The Root: The experience of having your Miss Navajo Nation reign challenged calls to mind the debate over the Cherokee Freedmen. Is this a common issue across the Native community, of African-Native Americans having trouble finding acceptance?

Radmilla Cody: I grew up having to deal with racism and prejudices on both the Navajo and the black sides, and when I ran for Miss Navajo Nation, that especially brought out a lot of curiosity in people. It’s something that we’re still having to address as black Natives, still having to prove ourselves in some way or another, because at the end of the day, it all falls back to what people think a Native American should look like.

But there’s been many times when people have said to me, “Oh, my great-great-grandmother was an Indian.” I’ll ask them if they know what tribe, and they don’t. It’s very important because in order to be acknowledged as a tribal member, you have to be enrolled. So I can see where Native people are protective about defining who’s a tribal member, and are questioning of people claiming Native ancestry.

…

TR: Were you surprised by the backlash that you received?

RC: I wasn’t surprised. I knew it was going to happen. Right before I left to go to compete in the pageant, my grandmother sat down with me. She said to me, “My child, I just want you to know that there are going to be some people who are not going to be accepting of this.”

Growing up, I was taunted at school with racial slurs and would come home in tears. My grandmother would be there, waiting to console me. She always said, “Let ‘em talk. You are a Navajo woman. This is your land. This is how I raised you. You be proud of who you are.” Every time, that’s what she would say.

So this day before the pageant, when she cautioned me about people who wouldn’t be accepting of me participating, I turned around and told her, “Let ‘em talk, Grandma. I’m a proud Navajo woman, remember?” She had a big smile on her face. I think she felt content that I was ready for what I was going to be challenged with.

TR: Do you have any connection to African-American culture and community?

RC: I spent more time in the Navajo community growing up because my grandmother raised me. When I would come into town in Flagstaff, Ariz., to see my mom, who had black friends, and my dad’s relatives, I was in the black community more. I went to high school in Flagstaff, and one day a friend was wearing a T-shirt with a big “X” on it. I said, “That’s cool! I should get one that says ‘R’ for Radmilla!” I didn’t know anything about Malcolm X. He told me to join the black student organization. I had a lot to educate myself about and embrace, because I come from two beautiful cultures.

In the black community I also had my challenges. I was always told, “You think you’re cute because you got that long, fine hair,” and I would have to stand up for my Navajo side because of stereotypes placed upon the Navajo. When I’d go back to the Navajo community, I would have to stand up for my black side because of stereotypes.

Read the rest of the interview here.

Image credit: unieketrouwringen.nl

From the same store that stays sold out of Princess Tiana dolls (especially the green-gowned ones), from the same store that stays sold out of the latest Black Barbies (I was lucky I got this one, button not included)….

I saw this display for some Target “Spook-tastic Savings”….

Which is fine–I still watch and collect DVDs, even though they’re becoming an obsolete medium–so I’d purchase some…until I saw exactly what was on sale.

If my photo’s too blurry or the print too small, my deepest apologies. I tried surreptitiously to take the photo.  What’s on the shelf:

The Brothers, The Color Purple, Diary of a Tired Black Man, Eve’s Bayou, The Five Heartbeats, Gifted Hands, Good Hair, Purple Rain, Menance II Society, School Daze…

…to name a few.

To those who may not know:  ”spook” is a racial slur for Black people.

To answer the question of where I saw this, the display was in a Target in downtown Brooklyn, NY, where a large number of its on-floor staffers are Black and has a very racially and ethnically diverse customer flow.

Of course, we can talk about intentions–the usual variations of “they probably didn’t mean it” that I heard from a couple of customers–but the impact is the continued perpetuation of an single old stereotype, even with a display of new(er) and varied representations of Blackness.

Just in time for the holiday.

I called over a sales associate, a very sweet young Black man.

“‘Spook’ is an offensive term referring to Black people. Having ‘spook-tastic’ and Black films together can be considered offensive.”

He looked at the display with surprise and apologized. “Oh really? I’m so sorry.  I’m not in charge of the display.”  He looked at it again, the “aha” moment spreading across his face.

“Is there a manager? If you want to let the person know…maybe I can speak to him or her?”

“Sure.” He found a manager in the next aisle.  He discussed the situation with her and came back to me.

I said to the sales associate, “Maybe you can find some horror films to put up on the display, which would be more appropriate. But “spook” and Black films…just nah.”  When I finished what I said, the manager peeked her head around the corner.

I walked away to try out my iPod on a display stereo to see if music was coming out of one speaker just on my speakers or if it was just jainking up on other equipment.

When I left the store, the associate, the manager, and a security guard gathered around the display, discussing it.

ETA: The sign was changed to something about their “low price promise.”  And I purchased a green-gowned Princess Tiana doll.

Photo credits: Andrea (AJ) Plaid

by Guest Contributor Aymar Jean Christian, originally published at Televisual

In Brooklyn one night in May I was treated to my very first performance from Monstah Black, an artist who defies categorization, but whose show I would characterize as part-rock concert, part-live art theatre, with a black queer bent. Despite my awe I managed to divert my eyes long enough to dwell on the audience, mostly avant-hip black Brooklyners, but with two notable exceptions: indie filmmaker and artist Hanifah Walidah and, looking a touch out of place, internationally renowned artist Chuck Close.

I started thinking that something rather trendy was going on. Monstah Black seemed to be just one of a several black artists, performers and personalities working today trafficking in what he calls “genderfuckery.” (Though maybe I was just flush from an unusually art-glamorous day at internationally renowned artist David Salle‘s salon with such art world luminaries as Dana Schutz, Amy Sillman and Eva Respini in attendance!).

