Q-Tip's Schooling of Iggy Azalea a Waste of Time

Photo taken from: http://www.hotnewhiphop.com/IggyAzalea/profile/

Iggy Azalea was unable to accept the education Q-Tip tried to bless her with via Twitter.  If she had responded to him with any amount of sensitivity or humility I might have seen her in a new light, but as it turns out, Iggy Azalea’s music and personae are irrevocably repulsive to me. 

It took me a while to understand what exactly it is about her that bothers me.  It’s not like she’s the first mediocre white rapper to go mainstream.  I suppose, if she showed any understanding whatsoever of the role white privilege has played in her meteoric success, I would find her presence in the public eye less odious.

Perhaps, if she didn’t affect an African-American southern accent and employ Black-girl-mannerisms like a costume to be worn when convenient for her, I would be able to take her more seriously.  I was almost embarrassed for her at the American Music Awards as her accent wavered between ATL and Mullumbimby.  It must be exhausting for her to constantly role-play in public.

Imitation is the highest form of flattery, but when does imitation become a parody or a mockery of the original?  My problem with her is not that she’s white.  My problem is that her performance feels inauthentic.  My problem is that a black girl who is just as mediocre could never reach the heights that Miss Azalea has reached.

I don’t want white folk, like Miss Azalea, to feel guilty about white privilege.  I would just appreciate it if they could acknowledge the impact that it has on their careers.  For example, Eminem, arguably the greatest rapper alive, reflected upon the impact racial politics played in his career in the tune "White America."  Is it too much to expect the same level of cultural awareness from Miss Azalea or Mr. Macklemore?  

Privilege Check--Why Do Black People Say 'Ax'?

First of all, why does it matter?  But before I get to that, let me explain why I'm thinking of this topic.  I was at work today, chatting with my colleagues, you know, as you do.  I was feeling normal, pleasant, like one of the girls.  Then, nearly apropos of nothing, I was asked if I knew how to say ask by a woman we'll call June. My colleagues giggled while they waited for my response.

I answered "yes" automatically, waiting for the punchline, and then said, "Oh, you're talking about ax," and quickly changed the subject.  I had now been reminded that I was not just one of the girls.  I was the BLACK girl.  It happens.  They tried to save it by pointing out that people in the south say funny things like "fixin' to" and "yonder."  There was no saving it though. Soon after that the girl-talk ended and we dispersed to our own offices.  I tried to get back to my daily tasks but found myself distracted.  I did a quick check-in with myself and realized that I felt sad.

I thought of my dad and how for years his White co-workers at his roofing job made fun of him for saying ax to the point where even when he talks to me, he will correct himself and say, "Oh, I should have said ask," in an over-exaggerated English accent.  He turns it into a joke but I see it as a symptom of trauma.  He can't even feel comfortable talking to his own daughter in his native dialect because of the teasing from his White co-workers.  Also, because I speak what they call General American English, does he feel I judge him negatively for speaking African American Vernacular English?  Of course I don't, but I fear it's something that worries him.

Photo from http://www.cascadilla.com/cafepress_gallery.html
 

A few minutes after the incident June came and apologized to me.  She said, "I shouldn't have said that. I'm sorry.  And I don't think you say it that way."  Well, I thanked her for apologizing because I appreciated the gesture, and I know it's not easy to admit you've said something offensive, especially when it's dealing with race.  Unfortunately, her apology failed.  Why did she feel the need to point out that I don't "say it that way" as if THAT was the part that offended me.  Clearly, she believes the ax pronunciation to be some kind of failing on the part of Black people (of course this racist belief is likely subconscious on her part and by no means unique to her as a person or White people as a group).

Apparently, she's never taken a basic linguistics course.  In any Linguistics 101 course you will learn that African American Vernacular English or AAVE is a documented and thoroughly studied dialect of English (some people mistakenly refer to AAVE as Ebonics--that's a-whole-nother article).  In Linguistics 101 you might also learn that no one dialect is superior to another, as no one language can be superior to another.  As long as people are able to communicate, what's the problem?  If I say ax and you know GATdamn well I  mean ask then what is the problem?  I'm sorry, I don't mean to sound angry, please don't stop reading, retreat into defensiveness, and nonsensically point out that other groups are also ridiculed for how they speak, including poor Whites.  Although that may be true, didn't most of us learn in kindergarten that two wrongs (or many wrongs) don't make a right?

At the end of the day, I will continue to get along with my co-workers and there are no hard feelings between June and myself.  I honestly appreciate her willingness to apologize, although I wish I had been brave enough to challenge her on why she apologized.  Thanks for reading and share if you've experienced something similar! Peace, ya'll. 
    

