Commentary
Robinswing, Black Kos Editor
Once upon a time, black was not beautiful. Women like children were to be seen and not heard. Into such a time, I was born and raised. Because of those times I grew up to be a beautiful, proud black woman.
I remember growing up on the southside of Chicago, when it was a really big deal for Black folk to appear on the television. If this happened in the summer, someone's somebody would lean out of a window and yell loudly "Colored folks on t.v.!" ( We were colored or Negro then.) Games would stop and everyone would run inside for the opportunity to see someone who looked like us in that little box. It was thrilling. For many years I thought of this as a personal memory unique to Chicago and its southside. I've since discovered many who have the same memories all across America. It was a hunger for affirmation scarcely understood by those who diet has never lacked this soul nutrient.
It was usually the same suspects. Lena Horne, Sammy Davis Jr., Harry Belafonte, Pearl Bailey, Louie Armstrong. Leslie Uggams. Ed Sullivan's show. Singing and dancing. Boxing. That's about it.
I can still see my father as he sat watching Gillette's Wednesday night fights all the while throwing punches at an invisible enemy that only later would surface in my understanding.
We weren't television anchors, reporters or spokespeople for any product I can remember. We were lazy handymen or some such on a couple of shows. And then there was Amos and Andy.
By the mid sixties we started making a lot of noise about Amos and Andy and finally got it taken off the rerun schedule. Younger people might not understand this. Many seem to think that it was about stereotypes. It was and it wasn't. It was about utilizing the power to self define. It was also about not extending what was once a minstrel lite radio show into another generation. Those characters were originally written and played by white men. Some of us saw it as a mocking of black people. Lazy, looking for a quick buck, incompetent. Amos was the voice of reason. Andy a buffoon. Interestingly enough by the time it was televised, it was Kingfish who became the star. Kingfish and his wife Sapphire, she of hand on hip first position, she of scolding tone and finger wagging frustration.
She became an archetype of a certain school of thought about black women. She morphed into the wisecrack male whipping, sassy maid of the seventies. Sapphire with an Afro.
Of greater interest to me is the way she (Sapphire) epitomized the estrangement of many black men and women as they struggled to cope with the pressure of a segregated and racially insensitive society. So much of the criticisms that were leveled against black men by black women were a function of something that neither had the power to change.
After we left the south and made our way into large industrial cities in the north, one thing became apparent. It was hard for black men to find work. Some did. Many didn't.
Many black women found themselves once again working for the white man as maids and housekeepers. Many black men found themselves unable to care for their families. Anger and frustration made each target the other with accusations, finger pointing and indignation. Some of this continues even today.
It wasn't until Cicely Tyson showed up with George C. Scott on Eastside Westside that I saw anyone I identified with as a woman of color. Cicely had a short afro hairstyle and she was smart and capable and I always had the feeling she had a low tolerance for bullshit. She was a proud black woman. What I became. After school and marches and a fierce struggle to be seen as something more than an appendage to revolutionary brothers, I became a proud black woman.
I married a strong black man. A good man. His revolution happened in board rooms. He went into corporate America and kicked ass. Paved the way for other brothers and sisters. Every night he would come home from the office and we spent an hour or so talking and making strategy for knocking down doors. We were on the same team. Black had become beautiful and we were the beautiful black couple.
While he was kicking down doors I was doing my version of Angela Cleaver. Stayed home to raise our sons. Cooked and cleaned until we could afford a housekeeper. PTA, basketball, and track meetings. Worked at staying pretty and smart. I wrote poetry and sold photographs that I developed in a darkroom in our home. Went to church. Attended social functions at the company. Entertained our friends. Took in friends when they hit a skid or two. Even got certified to work as a basketball referee in a tournament my husband and I started in the neighborhood. It didn't take long for me to began thinking of corporate America as graduate school level sharecropping. Every move up the corporate ladder seemed to me a deeper investment in staying in the system and winning. Winning meant leaving the neighborhood, every neighborhood once every eighteen months or so. Every move meant a bigger house. Every move meant that we owed the company store. Perhaps as a way of addressing the alienation I felt, I grew lots of wild untamed hair and wore earrings to my shoulders. Trust me this was not the uniform of other corporate wives.
