Kimberly Nicole Foster

I Am Enough: On Self-Validation and Refusing to Settle in Life or Love

Fri, 29 Mar 2013 17:26:59 -0400

I’ve always set goals aggressively. By the time I was 12, I had a meticulous plan to get into the college of my dreams and go on to immediate, phenomenal success in my chosen career field. But the time I was old enough to drink, I discovered sometimes your plans aren’t worth the moleskin notebook your scratched them in. Life happens. Priorities change. Desires wane

I never planned my personal life, that of marriage and family, with quite the same ambition. I picked a general age around which I’d like to be married, but it never felt quite as urgent. Building a life with a partner I love and trust is my ideal, but this is the only area in wherein baby steps have always been acceptable.

To be clear, I’ve entertained my fair share of, let’s say, less than desirable men. But even during those romantic entanglements, I never imagined entering into a life-long covenant with them.

As a heterosexual woman who wants to be a mother, I believe the single most important decision I will make in my life is choosing the father of my children. An active, engaged partner can make a tremendous difference in kid’s lives, and I have a responsibility to unborn Laila and Charlotte (my baby names of the moment) to choose wisely. Of course, you never know what type of father a man will be, but my intention is to minimize risk. That’s how I approach dating.

As a professionally ambitious woman, my desire to find the “right” mate isn’t simply about the well-being of my future kids. It’s about self-preservation. Facebook COO Sheryl Sandberg has said time and again that the single defining factor for the success of working women with children is the support of their spouse. Because patriarchal society expects women to assume the role of primary caregiver and homemaker as default, picking the wrong mate can derail a career.

But I am more than what I wish to achieve. After reading Justice, Gender, And The Family, I felt affirmed in my refusal to commit to a man who doesn’t “get” my faith or my feminism. Families are the building blocks of our society. What happens inside of them are important in shaping the kind of world we want. These are points that I cannot concede.

No matter how clearly I’ve thought through my decision to remain single until I find the right person, moments of doubt creep into my consciousness often. Have I doomed myself to a life of being the “cool aunt” and overly ambitious “sister/daughter/friend?” Who will I care for? Who will care for me?

If you’re luck, young women learn the importance of these concerns, but we also receive constant messaging that to have a man, any man, means to be validated and valued. The push and pull of societal expectations pressures women to settle — settle not only for partners who don’t share their goals or views, but for men who don’t make them feel consistently extraordinary.

Too many define women by their ability to keep a man. How many times have you heard men and women discuss finding a romantic partner like an achievement? Those who can maintain a happy, healthy relationship deserve commendation, but when women are ridiculed as “forever alone” that’s not what we hear. The commentary is if you are a woman without a significant other, no one finds you worthy of “wifing.” It’s what causes us to chase and seek affection from anyone no matter how trifling ill-matched.

My decision to wait it out means I have to validate my damn self. Despite the stigma that accompanies being unpartnered. Single isn’t a bad word. My life is overflowing with every type of love imaginable. My goal is to be too busy basking in it to concern myself about a lack of romance. Loneliness doesn’t scare me nearly as much as the discontent of living an unfulfilled life. And if I don’t meet a man I can build with until I’m 30, 35, 40, or never. That’s fine. Though one can hardly ignore the (in)fertility hysteria, but even the thought of rapidly deteriorating eggs doesn’t scare me enough to sway me. The universe gives us what we need, and I’m enough.

Unwelcome Opinions: Why Do Men Feel Entitled to Comment on Black Women's Hair?

Thu, 21 Mar 2013 11:15:11 -0400

Against my better judgement, last night I watched Bravo’s “Fashion Queens.” Let’s begin by saying the show is a train wreck. Bravo’s Andy Cohen loves to trot caricatures of Black gay culture for his amusement, and this show was no exception. I might have been able to overlook the fact that this show clearly sprung from a privileged white man’s hood fantasies had the hosts delivered anything near quality. Instead we got thirty minutes of unwitty shade. Perhaps someone wants to tune into to three hosts tearing women down to mask their own insecurities, but I’m certainly not the one.

I knew the show was unsalvageable when host Bevy Smith asked professional hair stylists Miss Lawrence and Derek J for their opinion on “the natural hair movement.” Derek J replied without hesitation. “the natural hair movement isn’t for everyone.” Miss Lawrence chimed in with something along the lines of “if you have short hair, you need a perm.” He said this with a triumphant swoop of his permed/weaved side bang. Their answers came as no surprise. If I made my living perming and weaving Black women, I’d probably say the same. Plus, I’ve seen the show. These men sport “women’s” apparel and accoutrements, but they are far from progressive.

The comments serve as a reminder of just how important men, all men, can be in shaping the aesthetic expectations placed on women. Men attempt to exert control over women’s bodies. This extends beyond heretosexual men policing the femininity of women they feel their won. Gay men feel just as entitled. Despite the historic alliance between black women and black gay men, we have to tune them out.

Black women spend far too much time at the mercy of men’s preferences to our own detriment. Women who desire partnership and/or validation from men (in a patriarchal society that’s basically all of us) are cautioned to walk the tight-rope of narrow beauty because if our self-presentation doesn’t meet men’s approval, we’ll face rejection. We’re warned of consequences without thought of how we, personally, will suffer. We know exactly what happens to women internalize these messages of deficiency. Some of us come out relatively unscathed. While others can’t hide their gaping wounds. Navigating men’s desires while attempting to reconcile your own takes a toll. As a woman, you being to doubt yourself—your attractiveness and value.

Men need to shut up about what women choose to do with their bodies, but that’s unlikely. Tearing down our physical appearances keeps them in control. Women will have to change the standard. Freeing ourselves from the oppressive male gaze requires us to affirm each other and ignore the noise.

Celebrities Won't Save Feminism So Leave Beyonce Alone

Mon, 11 Mar 2013 23:18:54 -0400

Lovers of a quality pop music spectacle can breathe a sigh of relief because the preeminent entertainer of her generation has reemerged on the world’s stage. What I have pre-emptively termed The Year of Beyoncé began with the singer in her underwear on the February cover of GQ Magazine. It continued with an almost perfectly executed Super Bowl halftime show, and in just a few days, she’ll give us a cinematic glimpse into her private life on HBO.

With every move, Mrs. Carter provides onlookers with more than enough fodder for endless scrutiny and debate. Beyoncé is a particularly compelling figure for those tasked with analyzing pop culture online chiefly because she’s so darn good at her job. She keeps us talking, but why do conversations that surround the singer feel so stale?

For the past few weeks, pop culture and feminist writers have published article after article questioning Beyoncé’s pro-woman positions. Bloggers attack her because she seems to have no desire to be a perfect feminist. (Although she hasn’t completely eschewed the label.)

The onslaught is unfathomable. Beyoncé clearly loves women; she tributes and celebrates them in her work often. But Beyonce also loves her sexually provocative wardrobe and her enormously successful husband. That makes many feminists uncomfortable. The writers that pick her apart do so in bad faith. The time they dedicate to accusing Bey would be better spent fully examining the context or consequences of her choices. At this point, each blog post feels more like an opportunistic pile-on than a thoughtful critique.

I am a feminist, but the entitlement with which these feminist criticisms are broached concerns me. Beyoncé is an entertainer not an activist. She owes us nothing. Of course we want her on our team, but the self-righteous neighing must stop.

With all this handwringing and finger-wagging, you’d think the fate of the movement lies solely in her hands. Thankfully, that’s never how feminism, or any movement for social good, works. Women on the ground carry the torch. Not the women on top. Countless foot soldiers, whose names you may never know, move the cause forward.

I understand the impulse to project feminism on to celebrities. Visibility matters. Women who espouse feminist beliefs often evade the moniker, but trying to force entertainers into the role of spokesperson neglects the fact that we, the women who claim it proudly, are the face of feminism. Bashing women who mean well produces no converts. It only alienates would-be feminists.