The Twelve Tribes of Hattie

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image copy/pasted from npr.org. pls don't sue me

I took several weeks to read The Twelve Tribes of Hattie even though I easily could have finished it in a couple of days. I knew from the second page that the story would be heartbreaking and decided to break it up into small, easily digestible portions, even though I normally enjoy a good binge read. Not surprisingly the story, penned by Iowa Writers’ Workshop alum, Ayana Mathis, is expertly written in a non-linear vignette style.

The novel tells the story of Hattie Shephard and the twelve children she raises after migrating from Georgia to Philadelphia with her mother, sisters, and husband. Like millions of other African-Americans who moved from the south to other parts of the U.S. during The Great Migration, Hattie left the south with high hopes and great expectations.

My favorite facet of the book is that each child and the issues that he or she battles can be seen as a representation of the various hardships that African Americans face as a community. The hardships encountered by Hattie and her family include but are not limited to: homophobia, mental illness, attempted suicide, child sexual abuse, infidelity, poverty, joining the upper class as new money, physical disfigurement, loneliness, faith and religion, barrenness, adoption, racism, war, the pain of burying a child, addiction to gambling, and divorce. Hattie perseveres in the face of a series of seemingly unending heartbreaks.

Overall the story was harrowing and depressing. And I thought to myself, couldn’t just one of those children have a happy ending? Couldn’t Hattie? Hattie moved up north with so much hope so how could all of her children have lived such miserable lives? But I think that may be the final point of the book.

There have been individual successes within the African American community obviously (Oprah Winfrey for example), but as a whole, we’re actually worse off than we were before the 60’s in many ways. African Americans may be federally protected against discrimination, but there can never be any real protection from the insidious material and psychological consequences of being descended from African slaves.

So there is no happy ending as of yet. Only perseverance.

Americanah: Read it Now!

     Americanah: a Novel, by Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie, grabs you from the very first page. Maybe grab isn’t the right word; it’s more like the text seduces you. Adichie’s writing is accessible and direct but incredibly sensual. For example, the protagonist, Ifemelu, introduces herself by explaining the different smells of the cities she’s lived in and why she enjoys the scent of Princeton the most. I was immediately interested in getting to know the character better after that introduction.

     Utimately, Americanah is a love story. In the telling of that love story Adichie manages to explore the intersecting issues of gender, class, race, ethnicity, national origin, immigration, beauty, inter-cultural and inter-racial dating, and how the internet facilitates dialogue and community building around all of these issues. Sounds intense, right? Well because of Adichie’s expert narrative weaving and sumptuous descriptive passages, the book manages to carry its heavy material gracefully.

     I think this book should be required reading for anyone who lives in a multi-racial or multi-ethnic society (in fact, I recommend it for Zoe Saldana; reading it might help her see that pretending to be color blind is futile). The story reveals the truths of social inequality, systemic racism/sexism, and the hypocrisy of both conservatives and liberals through characters who are well-developed and often recognizable from our own lives. This book proves that a commentary on race does not have to be dour or angry. This book proves that the conversation about race does not have to be traumatic; Complicated, yes, but not traumatic. Now don’t get me wrong - this book does not ignore the dire consequences of racism or sexism. It explores the effects of what some have mistakenly labeled racial micro-aggressions in a very real way. There is nothing “micro” about the cumulative impact of these experiences and Adichie shows this in a heartbreaking way.

Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie (photo from Random House of Canada)

     I wish this book had come out when I was in my late teens or early twenties. I really needed to see a character like Ifemelu in a novel. I would have felt less alone in my experiences with racism and sexism. Ifemelu has a critical eye and a nose for bullshit. Often times she calls it like she sees it even if it makes those around her uncomfortable. That is Ifemelu’s charm. Having that type of assertiveness would have benefited me greatly in high school.

      Through Ifemelu, Adichie manages to expose hypocrisy and pass judgment on racist and classist attitudes without dismissing or forgetting the humanity of the people who may hold these attitudes. I love that this book was able to show that people who think and say racist things are human beings and not some new brand of evil that is to be dismissed whole handedly. I think this novel does a great job of exploring the complexities inherent to dialogue about identity but also reminds us of how important it is to have these conversations. I cannot recommend this book enough. READ IT NOW! You won't regret it :)

Why Zoe Saldana's Stance on Race Bugs the Shit out of Me

First of all, I am a fan of Zoe Saldana’s. I’ve loved her work since Center Stage and I get excited whenever I see she’s in an upcoming film. So what I’m about to write is in no way meant to disparage Zoe’s character. I’m simply expressing why I find what she says about race to be troubling.

