Niggers, Lynchings, Ice Tea and Skittles—Connecting the Dots

The media frenzy surrounding the Paula Deen fiasco would be laughable if it didn’t point to something more disturbing. This nation's mocked alarm and indignation at Deen’s actions is insulting when the made-in-America mentality that produced Deen's mindset is the same one that is on trial in the murder of Trayvon Martin.

Let me begin my piece by stating that I choose not to use “nigger” or any of its various inventive spellings when I’m speaking. It is a personal choice out of homage to my ancestor who died so that I might live a better life. And I am irked by the usage of the N-word because the potency of the word in certain contexts is not defused by not naming it. So, if I refer to it, I spell it out.

Even though I don’t use it, I know plenty of people that do and it’s difficult to explain to non-Black folk (and some young Blacks) the nuisances of the word, but I can suggest two books devoted exclusively to the topic: Jabari Asim’a The N-Word: who can say it, who shouldn’t and why and Randall Kennedy’s Nigger: The Strange Career of a Troublesome Word if want to under the word in its historical context.

Nigger has always had multiple meanings in the Black community, and that is where it should have stayed, so that we do not continue to have these ridiculous conversations about its usage among non Blacks. We should have heeded our elders’ advice when they told us, “What goes on in this house, stays in this house.” But we are here AGAIN! And while we’re here, we might as well dig deeper and connect the dots between niggers, lynchings ice tea and skittles. 

For an eloquently definitive essay on the different meanings of the word, I urge you to read Writer Gloria Naylor’s essay Mommy, What does ‘Nigger’Mean? Naylor explains that the people in her grandmother’s living room. . . “transformed nigger to signify the varied and complex human beings they knew themselves to be.” They “took a word that whites used to signify worthlessness and rendered it impotent.” But when the word was uttered by a white boy in her 3^rd grade classroom, it took on an entirely different meaning than the one she heard in the living room.

This is the barbecue we had last night.

 

My picture is to the left with the cross over it. Your son Joe.

I’m not hopping aboard the Poor Paula train. This was more than just a racial slur. Deen and her brother were named in a lawsuit that alleged “violent, sexist and racist language.” in the work environment. It’s difficult to separate a person’s words from his actions. The man who beats his wife doesn’t call her honey or sweetheart before he strikes. She’s bitch, slut, hoe or some other derogatory term. 

It is this same disregard for human life that drums up images of lynch mobs in my mind as I peruse the pages of the book, Without Sanctuary-Lynching Photography in America. I am blown away by the seemingly cavalier attitude of the people gathered. People dressed up and brought their families to these horrific events, and sent post cards to friends and relatives to mark the occasion. “To kill the victim was not enough; the execution became public theater, a participatory ritual of torture and death. . .”We were niggers before they tortured, hanged and burned us with their vigilante style justice. We were niggers after. 

I look at the children in this picture and I wonder how their psyche was affected when they witnessed these horrific crimes against humanity? Did they grow up and denounced their racist up upbringing or did they learn that “niggers” were less than human and should be treated as such? How did they raise their children? Are they the Deens and Zimmermans of the world? 

It’s easier to vilify Deen and Zimmerman than to acknowledge that their thoughts were manufactured right here in America. Here is an ugly truth: there is still a part of America that continues to see Black people as disposable niggers. Zimmerman’s thinking of a Black male as a potential threat is right in line with the thinking of many in America regardless of color. The Black male has been so demonized and dehumanized much in our society that we are desensitized to his plight.

So, a night watchman can shoot a teenager whose only crime to date is breathing and walking while Black. The actions of Deen, Zimmerman and countless others demonstrate how far African Americans still have to go to be recognized as citizens in this place we call home. Regardless of how many gains we've made, we are still vilified and whatever happens to us is justified. Black people are being lynched every day, but we don’t even recognize the rope around our necks until someone yanks our false sense of reality from beneath our feet.

In the case of ice tea and Skittles, the morality of America is on trial. Will the verdict move us in the right direction or set us back?