Her recent interview with GQ cemented in my mind that even if she doesn’t claim us, Beyoncé often thinks like a feminist. Bey could, at this point, do whatever she wants, but she’s stuck to her pro-woman guns. That’s a good sign, and a clear refutation of the cynics who claimed she exploited women’s empowerment for personal gain. To tear her down for failing to live up to an impossible standard is to ignore the fact that embracing women, particularly, black women in the way Beyoncé has done for years makes her a target. Even mainstream, marketable girl-power anthems are unpalatable to many. Yet, those who toe a hardline refuse to give her credit even for that.

Nothing would make me happier than seeing Beyoncé come out as a feminist. And, yes, The Mrs. Carter Show World Tour gave me feelings. But as a woman who loves women, I can’t be so quick to dismiss choices I may not agree with.

Those who are truly concerned about the advancement of women must learn how to deconstruct patriarchal culture in a way that doesn’t tear women down. So leave Beyoncé alone.

Death to the Online Petition

Sat, 26 Jan 2013 00:32:00 -0500

They never should have given y’all online petitions. In recent weeks, my annoyance with certain digital organizing tactics has reached its peak. These petitions, in particular facilitate offline victories, but now they also symbolize faux activism. Signing and circulating online petitions about every real or imagined indignity reflects the entitlement of the Internet Era. Everyone has a right to be personally offended. Thankfully the web provides a space for us to voice our concerns, but does every grievance necessitate a “movement?” And does every “movement” deserve attention?

Admittedly, I’ve signed a few online petitions. I’ve even started a couple, but I’m starting to regret participating in a spiraling cultural phenomenon wherein everyone feels as though their concerns are the most important. Without vetting or deep exploration, the rallying feels like empty gesture. We are creating more noise than change.

E-petition Culture represents digital populism. Everyone can play a part, no matter how small, in consciousness raising. Individuals can bring to light injustices and misdeeds of major corporations and large institutions. Many worthy and worthwhile causes need the Internet to raise awareness and garner support. This is a great development, in theory, but having no gatekeepers results in wasted time and energy at the top and the bottom.

In September 2011, for example, the Obama Administration created a place on its website that enabled citizens to create petitions. The White House vowed to respond to all those that received 5,000 signatures in 30 days. Then the threshold was raised to 25,000 and now it’s at 100,000. Once again, the President and his staff bridge the digital and the political, but a part of me wonders just how much time White House policy experts spend reviewing petitions to deport Piers Morgan, secede from the union or build a Death Star.

Even if the White House does nothing with the petitions, which seems likely, these ridiculous queries still dominate the news. While we’re discussing and debating causes of questionable import, more pressing issues are neglected. In this sensational media landscape, “the will of the people” gets reduced to that which generates the most pageviews, comments, and likes. That’s the danger of E-petition Culture.

Those who care about social justice should also be worried about the culture’s superficiality. People indiscriminately lending their name and support to causes diminishes the meaningfulness of the gesture. An e-signature is not a revolutionary act. This is the shallow end of political advocacy—only a few steps above total apathy. And when these petitions are victorious, is the sense of accomplishment signees feel warranted? Did we really do anything? We’re concerned enough to sign a petition, write an op-ed or even attend a rally, but by and large we make no sacrifices. Perhaps that’s a sign of our progress, or maybe it reflects our detachment.

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Though most outspoken organizers may be motivated by earnest concern, there’s an equal amount of moral grandstanding.

Recent, rallying against reality television shows sent me over the edge. These social media campaigns to end “embarrassing” images feel regressive. Yesterday, Oxygen confirmed it will not air Shawty Lo’s reality show “All My Babies’ Mamas.” The decision came after a successful campaign against the show which included a petition that gained nearly 40,000 signatures. Before the cancellation, online activist Sabrina Lamb explained, “We will not support any network and advertiser which exploits the plight of children and targets young women with stereotypical, dangerous, unsafe messages.”

The 13 minute teaser sent the “respectable” men and women of Black America into a frenzy. These petitions are not fighting for the improved conditions of black women or black families, they’re championing the erasure of their stories. According to Lamb, the airing of an atypical Black family presents a threat. But for whom? The social media vigilantes are more occupied with what “they” would say about women and their children. It’s fascinating to see Black women fall over themselves arguing that the decision to air a show about a man with 11 children by 10 women must be the result of abject racism because the situation isn’t peculiar–that Black women’s pathological reproduction makes this a normal occurrence. It seems we are just as good at perpetuating those myths as “they” are.

I, personally, do not believe structural racism is undergirded by reality television. Moreover, even the “worst” representations of Women of Color on reality shows provide teachable moments. Viewers can use these shows as tool to reflect on our own lives and decisions. Few will admit that these real stories inspire self-reflection just as fictional ones do. I may watch television especially closely, but the implication is that other young Black women are too dumb to do the same. That offends me.

The social issues reflected on reality television will not be solved by blocking the airing of one program or starting a movement that effectively pits “good black women” against the “bad.” E-petition Culture flattens complex structural issues into easily shareable publicity-bait, even those who should know better are falling for it.

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Any frustrations I have with the paradigm are mediated by the real successes of digital advocacy. Black social media activists have created, from the root, an effective counter-public space and can count several victories—most notably the cases of the Jena 6 and Trayvon Martin. (Though one day we’ll need to discuss the clear gender disparity in these campaigns.) Digital organizing can compel biased institutions to act in the interest of justice. For that reason, it is necessary.

We are, however, witnessing a troubling shift in culture. If only there were a screening process. Although I am annoyed by the rising E-petition Culture, there is no objective way to distinguish legitimate concerns from the oppressive, malicious or imagined. The line is so thin as to be imperceptible; thus, we will just have to endure all of the seemingly pointless and ultimately fruitless causes so that we will not miss those that truly demand action. I do not like it, but these are the times.

Beauty and Butt Shots: Black Women Battle for Body Acceptance

Sat, 26 Jan 2013 00:25:21 -0500

After I read this blog post from a woman who regrets the $700 butt shots she received, I couldn’t help but think through my own journey to body acceptance. The blog post reminded me that in recent years, black folks have been our own worst enemy in perpetuating body image issues among black women and girls. In our efforts to defy white supremacy, we adopted an equally unattainable aesthetic ideal. Large breasts, tiny waists, and humongous behinds are the desired anatomy of a substantial segment of Black and brown people. Normal women with 9 to 5s aspire to the video girl dimensions we’ve deemed most attractive. Now those women are dying, and it’s time to rethink our preferences.

Many women of African descent are born with naturally round behinds and supple thighs; however, many are not. Placing this one type of body on a pedestal has cost us dearly. There’s a new generation of women caught between mainstream beauty standards and those of the culture they wish to be validated within. These women have nowhere to turn. They can’t be beautiful because they are not white, and they can’t be sexy because they are not thick.

“Thick” being the current body descriptor used to terrorize Black women. It singles us out and shames us. We all know shame is one of the most powerful forces in the universe. It drives even the most level-headed among us to pursue illogical courses of action. But some of us, by constitution or circumstance, are more vulnerable, and we succumb to the whims of an unforgiving culture.

In order to embody “thick” some Black women began injecting themselves with all manner of toxic sludge. They made themselves attractions. I see these women as attempting to reclaim control of their bodies and the way they will be viewed. Inverting the plight of the Hottentot Venus, they, themselves, put their outlandishly large body parts on display. Trading the white gaze for black leers, these women don’t realize that once you have been reduced to the sum of your body parts, you’ve lost your power.

I, too, lost ownership of my body for a time. I’m still trying to regain it. My lower body has attracted unwanted attention from both sexes and all races since I hit puberty. At around 9, I began to “fill out,” and the comments began. My adolescence is marked by the horrors of shopping for jeans. Each excursion ended in similar bouts of self-loathing. The well-meaning encouragement and compliments only deepen the despair.

Then, of course, there are the not-so-well meaning comments. While exiting a hot tub at 14 or 15 a white teenage boy caught a glimpse of my behind. He unashamedly asked me if all Black girls have “ghettos.” I assume he meant ghetto booties. I laughed nervously, but I wanted to cry. Those moments happened to me often in all-white spaces. The stares and jokes were particularly devastating as I was often the only black girl. They were constant reminders that my body was an oddity. I’d never be like “them.”

