Thursday, October 20, 2011

Is There Any One Way To Be Black?

No, of course not. There is no one way to be black. We have pundits that try to pigeon-hole it, to make people (and of course) society feel that there is just one way out there. Also, let's not forget the role of stereotypes. Stereotypes have been consistent and successful in institutionalizing that one-way view. And, of course, the paradox about stereotypes is that there is a part of them that is true.
When I was six years old, I remember hearing two words on the radio quite often. Those words were guerrilla and Negro. I had been to the Bronx Zoo with my family a few times, so I thought I knew what a guerrilla was. Much to my surprise, after asking my father, I found out it wasn't the kind of animal I had in mind.

"Well then, what is a guerrilla?" I asked.

"The guerrilla they were talking about on the radio is a liberation fighter. As I explained to you before, there are all kinds of wars going on around the world, and this "guerrilla" wages war differently than what you see on television or have been taught in school."

"OK. And what is a Negro?" I asked.

"Look in the mirror," my father said tersely.

The curtness of his answer both surprised and shocked me. But being that I had politically active parents, I came to realize that something was terribly wrong with a society that puts distinctions on individuals or groups based solely on color. I was also grateful that my parents encouraged me as a youth to work with my peers to design “rap” sessions and workshops that seriously addressed the questions of the day. As the next few years of my life unfolded, through these rap sessions and informal workshops with my peers, I realized that as a "Negro," in order to be considered equal to white people, I would have to spend much of my time de-emphasizing the distinction of color. This realization was very painful for me because I had also been taught to appreciate the distinction of color as it related to cultural achievement and pride.

These experiences brought me full circle insofar as developing, as a teenager, working models for social change. But interestingly, within that context, I started to see that there was not one way to be black. There were so many ways black folk were expressing "themselves." Some were productive, some were mysterious and lost, some were profound, some were negative, and some were just too real.

Funny. I had a choice of "blackness" to pick from. And I have chosen all of them in my life. Some were safe. Some were familiar. Some I just hung on to (and still hang on to to this day) because I was and am too scared to venture out on my own and define it for myself. It is safer sometimes to let dominant culture define it for me. That way, I don't have to discover my path or the truth. But within this context WAS how I looked at change. Was I comfortable in my black skin? At that age, yes, but no too. I admit that I was working the stereotypes; the good ones to help define my blackness, the negatives one internalizing. As a teenager, I knew or had a more intellectual understanding of change. I knew that if change is inevitable, I needed to direct the change instead of just watching it pass on by. I also knew that there was a relationship between consciousness and action, and that it was important to always remember that, even in times of great fear and trepidation.

So yes, I take these lessons forward to this day. And I feel there is positive movement in my quest to define my blackness, but where I still feel diminished/stuck is outside of my inner self, my heart, and in what I allow the larger society to define for me. And I think that I have internalized the subtle values of my white friends/relationships and dominant culture in terms of them shaping my identity instead of shaping it on my own.

I have to understand that my level of understanding attained is the beginning of the change and not the end result of change. I have to be vigilant about what I do once I reach certain levels of political consciousness, and not become complacent because I feel that the work is over and there is no more left to accomplish. Or, that what is left to accomplish is either too hard (internalizing the feeling of being diminished) or too easy (succumbing to white guilt and using it as a negotiating tool with my white friends and my blended family).
In conclusion, I feel that I must take responsibility to develop frameworks that translate historical lessons into a language I can not not only understand, but can mobilize and educate people as well. That would be the best way to define myself as a black person, one with a healthy identity that can't be taken away from me.