Has black queer (and, in many cases, black androgyny) come back in style?

Well, first, there are probably three immediate responses to that question, depending on who’s reading this: 1) What do you mean by “back,” it never left!, 2) What do you mean by “back,” it’s never in!, 3) What do you mean by “black androgyny” or “queerness”?

I won’t respond to 2) because the charge lacks merit. I’ll respond to 1) in a bit. Identifying the starting/stopping points of cultural trends is futile. My question is more of a provocation. It seems to me, for those who are aware, it has become easier than ever to access images of black artists playing with the Holy Trinity of cultural studies: race, gender and sexuality, my rather expansive definition for “androgyny.” (A better word might be “queer.” Ah, language.)

WHO IS HOT TODAY**

The list is small but mighty. We have Kalup Linzy, pictured at the top of the post with James Franco, who has over the past several years become the toast of the art and fashion worlds, headlining lush events, booking major museum shows, getting major fellowships, collaborating with major designers and, well, James Franco. Monstah Black appears to have amassed a loyal following in New York and rising visibility by the press. We should all remember personality Andre J, who a few years ago made the cover of Paris Vogue and continues to produce. Though decidedly less queer, out artist Kehinde Wiley had made a name for himself deconstructing masculinity…and selling sneakers. Andre Leon Talley‘s celebrity is blossoming, becoming an obsession of the gossipy press, most notably Gawker; his America’s Next Top Model colleague, Miss J, isn’t doing too bad either.

Along with Kalup Linzy, a number of these personalities maintain a strong presence online. Much has been written on B. Scott, who is remaking celebrity online and has been working hard by blogging, hosting his own radio show, vlogging on YouTube, and appearing on various television shows. My students keyed me into KingsleyBitch, the 19-year old who has amassed over 100,000 subscribers on YouTube in less than a year by kvetching, vlog-style whenever he feels like it. It’s the kid of transgression endemic to YouTube, the kind that Mr. Pregnant, who is a kind of queer figure, takes to the next level. New York-based performer Britney Houston moved from online to offline, making a name for herself doing music video remakes on YouTube then making music and performing live in NYC, much like Monstah Black and Kalup Linzy have, but with more pop. Online, black gay narratives are another small but mighty bunch, including Christopher Street, Drama Queenz, Lovers and Friends, Anacostia and Buppies.*

(UPDATE: Reader suggestions (of people I missed): Jonte’; Jean Paul Paula)

WE HAVE BEEN HERE BEFORE

We have been here before. Some would say we have never left, and they might be right. (Warning: really sketchy and incomplete history to follow).

To mainstream America, music, from Little Richard to disco in the 1970s and its club scene carrying over in the 1980s, brought black male diva worship and flamboyance to the masses, or at least urban aesthetes (let’s not forget Tutti Frutti was whitewashed). New York in the 1980s brought us the likes of RuPaul who genderfucked her way to the top in just a few years. Black queer writers (Audre Lorde) and filmmakers (Marlon Riggs) were producing groundbreaking art. Heightened visibility brought Paris is Burning, and we all know the 1990s, with the dominance of Ru, was as black queer as any other time.

WHY NOW

But Ru is still here! The diva’s show, RuPaul’s Drag Race, is giving Logo is best ratings ever and has given the star, who turns 50 this year, a second (or third or fourth) revival.

So the pivotal question is “why now?” If there’s something special about this moment, there has to be a reason to explain it all.

It’s become a pat answer, but certainly the rise of new media — I know, I’m sorry for bringing it up! — has contributed to the heightened visibility of these narratives, at least for those, like myself, who are looking. The proliferation of blogs, vlogs, Facebooks, Twitters, websites, film festivals, cable channels, etc. has given performers an increasing number of venues for publicity and distribution.

Culturally speaking, I think it’s certainly possible the desire to consume in niches, a process beginning in earnest in the 1990s, has led people to marginal corners of cultural production, the same impulse driving TV watching to cable.

At the same time, I think a small group of people are now becoming dissatisfied with the relatively cookie-cutter predominately white gay representations we see on television and film (and even on television, we are somewhat far away from the mid-2000s of Noah’s Arc, Will & Grace, The L Word, and Queer as Folk). Black queer might just be fresh, especially in the the NY-LA epicenters.

WHAT DOES BLACK QUEERNESS LOOK LIKE TODAY

Is there anything that differentiates black queer performances today from those of yesteryear? I’m not an expert. However there are a few interesting cultural threads I see running through the examples I’ve been noticing.

I’d have to do more reading on this, but it seems there is a consistent pull (and always has been) among minority-produced media between resistance and integration. The desire to integrate oneself into mainstream society and the need to push against it. This perhaps most clear in Paris is Burning, focusing as it does on how performers articulate desire for fame, fortune and the American dream while still residing on its outskirts.

Today, this means black queerness can sometimes conjure the neoliberal (individualism, self-determination, self-help) and the spiritual alongside the anarchic and the transgressive. It can be as soft as it is sharp; it goes down easy, at times, and fights its way down at other times. To be popular to compromise, to be marketable and trendy is to integrate oneself into easily understandable ideas.

Yet with markets and niches, someone can sustain their art and still hold true to some artistic ideals. It depends on one’s aspirations and industry. Artists like Linzy and Wiley have a relative degree of autonomy. Burgeoning celebrities like B. Scott have more constraints.