The rise booty magazines and butt shots brought a shift in the kind of attention my body attracted. I grew up as well. As I began to pursue adult romantic and sexual relationships, the thing that was once a liability became an asset. It drew men’s attention. I took pride in having fatty, a donk, a booty, an ass. They wanted it, and I wanted…affection. But it seems certain type of men can sense when a woman thinks all she’s worth is poking out of her skintight dress. Those of the type of men who don’t call you the next morning. They don’t take you out for your birthday. They don’t show up to family functions.

Disappointment is a great teacher. It taught me that I’d have to find a new way to cope with trauma of growing up with a tattered body image. Even as a feminist, well-educated woman I fall victim to the lures of male validation. Everyone wants to be wanted. Through personal growth, I understand that being fetishized, even for a personal attribute I used to hate, is not a compliment. But that took work, and it takes time. I can’t fault other women who haven’t started the journey.

Cracking jokes at the expense of women with slim bodies once felt like retribution for years of torment, but I can’t laugh anymore. All women are victims. Black women are losing. All of us. We can only hope to win by resisting boldly those who taught us to hate ourselves.

Deeper Than Reality TV: It's Not About a Rapper or His Babies Mamas

Sat, 26 Jan 2013 00:21:00 -0500

I took a long time to assemble my thoughts on Shawty Lo’s new show and the outrage it’s inspired primarily because I was deeply conflicted. Shawty Lo’s recklessness is indefensible. I have no desire to defend the show or its right to be on the air. I don’t believe that the arrangement the rapper has with his 10 children’s mothers and 11 children is a justifiable alternative family structure. The discussion around the show, however, has been largely unproductive and intellectually lazy. Too many men and women missed the greater, ongoing tragedies in black communities that this show represents.

Prescriptions of marriage for all Black women who wish to have children are bullheadedly misguided. Marriage, across many segments of American society, is dying, and black folks aren’t going to revive it. Yet compassionate conservatives continue pushing it without acknowledging that this institution simply does not align with the lived experiences of most Americans. Now that white folks are doing it in larger numbers, cohabitation and unwedded co-parenting will be normalized, but it’s a shame that majority culture has to adopt a habit so it will not be seen as pathological among blacks. Out of Wedlock shamers feel emboldened because their ideologies are validated by majority culture. That will soon not be the case.

If teaching young Black couples the value of marriage were the answer to problem of abandoned children, these discussions wouldn’t be necessary. Blacks are extremely conservative when it comes to theoretical moral stances, but morals, standards, and ethics are not fixed. They are situational and contextual. They require continual evaluation. I’ve known many men and women who’ve expressed a belief in the value of marriage who went on to have children out of wedlock. Things happen. Life happens. Stern lectures and catchy slogans don’t displace real trials and tumult life brings.

Marriage fell out of favor in Black communities decades ago because of shifting economies and values, and the shift we’re seeing away from marriage largely reflects that in the whole of America. When black folks do it, it’s primitive behavior. When white folks do it, it’s cultural evolution.

We have yet to discuss real solutions. Pro-marriage advocates refuse to acknowledge that a likelihood to marry is tied closely to education. College-educated women marry later and stay married longer. We also know that better health outcomes and financial stability also accompany formal education. Why then would “personal responsibility” campaigns focus exclusively on fertility. If you want young Black women to lead more stable lives, encourage them to stay in school. Of course, acknowledging that fact requires reading beyond the headlines, and takes away the fun of slut-shaming. But that’s a real solution – not a hash tag. A diploma.

Then again, higher education has become increasingly unattainable for those without family and financial support, and those are the women most at risk. The education solution does not account for the women who will not ever earn a diploma. That means we must turn to the women themselves and the families they produce.

In order to progress past the hand wringing, black communities have to embrace and encourage supportive, non-traditional families. This is, however, difficult to do with a family that is the result of the kinds of coercive sexual relationships that produced Shawty Lo’s situation. The majority of the mothers met the rapper when while they were underage or barely legal. This man is a predator, and he created a family born not of consent and support but of the perceived limits of black women’s romantic options. Without a commitment or assurance of stability, the women had his children. It seems they settled for what was available to them rather than what they deserved. It’s a mindset not uncommon in women – onne that stems from internalizing constant degrading messages.

Our worlds are limited by constant attacks. I question the motives of the black women bloggers who’ve taken this as an opportunity to further degrade women who clearly cannot see how valuable, beautiful and capable they are. You cannot claim to care for black women, especially those at risk of exploitation, and hurl the same insults at them as everyone else. Quite frankly, if you don’t hesitate to refer to black women as livestock, you’re not really for us. If further stripping Black women of their humanity is a central component of your movement, I have no choice but to hope for its speedy demise.

We grossly underestimate the intelligence of the women who find themselves in less than ideal romantic and child-rearing entanglements. In reality, women must get creative in order to navigate the landmines of patriarchy. “Respectable” black women talk down to those they presume don’t know any better and do nothing but preach to the wannabe upper class choir.

Alternative families can be beautiful; however, ideally those family structures would be created with consent and support. Support is more than financial. We must demand men assume emotional responsibility for their children as well as financial culpability. This requires a fundamental reimagining of the foundational roles of fathers. The problem cannot rest solely at the feet of women who birth the children.

Shawty Lo and the mothers of his 11 children didn’t reveal to me anything I hadn’t seen or imagined. But they did force me to think through the ways we can improve the lives of the adults and kids caught up in less than ideal circumstances. Attempting to silence or erase them won’t fix anything for the countless other women who face similar challenges. Empower women to pursue higher education. Empower them to seek partners that will uplift them. Empower them to use birth control and condoms. We must remember that strong families cannot exist without strong women, and the work of building them never ends.

Who Will Defend A Black Woman?: Rhonda Lee and the Need To Speak Up

Sat, 26 Jan 2013 00:18:32 -0500

Meteorologist Rhonda Lee was terminated from her position at a Shreveport, Louisiana television station for responding to a viewer’s insensitive comments about her hair on Facebook. Here are details of the exchange.

On Oct. 1, a viewer identified as Emmitt Vascocu wrote, “the black lady that does the news is a very nice lady.the only thing is she needs to wear a wig or grow some more hair. im not sure if she is a cancer patient. but still its not something myself that i think looks good on tv. what about letting someone a male have waist long hair do the news.what about that (cq).”

Lee replied the same day, “Hello Emmitt—I am the ‘black lady’ to which you are referring. I’m sorry you don’t like my ethnic hair. And no I don’t have cancer. I’m a non-smoking, 5’3, 121 lbs, 25 mile a week running, 37.5 year old woman, and I’m in perfectly healthy physical condition.

“I am very proud of my African-American ancestry which includes my hair. For your edification: traditionally our hair doesn’t grow downward. It grows upward. Many Black women use strong straightening agents in order to achieve a more European grade of hair and that is their choice. However in my case I don’t find it necessary. I’m very proud of who I am and the standard of beauty I display. Women come in all shapes, sizes, nationalities, and levels of beauty. Showing little girls that being comfortable in the skin and HAIR God gave me is my contribution to society. Little girls (and boys for that matter) need to see that what you look like isn’t a reason to not achieve their goals.

“Conforming to one standard isn’t what being American is about and I hope you can embrace that.

“Thank you for your comment and have a great weekend and thank for watching.”

Vascocu replied that Lee was right to be proud of who she is and that he is not a racist, but “… this world has … certain standerd (cq). if youve come from a world of being poor are you going to dress in rags?…” Source

Not only did the station not offer Lee support like that given this Wisconsin television reporter after she was taunted about her weight, Lee says the station’s general manager and news director fired her for violating social media policy that was never placed in writing.

The firing was clearly illegitimate, but Rhonda Lee committed a revolutionary act, albeit a small one. She had two options in this situation: ignore the criticism, or address it. She chose the latter. But even that was too much for the station which expected her to turn the other cheek. You see, it is actually company policy that a measured, articulate defense of your cultural ancestry is inappropriate if it is presented in the wrong platform — the wrong platform being any platform ever.