I once went to a corporate affair and had the then boss pull me aside and tell me that I made a statement when I walked into the room. I pressed him as to what the statement was. He told me that when I walked in I made the statement that I was a proud black woman. I thanked him. It turns out that he didn't mean it as a compliment. He told me that I had shown a complete lack of respect because his wife outranked me and she had come to me rather than the other way around. I told him that I could not make a distinction between his wife and all the other polyester pant suit wearing women in the room (I know but I found him irritating and condescending and I was younger with a lot less tolerance.) He said something about my husbands future. I countered with something about the name on the pay stub and empty suits then turned and walked away. Didn't know til later that his boss had overheard the entire exchange. Next day a dozen roses. Two weeks later empty suit left the company. A decade later I left my husband. I am still a proud black woman.
I've had a retired admiral whose daughter in law is a dear friend, ask me at her wedding if I was a VooDoo Priestess. I was the only black person in attendance. Now,it might have been the garb I was wearing. Add that to the fact that when I'm in heels I'm over six feet tall. Apparently something about me frightened him. It was obvious from the way he posed the question he was very much accustomed to making pronouncements and having them go unchallenged. I smiled as sweetly as I knew how as I asked him if his penis had fallen off. When he looked aghast I smiled again and told him he had his answer. He still sends Christmas cards fifteen years later.
I am a proud black woman. I have had moments when I could feel the prayers of my ancestors being answered in my life. One such moment was when I decided to mow my own lawn. I was for the first time, living across country from my sons and had recently started referring to my grass as afro-turf. I went into the garage, hauled out the lawnmover and started the first sweep downhill. I paused at the foot of my front lawn and looked up at my house and had a realization. I realized in an instant that once a long time ago, a slave relative working in the field had looked at the big house and longed to live there, yearned for her children to have such a life. Almost simultaneous to that thought was another. I was the answer to her prayer and I had no business still working in the field. Left the lawnmover, walked into the house and called a landscaping service. Had the feeling I made my ancestor proud.
There have been times when I had to stand on the shoulders of righteous indignation to get through the day. I have leaned upon the deeds of other strong black women as a crutch when my own legs were battle weary. Lord give me strength was my daily mantra.
For a long time as a proud black woman my interest in the feminist movement was limited. Working outside of the home was something we had always done. Many of us yearned for the circumstances that sent Betty Friedan out of her kitchen and into the world. Many of us had real difficulty with the idea that white women had used the Civil Rights movement to advance in the business world. Since they are in fact the majority in this country, some of us asked ourselves why they were able to use minority status to advance ahead of people who had been systematically and institutionally excluded for three hundred years. Intellectually we understood the rationale. Emotionally it took some work. Over time there has been an uneasy truce between black and white women on this score. It is certainly not something that we speak of. Perhaps we should, I don't know.
It was as a womanist (although I would not have used that word at the time) that I raised my three sons. They have grown into men that I am proud of. They chose to marry strong women. Strong white women. Because their mother was clear about who she was, they knew that they were free to love and marry the person of their choice. They knew that I would not have a problem with it, that it did not represent a rejection of blackness, theirs or mine. I deeply love and respect their wives. We have had these discussions about what it means to be women. We have talked about what race means and how it factors into their lives. They have each expressed surprise at things that they took for granted or never noticed until they became a de facto part of the black community. De facto black women. One of my fondest memories is of one of my daughters in law telling a very rude clerk to kiss her black ass. She of blond hair and blue eyes said it with such authority that I threatened her with a DNA search of her family tree. She told me that it was the clearest way she knew to shut down bullshit. I am laughing as I write this. Laughing has been a huge part of being a proud black woman in my life. More than crying. Laughter heals. Cosmic giggles found their way into the stance of my living and freed me from debilitating anger and hatred.