It takes more than one to map out a cultural moment. I’d love to here your thoughts on a) any big names working right now that I missed (because I know I missed a whole lot), b) any perspective on what it means to be black and queer today, c) any thoughts on the importance/limitations on being “hip,” d) anything else. In the meantime, here’s Kalup Linzy hanging with James Franco!

*That all these performers are men is a discussion that needs to be had.

**It’s important to note that many of these artists may not identify as “queer” or even “gay”. The point of this article is not to call anyone’s sexuality — as in sex — but rather cultural performance. So someone like Eddie Izzard, who is straight, can be read as queer, same goes for someone like Dennis Rodman or John Leguizamo, you get the idea.

I could barely contain my rage when I saw this item:

In Seattle, Wash., a white male teacher had an 8-year-old African American girl removed from the classroom. In most cases, children are removed for behavioral and disciplinary issues, which is clearly understandable and acceptable; however, this wasn’t the case here.

The teacher removed the girl, claiming her Afro was making him sick. Naturally, the father of the child, Charles Mudede, was extremely concerned after the incident, and, as a result, the girl, who was the only black child in the advanced-placement class, has missed two weeks of school.

The incident, which occurred at Thurgood Marshall Elementary School, was featured on KIRO-TV. The segment showed the hair product the girl used, Organic Root Stimulator’s Olive Oil Moisturizing Hair Lotion, as well as interviews with her mother and lawyer.

Checking out Afrobella’s Facebook page, I found the link to the original story filed by reporter Tonya Mosley, in which she interviewed the student’s mother, the lawyer taking the case, and others:

Bellen Drake still can’t believe she’s here, at a news conference with the NAACP, fighting to get her 8-year-old daughter back into honors classes - all because of hair moisturizer.

“I couldn’t comprehend it. I was trying to make sense of it and it took awhile,” said Bellen.

Bellen says late last month, the teacher pulled her daughter out of class at Thurgood Marshall Elementary and into the hallway.

“My daughter reports that she kept saying she’s afraid and it’s your hair and that she could go to another class for the rest of the day.”

Bellen says the school never contacted her about it, but instead removed the girl from her honors class and into a regular classroom.

“This is about the conduct of an adult and the ramification of that conduct by the principal,” says Vonda Sargent, the family’s attorney.

Someone who reblogged the quote from my Tumblr blog responded that the student’s father, Charles Mudede, has been writing about the situation.  Come to find out the white teacher in question was a white woman, not a man as first reported:

[Just] last week, my daughter—who is 8 and happens to be the only brown person in her Accelerated Progress Program class at Thurgood Marshall Elementary—was ordered out of the classroom because her teacher did not like the smell of her hair. The teacher complained that my racially different daughter’s hair (or something—a product—in the hair) was making her sick, and then the teacher made her leave the classroom. My daughter was aware of the racial nature of this expulsion not only because she was made to sit in a classroom that had more black students in it (the implication being that this is where she really belongs, in the lower class with the other black students), but because her teacher, she informed me, owns a dog. Meaning, a dog’s hair gives the teacher less problems than my daughter’s human but curly hair. Most white people do not have to deal with shit like this. Shit that if not checked and confronted will have permanent consequences for the child.

Over the weekend, KIRO-TV ran a story on its evening newscast about the situation. The news segment showed the hair product that my daughter used, Olive Oil Moisturizing Hair Lotion, and brief interviews with her mother and lawyer. The lawyer smelled the hair product and claimed it was harmless; her mother expressed distress about the whole situation. The story wrapped up with a reporter standing outside of my daughter’s school in the Central District, explaining that he could not get a response from the teacher or the school’s principal because the school was closed for the long weekend. That was all you learned from the KIRO story.

What was significantly missing from this report is that my daughter is black American (the only black student in that teacher’s class) and the teacher who forced her out of the classroom is white American. The reason why this racial dimension was not exposed or addressed in the KIRO report is understandable: My daughter and her teacher were not interviewed. But my wife was interviewed—and she is white. So it follows that viewers would assume that her daughter is also white. But if the public had seen that the little girl has brown skin and curly hair, and her teacher has white skin and straight hair, then it would have been impossible to exclude race from this story.

If a white teacher—a person who is supposed to have a certain amount of education and knowledge of American history, and who teaches at a school named after the man who successfully argued before the court in Brown v. Board of Education for equal opportunities for racial minorities in public schools and went on to become the first African-American Supreme Court justice—removes a black student from a predominantly white class because of her hair, it is almost impossible not read the action as either racist or expressive of racial insensitivity, which amounts to the same thing for someone in that teacher’s position.

When we, her parents, were later informed of this incident, we also learned that once my daughter was removed from the class, the teacher felt much better. We were also told that the teacher had experienced something like a fainting spell because of our daughter’s hair. Feeling the seriousness of this situation, we decided not to send our daughter to school until the teacher had medical proof that our daughter’s hair or something in her hair was to blame for the nausea. (The last thing you want to happen to your daughter is for a teacher to faint or vomit at the mere sight of her.)

Representatives from the school district responded (original emphasis):

“The district agrees that it is not acceptable for a teacher in our district to ask a student to leave a classroom for the reasons that this child was asked to leave,” says Kevin O’Neill, senior assistant general counsel for Seattle Public Schools, the attorney who is handling the case of Mudede’s daughter.