(Watch: Melissa Harris-Perry and Rhonda Lee Discuss Black Hair in the Workplace)

The predicament exemplifies life as a black woman. No decision is legitimate because we’re not allowed to feel. We’re “strong,” so we should be able to handle it all, and when we bend in either direction, we are weak or angry—never human. Black women have no real options in handling the biased words and actions we face daily. Society places the onus on us to prove racist (or sexist) intent, so we gracefully take the lashings.

But when we continually dismiss ignorant comments where does that leave us? While we contend with the self-doubt and frustration racial innuendos leave behind, the perpetrators of microaggressions remain empowered in their privilege. Picking our battles means we allow whites the continued privilege of trampling on our rights not to be victimized. The man who addressed Lee not only had these thoughts but felt entitled to say them, while demonstrating no command of the English language, publicly. Ms. Lee is a warrior for black women who endure pointed, frustrating questions about our hair, culture,and bodies endlessly, and she took up the fight while maintaining remarkable composure.

When attacked, we often keep quiet out of fear — an understandable fear that striking back in any way will cost us our livelihoods. Of course, no one will blame you ignoring racism in order to keep your job. That’s not cowardice; that is self-preservation. But why shrink away from battles that will cost you nothing? Instead of questioning the audacity of those who perpetuate racism without hesitation, Audre Lorde said it well, “We’ve been taught that silence would save us, but it won’t.” Your silence will not protect your sanity, your pride, your heart nor your spirit. Keeping quiet about overt ignorance only reinforces its presence in our culture.

I’ve come to realize that, as a black woman, everything about my existence will be questioned. I will have to continually assert my worthiness and my womanhood, and that is an daunting task. Of course it would be easier to dismiss the foolishness. My blood pressure and my faith in humanity would benefit greatly, but I also know that if some of us won’t draw a line in the sand, we can expect the same treatment indefinitely. I’m simply unwilling to concede my dignity.

Who will defend a black woman? Others may join in the fight, but we will have to do it ourselves.

A New Model For Black Motherhood: Why We Need More Jada Pinkett Smiths

Sat, 01 Dec 2012 10:55:00 -0500

Last week, Jada Pinkett-Smith posted an open letter on Facebook about her choice to allow her daughter Willow to make some controversial decisions about her personal appearances. Jada wrote:

The question why I would LET Willow cut her hair. First the LET must be challenged. This is a world where women,girls are constantly reminded that they don’t belong to themselves; that their bodies are not their own, nor their power or self determination. I made a promise to endow my little girl with the power to always know that her body, spirit and her mind are HER domain. Willow cut her hair because her beauty, her value, her worth is not measured by the length of her hair. It’s also a statement that claims that even little girls have the RIGHT to own themselves and should not be a slave to even their mother’s deepest insecurities, hopes and desires. Even little girls should not be a slave to the preconceived ideas of what a culture believes a little girl should be. More to come. Another day.

The actress and her husband Will chose a style of parenting that’s given 12 year-old Willow the space to grow into her own woman, and I couldn’t love them more for it.

It’s clear that Jada and Will employ a far more permissive parenting style than many of our parents, and that makes many uncomfortable. This seems to be particularly troubling for some Black folks who are used to a certain unyielding dominance.

Black parents are notoriously strict. Whenever the topic of the way “we” raise our kids arises, Black folks eagerly trade discipline tales like war stories. And no matter how traumatic the ending, the sharer will often note that they’re thankful for their parents’ MO because without it they would either be dead or in jail. As much as that may be true, I do wonder how our communities might be improved by allowing children more opportunities to push boundaries and ask questions.

Willow’s parents gave her the chance to test the waters, and she chose a path that dismisses social expectations. With her androgynous style, Willow is a different type of role model for young women. She’s not one of the the overly-manicured, fashion-obsessed tween Disney or Nickelodeon stars that have come to dominate children’s entertainment.She’s just being Willow — quirky, emotive, bold. These are traits to be celebrated not feared.

I’m more worried that today’s popular singers and actresses promote sexualized aesthetics that seep into consciousnesses of little girls. As a result, younger and younger children are being ushered into the Beauty Industrial Complex. 6 year olds now not only want to be beautiful princesses but sexy celebrities. According to researchers at Knox College, girls know the difference between “sexy” and “not sexy” by the time they get out of kindergarten. When asked,to choose between two dolls, the girls in the study overwhelmingly chose the “sexy” one.

Unsurprisingly, their preference for the more provocatively dressed figure increased with their television consumption. Girls know that they are being judged based on their physical desirability before they know their multiplication tables. Our sexist society does not even give girls an opportunity to develop a healthy self-image or sexuality beyond their bodies or sexual attractiveness. The cycle will not be broken without mothers and fathers actively working against the conditioning.

The Knox College study also points to the importance of mothers in shaping their daughter’s self-perception. Jada deserves credit for her own fearlessness. The Willow we see is a reflection of her mother’s willingness to break the mold. Mothers are our first teachers. They help us gain an understanding of our position in the world. They teach us what it means to be a woman. By giving her body autonomy, Jada has made it clear to her daughter that she is strong and capable by birth.

Parents want the best for their children, but they may not realize how pushing their daughters to conform to narrow modes of femininity might set them up for failure. Young girls, particularly young Black girls, receive endless messaging that they are not enough. The pressure can be dangerous when it comes from outside of the home, but devastating when administered by close family members.

Willow’s personal style challenges traditional gender binaries in a way that’s prompted absurd speculation about her sexuality. The talk is thinly veiled homophobia, and to her credit, Jada never acknowledged the whispers. The rumors are less about the woman Willow will become than the young woman she is now. Willow Smith is fearless and unapologetic—two things many think children should never be.

Jada unchained her daughter. Our mothers, grandmas, and aunties taught us to draw as little attention to ourselves as possible as we make our way through the world — or if we should be noticed, make it only for our exceptional achievements. Too many of us were taught that Willow’s style and demeanor are for white people; “we” don’t behave that way. But personal freedom isn’t just for white girls. Every little Colored girl deserves a chance to grow into the woman she longs to be. I could not be happier that preteens today who look like me now have Willow.

In Willow, I see a confident young woman who sets her own agenda — a beautiful Black girl who knows her worth because her parents chose to empower rather than to control. For better or for worse, we derive much of our identity from how we’re addressed by those closest to us. In every comment and action you’re telling your daughter something about herself. What are you saying?

Jada’s unorthodox mothering frees us all to re-think our intimate relationships. For mothers and daughters, the Smiths represent new possibilities.

On D.L. Hughley and Others: My Official Withdrawal From The Battle For Black Manhood

Sat, 01 Dec 2012 10:52:00 -0500

I grew up, like so many Black children of upwardly mobile parents, precariously situated between two worlds. Both Black and white women raised me. They were generous and loving, kind and brilliant. But as a kid, I sensed something different about the Black women in my life. They carried — what I can only describe as — a heaviness. The load wasn’t self-pitying sadness but steely resolve. I admired it, even if I didn’t completely understand its usefulness.

As a woman myself, I now recognize that heaviness. It has ensured our survival. That strength in spirit led Ida B. Wells-Barnett to risk life and limb in her crusade against Southern lynching. It directed Angela Davis to combat the prison industrial complex. It has guided innumerable Black women in their own communities to organize, work, and nurture simultaneously. Unfortunately that resolve often gets misread as needless anger even by those who should know better.

That is frustrating, and I’m struggling not to become hardened toward half of Black America. Many Black women have defined ourselves in relation to the men in our communities. As their mothers, wives, sisters, cousins, and friends, we were their keepers. We protected them when they could not protect themselves. All while trying to manage our own lives and livelihoods. Note that I’m using “we” and “us.” I, personally, have done my best to refrain, but I’ve seen self-sacrifice in service of Black manhood too many times to count. I am beginning to wonder where that has left Black women.

While Black women have marched, mothered, and sacrificed, many Black men have used the mythology of the bitter, overbearing matriarchy as an excuse to pile on. This week, D.L. Hughley appeared on NPR to promote his new book. When asked his thoughts on Black women, he said, ”I’ve never met an angrier group of people.” The comment is interesting not only because Hughley has a wife and two daughters but because he, quite simply, would not be in a position to speak with Michel Martin on a national platform without us. Furthermore, he needs Black women to buy his book. Hughley’s comments are representative of how so many Black men do not hesitate to disparage Black women because they know that they can do so without reprisal. Too often Black women do not reprimand Black men for degrading us. We reward them. For example, we allowed Steve Harvey and his army of relationship buffoons to repackage the myth of dysfunctional Black womanhood and sell it back to us.

