Because I hold so much pain around not being seen as Black, it is easy for me to forget that there is a much greater amount of pain that comes with being seen as Black.
I don't know that I agree with every word of the article below. I especially don't like the word "distrust." It makes me feel bad. However, as I hear more and more light people sounding like white people I may agree more and more with this article as time goes by.
That "OMG we're all black" statement that some light folks like to throw out every time the subject of colorism comes up is pushing me toward "distrust" a little more every day.
For the record
the light folks saying,
"Oh my God were' all black"
equals
the white folks saying,
"We're all one race, the human race."
These two statement are the very same statement, made for the very same purpose: Denial
Feeling Rebloggy
In Chicago where I currently live, other Black people usually do not acknowledge me.
On my way to the train, passing folks on the sidewalk, there is usually no eye contact made, no attempt at a connection. Only when I am walking with my roommate, or another Black friend are the acknowledgements—head nods, handshakes, good afternoons—directed towards me through proximity. The racial context I inhabit changes quickly based on who I’m standing with, talking to, or whose arm is linked in mine.
In the youth work I do—both professionally and as an independent community member—I often reach out to other light-skinned, half-white and white-passing young people. I see them grappling with identity, self-acceptance, with where they fit into the larger Black community, and the struggles currently renting that community apart. I try my best to hold their pain, make room for their confusion, while also underlining the most important thing I can teach them: Being light skinned is a privilege, not a struggle.
I have always loved being Black. I have always loved other Black people. Having to fight for my place in the Black community, being called upon almost constantly to demonstrate my authenticity, prove my worthiness to self-identify, has at times left me exhausted, wounded, and enraged.
Because I hold so much pain around not being seen as Black, it is easy for me to forget that there is a much greater amount of pain that comes with being seen as Black.
Across the board, we as light-skinned people have more power and access than is just. Economically, in education, opportunities for growth and prosperity are extended to us more regularly than dark-skinned Black people. When we accept those opportunities, we are more easily absorbed into the institutions that harm other Black people...
In movement and activist spaces, there are too many of us in leadership roles, too many of us called on to speak to issues we are undeniably less impacted by than darker-skinned members of our community....
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