The district’s position, in a nutshell, is that the teacher erred by kicking out the student, but race wasn’t a factor and an investigation is underway. However, O’Neill also says he doesn’t know what exactly happened or “the reasons that this child was asked to leave.” Until the investigation is complete, he says, it’s unclear what was offensive about the hair product that reportedly made the teacher sick, why the district hadn’t done anything for three days, whether an incident like this had ever occurred before, whether anyone had spoken to the teacher about the incident, whether school district rules prohibit any cosmetics, or what current or future steps are required for the investigation.

But he insists race was not a factor. Any allegations of racial insensitivity or negligence are “wholly untrue,” O’Neill says, “because, well, because the district would not tolerate employment of a teacher that has racial animosity towards a student.”

How can O’Neill—who doesn’t even know if anyone has talked to the teacher or what is occurring in the investigation—be so certain about this one aspect? “Based on preliminary information I have, it is clear that the removal of the student, as inappropriate as it was, had to do with a health issue and not a racial issue,” he says. “To the extent of the health issues, what was said to the child, the circumstances, that is a matter that is still under investigation. Based on our preliminary investigation, it isn’t a result of racial animosity, as far as I understand.”

But of course not.

Even if we give the teacher the benefit of the doubt—that her intention wasn’t to hurt the pupil with her racially insensitive comment in attempting to stave off her own allergic reactions—the fact remains is the teacher just may have done exactly that.  I won’t address what others have so ably stated, namely alternatives to the teacher’s handling (such as calling the parents in for a private sit-down with her and the principal, providing medical proof that she has allergies to the product at the parents’ request, etc.)  The teacher employed, according to what Mudede’s and Drake’s daughter said, a very gendered racial rhetoric, namely the Delicate White Woman Frightened by the Negress’ Physical Being.  In stating to the daughter that “she’s afraid and it’s [her] hair” evokes the stereotypes that:

1) Black people (including mixed-race people who self-identity as Black—though, in this case, it’s the father who states his child is Black.  No reports so far say how the child identifies herself) are a constant physical threat to whites—like all we think about is how to inflict maximum bodily damage to them.

2) that Black people (as well as other people of color and white ethnic people) smell bad, especially because they use “cultural products” that white USians aren’t used to.

3) Black people’s hair is in a dormant or active state of “fright wig,” which dovetails into the idea that Black natural hair is inherently ugly and the people possessing it as inherently unattractive, especially if the possessor is female.

and

4) the teacher implicated herself in an insidious stereotype about white women, namely that of a frail femininity that must be protected from any “offending coloredness”–in this case, a Black girl with some hair-care products for her naturally curly head attending an accelerated class at a school named for a staunch legal defender of civil rights.

Mudede says toward the end of his post

Getting entangled in a racial dilemma is something most black parents do not want for their children. It’s just not worth the trouble. Then again, like I said, if not checked and confronted, the incident will have permanent consequences for my child.

The NAACP agreed: they are planning to file a complaint with the US Department of Education, though I can easily seeing them argue that this may be a possible result of the Supreme Court ruling that Seattle’s attempt to integrate were illegal.

Mudede’s final thoughts:  “The whole thing is a mess.”

Indeed…and an avoidable one, at that.

Thanks to Dr. Torrence Stephens for the original link, Afrobella for the great leads, and Sarah for the legal decisions!

When new technologies emerge a host of new companies tend to sprout up. Tons of independent radio stations catering to diverse interests before 1970s-style deregulation. Digital technology brought dozens of new channels to television; that same technology fostered numerous production companies making independent TV and films. Now the drive to create original web video — a trend that dates back to the late 1990s, but has gained new steam with broadband and YouTube post-2006 — has attracted  new voices previously unheard. We have corporately produced web series, but also black web series and series made with virtually no budget at all.

Well, that’s great. But how do you distribute and promote all these shows and videos? Anyone can create a video, but if, like my YouTube videos, nobody sees them, then there isn’t much a point. Sure, decently endowed websites now fund and promote web shows. But what about black content, in many cases prone to smaller audiences?

Enter the sites pictured above. Entrepreneurs, keen to the problem of distribution, have created sites where folks looking for black content can go. Surprisingly it looks like all these sites are coming out around the same time — now.  As noted in my article in The Root, BET.com is just now getting into the market for original web shows; there’s been a lack of visibility from major black media companies. In my interviews I found numerous black producers didn’t know of the other black shows debuting online.

BetterBlackTV (BBTV) looks like one of the more well-funded of the sites: it counts among its list of backers both Denzel Washington and Will Smith and is headed by Percy Miller (Master P). (If the site is smart, it will do what FunnyOrDie did when it launched and have both of those actors star in short, funny videos for BBTV, as Will Ferrell did for FoD). The site calls itself “family friendly,” which could be a potential boon or a crutch.

BBTV looks like good business. It feels like a network, offering a diverse slate of programming, slickly organized and easily accessible. Not to be outdone by BET.com and Blackplanet, it has a built-in social networking site and hopefully will allow users to connect via Facebook and Twitter. Most important, I think, was the decision to include music videos, which are among the most popular kinds of video online today. That’ll bring young people, if the videos are new and high quality — and landing exclusives would be crucial. There’s a store attached to the site, which, if the creators have some vision, might be used to sell products integrated into the original programming made for the site (see Koldcast’s “ShowShops.”)

Of course, the main draw for me, and hopefully for others as well, will be the original programming. Once again, black producers are responding to the lack of interest in black stories on television today (although I think this is going to change pretty soon).

I’ll be following the launch of the site, set right now for 2010.