We made them rich, and in doing so we cosigned the lie. Painting Black women as irrationally angry justifies the verbal and physical violence we endure daily. I did not see Hughley, Harvey or any of the other men who use their huge platforms to tell us how awful we are, comment on the recent viral videos of Black women being assaulted. With few exceptions, men abided a code of silence when video of rapper Lil Reese viciously beating a young became the talk of the internet. They didn’t question why violence against “angry, unladylike” Black women like Shi’Dea Lane in Cleveland is deemed entertainment. And when I attempted to begin a conversation about why men would stand by and watch these woman be attacked, some men I knew opted to confront me about my unfair portrait of black men as abuse apologists. These experiences are disheartening but telling. Even when it is about Black women, it’s about Black men. While we fight for their humanity, they fight for our silence.

Some Black women might be angry, but we are also loyal. We are joyful. We are resilient. Men like D.L. Hughley choose not to highlight those things because it is our anger that proves to be an inconvenience when they wish to dominate without question.

A wise woman once said, “You teach people how to treat you.” Black women have taught black men that we will support them no matter what — that their battles are ours and our devotion is limitless. It’s time to question those limits for this is a load I am unwilling to carry.

We all should share the responsibility of working toward liberation; however, there’s been an unequal division of labor. As someone who loves Black people and revels in Blackness, I cannot dismiss entirely half of Black communities. I have no desire to do so, and I deeply appreciate men like Mychal Smith, Bakari Kitwana and L’heureux Lewis-McCoy who actively fight for the concerns of Black women. Those voices, however, are far too few.

Black women must care for each other and for ourselves because we cannot rely fully on anyone else to do so. This has long been one of the uncomfortable truths of Black womanhood. Fictive unity is worthless; consequently, I can no longer invest in the restoration of Black masculinity as so many of my foremothers did. For the moment, I’m out. Black men will have to fight for themselves. This is my official withdrawal from the Battle for Black Manhood.

An Open Letter To Zoe Saldana: On The Hollywood Machine and Artist Responsibility

Sat, 01 Dec 2012 10:50:00 -0500

Dear Zoe,

Before I begin, please know that the majority of my disgust is reserved for Cynthia Mort and Jimmy Iovine. They hold primary responsibility for your casting in the upcoming film “Nina,” and that choice symbolizes the utter disregard the film industry has shown for telling the stories of Black women faithfully.

But you’re a grown woman, Zoe, and you made the decision to participate in this film despite public objections from Nina’s daughter Simone. Of course you owe nothing to me or the thousands of other people of African descent who find your choice to portray Nina disturbing and offensive.

I do wonder how it must feel to research Nina - to read and watch her critiques of racism and white supremacy in American culture - while preparing for a project that reinforces those very things. Quite simply Cynthia Mort, Jimmy Iovine, and yes, you, are not tributing Nina Simone’s legacy. You’re disrespecting it.

I know enough about the history of Black performance in America to understand that it’s not as easy as “just say no” for Black artists. Zoe, I realize that artists, particularly Women of Color artists, must sometimes be opportunists to survive. But artists must also assume culpability for the work they produce, and this work is damaging.

I’m afraid you lack self-awareness. And in truth, feigning ignorance of colorism doesn’t help your case. I still can’t believe you retweeted this.

omg I just got the petition for someone “blacker” than @zoesaldana to play Nina Simone.. Reverse racism at its best

— Pamela c∕̴Ɩ (@pam_aquino) September 19, 2012

Perhaps you’re just trying to hold on to whatever you can to justify your decision, but no, Zoe, this is not reverse racism. Reverse racism doesn’t exist. Black women are not discriminating against you because you are a light-skinned woman. We are expressing our frustration at a racial hierarchy that renders us too unattractive even to represent ourselves. And if we’re being honest, you got this role, in part, because of the privilege you’ve been accorded as a light-skinned Afro-Latina.

That’s not to say I don’t think you’re a talented actress. You most certainly are. In fact, I think you could surprise us with your performance in the film. That doesn’t change the fact that you are contributing to the ongoing invisibility of women who cannot remove their deep brown complexions, broad noses, and kinky hair every day after work. This project is a testament to the unconscionable arrogance of white supremacy. By taking part, you’ve condoned that arrogance.

But ultimately, Zoe, you’re just a single actress. Despite your privilege, you’re working within a system that exploits you and your image without acknowledging your existence. As the face of a project with many collaborators, you’ve unfairly become the fall girl. I’m not mad at you. I don’t think any of us are. Frankly, I feel more pity than contempt. It’s the same way I feel toward minstrel performers who donned black face at the turn of the century or black women actresses who embodied steretypical mammies 60 years ago. Artists do the best with the opportunities they are given.

Few dark-skinned actresses in Hollywood could open a film. That’s not your fault. However, in the future, I would caution you from making statements like, “..why the f— would I sit down and talk about how hard it is for Black women in Hollywood when there’s a Black president in my country?” Because even in the United States where Barack Obama is the president, dark skin, kinky hair and African features are still loathed.

I offer this critique in love. I can’t say that I hope your movie will be a success; however, I do hope that you will use your growing influence to speak up when confronted with obvious inequality in the future. You don’t owe that to us. You owe it to yourself.

Sincerely,

Kimberly Foster

Why We Shouldn't Pretend Dolce & Gabbana's Earrings Aren't Racist

Sun, 14 Oct 2012 10:39:19 -0400

What’s a girl who loves fashion but hates the industry to do? Racism is fashion’s constant companion, and the pair won’t soon separate. It seems every season a major designer must be chastised for exploiting “exotic” prints and images or excluding models color. And every season these designers attempt to justify their bigoted missteps as byproducts of the artistry. There is, however, no explanation for why these earrings depicting the cartoonish heads of dark-skinned black women made it into Dolce & Gabbana’s recent runway show.

To my Black American eyes, the women look like stereotypical mammies a la Aunt Jemima. To another Black woman, they looked like “dark-skinned Colombian women.” In either case, the Dolce & Gabanna design team chopped off their heads and made them accessories. The heads were also printed on dresses and tops from the collection.

The figures appear to be a reconception of the “Blackamoor” jewelry and statues that are popularly collected in Europe. The characters are founded in racist tropes that originated during the colonial era.

After images of the earrings were posted to For Harriet’s Facebook page, it seemed Black women couldn’t come to the designer’s defense fast enough. Outrage was characterized as “trivial” because the pieces were meant to be a “celebration” of African culture. The responses, though, disconcerting, aren’t entirely unexpected. When faced with glaring examples of racial insensitivity, we often try to explain them away.

Domenico Dolce and Stefano Gabbana probably meant no harm when they chose to send the pieces down the runway. The problem is there’s no way to view the work outside of their historical and social context. These earrings draw on the the long, Western tradition of the exploitation of Black women’s bodies and likenesses.

There were no Black women modeling any of the more than 80 looks presented at the Dolce & Gabbana show. Our only appearance was hanging on the ears of pale models and adorning their bodies. We should be upset that our disembodied heads are welcome in spaces where our physical presences are not.

Are we so starved for cultural validation that we’ll mistake any representation, no matter how damaging, for tribute? We are living, breathing beings not things to be collected as kitsch.

Fashion has an accountability problem, those who are excluded and erased are going to have to demand it. Dolce & Gabbana should not be allowed to profit off of perpetuating racist cultural myths. The willful colonization of Black culture in the fashion industry needs to be addressed. Our bodies are not trends. Our history is not free for consumption and misappropriation.

Michelle Obama Feminism: For Black Women With Nothing To Prove

Thu, 20 Sep 2012 09:30:21 -0400

No one can take feminism from women of the African diaspora. It is a black woman’s birthright because we could never seek solace in the protections of womanhood narrowly defined. It is ours, yet it seems at every turn, someone is trying to wrestle it from us. Since her appearance at this year’s Democratic National Convention, Michelle Obama has again been placed at the center of an old debate regarding her feminist credentials.

