Thursday, January 28, 2010

Regarding My "Nigga, Please" Status Message

So I seemed to have sparked a little debate on my facebook page.

I got home sometime in the middle of Obama's State of the Union address. I don't remember what comment sparked my reaction, but he said something so ridiculous that I rolled my eyes and said to myself "Nigga, please." In perhaps not the wisest decision of my life, I posted said quote to Twitter and Facebook.

The first few comments took it for what it was--a light-hearted jab at the president. (Though my self-styled "Obamacrat" cousin thought it was just generally funny until she realized I was commenting on the SOTU, she immediately understood there isn't any animosity behind the comment.) Later, however, a high school friend of mine wrote:
"Nigga, please?" TOTALLY uncalled for. If his politics are full of shit then they're full of shit, but "Nigga please" is the kinda comment that will get you punched in the face. I'm not sayin....I'm just sayin. and I dont even like Obama
Nothing like a comment about face-punching to get the blood flowing.

I rhetorically asked my friend if my skin were darker, would said violence still be imminent. He responded that, indeed, it would not.

This brings me to the heart of the matter: how does one define "blackness"? My father is black. My mother was white. As I have mentioned here before, I could "pass" for white if I so chose. I am aware that some people don't consider me "black" by their standards, and usually I just chalk that up to their own ignorance or prejudice, but given that about 1000 people have access to my facebook page, I thought I should clarify.

I take my race and ethnicity very seriously. I grew up with black family and black friends. No more than four familial generations ago, that family was owned by white people in Meridian, Mississippi. My father grew up in the Great Depression in Indiana--a state literally run by the Klan at the time. I have heard stories about how my grandfather, James (1883-1937), would grab his gun and go outside to get all the children in the house because the Klan was about to march up the street they lived on--one of the three streets or so blacks were allowed to live on in Fort Wayne at that time. My father and my family had to endure racism most of us today can hardly fathom--and I grew up acutely aware of this. I knew I had opportunities that my father never had, and I have always been grateful for how much he went through and how much he sacrificed so I and my siblings could become successful people.

When I was very young, my father told me, (paraphrasing), "Because of who you are, or what you are [read: black]--you may have a harder time than other [read: white] people. Deal with it, and move on." It was the 1980s and my first school district was still trying to implement desegregation plans--and we were still interchangeably called "Negro,""black," or "Afro-American." Our race used to be listed next to our names on our attendance sheets in my second school system. America was much less tolerant than it is today just 20-25 years ago. Thus, despite my white appearance and diction, it was not out of the question that my blackness would be some sort of hindrance or disadvantage to me down the line, either personally or professionally.

And, personally--though I have no intention of going into it here--it has been. But I deal with it, and move on.

Keeping all this in mind, I will NEVER accept some sort of 'not black enough' tripe from anyone, white or black. We, as black people, have different experiences that make us who we are. These differences are related to skin tone, hair, what part of the country we grew up in or whether we lived in the country, the city or the burbs. There is no singular "black" experience and only an arrogant fool would attempt to definitively characterize another man as not black enough.

We can have a debate about whether or not black people should use the term "nigga" or "nigger." Richard Pryor used it for years and then decided, after a trip to Africa, he never wanted to use the term again because he thought it was demeaning. Some others believe that it is empowering to use the term--to reclaim it, in a way. (I don't buy that, but if that's your thing, then so be it.) Chris Rock uses it for effect in his acts; Katt Williams uses it as a matter of pride. The common thread, of course, is that many of us grew up using it and it's part of who we are. We can choose to use it now, or we can choose not to. And we can disagree about whether we should or should not. And perhaps I shouldn't have posted it on facebook because those who are not close to me may take it the wrong way. But I did it, and I make no apologies for it.

To those who may have been offended by it: you don't have to approve of it--and I'm not asking you to.  But don't, for one minute, think your skin tone makes you more 'legitimately black' than I am.

"But I will tell you that, without any question, the most bitter anti-white diatribes that I have ever heard have come from "passing" Negroes, living as whites, among whites, exposed every day to what white people say among themselves regarding Negroes -- things that a recognized Negro never would hear." -Malcolm X
If I'd be black enough for Malcolm X, I'm pretty sure I'm black enough for you.

Don't make me show my color.

3 comments:

Amy Y said...

Not trying to be suggestive in any way and pardon my ignorance here... but do you identify as strongly and with as much pride for your white half as you do your black half? I have not heard you express yourself in the same way as I have with your black heritage...

JPB said...

It's not a simple answer, but I'll be as brief as possible.

First off, it's not really about "half." I grew up how I grew up--I wasn't with Irish-Americans half of the time and the other with black people. I'm not ashamed of my white/Irish heritage--tho my mother shielded me from the most openly Irish side for fear they wouldn't accept my black heritage. I don't hold that against them--I don't even know them. And it has no bearing on why I consider myself "black."

I fully recognize my Irish heritage, but I wasn't raised steeped-in Irish-American culture. Sure, my mother sang Irish lullabies to me and I listened to some Irish music growing up--but my Irishness is more of a piece of me than a definition. I hesitate to call it "trivial," but it's not something dominant. I feel a certain connection to my Irish ancestry, but to a much lesser degree than I do black culture and heritage.

Words have very definite meanings--and, like it or not--"white" has become a synonym for "pure" in the English language. (Indeed, I have heard some linguists and other scholars partially attribute the racial tensions among Anglophones to this, tho I am in no way qualified to make such a statement and nor am I convinced of it.) Thus, while some people don't consider me "black" to whatever subjective standards they set, many more agree that I'm not white, in that "pure" sense. Sure, a lot of people are mutts--more, I would argue than most people know. (Generations back, people like me did, in fact, "pass" for white, married white, and had white kids who were none the wiser of their slave heritage. But I digress.) Simply put: black dad=not "white."

Furthermore, and probably more formative in my reasoning, was the slights against blacks are just as applicable to me. When someone calls us lazy or stupid, they believe there is some sort of ingrained "difference" that I have, be default. When parents forbid or otherwise dissuade their daughter to see me--or the daughter tells me "don't tell my parents you're black/mixed/etc"--that "other" that I am apparently tainted with directly applies to me. And, when they say I'm "different" or an "exception"--I am supposedly better than my dad, my half-siblings, my extended family, and all my black friends. Bullshit.

My struggle with self-identification is much more complex than these, but this is the simplest answer this format really allows. I could literally write a book on my experience with racial identity and would be happy to discuss it further at some point in a more conversational setting.

Amy Y said...

Thanks for explaining ~ that makes sense. I'd love to discuss it further when time/space allows. I definitely think you should write a book on your racial identification experiences... I'd love to read it.