Black Creators and The White Reflection: Do You Like What You See?
For weeks now I have been wanting to write to all of you. Yet every single time I sat down and tried to write, I went numb. I couldn’t get a single word down. My own silence was suffocating me—and rightfully so! I couldn’t help but think about how the many white-owned organizations and stores that I subscribe to have handled this uprising—this demand for change—the same exact way. It reminded me of the beginning of the pandemic, when I was being force fed generic messages and safety precautions. While I realize, wholeheartedly, how important it is to speak up right now on whatever platform you may have--let me reiterate! It is SO! EXTREMELY! IMPORTANT! to use your voice right now, because you never know who your message may reach--I still could not find the clarity to organize my thoughts and reach out to you because this is not a one-size-fits-all movement.
The past few weeks, I’ve been unable to do anything other than devour the resources shared by Black content creators on Instagram and my Apple News discover page—plus a ton of retail therapy (you know me) on Black created websites. (I’m OBSESSED with Sincerely Tommy, and saving up so hard for a pair of Brother Vellies shoes—check them both out naaaowww!!) I really don’t understand how these largely white organizations are able to wrap their sentiments about the Black Lives Matter movement and the systemic racism plaguing Black America in a tight little email? Every time I try to, a sadness rises within me and the pit in my stomach swells to the size of a grapefruit. And while I cannot get a word down—I like to remain in this state. Submerging myself in discomfort and pain. Because I know my pain will never come close to the pain felt by Black Americans. Police brutality just skims the surface of the sea of hardships facing Black Americans today. Education. Housing. Public Health Equity. Hiring Discrimination. Sexual Harassment. The list, unfortunately, goes on.
I am committing myself to being anti-racist. I am learning to hold myself, and my white peers, accountable for our words and actions. Does that mean I should advocate on how to handle the current social climate, and inform you where you should donate your time and money? Not necessarily, but I will share my learning and unlearning journey with you all. And my friends have been helpful during this time—whether through an Instagram re-post or late night Zoom discussion—but to be perfectly honest, I don’t want to give you the same generic message you’ve been fed by thousands of white-owned organizations. Because, at this point, I do not believe anything I say will make this better! What I, and other white people, DO to create change is far more important than anything we can say.
So instead, I decided to celebrate creators who have influenced me, and inspired me to become my bloggin,’ TV obsessed self: Nella Larsen, Toni Morrison, Maya Angelou, Issa Rae, Spike Lee, Kenya Barris, Phoebe Robinson, Donald Glover, and Lena Waithe. To name just a few brilliant Black artists.
Growing up in a fairly diverse area, and having been exposed to novels written by Black men and women at a younger age than most, helped me understand that people who don’t necessarily look like me, or who are not from where I’m from, have pretty freakin’ awesome stories to tell. I remember the first time I read a novel by a Black author. I was sixteen years old and I was assigned Beloved by Toni Morrison. If you are at all familiar with the title, you probably know it is a whirlwind and lowkey scary for a grown adult, let alone a teenager--I LOVED IT. So, I kept reading. Morrison, Larsen, Hughes, Wilson. In high school, I always viewed Black literature as a way to connect with the Black community. A way of understanding their history. The key word, in my mind, was history. And when I read about white characters tearing Black families apart, taking advantage of Black women, and murdering innocents, I felt--and continue to feel--sickened, horrified, and deeply ashamed by the hate that consumed these white men and women, and how I never knew the extent of their injustices. But I, having been raised in a diverse, liberal hub of the northeast, believed that we left those atrocities in the past. I should have realized how quickly sixty years can go by, and how little actually changed.
I, in my journey, have finally begun to realize that perhaps the more pertinent reason for white Americans to consume content created by Black Americans is not only to understand their culture and things affecting their communities, but also to understand ours, as white Americans. To understand how much we have wronged an entire race, implicitly, explicitly, behind closed doors. The death, damage, and destruction of our “American values” taking place right now—in the year 2020—helped us finally wake up. But it should not have taken the deaths of innocent Black men and women to make me realize how little progress has been made, and how much further we must go to become the strong, united country we all hope to be. A country that is not weighed down by our greatest flaw. It’s so unfortunate—truly a waste of everyone’s time—that people like me have been living in fictitious bliss for the last twenty years. And within those years, creators like Spike Lee (She’s Gotta Have It, Do The Right Thing), Issa Rae (Insecure), Kenya Barris (Black-ish), Donald Glover (Atlanta), and Lena Waithe (The Chi) have all been speaking up about institutional racism, microaggressions, and the undue appropriation of Black culture by white hands! Offenses that may “seem” harmless to the white majority, but are actually not okay at all, and I hope the time has finally come—the time where there is no choice but to listen. Sorry, not sorry!
What I really want my white peers to understand is that novels and television shows illuminating the Black experience in America are not supposed to educate white people on Blackness and how the characters are ~jUsT LiKe Us.~ Perhaps the more important reason for white people to consume Black content lies in the uncomfortable mirror it holds up to white people. We didn’t wake up three weeks ago to find that it’s not okay to refer to part of town as the “Black version” of another part of town. Or to put your only Black co-worker in charge of every single diversity initiative. Or the undue uprooting involved in the gentrification of Brooklyn. These are real examples I pulled from Issa Rae’s, Insecure and Spike Lee’s She’s Gotta Have It. They have been speaking up! For YEARS! Kenya Barris has an entire episode of Black-ish devoted to our history of police brutality (“Hope,” Season 2, Episode 16), which aired in 2016. Black-ish does an unparalleled job of not only highlighting white microaggressions, but also educating its audience on Black history that is overlooked. And while Rae, Lee, and Barris fight for their equality so beautifully with humor and compassion, that shouldn’t make these real issues any less painful for us to watch. It is crucial for white Americans to see these white characters and think, DAMN—I do NOT want to be like that!!!
While we examine our reflection in Black media, we must also consider our white-washed culture and accept that so much derives from the unjust appropriation and theft of Black culture. Even one of our favorite shows, Broad City, effectively stole Ilana Wexler’s go-to hype phrase, “Yas Queen,” from the queer POC communities of the 1980s underground ball culture portrayed (stunningly) on Pose. If we are to engage with Black culture, we need to actively acknowledge and respect that the art is THEIRS. I hope you can all hear me when I say “Kim K’s braids.” So much of America’s dominant culture is influenced by Black culture, but rarely is credit given. It’s really hard to examine yourself and realize there are parts of your character that need serious work, but in this case, it’s just absolutely necessary. So… CONSUME that content and give it credit! While it would be remiss not to acknowledge that the artists I highlighted are mainstream examples of Black-created content with mass appeal--and I encourage you to do your own research beyond these examples to fully understand the plurality of Black experiences--read Morrison, Larsen, Wilson, watch Insecure, She’s Gotta Have It, Black-ish, Pose, Atlanta. They are giving you hints. Do you like what you see? Or can we all be better?