In front of an audience of millions, the First Lady poured out her love for her spouse of twenty years and affirmed her commitment to her children. She does this often, but this time the stakes were higher. Her husband would accept the Democratic nomination for president of the United States in a few days.

Mrs. Obama has, since she took residence in the White House, described herself as “Mom-in-Chief.” The moniker is safe and comforting for a nation socialized to view Black women as the antithesis of the studied grace she embodies. Some women, usually those with race and/or class privilege, view her embrace of the term as a betrayal. One writer called it “degrading.”Michelle’s presence as the most visible black woman in America hasn’t lived up to everyone’s hopes. Even Black women lament that Michelle Obama cast off her work, pedigree, and aspirations. She could have been our Hillary. She’s certainly smart and charismatic enough to be “Feminist-in-chief.” And although some view her as a “feminist megastar,” she’s evaded that role. Since her husband’s campaign, her impressive career history has been downplayed. She’s assured us time and again she’s a devoted wife not a political adviser.

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When asked whether she was a feminist by the Washington Post, Mrs. Obama hedged, “You know, I’m not that into labels, so probably, if you laid out a feminist agenda, I would probably agree with a large portion of it,” she said. “I wouldn’t identify as a feminist just like I probably wouldn’t identify as a liberal or a progressive.”

She made clear that she does not describe herself as a feminist, so neither will I. It is unwise to haphazardly assign the label to women who don’t desire to carry the baggage that accompanies it. However, I take issue with the assertion that Michelle Obama could not be a feminist because of the path she’s taken.

The First Lady describes herself as a mother first. This offends the sensibilites of those who believe it each woman’s responsibility to enter the workforce and stay there. After all, wasn’t that the end goal of the majority-white feminist movement of the 70s? Some feminists have in recent years, doubled down on the rejection of “choice feminism” arguing that every choice is not a good one for women. By her personal goals to attend to her husband’s, they argue, Michelle Obama with her fancy degrees and impressive work history, let us all down.

In an article for The Atlantic, Elizabeth Wurtzel doesn’t try to hide her contempt for women like Obama who could work but choose not to. She writes, “A job that anyone can have is not a job, it’s a part of life, no matter how important people insist it is.” Wurtzel’s attempt to diminish the significance of motherhood neglects an important point about the lived experiences and history of Women of Color across the world. Women who look like Michelle Obama are not empowered to do the work of mothering.

Examine the history in which African American women who stayed home with their children post-Emancipation were threatened with arrest for violating vagrany laws — one in which Mrs. Obama, a wife of two decades, was referred to as a “baby mama” by Fox News. Michelle Obama centering the work of motherhood in her life is revolutionary because only relatively recently have African American women been able to put their spouses and their families on a pedestal. By doing so, she helps rewrite the role of Black women in the public imagination.

Not to say that she made the decision to leave the workforce in a vacuum. Obama has been clear that this was not the life she envisioned for herself, but if her speech last week was any indication, she remains radiantly joyful and content.

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Black and brown women will remain leery of feminism because we’ve seen how white feminists behave when they don’t get their way. Even the revered veterans of the Second Wave turned into petulant Veruca Salt’s when presented with a challenge (see: Geraldine Ferraro and Gloria Steinem circa 2008). White feminists want sisterhood only when it is convenient - only when it costs them nothing and they have something to gain. Feminism doesn’t work the same for all communities. Your feminism ain’t like mine. Uninformed and tone-deaf generalizations are the result of a willful ignorance of context and history.

Black women have responded to continued exclusion from relevant mainstream feminist discourse and activism with embittered rejection. Michelle Obama may not describe herself as a feminist but she presents for young, Black women like me a new paradigm. A Michelle Obama Feminism is one that acknowledges the breadth of my history as well as my depth of my aspirations. It celebrates the liberating joy and fortitude that has sustained Black women in America for centuries. To me, it feels like home.

Why Would I Want To Be A Lady?

Thu, 20 Sep 2012 09:28:41 -0400

I’m not a lady. The fact causes me no distress. I’m too vulgar and assertive to ever be classified as such. My hemlines too short, clothes too tight, and language too crass. And my demeanor is not at all demure. Still somehow I manage to live a joyful, fulfilling life without the distinction. I do, however, aspire to be kind, genuine, loving and thoughtful. Ladies embody those things, I suppose, but they also bear the burden of societal expectation that keeps them caged. I’m looking to get free or die trying, so I choose not to wear the mask.

This enrages men and women who believe that I, and my unladylike counterparts, caused the decline of African American culture. They blame wayward girls for the ubiquitous misogyny in Black communities. “Why should men respect women, when women don’t behave in a way that demands respect,” they ask. The logic is a smokescreen upheld to distract from the real cause of deteriorating gender relations in Black America: patriarchy. All women, be they “ladies” or not, deserve to be treated with dignity, but that’s a hard case to make to people drunk off misogyny.

Ladies are required to conform to outmoded behavioral norms created to make men comfortable, but playing that game won’t save you. Telling girls not to wear revealing clothes or use profane language will not stop the men who harass and degrade women for sport. I get just as many leers in jeans as I do in mini-dresses. You cannot dress or behave your way out of oppression.

Still those who consider themselves keepers of the community expend far too much energy trying to convince women to simply act right. When a well-meaning auntie compelled me to fix my clothes or watch my manners, she did so out of love. When men attempt to regulate the behavior of women, they may do so out of genuine concern. Benevolent sexism, however, is still sexism. It suffocates and ultimately kills the spirit.

That’s precisely the problem with “Bitch Bad” by Lupe Fiasco. The rapper set out to raise women up, but he reifies the same tropes that keep us chained. He repeats “bitch bad/woman good/lady better,” and I’m suspicious. Being a woman is hard enough. Why is it better to be a lady? And who decides who’s who? Even if all women were to attempt to step into the role of a Lady, we still may not meet the arbitrary expectations or Lupe or anyone else. Men get to raise and lower the goal of acceptable behavior to suit their whims. To some I may be a lady, but I am always a woman. That should be enough.

I’m an ardent feminist in part because many of the character traits I possess naturally are often ascribed to men. I am ambitious and direct. I take no issue with setting clear boundaries. These are not the things “ladies” do. “Ladies” are ever gracious and compliant. I can be, what some would call, a bitch. That’s a pejorative I take little issue with. Like Tina Fey said, bitches get stuff done. I imagine my sheroes were all called bitches at one time or another. Perhaps that’s why they’re bad — because women embracing a term meant to shame us upsets the natural order.

My embrace of my inner bitch doesn’t mean I don’t respect myself. It means I don’t respect the path anyone else would have me walk. My choices may make me less valuable in someone else’s mind, but I know my worth. That’s what we need to be teaching girls — that they’re inherently whole and precious. That they need not seek out validation by playing dress up or acting a part. Women of all ages are discouraged from living in our fullness. The saying goes “boys will be boys,” but the desire that lie within women must be subdued. Thankfully the antiquated pedestal upon which we put “ladies” is slowly crumbling. Soon it will be a relic. In the meantime, live boldly and unapolegetically and tell every woman you know to do the same.

Black Girl Hate: Struggling For Sisterhood

Thu, 09 Aug 2012 13:38:00 -0400

I did not discover the transformative power of sisterhood until I entered college. There I found a group of Black women in whom I could confide and depend. Knowing them centered me in my own womanhood. I saw myself in their gorgeous reflections and their radiant power. They were smart, funny, and fly. I was because they were. My sisters. My soulmates.

These women opened up my heart with love like I’d never known. Slowly, steadily I felt my core shift. We could laugh and cry together as we compared emotional scars left from the common trials of black girlhood. After spending my adolescence grasping at validation, I began to feel warm and worthy.

Everyone should be so enveloped in liberating love.

These spirit connections didn’t erase memories of the coldness I’d received from the Black girls who couldn’t relate to my unabashed bourgeois aspirations when I was a kid, but I wasn’t arrested by my past interactions. I now knew how amazing black women were in their essence, and that is what I held on to.