RowdyOrbit is an independent start-up by Jonathan Moore, whose background is in the ad business. Moore is more explicitly focused on series and particularly scripted shows. The idea is to be something like a Hulu for black shows online. The site will continually upload brand new shows and new episodes of shows it already features — the more shows, the better (the goal is to publish hundreds). Moore is focusing on professionally produced series; it’s already landed Jaleel White’s new show, Road to the Altar, currently distributed by Koldcast. Still, despite this professional focus, it aims to be much more expansive than BBTV.

RowdyOrbit is fueled by a recognition that in a Web 2.0 environment, distribution and marketing are key. Where shows are placed, how many places they are published and what experience those sites support are the critical questions for success.

“With a lot of the more-focused websites,” Moore said, “it’s all about placement now.” The question becomes: “what’s going to be the best opportunity for me as a creator?”

The point behind RowdyOrbit is visibility: better and more complex representations of people of color. “The end product has to be for people of color, and the majority of people on screen have to be of color…This is an opportunity for us to be seen in a completely different light.”

Already he has a diverse slate of shows on the site, from a fantasy series about woman’s empowerment called Chick to a cooking show, and a number of shows with an international flair, from Africa (Botswana) to bilingual shows in Spanish. For its list of shows, click here.

Tickles distributes comedy — what appears to be sketch comedy — using YouTube as a platform. Most of content isn’t serialized in the way Itraditionally consider a “series.” The model appears to be more NextNewNetwork, which focuses not on scripted, narrative videos, but on either informational videos or potential viral videos (BarelyPolitical or, as popularly know, “The people who made ObamaGirl”). However Tickles’ content is at times very erudite, signaling, once again, that these are not representations the average viewer is used to looking at.

Among the sites listed above I’m struck by to themes. One is the concern with representation, the idea that mainstream television and film do not properly account for the diversity in black communities, and, in the case of BBTV, might even be harmful for families. The other is the inclusion of Spanish-speaking individuals in representations of blackness, a nod to the fact that, however much the media discusses the divisions within those communities, blacks and Latinos live side by side in many areas across the U.S. with fraternity and without conflict.

As in both articles I wrote for The Root, it seems the web, while rife with as much if not more racism as exists in society at large, is space where entrepreneurs are looking to counter and expand what it means to be black in the 21st century. Whether these will be “popular,” is another question, but we should at least look upon this media moment with a degree of hope — hope, as always, supported by a healthy degree of skepticism.

]]> http://www.racialicious.com/2009/10/20/black-hulu-creating-a-home-for-independent-black-video/feed/ 5 http://www.racialicious.com/2009/07/09/black-booty-body-politics/ http://www.racialicious.com/2009/07/09/black-booty-body-politics/#comments Thu, 09 Jul 2009 16:00:58 +0000 Latoya Peterson http://www.racialicious.com/2009/07/09/black-booty-body-politics/ by Latoya Peterson

Whose Pussy Is This?
Now I have to ask this question
Cuz you mothafuckas keep disrespectin’ my shit
In every line that your lame asses spit
I’m forced to hear about my pussy
That is always on sale
A hot retail item
wrapped in plastic
for $12.99

Do black women regard interracial relationships as a personal affront?

I can’t count the number of times I’ve seen this issue raised. On June 2, it surfaced once more when blogger the Black Snob posted a thought-provoking piece on those who oppose interracial relationships called “Sometimes the White Girl (Or Guy) Isn’t about You (Unconventional Wisdom).”

The post begins with the Snob recalling her days in school when two black girls unsuccessfully try to jump a white classmate who’s dating a black guy. Throughout the piece, the Snob not only questions the rationale the two girls used to justify beating up their white peer but the rationale that black women in general draw upon to oppose interracial relationships. Are black women being fair when they assume that a black guy dating a white chick is a sell-out? And how do the insecurities of black women in Western society factor into their objection of interracial relationships?

She writes, “Some black guys are going to date white girls. Attempting to beat up the white girls will not turn that tide. …You’d be better off learning to love yourself than becoming mired in bitterness and hate over that thing that’s not really about you.”

The Snob’s points are valid. However, after reading her piece and others like it, I find myself wondering why black women are constantly portrayed as if they are only ones who react negatively to interracial relationships. As a black woman who has been involved with a white guy for more than a year, I’ve faced my fair share of hostility from white women, and some Asian ones, who seem resentful of my partnership. None of these women have disapproved of my relationship aloud, but they don’t really have to. Their body language says enough.

They do double-takes when they learn my boyfriend and I are together. They give me the side-eye or attempt to look me up and down when they think I won’t notice. Others have just been aloof or exhibited general bitchiness when I try to make conversation with them. I know that if I am having such experiences other black women involved with non-black men are as well. Yet, black women continue to bear the onus for the hostility that black-white interracial couples face.

The sad thing about this to me is that the reasons a black woman might object to an interracial relationship are wholly different from the reasons a white woman might. Black women worry how the black community will be affected overall if, say, the most successful black men find themselves with white women again and again. They worry about the effect interracial relationships have on low marriage rates in the black community. In contrast, when I encounter white women who cop an attitude upon discovering that my boyfriend and I are an item, their hostility comes from a very different place—a place of superiority.

