Yes, You’re Black.
* This is a book revelation of The Fire Next Time by James Baldwin. It is comprised of my own thoughts and personal connotations. My book revelations and reviews are not designed to solely sway your personal views, but to always encourage others to read more to form their own opinion.
As I continue to diversify my reading selection, I’ve found a new appreciation for open letters written to young, black children. (This includes the narratives of all people who identify within the scope of BIPOC.) Whether the letter is written to black people before they are even capable of reading, their first “black moment”, their passage into early adulthood, or attached to their senior citizenship— we all owe the babies a letter as they enter into their blackness in all of its stages. But this is not just an open letter for people who face adversity due to their skin color, this book revelation is designed to introduce you to the concept of what it means “to be black” 24/7 after relishing in the great works of James Baldwin’s “The Fire Next Time”.
Let us start with the obvious: there has never in history been a great time to be black in America, but here we are! We see the remarkableness in our black culture long before it is even seen as worthy of being appropriated. So say it with me, “There is uniqueness and power in being black.” For an extra impact for those who don’t identify as black you can say, “There is uniqueness and power in being black, but that does not threaten who I am.”
Yes, You’re Black. AF.
I don’t have any children of my own, but the relationship that I have with my two, black nephews (Julez and Jiren) and biracial niece (Ariannah) mean the absolute world to me. So this is actually the moment where I must inform the three of you that you are indeed black; even down to all of my biracial relatives. I cannot speak from the position of a biracial person but there will be a moment(s) where you will endure the ignorance that asks you to choose one race or the confusion knowing that you may have the benefit to “pass” within the white community, so that is where your blackness lies unique for you.
Of course I have a slew of cousins and other people connected to me in various realms, that make me weep silently for each of our unique, black existences. This weeping is not out of pity that we are black, but from the fear of how other people interpret our blackness as a means to confine us. There is fear of those moments where you will be judged for your race before you even have the opportunity to say hello. The constant micro-aggressions, assumptions, and blatant racism that I would never want you or anyone to experience come far too often. There are so many stories of unjustified mistreatment and killings that if you do the slightest Google search, you will find a plethora of news article and hashtags demanding justice.
What Do I Do With All of This Blackness?
“You were born into a society which spelled out with brutal clarity, and in as many ways possible, that you were a worthless human being. You were not expected to aspire to excellence: you were expected to make peace with mediocrity.”
As a black person, we have to strive for excellence even when we feel like there is nothing to strive for. We have not all grown up in a community that embraces the life of a black person, if you haven’t embraced yourself before today please start now. Sometimes we find ourselves trying to run so far away from our blackness that we fall right into the pit of self-hatred. Self-hatred presents itself in many forms but for the sake of keeping this short, this could look like white washing ourselves, distancing ourselves from the culture by belittling everything remotely black, or negligent in embracing our blackness in white spaces. I have had many circumstances where my self-hatred took over and forced me to not speak out, but now as a 24-year old black woman, I see that whenever I do that I am perpetuating the concept that my blackness is wrong for some odd, societal reason. We have to constantly uproot and remove the self-hatred that we might feel just because in every direction we turn we run the risk of being shamed for our skin.
As for non-black people, to deal with our blackness is very simple; ACCEPT IT and don’t get offended when it is EMPOWERED. We did not get to choose our race and neither did you. Our blackness is not grown out of your generational fear or society’s constant dehumanizing tactics, it is our race and much so our culture. We cannot wash it away, we cannot seal it, mask it, or hide it from society— like you can do with other controversial, societal issues. I'm not asking you but I am telling you to monitor the way that you speak and act towards black people, even when there isn’t a black person in the room. Comments eluding to our ability to articulate, our exceptional beauty, assumptions about our home life, and so on and so forth are just as problematic as saying that you “don’t see color”. Saying that you don’t see color is a way of saying you don’t see us, period. Backhand compliments are just a way of saying that you have accepted the stereotypical bounds that say that black people can’t speak well due to our dialect, black features aren’t beautiful, or that all black people must be unhappy with their home life or grow from a “broken home”.
I’m not saying being a Black American is easy, because it is evidently one of the most difficult things to be in this world, but what I am saying is that you have to find that power and uniqueness in who you are. We, as a collective, have to work towards making it easy for others to exist. There are so many novels written by black authors to strengthen and empower your understanding of blackness, no matter who you are. Just as each of my book revelations are designed to do - I hope that you feel compelled today to pick up a piece of black literature to develop and nourish your love and respect for blackness.