white) standards of beauty and respectability. The nap does not conform, it is not restricted, it does indeed go "in every conceivable direction." That's what makes it beautiful. And so Black hair becomes, in many ways, a cite where politics are imprinted on the body. The choice to "go natural" or to wear thick, kinky, un-straightened hair is one that reveals a kind of personal politics. We (U.S. Americans) know the politics of respectability. We know that kinky hair is not acceptable. To wear it reveals, in many ways a political choice not to cooperate with that politic. (Note I specified the politics of respectability in regards to what hair means in U.S. American society, not radical politics in general.) This is not to suggest that there are not radicals who straighten their hair. I’m talking about here, how it is imprinted on the body by kinky hair. Kinky hair also invokes issues of class. Who can afford to get their hair "done," and who can't? While kinky hair is far from low maintenance, it is certainly cheaper (in most cases) as it does not require the monthly purchase of cream crack (store bought no-lye relaxer), the one-time purchase of a stove heated hot comb, or the bi-monthly trip to the beauty salon to get it pressed or relaxed. So who has their hair straightened, how straight (i.e. bone straight), and how often certainly wears an air of respectability, and wealth that, at least to the outside community (read white folks) do not immediately register. We all know this to be a farce, as for a while I was paying $80 dollars a visit to have my thick head of locs maintained (I have since found a better deal at $65). We know that twists and braids can cost upwards of $50 and some times go into the hundreds. Oh, black folks can find a way to consume. But this is a truth, I expect white folks not to really know. It’s a relatively new development, this natural hair stylist, locatician, etc. movement. Since Madam C.J. Walker, Black middle-class-ness has looked straightened, and "respectfully" styled. That has changed dramatically as means of straightening have become more accessible to the poor (for a while now, keep up white folk) and natural hair for Black folks actually suggests that someone is financially secure enough to not have to depend on white standards of respectability in order to keep their jobs. White folks may not have caught up with this class dimension reality, but that doesn’t make them any less obsessed with Black hair. In fact, natural or not, the major image of Black women is tied to this aspect of our hair so regarldess if the Rutger's basketball team has/had straighetneed hair (which look at the roster pictures and you will see they mostly do have their hair straightened) the overarching image of black women, especially for white racists becomes attached to the "natural." Symbol: black women. Sign: nappy headed ho. But lets get back to the psychological aspect of this whole hair deal. "Natural" hair references a rejection of a respectability aesthetic based in European standards of beauty. It politically symbolizes (whether intentionally or not) Black U.S. American historical ties to Africa which, for white people, continues to be a place that represents the primitive. White supremacist ideas of Africans as not only primitive, but savage, oversexed, and immoral therefore get tangled up in our kinky, African hair. This is how "ghetto," "ho," and "slut" easily slip into a reference to Black women, especially in regards to our hair. Lets look at it from another perspective. Rewind: Above I stated, "...back to the psychoanalytic aspect of this whole hair deal. "Natural" hair references a rejection of a respectability aesthetic based in European standards of beauty. It politically symbolizes (whether intentionally or not) Black U.S. American historical ties to Africa which..." (I would like to insert here.) references the history of the middle passage, slavery, the nadir, and jim crow. (Note the semi-linear timeline.) It is a site that brings down heavy upon some white folks—white guilt. The guilt mired with the fascination and fetishization of Black hair results in the well-known intrusive behaviors of some of our white friends. Uninvited touching, a mirage of questions (often accompanied by intrusive touching) "I just love your hair. How do you make it do that?" "Do you wash it? How often?" It reflects itself on any point of the political or cultural spectrum, a fascination with our hair. So lets return to the jerks at hand. Imus' "nappy headed ho" reference, and Boortz’s "ghetto slut" reference. The former being a recent follow up to the latter, if actually discussed in a public forum would have the potential to put white America’s psyches on blast. Instead Imus has successfully, single handedly given us the distraction of hip hop, an issue he clearly knows is one of contention within the Black community, to cover white America's ass on the issue. This isn't the first time. It won't be the last. Every five seconds a white person is referring to a black woman as a nappy headed ho (or some variation thereof). In love and nappyness, a black girl Labels: black women, culture, don imus, duke lacross team, nappy headed ho, Neal Boortz, racism, sexism uttered by a black girl at 6:37 PM. | 4 comments