It’s as if they are asking themselves, “Why on earth would he be with a black girl when I’m here?” Adding insult to injury is that it doesn’t seem to matter whether I’m more or less physically attractive than these women. That I’m black alone makes me inferior in their eyes. It comes down to this: women accustomed to being prizes in Western society are thrown for a loop when they see a white man who’s chosen a different option. As ridiculous as it sounds, their behavior reminds me of the Valley girl at the beginning of the “Baby Got Back” record who says in disgust, “She’s so black.” Black women aren’t supposed to be desirable, so when an eligible white male partners with a black woman, it’s not surprising that some people are going to react with shock or hostility.

I discussed this issue with a black friend several months ago. Then, she said of white women, “You know they’re threatened by us.”

Sure, I know that some white women may be intimated by black women they view in stereotypes—loud, overbearing and aggressive. But I did not think that white women were threatened by black women in the romantic realm. Is this akin to white men being jealous of the fabled size of black men’s penises? Are white women worried that they can’t compete with black women sexually? I don’t know. Yet, this isn’t the first time I’ve seen this issue raised. Years ago when I was reading a profile on Oprah Winfrey, the writer suggested that the talk show queen wouldn’t have so many white women fans if she were more sexually threatening. In short, if Oprah were slender and alluring instead of the woman white ladies bring their problems to, she wouldn’t be as successful.

I wonder how valid this statement is. I do know that, on the surface, a few of the hostile white women I’ve encountered have no problem with black women. They do volunteer work involving the black community and are eager to sympathize with the woes of black women. But, upon learning that my boyfriend chose to date me, they are taken aback. Rather than being a rung below them on the social ladder—someone in need of their help—a black woman had effectively become their competitor and, thus, their equal.

Over the past couple months, I’ve been surrounding myself with people who all have something in common: they’re the least judgmental people I’ve ever known. They’re: 1) unconditionally understanding and compassionate of any given situation – no matter how crazy, weird, or counter-culture it may be, and 2) TOTALLY open about their own lives, in all their outrageous and extreme glory.

How refreshing. To escape the “right” and “wrong”, “good” and “bad”, “black” and “white”.

Which brings me to my point.

During a conversation with one such non-shockable friend, the topic of interracial relationships arose. As I began discussing my own perceptions and thoughts on the subject, something became appallingly clear:

I am judgmental.

Here’s the bare-bones, no-holds-barred confession: I am shamefully judgmental of Black man/White woman interracial relationships. When I see such a couple, I immediately jump to the conclusion that the Black man is trying to prove something and the White woman is trying to piss off her family. I lump the couple into a category, with no desire to dig deeper or even accept their union.

So during this conversation, my friend commented, simply: “Why do you care what choices these other people are making?”

The remark struck me. Yes, why DO I care? I’ve thought hard about this. I’m sure when my Black man/White woman aversion took shape, it sprung from jealousy. When I was a little girl, I never knew my true worth (what kid does?). I was so jealous all the time. Of White females, because, in my eyes, they’d always have something special in their pale skin that I could never have, no matter how straight I blow-dried my hair or how blond I dyed it. And of guys (all guys, but mostly Black guys), because they were always the most popular and the funniest… and most of them liked girls who weren’t boyish and gawky and frizzy-haired like me.

As time passed, I (seemingly) got over my childhood jealousies. But also, the “Black man/White woman relationship aversion” became almost second nature. An instinctual eye-roll. And coming from the Black girl who digs White guys… what a perfect storm of cutting irony.

So now I take a step back. I see many of my White girlfriends entering into wonderful, loving relationships with Black men. I see happiness and strength. And when I see a couple that I would generally stereotype cuddling on the subway or holding hands through Downtown Crossing, I really have to check myself. Why spend time passing judgment on things I don’t even try to understand? Why do I continuing to do this, with the roiling emotions of a 3rd-grader?

I’ve got it. The reality is that I’m NOT over my jealousies. And the problem exists in my own head, not the interracial union. Which is a tad upsetting, but also… again, refreshing.

Because I can’t understand all the complexities of others. But I can accept them. And, even better, I can bask in my God-given joy of delving deep and understanding my own complexities.

There’s no place for judgment in self-discovery. So I’m kicking all those judgmental thoughts to the curb.

We should note that the latter project has no shooting date–and the Weekly Ketchup writers slyly suggest that, perhaps, this is because there’s already a black WWII flick in the works—a Tuskegee Airmen project, currently filming in Europe.

Here’s the thing: we love heralding Black accomplishments as much as the next guy–and far be it from us to stand in the way of Our Own Stories Being Told. But aren’t most of these films rather indistinguishable from one another? If you’ve seen Remember the Titans, you’ve seen Glory Road. If you’ve seen Ray, you seen Cadillac Records (or parts of it, anyway). If you’ve seen The Rosa Parks story, you’ve seen Boycott. If you’ve seen Ali, you’ve seen… Will Smith in one too many of these vanity projects.***

It isn’t that we don’t endorse Black films being greenlighted; we do. It isn’t that we don’t love our history; we do. It’s that biopics, as a genre, are largely rote oversimplifications of incredibly complex lives. And no matter how nuanced an actor’s performance (or, as in the case of Denzel as Melvin Tolson, how phoned in), the formulaic storytelling impedes any real understanding of the person’s struggles and, more importantly, the accomplishment(s) that warranted a film in the first place. They all sort of bleed together untill you’re like, “You remember that flick where Cuba Gooding’s in the submarine and he’s a cook who manned a gatling gun?”

The best way to know your history is to research it for yourself. All the swelling music and single-teared male stars in the world aren’t going to provide you comprehensive—or even accurate—knowledge of actual events. So these “First Black ___ to Do _____” biopics work best when you go into them with your facts about the film’s subject straight. That way, you’re just watching for entertainment value and voluntary emotional manipulation.