Being a strong black woman never had anything to do with hating whites for me. It was and is about self love and self respect. This was the example i set for my sons. They learned to love themselves and respect
women as a result.
They know that a woman's strength is not about raised voices, but raised self acceptance. The sounds of joy were as much a part of their childhood as the sound of Miles and Trane. For them, putting a hand on the hip is a dance move. They have seen the fierce quiet that harnesses anger before words or actions that cannot be retrieved are loosed upon those we love. They know that patience is a choice. They respect women. They grew up with the Claire Huxtable archetype. They don't know squat about Sapphire. The world they were born into had black people as entertainers, actors,politicians,television anchors, and intellectuals. They grew up in a world where we get headaches and sell cars, soft drinks and cereal. They never ran into the house because somebody's someone called out "colored people on television". They were born after black became beautiful. They never saw my struggle to become. A strong, black, woman.
Now run and tell that.
"The Cosby Show" was activist television, agitprop theater disguised as sitcom. The Huxtables Changed Not Television or Politics—But the Idea of Black Family.
It’s not like this was the first time we got to see black folks, professional black folks, representing up there on the little screen. After all, in the late ‘60s, we had Diahann Carroll, all classy restraint as widowed nurse Julia. Even Bill Cosby played a Rhodes scholar in I Spy back in ’65. And it’s hard to forget Sherman Hemsley, dry-cleaning magnate, cutting the fool—"WEEEZY!!!"—as George Jefferson in that ‘70s-era deee-luxe apartment in the sky.
But The Cosby Show, which celebrates the 25th anniversary of its debut this week, provided us with something else: It introduced the idea of a well-entrenched black bourgeoisie to a mainstream audience, illustrating just why the entertainment industry is called show business. Cosby showed us, rather than told us, about black excellence and black achievement—from its highly functional family to the fabulous art on the walls to the glamorous friends in their living room. It not only showed us the world of a loving, upper-crust black family, but it normalized it in the most natural, matter-of-fact way—30 teachable moments served up each and every Thursday at 8.
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Beverly Johnson’s essay on beauty is an excerpt from the new book, Family Affair: What it means to Be African American Today, edited by Gil Robertson, IV, released this month. EbonyJet.com: Beverly Johnson on the Psychology of Beauty.
My first introduction to beauty, like that of many young girls, came from observing the women in my life. Watching my mother prepare herself for an evening out with my father was quite an experience. From the lotions and perfumes to the makeup and hair, it was a long, ritualized process. This ritual always culminated with her putting on an amazing dress and suddenly being ready to present herself to the world. In fact, my favorite dress of hers was a green velvet one with brown mink trim on the cuffs and collar. I also have memories of seeing my grandmother heading off to work decked out in beautiful suits and hats. Even though she worked as a maid at a downtown hotel in Buffalo, NY, you’d never know it judging from her attire.
Black women have always had an amazing sense of style, no matter the circumstances. It’s part of who we are, individually and culturally. As a young girl, I learned that beauty was about more than just being visually appealing. It was more about personal pride and self-esteem.
It surprises people that I did not aspire to have a career in modeling. Really, my dream was to become a lawyer. Growing up, I was the classic ugly duckling, a nerdy bookworm. I wasn’t the Barbie-doll type at all! I was an athlete, swimming competitively and serving as a swimming instructor and lifeguard during the summers. The world of modeling never entered my mind. Like many things in life, it happened by chance. Although I eventually developed a love for the fashion world, my initial motivation for modeling was to make money for college.
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When The New Republic the epitome of establishment Center-Left Liberalism starts to wonder if "anything qualifies as racism in the eyes of leading conservatives" you know we are starting to see a sea change in pundit opinion. TNR: David Brooks and Anti-Anti-Racism.
It's been a big week for anti-anti-racism. Virtually the entire conservative world has waxed indignant about Jimmy Carter's suggestion that racism is responsible for the unusual virulence of anti-Obama sentiment.