So, here we are again: back to Black women's hair. Somehow with war, genocide, AIDS, and any other number of things threatening the lives of humans (mostly of color) on this planet we come back to the issue of Black women’s hair. Recently, Don Imus was thankfully fired from his post at WNBC for referring to the women of Rutger’s basketball team as "nappy headed hos." This statement was of course followed by a media frenzy that included an interesting twist: blaming hip hop for the source of Don Imus' comfort with saying "nappy headed hoe." As if, somehow, white men weren't saying derogatory things about Black women’s hair and sexuality before the onslaught of hip hop in the 1970s. This also comes up as the boys from the Duke lacrosse team are released from charges of rape of a Black woman. Let’s not act like the shit ain't linked. I could go there. I could go down the road of how Imus' invocation of hip hop is purely a way to distract attention from himself, and dissemble what could be a fruitful conversation about the U.S. American audience’s complacency for violence verbal or physical against Black women’s bodies. But I want to stay on a topic that seems benign in all of this. The issue of Black women’s sexuality is certainly hot, and certainly needs healing. (For Black women in the DC metro area, please contact me, as I will be having a circle on May 3rd to discuss issues around the body for Black women.) I am going to talk about that. But first, I would like to make a small observation. So Don Imus gives us the double whammy of referencing Black women’s hair, and Black women’s sexuality in one poignant moment that reveals, I would argue the psychological underpinnings of U.S. American fears, fetishes, whatever of Black women’s hair. Let me focus on it as a fetish: white people have a fetish around Black women’s hair. Well, actually white people have a fetish around Black women’s bodies period. Here I am talking about hair. Hair that is a combination of awe, disgust, fear, and hatred. It is as if our kinky roots are what Joseph Conrad calls The Heart of Darkness. Our bodies have been the maps of imperialism, and our hair strikes a chord of dread (no pun intended, but get why you don't call my hair by that word) and fascination in their hearts. Let me back it up. I made a generalization. I said white people have a fetish around Black women’s hair. Just wanted to acknowledge that. No apologies, challenge me on that later. As I was saying, white people have a fetish around Black women’s hair. I don’t know the source of this. I think looking into this will require a space as a chapter in my dissertation. I do have a few ideas. Don Imus’ comments reveal that fascination. How exactly does Black women’s hair become the marker for an entire basketball team that includes white women? This is clearly evident of a predisposed fixation of Black women’s hair. But he ain’t the first one in recent history. Can we back up almost exactly a year ago when another radio personality, Neal Boortz described Cynthia McKinney’s neo-afro as making her look like a “ghetto slut.” That’s not the only thing he gives us. Boortz goes on in a spiraling psychological (here is a moment where I invoke the postmodernist ability to make up my own words) Conradian descent into the depths of his fear, hatred, and awe of this Black woman’s hair. May I share? It just flies away from her head in every conceivable direction. It looks like an explosion in a Brillo pad factory. It's just hideous. To me, that hairstyle just shows contempt for -- no, it's not an Afro. I mean, no, it just shows contempt for the position that she holds and the body that she serves in. And, I'm sorry, there's just no other way to -- it's just a hideous and horrible looking…More on this issue here. Let me be specific. It is the "natural" that frightens white folk the most. No such comment has made of one of the most prominent Black women in pop culture at this moment: Beyonce. (Outside of the Black community's whisperings on how bad her weave can be.) Boortz can barely contain his contempt for the natural. For him it actually "shows contempt" for her position as a government official. Black women’s hair in this state is something that can never be professional, that is always tied to our "primitive" roots, and most of all locates us on the lower rung of an aesthetic and moral hierarchy. Black women's kinky hair is evident of our sexuality. Note how Boortz references in horror "It just flies away from her head in every conceivable direction. [...] It's just hideous [... It’s just hideous and horrible looking." [continued on next blog] Labels: black women, culture, don imus, duke lacross team, nappy headed ho, Neal Boortz, racism, sexism uttered by a black girl at 6:19 PM. | 1 comments
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