Unity is the answer. We are, however, fighting an uphill battle. When I hear women, mature and young, say “women can’t be trusted” or “I don’t have girlfriends,” I offer my testimony of restorative sisterhood. The detractors always counter with stories of betrayal and deception. I learned that these sentiments are forged beyond ubiquitous anti-woman messaging. Women who hate women are speaking out of hurt and frustration.

Recently I have been reminded of the complex and often fraught nature of Black women’s relationships. Thousands of miles away from the women I consider the loves of my life, I befriended a new group. Without trepidation, I threw myself into forging bonds with transparency and love, and they welcomed me. Because I had experienced such genuine camaraderie and caring, I assumed that is what I would always receive as long as I projected the same. My naivete shone clearly.

A male friend, whom I trust, informed me of the night they talked about me viciously as soon as I left the room. These adult women tore me down. One even commented that I wasn’t pretty enough to be in the circle. I hadn’t cried that hard in years.

Had I not already found the beauty of sister-friends, I might have dismissed black women entirely. I could not, however, because sistas have been my most ardent supporters. They have protected, inspired and guided me, but they have also wounded me. No one can hurt you quite like a woman whose reflection so closely resembles your own. It seems as though Black women know precisely how to attack each other fatally. A white girl never made me cry.

That heartbreak helped me understand why some of us are so quick to pounce on one another. We jump to avoid getting jumped and harden our hearts as hostility becomes the status quo.

In Black Looks “Revolutionary Black Women,” bell hooks interrogates why Black women seem to address each other with physical and emotional violence so often. hooks writes, “Among black women, such deeply internalized pain and self-rejection informs the aggression inflicted on the mirror image.”

As hooks notes, emotional violence is often an expression of self-loathing. A self-loathing grown from the mistaken belief that we are worthless and disposable. It’s not unusual to see Black women fighting where there are no prizes. Nowhere do we see better examples of women clawing to the bottom than on reality television, where women value themselves so little that they will happily tear each other down for whatever remnants of fame, love, or dignity they can scrounge.

On screen conflict may be magnified, but we encounter Black Girl Hate everyday. It is the nastiness women direct at each other without remorse. It’s impossible to dodge every dart, but we must remind ourselves that we are worthy simply because we exist. We are precious because we’re still here.

Releasing lingering resentment feels like surrender, but I will continue to love boldly and wish peace upon the wounded women and those who do the wounding. I have to. Openness and forgiveness mends broken hearts, and we all need a healing.

Storytelling Saves Lives or Why I Blog

Fri, 06 Jul 2012 00:12:22 -0400

As a kid, I often felt voiceless. I didn’t grow up in one of those TV drama homes where we discussed our feelings. I’ve always been opinionated, but I, like many Black women, was taught to turn emotional affairs inward. Subsequently, I became a great actress and fooled most everyone I encountered for the majority of my life. And then my house of cards came tumbling down during my third year of college.

It was during that time that I founded For Harriet and discovered storytelling saves lives. I don’t believe in coincidences. That this forum launched at the time my life fell apart isn’t lucky. Put simply: a blog, this blog, saved me.

At last, I found my voice, and I met my passion. Reading the stories of black women helped me better understand my own, and I was inspired to write and explore the ugliness that lay just beneath the surface.

Honesty should come easily, but diversion becomes the norm when you spend all your energy protecting your spirit from real and perceived threats. Blogging has allowed me to be honest for the first time about the things that caused me shame. I wish for everyone to know that freedom, so I began Black Girls Blogging.

I began writing about my mental health struggles after seeing women discuss theirs openly online. The emails, comments and tweets I’ve gotten let me know that sharing was the right decision. Now I know my story matters.

Everyone has a story worth telling. Whether or not we all have the skill or wherewithal to be professional writers, we can each carve our own digital space to define ourselves. That is priceless.

The 70s were a golden age of black self-representation. Black women warrior writers like Michele Wallace, Alice Walker, Angela Davis wrote themselves into being with portraits of their complex womanhood. We’re now in a renaissance of self-exploration. The Internet has democratized representation in a way that liberates those relegated to the margins. Women of color, in particular, have nothing to lose but our chains.Transparency begets transparency, and one day we’ll all be free.

The Beauty of Self-Preservation: Learning When To Walk Away

Fri, 06 Jul 2012 00:06:58 -0400

I watch way too much reality tv. It’s addictive and usually corrosive, but believe it or not the snapshot glimpses into the lives of people I don’t know and will probably never meet often inspire me to self-reflect.

Watching Tashera Simmons, the estranged wife of DMX, on VH1’s Couple’s Therapy made me rethink my entire approach to relationships. Tashera’s distress over a man who has, during their marriage, fathered more children with other women than he has with her left me puzzled. How could she not see what seems so obvious? It’s time to leave.

In a much less devastating fashion, I see that I’ve been Tashera. Or perhaps I still am. Put simply: I am attracted to men with problems. It’s the Pisces in me. I want to nurture, and I want to fix. But I learned the hard way that love is healing only for those who wish to be restored.

Last Fall, I began a relationship with a man who would suck me dry if I allowed him. It began casually, and for him it stayed that way. To me it became something much deeper. Everything about him was wrong, but I thought I could adjust. Consequently, I spent more time defending our relationship than enjoying it.

His malice stung. He took every opportunity to hurt and offend, yet I found myself perpetually apologizing. He never did. Not once. Knowing his history and the childhood trauma he endured, I attempted to be his lover/therapist in the hope that I could coach him through it.

Relationships aren’t built on hope and potential. During the several months we’ve been off and on, I feel like I’ve grown because I had to. (Traumatic experiences will do that to you.) He has not. His way may not be working for him, but he is completely and utterly invested in it.That type of entrenchment makes me anxious. It is my biggest fear. So I said goodbye, and hopefully this time will be the last.

I don’t believe we’re responsible for who we attract, but who we choose to pursue a relationship with is a reflection of how we see ourselves. Feeling worthy of an equal partnership doesn’t come naturally to some of us. Certainly not for me. I can, however, feel the change slowly and surely. As I discover my private power, I’m no longer content with settling in any area of my life: not for a man, a job, or a friend.

Black American culture mythologizes the “ride or die” partner. The woman willing to give everything of themselves in order to ensure the success of her mate. But what do we, as women, reap from such devotion?

Not everyone deserves unwavering loyalty, and, in my opinion, no one is worth sacrificing your spirit. Liberation requires women release the Disney Princess mindset that “love conquers all.” Sometimes love simply isn’t enough.

Finding The Beauty in Baby Steps

Fri, 06 Jul 2012 00:05:38 -0400

I am 23 years old, and some days I feel utterly unaccomplished. I remind myself that I am young, and, barring a catastrophe, I have decades left on this planet to create something remarkable. I take time everyday to appreciate the space I occupy. But even though I know my anxiety borders on the absurd, I can’t help but think I should be doing more. What about the 23 year olds who’ve written books, produced films, made millions? I’m not among them. What’s wrong with me?

Similar anxiety seems to be epidemic among Millennials. We feel the pressure to be the Mark Zuckerberg of our chosen path. The logic goes: If you haven’t generated an idea that will change the world by age 30, you’ve failed. We, of course, overlook the fact that the Zucks garner so much attention precisely because they are anomalies.

Friends and mentors have told me feeling the pressure to have it all as early as possible didn’t begin with my generation; however, we may feel it more acutely because of the rise of ubiquitous media. Now we have countless ways to track the progress of our peers. As the outlets through which we can receive information have expanded, so has the destructive voyeurism that leaves us feeling inadequate.

Years ago at the height of my depression, I avoided Facebook completely. Watching as the people I knew seemed to enjoy triumph after triumph was too great a burden. Now we know that Facebook offers a distorted, impossibly cheery reality. Though, on the surface, we are more connected than ever before, those connections are easily falsified. One can make themselves look successful, content, and happy when they’re truly none of the those things. The anxiety of underachievement is about fabricated narratives as much as it is unrealistic expectations.

