I can’t count how many times I’ve been called a
“colored” or “Negro” girl at work and have cringed, constantly willing myself
not to slap the white off of the elderly resident(s) I serve on the daily. Now,
don’t get me wrong this isn’t my first rodeo so it’s not like it’s been my
first, and I’m sure it won’t be my last, time that I get called something
derogatory that will sting and effect me in some way, but I just feel it. I feel
the dehumanization my ancestors have felt I just can’t imagine getting called
that on the daily. So I thank them immensely on the sacrifices they have
endured and made so that I can live justly so. But it’s my blackness…I can’t
get away from it. I can’t escape it even if I wanted to. And luckily, I don’t
want to. I’m proud to be black, I’m proud to be me. And it has nothing to with
how strong we’ve been historically and how far we’ve come, or how we were kings
and queens before we were enslaved, or all of the contributions we’ve made in
this world. It’s not about our melanin or
how strong our energies vibrate. It’s not about how influential our creations
of blues, jazz, rock and roll, r&b,
and hip hop have been in this world. It wouldn’t matter to me if none of those
things came from us, because that’s not what truly defines us. Granted, it IS
the cherry on top but it’s definitely not the whole sundae.
For me, it’s something much deeper. It’s spiritual,
it’s genetic, and it’s magnetic. I can feel the greatness in my blood. When I
hear a drum my heart begins to race and my body begins to move, whether I want
it to or not. When I see my brotha or sista that looks like me, I smile,
knowing that there is greatness in them as well, whether they choose to believe
so or not. When I see all the variations of beauty in us, I smile, my heart smiles,
genuinely. When I’m communally involved and I’m conversing, debating,
discussing, creating, cultivating, and developing with my people, I feel
renewed, like I’m ready to blast off and evolve into a new person, a better
person, a stronger being. Sometimes, it’s hard for me to explain, and sometimes
I can’t help but realize our pain but our greatness, our power, our love, our
unity, gives me pleasure beyond measure, and it’s substantially outweighs our
plight.
I may not have physically endured the enslavement of
us but I can surely feel it. I can’t help but feel the anguish, frustration and
revulsion when ANYONE, white or otherwise, refuses to even give me the basic
respect of looking me in my eyes. It disappoints me that we seemed to have come
so far and people still have a hateful disposition and outlook on people that
are different than them. But it’s not our fault and it never has been nor will
be. Our blackness, this gift and this curse, was not chosen but God given. I
made a quote a while back and I said, “I am not oppressed simply because I am
black, I am oppressed because others can’t see past their own ignorance.” And
that’s the truth Ruth. I will never be afraid or ashamed to be black, to be a woman,
or to be a BLACK WOMAN living in AmeriKKKa. I don’t care WHAT the news,
newspapers, magazines, or any other media outlet want s to portray because I
know the truth and I’ll be damned if I don’t try to live it every day! We’re
hated but our essence is in high demand. I think it’s cute at this point. No
matter how many clones are made, you can’t duplicate the original. Europeans
love to steal and cheat their way into a culture not realizing that they don’t
truly have one. But my concern has never been with them, just stating facts
that I will now digress from. My blackness will not be defined or perpetuated
through the likes of those that will try to dismantle and then ignorantly
imitate. Like I said, my blackness is in ME and there’s no way to figure it
out, or get it out of me. There’s no secret, formula, method, or lifestyle
change you could ever make to get this.
My black is beautiful. My black is real. My black is strong. My black is bold. My black
is fearless. My black is me…effortlessly.
Power.
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