I’ve always been the type of fan who likes to know everything about the projects and actors I love. I actually listen to the DVD commentary on the TV shows I watch and sometimes find the explanation of how a show came to be more interesting than the show itself. I also like to know the backgrounds of my favorite actors and actresses. Years ago I learned that Zoe Saldana was a Black Latina. I was in college at the time and just learning about the African Diaspora so I found her background to be fascinating. I understood when she explained that she appreciated the African-American experience but couldn’t relate to it. She didn’t grow up eating Soul Food because her ethnic background is Latina even though her racial background is Black. Most people erroneously conclude that anyone who is racially Black is also African-American. I totally understood why Saldana found it frustrating that because of her skin color people would assume she was African-American.

Recently she gave an interview with BET, while promoting Star Trek: Into Darkness, where she reiterated her feelings on race. Her comments did not surprise me but they irked the shit out of me. Saldana appears to wish for a color blind world where race doesn’t matter. She said she runs from anyone who uses the word ethnicity. She says there is no such thing as people of color because all people have color. White people are not white. A sheet of paper is white. People are pink she says. I am completely shocked and horrified that she would imply that “people of color” do not exist as if we are in a post-racial America.

I get it, Zoe. I noticed as a 4 year old that coloring a person with a black crayon or a white crayon made my pictures look stupid. I questioned my mother: why do they call us black when we’re clearly brown? I asked these questions as a 4 year old. As I’ve aged I have come to understand that terms such as White, Black, of color, what have you, are political and personal identifiers. These terms define groups with a certain political history in the world, specifically since the 1500s or so. When I say I am Black I am obviously not trying to convince anyone that my skin is literally black. When someone refers to me as Black they are not literally saying my skin is the color black. They are recognizing that I am descended from African people; they will probably assume (correctly) that I am descended from Africans brought to the new world in bondage.

Of course there are people like Saldana whose history is different from mine. Her father was a Black Dominican man. Her mother is of Puerto Rican descent. Both of her parents’ ethnicities are a product of the exploration and colonization of the “New World” by Europeans. The African slave trade is irrevocably linked to that process. In fact, more Black African slaves went to Latin America than to the North American colonies. Puerto Ricans proudly embrace their mixed heritage and acknowledge that they are a product of White Spanish settlers, Native Americans, and Africans making babies together. I’m saying that, although ethnically Saldana and I are different (she grew up eating Puerto Rican food, I grew up eating Soul Food) our shared racial identity (Black) binds us because our histories and lives have been shaped by that world changing institution: the African Slave Trade.

Zoe’s effort to be distanced from her race is really sad. I wish she could be proud to carry her Blackness. I wish she could embrace what it means. Think of what a woman who looked like Zoe, whether she lived in Puerto Rico, The Dominican Republic, or the U.S., would have been allotted in life 100 years ago … 200 years ago. And look at the life that Zoe has now. Zoe is an internationally recognized superstar that acts not just in movies, but in Blockbuster movies! Her career is amazing and yes, her Blackness makes it amazing in a more poignant way than if she were an actress primarily of European descent. I wish she would wear her color proudly instead of flinching whenever someone mentions it, because whether she likes it or not, women of color take pride in seeing a beautiful and talented Black woman given her due in the mainstream. We’re proud of you, Zoe. Why aren’t you proud to be one of us?

After Dark by Haruki Murakami

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This is the second novel I’ve read by critically acclaimed novelist Haruki Murakami. I really enjoyed 1Q84 so I was eager to read his other works. After Dark is much shorter than 1Q84 but the style and themes are familiar. Murakami likes to write about the mundane aspects of life including meal preparation and hygiene routines. Some readers might find these extended passages detailing how a character goes about freshening up, working out, or preparing dinner to be tedious but somehow I found reading them to be soothing. It also sparked in me an awareness that all of us, whether we’re morally bankrupt or upstanding citizens, eat, fuck, and defecate, which I think may be Murakami’s point.

Another familiar theme is that of violence against women. In both 1Q84 and After Dark violence against women is portrayed with a clinical frankness which serves to highlight how commonplace and accepted violence against women remains in Japan. 1Q84 explored vengeance as a response to violence against women and After Dark does as well but with more subtlety. After Dark implores the reader to consider the sometimes blurry relationship between vengeance and justice. Through a small cast of unique characters Murakami explores the ripple effect of violence and exploitation; he reveals how the emotional and psychological devastation impacts not only the individual but those close to her as well.

Much of the book involves, what some might call, magical realism. After reading the book I honestly couldn’t tell if certain scenes were meant to be taken literally or read as symbolic. For some reason though, I felt certain that I understood what had occurred even if I didn’t know what had occurred. I know that sounds crazy but it’s true. I think therein lies the genius of the novel. The symbols are such that they don’t really require explanation, which makes for a rewarding if somewhat disorienting reading experience. If you’re curious about Haruki Murakami but daunted by the length of 1Q84, After Dark is a more compact example of his style and brilliance.