Millennials tend to think very highly of ourselves and our skills. That confidence doesn’t always gibe with “traditional” values and expectations. I believe I have something to offer to the world, and I don’t want to toil for decades before I can share it. But refusing to follow the rules often leads to another sort of let down. I personally know a number of young adults who wish to be pioneers, but it’s difficult to blaze a trail when you haven’t yet learned how to navigate. If I wish to strike it on my own, I’ll have to start playing checkers and work my way up. But patience is valueI never quite grasped. Ambition? Yes. Focus? Absolutely.

A major piece in my journey to continually give thanks for the space I occupy, is redefining what my ideal life looks like. This reconceptualizing necessitates deconstructing images of gross-materialism that have bombarded my consciousness for, at least, the last decade. I want so many things for my life, but I now value joy and peace above all else. There’s boundless bliss to be found in walking fearlessly in your destiny, but the path to fulfillment is trod with baby steps. Passion remains my guide, and perhaps that means I will never know what it’s like to “plank on a million” and that’s ok.

Dear America, Black People Have A Right To Be Angry

Fri, 06 Jul 2012 00:03:59 -0400

If something scares mainstream America more than the anger of People of Color, I can’t name it. Every Black public figure looking to garner acceptance by the White majority must steer away from criticizing too harshly the blatant inequality of the US; lest they be painted an enemy of the State.

And as we navigate our daily lives, African Americans avoid voicing our discontent in mixed company for fear of being labeled a stereotype. As a Black woman, when I feel emotions begin to swirl, I recognize that both my blackness and my womanhood will conspire to make me the “crazy black bitch.” Concealing our anger, however, does nothing to heal wounds, fix policies, or facilitate discussions.

The righteous discontent of Black America provides a catalyst for change. The fact is: we can never be post-racial (if that’s really the aim) until America relinquishes its irrational terror of black rage. That anger is productive and justified. The problem is theirs not ours.

When Michelle Obama succinctly noted that America is “downright mean” in a 2008 interview with the New Yorker, I thought: “Well…yes.” Her comments made perfect sense. America has, in fact, been particularly cruel to those who had the misfortune of being born female, homosexual, non-white and/or poor.

Mrs. Obama’s comments drew ire from conservatives who were deeply offended that FLOTUS dare reflect upon the history of the country that made her a millionaire. Michelle apparent forgot that blind gratitude is what successful African American are expected to convey at all times.

Anything other than cool, detached rhetoric — even in the face of degradation and oppression — draws cries of racebaiting from those who do not wish to have their unearned privilege challenged. The expectation that Blacks should always provide the voice of reason is emotionally and intellectually dishonest. If you are Black in America, you should be mad. I find myself enraged often thinking about the unanswered rape, murder and humiliation of my foremothers. For every name we know: Recy Taylor, Latasha Harlins, Rekia Boyd there are countless others we will never hear. That makes me angry.

Yes, we must forgive, but before that, raise hell. Racist logic goes that if you are Black in America you have no right to be angry about the discrimination that under girds this country’s every institution. You see, white Americans are the only group afforded the luxury of outrage. When angry white men march in the streets to protest taxes, affirmative action, or same sex marriage, they are patriots. When Black activists march to protest inequality in the justice system, education, housing or healthcare, we are whiners.

Our justified anger stems from the fact that white Americans rarely listen to our pleas and demands for justice with the intent to act. Anger is not shameful when it prompts action. It is anger not sadness or despair that has propelled much of the progressive change in the United States.

Personally, I’ve had to learn tune out the detractors who wish to discredit my concerns because of my “hostile” tone. If you are unwilling to listen to me when I am angry, you probably weren’t interested in what I have to say. No apologies. Americans will just have to get used to hearing less than conciliatory counternarratives.

America, we’re mad as hell, and you will hear it.

To Serve and Protect Whom?

Wed, 11 Apr 2012 16:17:00 -0400

I want to trust the police. Actually I need to trust the police. But right now I don’t.

As a single woman of small stature I know there may likely come a time when I make an emergency call, and when the officers come I want to be sure of the fact that the men or women commissioned to protect me are going to do so. But my faith in law enforcement is at an all-time low.

These feelings have been stirring for quite some time— since I witnessed a black male college student get roughed up on the streets of New Haven a few years ago—but Rekia Boyd andTrayvon Martin have pushed me over the edge.

Though neither of the murders involved on duty police officers. Law enforcement aided and abetted the obstruction of justice in both situations. The transparent lies and coverups affirm my suspicion that cops are not interested in upholding the law rather they are concerned in with preserving their jobs and pensions.

I’m now tuned into the many cases of police misconduct broadcast nationally (including the sickening New Orleans story), and I can’t help but imagine the hundreds or thousands of daily incidents everyday that go unreported.

I can only assume (pray really) that the overwhelming majority of the country’s nearly one million law enforcement personnel do not partake in malfeasance, but the cases we see are so egregious I can’t shake the distrust. I wish I could.

My sheltered, suburban life taught me that police exist to protect me and my home from “bad guys” (i.e. the people who didn’t “belong; poor people; black and brown people). I believed it that as long as I did nothing criminal I had no need to worry.

At times I envy my 17 year-old self’s self-assured ignorance. College changed my consciousness and uncovered a looming pessimism. Injustices I’d long felt but could never name were revealed, and I began to see how often the “bad guys” looked like my sister, uncles and cousins.

The people who patrol our streets and neighborhoods still operate within a white supremacist capitalist patriarchal context that asserts that my black, female body is worthless. I cannot and do not expect officers to rise above their socialization; however, that means we can never rest.

People of Color are never meant to feel completely at ease. Those in positions of authority ensure it. But we rarely discuss the extraordinary stress that accompanies ones inability to let your guard down.

The solution remains unclear. Teaching little black boys and girls to stay alive by kowtowing to white authority humiliates and demoralizes. I have heard it time and again from men who have had it drilled into their consciousness that the presence of a badge means absence of dignity. Furthermore, recruiting people who like us doesn’t seem to work either. Black officers are often just as malicious as their non-black counterparts.

This is a widespread, deeply rooted institutional malady, but as usual Black Americans are expected to provide the cure. While blackness is despised and womanhood preyed upon, who can we trust to serve and protect?

Wendy Williams Is Wrong, But You Are Too

Wed, 07 Mar 2012 18:52:44 -0500

When Wendy Williams made a comment about Viola Davis’ natural hair not being “glamorous” or “formal” enough for the Academy Awards on her daytime talk show, I was horrified but not surprised. You’d hear countless Black women echo the same sentiments just about anywhere you go. These women are generally projecting the hurt they’ve internalized since childhood.

I hear those self-loathing words, and my initial instinct is not to attack. First, I simply want to ask, “Who taught you to hate yourself?” But, of course, I already know the answer.

There exist no completely safe spaces for Women of Color to escape the utter oppressiveness of patriarchy and white supremacy. Because we each carry it around with us every second of every day, the indoctrination seeps out of our consciousness unwittingly.

The education of men and non Women of Color about the difficulties of Black womanhood is not my responsibility, but for black women who get it utterly wrong, I have nearly interminable patience. Sisters need hugs and information, not verbal beatdowns and “draggings.”

Wendy’s words are problematic; however, I’m becoming more concerned by the attacks she’s received. It seems smart, thoughtful women are reveling in the low blows. Particularly sickening are the endless riffs on Williams’ hair, face and figure.

If I’m understanding this correctly. We are fighting the degradation and humiliation of a Black woman by degrading and attempting to humiliate another Black woman. It doesn’t add up.

A few months back, I tweeted that I would no longer comment on the physical appearances of women. With few exceptions, I’ve stayed true to that promise. I made the decision upon reflection on the ways I’ve internalized gauging a woman’s worth by her physical appearance, and because I wish for a world where “beautiful” is not the highest compliment a woman can be paid.

I take fictive kinship to the limits. I feel connected to most black women in all our contradictions and ignorance. Viola is my sister, but so is Wendy. You can look at Wendy’s self presentation and pathologize her, or you can see a woman dealing with familiar issues operating within the same sexist, white supremacist world we all live in.

If you managed to escape the matrix with your self-concept and esteem in tact, I applaud you. You’re doing a lot better than the rest of us. But heightened awareness gives no woman the right to shame another.

Many of us are still nursing open wounds. Have a little compassion for your sister.