All that said, we have to admit, we’re more than a little bit amped about Josh Brolin’s genius plan to both produce and star in a John Brown biopic. You can never have enough films about bloody, if ill-fated slave revolts.

I am officially a hip hop curmudgeon. After a weekend spent in Houston listening to “Da Stanky Leg” and “the Halle Berry” on local radio, I am officially declaring myself one of those annoying ass old heads who is always waxing about the good old days. Notice here, I’m not talking about the “back when hip-hop was political” nostalgia – oh, no no. Party-hop, politics, whatever – I miss lyrics and lyricism. When a song had multiple verses and a chorus for me to memorize, not just some hollerin’ and foolishness. After listening to my homegirl V-sheezy explain why Lil’ Wayne may very well be the best rapper currently in the game (and she made a compelling case after explaining the current crop of voices on the mainstream airwaves), I retired to the Verve Remixed 4 and decided that I needed to embrace the fact that while I love hip-hop culture, I’m over rap. Just give me the production and let people who can really sing do their thing.

So it kind of goes with out saying that I had negative interest in listening to the latest flash in the pan, Asher Roth. Someone young, white, and privileged, rapping about being young, white, and privileged? Man, I could go watch that Smirnoff Tea Partay ad for that. At least that was intended to be comedy.

But apparently, Asher Roth has been busy.

In addition to inadvertently exposing some of the more interesting racial dynamics in hip-hop, he’s also been running his mouth about a few other things – like what African rappers need to be doing while he’s talking about how much he loves college or how he’s hanging with “Nappy Headed Hoes”. Here are some of the best bits from the Asher-pocalypse:

M. Dot, Model Minority – Asher Roth x Don Imus x Nappy Headed Ho’s

Apparently, Asher Roth was recently on the Rutgers campus and tweeted that he was hanging out with some “Nappy Headed Hoe’s.” He then tried to clean it up and recant by saying that “he was trying to make fun of Don Imus.” He apologized as well.

Recently my post, “Michael Baisden is a Misogynist Pig“, ran on Racialicious. The post is about the fact that Michael Baisden stated on his radio show that a wife “should just lay there and take it”, if her husband want’s to have sex and she doesn’t. One of the commenters, “Nina” who was open, honest and thoughtful in several her comments, said that she felt that Baisden was being hyperbolic. She writes,

Perhaps because I think of him as being like Chris Rock, someone who exaggerates but often has a bit of wisdom at the core of the shit talking, what I hear is the kind of thing many men say when alone. And there is the risk that he goes to far OR that listeners will take it as gospel and not hear it as hyperbole. I hear it as hyperbole, my brother and friends hear it as hyperbole but that doesnt mean everyone does.

I responded saying,

Let me ask you this, do you think Don Imus was being Hyperbolic when he called the Rutgers women’s team Nappy Headed Ho’s?

If he wasn’t being hyperbolic and was being racist, why should Imus not be tolerated but Baisdens comments are hyperbolic?
Often times, I have found that people hide behind the defense of laughter when in reality it constitutes hate speech.

Can’t sprinkle sugar on shit and call it ice cream.

Having just wrote these comments on Wednesday, you can imagine my surprise at seeing Asher Roth say the same thing,
on Twitter, on Thursday.

Why should Asher Roth be singled out when Black men call us hoes all the time?

I am not saying that Asher should not be criticized for what he has done but we need to keep it even and acknowledge that many Black rappers and Black men, and for that matter Black women, refer to Black women, reflexively, as “hoes.”

Harry Allen, Media Assassin – Fight the White Rap History Rewrite

[F]rom a certain angle, there’s just a shade of difference between white people rapping and white people telling nigger jokes. (I know that this framework, though immediately clear to a certain number of Black people, if only on a gut level, isn’t obvious to others, and is completely offensive to many white people. I elaborate on it, more, in two other works: (1) “White People and Hip-Hop,” which I recorded with both Racialicious‘ Carmen Van Kerckhove and writer Jason Tanz (Other People’s Property) for Van Kerckhove’s “Addicted to Race” podcast, and (2) “The Unbearable Whiteness of Emceeing: What The Eminence of Eminem Says About Race,” which I wrote for The Source. [As well, I also spoke about this during an episode of Oprah I taped with Michael Eric Dyson, Sister Souljah, Sister 2 Sister's Jamie Brown, and others in the fall of 1997, though Harpo never aired the piece.]) Both behaviors form a set of inadequate, insufficient white responses to the system of white supremacy, formatted, here, as “entertainment,” or “fun.” Of course, any fun, carried out over a long enough period, starts to look like making fun of to the one not in on the fun, as does any insufficient response, carried far enough, in the midst of a dire situation.

In spite of, or maybe because of, the generally unsatisfactory artistic role white rap has often played when considered this way, I’ve gotten far more out of it by studying the social networks around it; i.e., how it makes white people act. (To a great extent, this is what “The Unbearable Whiteness of Emceeing” is about.). Toward this end, a few choice details jump out of the Asher Roth New York Times piece and land in my lap:

1) It never fails to amaze me how much better white people’s jobs are than Black people’s jobs. In the piece, Asher Roth’s father, whose name is David, is described as “the executive director of a design firm.”

It just sticks out. First of all, so many rappers grow up without fathers at all that to hear of an artist with one is unusual. But, here, there is a father, in the home, and he executive directs a design firm.

