Why is being Black never enough?
For a long time it has been questioned whether Black people are black enough. In a world where proximity to ‘blackness’ is either lauded or shunned a Black person’s safety and worth can disappear in an instant.
Take for instance the appropriation of box braids and cornrows by high profile celebs (including a certain family whose forenames all start with K). When there was a rightful backlash to this, many were quick to suggest that it was “just a hairstyle”. I am yet to see those same people explain why Black children are at risk of being expelled from schools or the fact that Black women with natural hair are seen as less professional and hence less likely to get the job compared to applicants they are up against.
Those with lighter skin tones are told will never be truly ‘black’ and of instead of having positive discussions on the heterogeneity of the black diaspora society has decided that it is much more beneficial to discuss whether they can say the N word.
Darker skinned folk often fair much worse, from grassroots jokes of being invisible when the lights are switched off, to women with darker skin receiving 12% more prison time than their lighter skinned counterparts. Furthermore in media and television, the chances of seeing a darker skinned person — and a women in particular — are extremely small. Even when the focus is on Black people, darker skinned actors are sidelined.
Every now and then the fact that Zoe Saldana was cast to play Nina Simone and had to use body paint to darken her skin haunts me. Though, it should be said, that when pointing out flawed events in the film industry sole blame should not rest with the actor. There is often very little agency for “the talent” as they are at the mercy of tyrannical directors, faceless producers and studio execs.
Sadly when our skin is not enough for people to box us in, our character and interests are often brought into play. ‘Yes she’s Black — but is she BLACK? Does he listen to the “right” music? What does he wear? What about her accent, does she drop her t’s? Is her hair — God forbid — relaxed? Only a self-hating Black woman would do that!’
This internal and external assault has, in essence, created a sort of dichotomy among Black people (not withstanding class and geography). In an attempt to distance himself from negative assumptions, one young Black man proclaims he has never listened to rap whilst extolling the virtues of Baroque music. Call him a bootlicker and you are worsening the problem by suggesting that a Black person’s interests are exclusive.
When a White person reveals their love for Rap they are seen as cultured (or culturally appropriative). But depending on his standing in society, a Black man is either looked down upon or accepted based on his musical preferences. This heightened awareness of a Black person’s interests stems most likely from the assimilation into the middle class and white collar jobs, as well as the pressure to prove you are ‘not like other Blacks’ which is an attempt to rewrite the Black narrative as criminals and poverty stricken people.
This has remarkable similarities to the ‘not like other girls’ movement - a once popular belief whereby women and young girls would diminish their counterparts’ achievements, abilities and strengths in order to fit into a man’s ideal mold for women. These ideas were often idealised, biased and contradictory and as a result created a toxic atmosphere of women vying for male attention.
Black people — knowingly or unknowingly — are entrenched in this idea. One feels an overwhelming urge to showcase her knowledge of literature and the arts (white dominated fields) in order to prove she belongs. The topics discussed in relation to the arts are also expected to be of a certain esteem. Perhaps the influence of Fritz Lang’s work on 1930s Cinema but certainly not Spike Lee’s work on Black emancipation in a post-segregation America. Or perhaps how Rachmaninoff was rumoured to have sold his soul to achieve his virtuosity but not Jay-Z purportedly doing likewise.
The point I am making here is that Black people are often in the shadow of their skin. Never a doctor, but a Black doctor. Black lawyer, Black teacher, Black dancer and so forth. Strangely enough it is both essential and maligned. We need Black children and the world to see that we are not the thieves, addicts and layabouts so many ignorant people would gleefully paint us to be.
But there is a point of equilibrium. When do we stop attaching the ‘Black’ label to things so that the colour of one’s skin does not become more important than the achievement itself. Can we have any right to complain if people point us out to be Black as if it is a be all end all and not merely the colour of our skin?
More worryingly, will our unwavering support for anything Black come to hinder us in the long term? Do we swallow every meagre ‘Black’ representation in film and TV no matter how biased or degrading? Do we support Black people even when they have been proven to have done deplorable things? It is partially understandable to say the least. With so little Black representation, we want to do everything in our power to keep it there — who knows when we would see more?
But I think that we must remember we are long past the days when Hattie McDaniel forged history by becoming the first Black person to win an Oscar for her role in Gone with the Wind (1939). We are no longer someones slave, servant or side character whose sole purpose is aiding the white protagonist. Countless creatives and pioneers have proven that just because black people are involved does not make something lower quality or less worthy of accolades.
Fortunately, we Black people are seeing something of an awakening. Black people of all tones are being placed rightfully on our screens. Audiences want to see Black people, Black families, Black siblings. The things we craved for so long are coming to fruition.
But at the same time, we need to not endlessly praise it — just because we see ourselves doesn’t mean it will be quality. Yes it often feels like work by our people is placed under a harsher spotlight but it is simply about volume. Mediocre and abysmal ‘white’ films can shrink away from the harsh critics’ glare whereas films with a majority black cast are so few and far between that they have nowhere to hide. This, coupled with the fact that these films are often brought to special attention — a ploy by studio execs to convince you they don’t hate black people.
I believe that if we want to see more of our work we have to be unbiased — it does rather feel like shooting yourself in the foot, but I assure you: for every black creative trimmed back, another will bloom. We’ve been in the ground long enough; it’s our time to flourish.