Stolen Childhood

I am a teacher. I am a student. And I learn a great deal from the students that I teach. After two recent experiences with the students at my school, I came away with an absolute confirmation of something that I was thinking was true, but that I didn’t know to true considering the culture and climate that we live in today. Even in this day and age when children are growing up too fast, they still want to be children, and they look to us—the adults for guidance and direction.

My first revelation came after I was bamboozled and hood-winked into chaperoning the 8th grade trip to St. Louis. I was charged with keeping up with a group of 43 students while we explored St. Louis for two days. It was a wonderful trip! On the second day, we went to Six Flags and when we got inside the park, there was a concession stand that sold super hero capes. And a number of the students—boys and girls stopped to buy capes. Even the so called “cool kids” especially the boys, donned their capes and ran around the park getting on rides. It warmed my heart to watch them get to simply be kids. They traded their hardened city armor for a flimsy fantasy cape, and they looked happy and relaxed.

My second revelation came when we took our 6th and 7th graders skating and bowling as an incentive for good behavior. It’s June, and the students are antsy and ready to be out of school. So, the outing was a good way for them to release some that bottled up energy. While 6th grade has been pretty decent this year, 7th grade has been challenging. So, I was in some ways dreading the trip even though past experience has taught me that students know how to get it together when they leave the building. Some of the same students had been problematic in some capacity or another all year. But rather they were skating—or trying to learn, or bowling, they were well behaved and having fun. It was another positive experience.

Children are challenging. And children will try adult--especially adolescents; It’s their job. But it is our job as the gatekeepers to draw that hardline in the sand. We cannot continue to allow the line between adults and children to recede. What I learned from my students is, that at the end of the day, they really do want to be children. We have snatched their innocence by allowing them access to adult content that they cannot handle. We have stolen their childhood. And we need to give it back.

Pass on the Bitch, Please!

            BITCH! Bitch, bitch, bitch BEE-ACH! No matter how long I roll it around in my mouth, and mentally chew on it, my brain simply cannot digest hearing women referred to as bitches. I think I’m bitchose intolerant because it nauseates me to hear so many of seasoning our language with this bitter condiment.

It takes me back to my childhood when my mother used to make me take a spoonful of Cod Liver Oil every day. She swore by it for warding off colds and other infectious childhood diseases. To offset the taste she would mix it with some type of juice and tell me to hold my breath and drink it. Orange, apple, cranberry—it didn’t matter. Nothing disguised the taste of the oil and I always had this queasy feeling in my stomach in the end.

Fast forward to the future. My aesthetician encourages me to drink Olive Oil or Flax Seed Oil in the morning to moisturize my skin. Like my mother, she also tells me to mix it with juice. Though I don’t think I’ll die from the concoction like I did in my childhood, the residual of oil lacing my lips  and subsequent  burps serve as  reminders that no matter what I take it down with, it just doesn’t settle well with me. Bitch is an acquired taste that I haven’t acquired.

Even when the heavy peppering of the language leaves us irritated, some of us still like to sample this unsavory appetizer. So, we try to soothe our discomfort by trying to make it taste better. It’s Ms. Bitch to you or we use the acronym Babe In Total Control of Herself. Maybe it works for some, but it just slides around in my stomach.          

 

I know that for some women, Bitch is a term of empowerment and/or endearment. I have had this conversation with friends and family, and I have had to be firm in my unwillingness to partake. Sherry Argov’s Why Men Love Bitches and Why Men Marry Bitches are popular books, and there are others. Then there is the TV show, Don’t Trust the B---- in Apt.23. Bitch seems to be on everybody’s table these days—right there next to the salt and pepper shakers, and most people sprinkle it throughout their conversation with little regard to its high level of emotional potency. The recent backlash against Beyonce for Bow Down proves that not every woman likes the taste of it.

I remember watching Queens of Comedy and trying to distinguish between the negative connotations and the positive connotations, but after a while it all sounded the same. The women the comedians liked were bitches. They called themselves bitches. And the women they didn’t like they called bitches. Try figuring that out!

For the sake of equality, we have even gotten into the habit of calling men bitches when they whine, complain or act too aggressive. These are all negative characteristics we associate with women. As another way of insulting gay men, we call them bitches, too.

Bitch is a derogatory term. It is the lowest form of debasement. Harassed by an obscene phone caller, he terminated every conversation by calling me a bitch of some sort. Failing to respond to a man’s cat call while walking down the street earned me the title of bald-headed dyke bitch. Endearing? No! Empowering? I don’t think so! How can a word that makes a woman feel like the contents of a pooper-scooper be liberating? I cannot get up from the table after having a big bowl of bitch and feel good about myself. I’ve tried to tell myself that words can only have as much power as I give them, but even as I say the word bitch to myself, it looks and feels nasty in my mouth and makes me want to spit it out.

For those that like to chew on it, I hope that it does not cause indigestion, heart burn nausea or the desire to spit it back in the face of the server. As for me, bitch is never pleasing to my palate. So, if you’re serving it up at your table, I hope you don’t mind if I pass on the bitch.

Who You Callin' A Female?

I was sitting at the table watching the manicurist meticulously paint my nails, when he said something about “females.” I sucked in my breath as the words from his tongue screeched against the chalkboard of my mind.  By the time, he uttered it the third time, my ears were burning so I said, “I don’t like being called a female.” He looked at me, paused hunched up his shoulders and resumed polishing my nails. It was quiet for a few minutes, and then he asked, “What’s wrong with female?”

And I asked him “If I am simply a female, then what separates me from a dog, a cat or cow?” He said he never really thought about it. And I’m sure he didn’t because it’s so common now. But I don’t like it, and I won’t wear it because the title “female” strips me of my humanity. I don’t want to be objectified by the v-shaped space below my navel.  If being called female is ok, then why don’t we run around calling guys males?

Female is what I check on forms to distinguish me from a male. So the only time I want to be referred to as female is for statistical and identification purposes! When I was born, the doctor said, “It’s a girl!  Time and experience groomed me into into a young woman, and the tutelage of magnificent mentors blossomed me into a lady. So, why would I settle for the façade of half-dressed femininity when I can fully wear the worldliness of a woman and/or the loveliness of a lady so much better?

VICKI'S "EPIPHANIES" POETRY & PERSPECTIVES (For National Poetry Month)

 Lo gig


His game
a low gig
sleeps with me
behind closed doors

Walks deliberate steps

ahead in public

　　　
once a brick house beauty

I suck back tears

remember tender youth

pour my brittle heart

into his arms　 　frigid　 　insincere

　
he　

gives me bad sex　　 quick　 　painful

cops a crude dime and whine

for rent and cash

dines and wines another

　

thinks me

dumb and desperate

I feel

dumb and desperate

　
bite my tongue as he

bites in his talk

until need rises

then

sweet in his beg

a gigolo

who belittles

and strikes

deathing blows

to my generous

but

closing hand

 

When the Morning Comes


When the morning comes I’ll be there.

How about you?

The sweetness of love,

Afterglow of passion

Gently wakes me.

Where are you?

 
When the morning comes

I’m a woman fulfilled.

Remembrances of your touch

Linger on my body still.

What about you?

 
Remember the love I placed

Upon your face?

Where are you?

When the morning comes

I stretch my body fully

With eyes still closed,

I reach for you.

Hunger sends me to you again,

Body aching, soul crying

 
Where are you?

When the morning comes,

find you’ve left me alone.

Can’t take no more

Mornings without you.

Need your early morning love

Want to kiss you caress you,

Feed you my dew fresh kiss.

 
But where are you?

When the next morning comes

I’m ready for the pain.

When the next morning comes

I’ll learn to love again.

The sweetness of love shared

Lies in ruins, no more with you.


I’m stronger now, decision made

I no longer ask where are you

When the morning comes.


Excerpted from
"More of Life's Spices: Seasoned sistahs keepin' it real"

Release date May, 2013

For more info visit: www.nubianimagespublishing.com


Vicki Ward
Bio:
Vicki Ward’s essays and poetry appeared in several anthologies and collections. A former entertainment writer, covering live concerts, and stage plays, her literary focus shifted to writing books about women’s needs and concerns. She edited Life’s Spices from Seasoned Sistahs, an award winning anthology from the voices of mature women of color. She followed that releasing Savvy, Sassy and Bold after 50, a handbook for maturing women packed with financial, health, and retirement strategies for women reaching midlife. Ward has also presented empowerment workshops at women’s conferences and universities. Now retired, she writes full time focused on strategies to empower maturing women to navigate a new phase of their lives.

Her anthology Life’s Spices from Seasoned Sistahs received the ForeWord Magazine Book of the Year Award, The Bronze Award from the Independent Publishers Association, and Best Anthology from the Los Angeles Black Book Expo. Savvy Sassy and Bold after 50 received the Best Women’s Self Help Book Award, and an Honorable Mention from the Northern California Publishers and Authors.

 

 

The Scandalousness of Scandal – Part 2

I’m a Gladiator! Scandal is definitely my guilty pleasure TV because I make sure that I don’t schedule anything on Thursdays so that I can watch the episodes as they air. So, when a friend of mine texted me recently on a Thursday and he said he’d talk with me later, and I reminded him that he had to talk BEFORE or AFTER Scandal; my girl friend and I talk about the show  during the commercials. 

My guy friend doesn’t like Scandal. An afro-centric militant black man, he doesn’t like race mixing between us and our former enslavers. So, the storyline of Olivia Pope and the President getting it on is a taboo topic for him. We get into this discussion about real-life interracial coupling, and he shares his disdain for Blacks who date Becky or Brad (his names for white people). And while black on black love brings a smile to his face, he is also accepting of blacks having relationships with people of color. 

And while I get his point of solidarity as it relates to oppression and people of color, the unique position of the history of African Americans in this country, can make inter-racial dating even with other people of color problematic because too many black folks are still fascinated by “other.” This disturbing fascination with people who “look mixed, look better” continues to rear its ugly head as pretend that color doesn’t matter. In too many instances, it does.

I teach writing to middle school students. And the population is evenly split between African Americans and Hispanics. Recently, we were working on descriptive writing, I asked them to write a description of somewhat they thought was attractive, and I stressed that I wanted to see what the person looked like, so the students needed to describe physical characteristics. 

I was blown away that in 2013, paper after paper specified some variation of “light skin” “nothing darker than caramel,” “black” or “too dark”. Most of them wanted someone with “pretty eyes” meaning blue, green, grey or hazel in color. Some African-American students even went so far as to say they wanted someone Puerto Rican, Mexican or mixed so that they’d have pretty children. A lot of the boys wanted blonde, blue-eyed girls. Here are some actual excerpts from their papers.

Light skin – the color of a pale person with a tan. He has green eyes that’s kind of hazel. Hair is black, silky and smooth. 7^th grade girl African American girl

Long, blonde shinning gold hair. 7^th grade African- American boy

. . . Have to have pretty eyes. They would be either green or blue. Hispanic 7^th grade girl

They have to have . . . good hair cut with like waves cause boys with nappy hair ugly. 7^th grade African-American girl

I like girls that have light skinned, blue or hazel eyes nice attitude, dimples and long hair.” African-American Hispanic boy 7^th grade

I would like for him possibly have beautiful blue eyes . . . not boring brown eyes. Hispanic girl 7th grade

And it’s sad to say that our children learn this from us. I recently ran across the following status of an African American woman on Face book looking for a hook-up: “I like a man who is confident, responsible and goal oriented. . . Physically - I prefer men at least 6 feet tall, light skinned and average builds.”

I believe that we love who we love, but I also know that who we are attracted to is dictated by society’s standards. And as long as we think white (and anything close to it) is right, brown skinned black girls and women with dark brown eyes don’t stand a chance against the exotics. The only difference between those of yester year and those of today is now they have to have big booties—an asset that until recently was deficit or black women and girls . . . but that’s another post for another day.

We may come in every shade from alabaster to ebony, but until we stop looking for validation elsewhere and learn to love all of ourselves—colorism will continue to be a problem even in our coupling with other people of color.