2) That a rapper is white is often enough to get them major media coverage. One sees this over and over in the coverage of white rappers, from at least the Beastie Boys to the present. Take away Asher Roth’s whiteness, and is there a story here? Even more, is there a career here? Roth’s now famous XXL cover, as one of ten “freshmen” rappers expected to do great work in 2009, is often mentioned, but Wale and Charles Hamilton sure aren’t.

Which reminds me:

3) White rappers frequently appear as though being handed off from one set of white hands to another. Here, narratively, Roth is handed from his parents, first, to his manager, Scooter Braun, who discovered him, to Steve Rifkind, his label owner, to the Times author, Jon Caramanica, to the fans.

And, most of all:

4) History is often rewritten in the interest of prizing white people, of which white rappers are, of course, a subset. In the piece, Caramanica, who, as a former editor at VIBE and a long-time writer covering hip-hop, should know better, says this: “Whether they talk about it or not, plenty of rappers are from the suburbs, but not one has created an aesthetic around it until Mr. Roth.”

Really? What did De La Soul do, then? What did the Dungeon Family do? Heck: What did Public Enemy do? (I wrote about P.E.’s suburban roots and worldview at length for The Village Voice in a 1988 piece, “Strangers in Paradise.”)

Jeremy R. Levine, Social Science Lite – Asher Roth is the Anti -”White Guilt”

Interestingly and quite arrogantly, Roth is harnessing a shtick of white privilege as he claims the authenticity of the…erm…suburbs. You know, because suburban kids can’t relate to hip-hop in its contemporary form. Why? Well, that’s a little unclear. Roth’s basic claim is that white kids in the suburbs have been consuming hip-hop for years, but have never had some one they can relate to, some one to represent them and their voices. You know, because white folks can’t relate to black folks. And, of course, because only white folks live in the suburbs. Comparing Eminem to Roth, the blog No Trivia wrote it better than I could have: “But Eminem’s use of his whiteness came from a desire to prove himself in spite of the unfortunate reputation of white rappers that came before him, not some strange sense of privilege because he’s the person actually buying rap CDs.”

In the most blatant example of white supremacy in hip-hop, Roth is absolutely obsessed with his whiteness. He doesn’t problematize his whiteness, like when Em forced us to re-think what it means to be white in his deeply personal discussions of growing up poor. No, instead Roth wants us to realize that we should like him because, well, he’s white and privileged just like us! His most recent song leak (which you can download here) details the trials and tribulations of being the next great white rapper and the subsequent comparisons to Eminem. Simultaneously, Roth reminds us that while he is no Eminem (he is from privilege and proud of it), he is unabashedly white (and therefore more relatable than those black rappers we thought we liked). Quoted in a recent New York Times piece, Roth explains the difference: “Culturally, Em was almost a black guy. My background is more stereotypically white.” That’s just great, Asher. How astute. It’s one thing to be aware of your racial identity; it’s an entirely different thing to embrace a privileged identity as your claim to superiority in a culture dominated by minority artists.

In an article from 2005, Brother Ali poignantly discussed white fans’ relationship to underground white rappers. “One of the hardest things we’re dealing with now is the underlying feeling of white supremacy among fans who feel they are a part of hip-hop, but are listening to and prefer mostly white MCs,” says Brother Ali. “They believe that Aesop Rock is better than independent artists who are Black and mainstream artists like Ludacris. These MCs are doing a lot with hip-hop artistically that they have learned from Black people, but [their fans] don’t want to hear from the old-school originators because they believe it’s the white MCs who created the styles they like. This isn’t an underground-versus-mainstream thing—it’s a racist thing.” My emphasis.

Brandon Soderberg, No Trivia – Asher Roth is a Problem

It’s never explicitly said—because if it was, he wouldn’t even be afforded the minor fame he has right now—but Roth’s rapping is not an alternative to mainstream hip-hop or capitalistic corpo-rap, but an alternative to blackness. It’s not entirely clear if Roth even realizes this (probably because he’s not thinking as hard as he thinks he is), but his contempt for most rappers mixed with statements about how he’s the kind of guy buying the music—again, and therefore not black people—sound contemptuous.

When I twittered about writing something on Asher Roth, NattheDem came back with a link I had missed. In an interview with the AP, Roth is quoted:

Roth addresses poverty and greed on the song “Sour Patch Kids.” And at his fans’ behest, Roth uploaded to his MySpace page “A Millie Remix,” a freestyle rhyme over Lil Wayne’s “A Milli” beat, criticizing rappers who boast about having millions of dollars but “don’t share, don’t donate to charity.”

“When I dropped that … (I thought) ‘You guys are always going off about how much money you have. Do you realize what’s going on in this world right now?’ All these black rappers — African rappers — talking about how much money they have. ‘Do you realize what’s going on in Africa right now?’” Roth says.

“It’s just like, ‘You guys are disgusting. Talking about billions and billions of dollars you have. And spending it frivolously, when you know, the Motherland is suffering beyond belief right now.’”

Sounds awfully familiar, doesn’t it? A lot of things came to mind when I read that quote, but none of them are printable.

Last month, Marisol LeBron sent me a video of Asher Roth covering D’Angelo’s How Does It Feel:

At the time, I had not heard of Roth, but the video twisted my stomach. Everything that was so right about the video had been perverted into all kinds of wrong.

Now, after doing a bit of reading and seeing how Roth is being championed as someone who is just expressing himself, I understand my reaction a little better.

—

And simply because it amuses the hell out of me – The Green Tea Partay, Smirnoff’s fake rap beef sequel: