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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
But the shit is soooo damn catchy. And here comes the age old Black feminist dilemma of inclusion, investment in hip hop culture but also a fundamental opposition to ideologies which seek to do women harm. So I began to think about how the dance and the song intersect at a moment in which Black women's embodiments are a source of release, agency, yet also shame. (And reinforced with m shame in enjoying it as a feminist.) How the dance itself is agency, how it is expression, but how ultimately is a source and location of shaming within black women's bodies. The problem of the jovial: This all lies within the dialect. The ways in which we can hear without listening because language can be rendered meaningless coming from particular bodies especially as we tie certain bodies to geographic areas which are culturally shamed. I'm talking about the u.s. south. The ways in which--within the context of U.S. American history the south has been a site of shame and shaming. This shame and shaming involves the ways in which the South has been a symbol of active and violent racism via slavery and jim crow, of evangelical religiousness via the southern baptist church, and overall backwardness via the poverty of the Black Belt South and Appalachia. This shame/shaming has been characterized by racist ideologies that have been able to hold true in the south. The south has become a site of pathological spectacle wherein the racist, morally corrupt and violent psyches of a more industrious north can find release and a simultaneous sense of scientific and moral erudition. All of this is caught up in the ways in which vernaculars, certain ways of speaking can be rendered meaningless via the ways in which U.S. America looks to the south for sites of poverty, backwardness, and illiteracy. We can listen to Souljah Boy and not hear what he says--not because we all don't understand it (Because many of us do.) but because it comes from his Mississippi Delta drawl. Catchy hooks render his words even more meaningless. As meaningless as a jingle, but just as powerful as both are marketing tools for capitalist goods and dominant ideology. Souljah Boy, at 17 is a caricature. One who has been made familiar to us by representations of Black men in the south via 'Lil John, Three Six Mafia, and the minstrel characters of the early 20th century. The psychic slack jaw of his drawl is the ironic aspect of what is thought to be understood of him that there is nothing heavy in his mouth but his bottom lip. Its such a dubious lie. Especially for Black women. There is something powerful coming from this 17 year old's mouth about Black women and shame--particularly around Black women's embodiment and their sexuality. Crank That/ The head nod vs. The boogie I think we can break down the dance itself to talk about the ways in which it offers a particular kind of agency, a different kind of Black masculinity. Which is where I will start. Thugs don't dance--they rock, they lean back, the mad dog, mean mug, they lean against a wall so they can survey a crowd or have a woman break a sweat in front of him. The "cool pose" and Black masculinity have been linked for a very long time now. Dancing is far too expressive, music and dance is a kind of chaos which may lead to loosing control. And control is masculinities #2 thing (the domination of women being #1). The surge of music in the south that encourages dancing and even offers steps, reveals the ways in which Black masculinities in the south have formed differently. These masculinities had to do to particular realities of racialized violence in the south. Now I haven't quite formulated to myself how this exactly happens, but I think a trip to a hip hop club in the south versus one in the north will reveal that this actually happens. The shame around particular embodiments of Black men in the South makes it impossible for Black men to perform masculinity in a "southern" way. If Black men in the shameful and shamed south allow themselves certain embodied releases through gestures, postures, and even dance, Black men in the north must embody and perform an evolved sense of being something aggressively masculine, controlled, and cool. But masculinity is as masculinity does and this is heavily revealed through Souljah Boy's performance. "Superman that Hoe": Affirming Masculinity and Transferring Shame The issue of shame and Black (and white, although differently represented) bodies in the south mirrors itself to the ways in which gender and sexuality play themselves out in southern rap. For the southern rapper, masculinity must be affirmed in the face of the ultra cool stoic of the northern Black male. The most accessible and historically consistent way of doing this? Dominate Black women. And what a more poignant way of doing with it than within Black women's very embodiment. We who know the catchy tune Souljah Boy are incredibly familiar with the part of the lyrics, and the dance that are as follows: "Watch me crank that souljah boy and superman that hoe." Ok, for those who didn't know... (because I didn't until very recently) to "superman that hoe" can be described as the following: *if you aren't sitting down, please do so now.* The action of ejaculating on a woman's back during intercourse and leaving a towel or sheet on her back so that in the morning the dried semen will have made the towel or sheet stick to her resulting in her waking up with something that will resemble a cape. *breathe* Other definitions here, and here, and here. The moment I've described is imbued with shame as it is dependent upon the woman being caught unawares, of having bodily fluids spewed and left on her body to dry, and then, literally carrying evidence of that moment on her back. The moment is ultimately summed up in an ironic cartooning of her complete lack of power over her body (via dried cum where she can't see it) to the fictional symbol of superhuman strength and power--Superman. The very moment of sexual intercourse is then reduced to a childish prank that reveals power, and misuse of trust. Within the embodied moment described in the lyrics and then again the embodied moment in the dance which is reduced for popular consumption to imitating the fictional superhero in flight there is again a moment of shaming wherein a woman must either ignore the implication of the term, embrace the term and/or replace it onto a woman who she would consider a "hoe," or remain ignorant of its meaning and consider it a cute homage to the late Christopher Reeves. All but the last are in recognition of the embodied shame that is doubled by the dance itself and the sexual act it describes (the last simply hopes to remain ignorant of the shame). What results is a way in which a dance which includes multiple steps, that requires whole body movements reinforces masculinity available for consumption by Black males nationwide. Even Queens native, Nas is feeling it. Could the song have been successful without this particular reference? Possibly but not probably. The moment of dancing (i.e. cranking that souljah boy) must be followed up with this misogynist and heterosexual act: "Watch me crank that souljah boy then superman that hoe." But the song would have not been possible without the rhythmic and catchy repetition of the word "hoe." (In cleaner versions it is heard as Oh!) And the rapper would have not successfully presented himself as masculine and heterosexual without that reference. After all the song is just about a black boy who likes to dance. Right? The little boys in the beginning are precious. YOUUUUUUUUUUUUUUU!!!!!!!! Labels: feminism, hip hop, misogyny, music, pop culture, sex, sexism uttered by a black girl at 5:18 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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