Listening to it all, you'd think the so-called "race card" was a much bigger problem in American society than racism itself, and that does seem to be what a lot of conservatives think. But it's getting to the point where the argument seems to be that if anti-Obama protesters have any non-racial motives for their behavior, then mentioning race as any sort of factor (hard to avoid given the revival of screaming about "welfare" and the preoccupation with the marginal organzing group ACORN) is a terrible insult.
Witness David Brooks' unintentionally hilarious column in the New York Times today. David jogged through last Saturday's Tea Party demonstration on The Mall, and can assure us all that there were no racists there:
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(Via AmazingGrace) In her new job, Sergeant Major King will have significant influence over the basic training of every enlisted soldier. New York Times: First Woman Ascends to Top Drill Sergeant Spot.
It may come as no surprise that the Army’s new top drill sergeant idolizes Gen. George S. Patton Jr., has jumped out of planes 33 times, aces every physical training test and drives a black Corvette with "noslack" vanity plates.
But consider this: the sergeant is a woman.
On Tuesday, the Army will make Command Sgt. Maj. Teresa L. King, 48, commandant of its drill sergeant school here. It is a first. No woman has run one of the Army’s rigorous schools for drill instructors.
Petite yet imposing, Sergeant Major King seems a drill sergeant at heart, ever vigilant for busted rules: soldiers nodding off in class, soldiers with hair a fraction too long, soldiers who run too slow.
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UPDATE: Via Adept2u I loved this smack down of Bill O. I wanted to include but my computer wasn't cooperating last night. Thanks for a clean link Adept2u! (dopper0189)
I'm glad that many landmark historical buildings will be preserved. UPI: Black schools receive preservation funds
The Interior Department will give $14.25 million in historic preservation grants to 20 black colleges and universities
, the department's secretary said Friday.
Interior Secretary Ken Salazar said at a joint press conference at Howard University with university President Sidney A. Ribeau that funding will be available to repair historic buildings on the campuses of the historically black schools.
The funds are available through the American Recovery and Reinvestment Act and are designated for buildings on the National Register of Historic Places. The buildings were selected on the basis of their architectural and historic significance.
Following Obama’s agenda line, the CBC will focus on economy, education, health care and the kind of high-powered socializing particular to Washington. The Root: The Congressional Black Caucus is Going to Run D.C. This Week.
Summer has ended. Congress has had its recess. And thousands of black politicians, policy leaders and business leaders are preparing to swarm the nation’s capital.
Each September, the Congressional Black Caucus (CBC) hosts its Annual Legislative Conference (ALC). The ALC assembles African-American leaders from politics, business, unions and other industries to address pressing issues facing black Americans. With the failing economy on everyone’s mind, the theme for this year’s conference—Sept. 23-Sept. 26— is "Reinvest. Rebuild. Renew."
Now if only we could get children in America do do this... New York Times: South Africa Children Push for Better Schools.
Thousands of children marched to City Hall this week in sensible black shoes, a stream of boys and girls from township schools across this seaside city that extended for blocks, passing in a blur of pleated skirts, blazers and rep ties. Their polite demand: Give us libraries and librarians.
The marchers in Cape Town, who numbered in the thousands. The marchers echoed a children's uprising against apartheid in 1976.
"We want more information and knowledge," said a ninth grader, Abongile Ndesi.
In the 15 years since white supremacist rule ended in South Africa, the governing party, the African National Congress, has put in place numerous policies to transform schools into engines of opportunity. But many of its leaders, including President Jacob Zuma, now acknowledge that those efforts have too often failed.
The new protest movement, with its practical goals, youthful organizers and idealistic moniker, Equal Education, is a quintessentially South African answer to a failing education system, one that self-consciously acknowledged its debt to the past in the march to City Hall.
A MUST READ: A Pictoral History of Racism in the United States: Context is Everything. by AndrewMC
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Forget about "Reverse racism", Obama has a "deep seated hatred for black ppl" according to Steele by LaurenMonica
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EDITORIAL -- Limbaugh Full of B.S. With Claim That 'Segregated Buses' Remark Is 'Parody' by SkeeterVT
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The White Man's Burden by WB Reeves
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The Myth of Political Correctness by Dbug
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