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Black Enough? Who Gets a Card?

Teenage hormones evidently caused me to be temporarily insane because I brazenly announced to my strong, Southern, Black momma one day that if she didn’t allow me to go to the local public school, I was going to drop out of school altogether.  Straight drop out.  At that point, my mom, thinking she was providing me with the best education, had been sending me to a small, respected, private school.  For many years, the school was fine; but as I aged, being the “only” (the only Black kid in my school) got old. Real old.

I became tired of the questions about my hair, the excited claims of “my skin is darker than yours now” when we all returned from summer vacations, the feelings of embarrassment when we studied slavery, and most importantly, the growing feeling of “otherness,” of being different.  Although, I was living in the same neighborhood, had equally well-educated parents, listened to the same music at that time, watched the same TV shows, was focused on the same things each day — it seemed that my white classmates and I became increasingly aware that I was different somehow.

Perhaps my mom understood (as she too was having to operate as an “only” oftentimes) or perhaps she grew tired of my tiredness; but she allowed me to switch schools, where I spent the next several years feeling as if I didn’t fit in.  Switching to a public school, a diverse place which was least 30% Black was not the homecoming I was expecting.  Where my Blackness made me feel isolated in the all-White setting of my former private school; I quickly discovered that I wasn’t “Black enough” to be accepted by many of my new Black classmates.

Even after many years post-graduate education, I can honestly say that my most challenging course in high school was the informal, but daily class of the “Dynamics of Being Black 101.”  We Black folks take being Black quite seriously.  We have to.  It’s this one characteristic that I would dare say is the biggest determining factor in shaping how we see the world, how we move in the world, and how the world sees us.  We also suffer from remnants of being the descendants of people whom were enslaved; and then pitted against each other to discourage unity and escape.  Consequently and understandably, we are diligent about ensuring there are no imposters.  We revoke Black cards and question if someone is “real” or “down.”  Anyone who is different from what we have subscribed to as “Black” is questioned, dogged, and outcast.

What’s most dangerous about this practice is that many of us have adopted the image of Black people that the broader society has repeatedly pushed upon us.  Black is tough, unemotional, poor, cool, unintelligent, criminal, and street.

I, like many Black children, was ostracized and bullied because I wasn’t “Black,” because I “talked White”, lived in a predominantly White neighborhood, and took honors classes.  I became embarrassed of any academic achievement; and would’ve transferred to basic classes had my mother permitted it.  At that impressionable age, I couldn’t see the tragic reality that many of my Black classmates thought that Black equaled stupid and low functioning; while White equaled scholarly and successful.  

Then and now, I occasionally have gotten my Black card questioned because I am a lighter-skinned Black person (as if my complexion is something that I chose over a darker complexion and therefore should be punished).  I certainly don’t have the same experiences as my darker skinned Sisters and Brothers. Colorism sadly exists, but ask any White person, they know I’m Black and my life’s experiences are reflected as such.

I know I’m not alone.  We Black folks (including me) will question a person’s Blackness from everything from where they live, how they dress, what shows they watch, if they put hot sauce on their eggs, if they wear a weave, can dance on beat, and so on.  We aren’t pressured to code-switch just to ensure we fit into our mostly White workplaces; but also to ensure we fit into our mostly Black communities and social circles.  Not only do we live in a world where the White establishment does not accept us because we are Black; we must navigate the Black world where our Blackness is continually called into question.

I’ve watched over the years as Kamala Harris’ “Blackness” has been viciously questioned and denounced by Black commentators since she announced her candidacy for president.  Although, she has never claimed anything but Black, went to the most well-known Historically Black College, Howard University, and pledged the oldest Black sorority, she has been repeatedly discounted.  Many of us are all too comfortable stripping her from acceptance into our world because of everything from her lack of rhythm to her record of convicting Black males when she was a D.A.

Ironically, many of the people who are questioning Harris’ Blackness, would have their Black cards revoked by many Black people: because they are working for “the man,” or they talk White, or their haircut is “nerdy” and so on.  I can see some of these Brothas getting clowned were they to visit certain schools or be dropped off in certain neighborhoods.

It begs the questions: What is Black?  Who gets to decide?  Do we, Black folks, ultimately injure ourselves by creating such division; and by limiting the definition of who we are and who we can be?

Can’t Black be everything?  It is insulting when others stereotype us; why do we do the same thing to ourselves?  We are not monolithic.  We are beautifully varied.  Black people are scientists, teachers, singers, lawyers, farmers, gymnasts, authors,. We like and can create classical, country, rap, and R&B music,  Some of us can dance, some of us can’t catch a beat,  We are athletic and goofy, nerdy and cool, introverts and extroverts.  We eat sushi and soul food; are obsessed with anime and anthropology. We hike, ski, swim, jump out of airplanes; play spades , golf, lacrosse, and basketball. We have blue, green, gray, brown or black eyes; and are as light as the sand in Tanzania and as dark as the coal found in Mpumalanga.  We live both as millionaires and below the poverty line; in mansions and in public housing.  We love and worship different Gods or no god  at all; and fall in love with people of different races.  We work in various professions; and have different political beliefs.

We are everything—no different from any other group.  No one should define us — because there is no single definition, and because such labels only serve to confine us, while dividing us.  We don’t have to like people whom are different from us or don’t represent Blackness as we feel it should; but we must accept that they are indeed still Black.

*Story written by Randi Bryant. It shares the experiences of Randi Bryant.

7 Responses

  1. This was an excellent examination of the diversity among black folks and the pitfalls of the diversity depending on your skin color.

  2. I’m clapping for this. Black is NOT monolithic and when “we” insist it is we buy into the same view that Biden shared recently in how the LatinX community is diverse but didn’t acknowledge same for the black community. And you know what? When my child wanted to seriously look into an HBCU, I didn’t discourage her, but I did tell her about colorism and that black people can be meaner than a trapped snake. Also, as much as I love Kampala’s being a woman and not white, I really just want someone better than what we have at the moment so I’ll take her – smart, qualified AND also a black woman.

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About Randi B.

Randi is a diversity and inclusion strategist, speaker, trainer and writer, focusing on making connections and cultivating empathy in this diverse world one trip, speech, article, book and conversation at a time.

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