So many of us shoot for the stars. But how many of us jump at the sun? How many of us dare to leap at that big bright star and bask in its light? Zora Neale Hurston did. She identified dreams and pursued them. In a time where many thought it unfathomable, she traveled the world and studied black people. She didn’t talk about racism, Civil rights, or the downtrodden black person. Nor did she attempt to create an unrealistic view of us, presenting us as a superior race, or a group of people without diversity or complexity. She just told our story, with sweet language and a critical eye.
This week I visited the California African American Museum. I saw the film, Jump at the Sun, which chronicles Hurston’s life and work. Hurston was a writer and anthropologist, and she chronicled the lives of everyday black people. She didn’t present us as specimens for study, but as human beings, loving, living and exercising our humanity--- even in the confines of a country that sought to destroy our identity. Hurston had a whole souled love for black people, and she documented that, studied that and shared it, without apology.
This appreciation for blackness, unencumbered by hate toward or desire to be the “other” was and is totally foreign to me in today’s context. I have met few people that know and love black history, seek out black experiences, embrace black art and nurture black bodies.
These days I am left to wonder what public figures truly love black people? Many people study us, defend us, distract us, and (re) define us. But who loves us? When I turn on the reality shows (Basketball Wives, love and hip hop, real house wives), when I hear the commentary about our first black president, when I turn on the news and hear the staggering statistics about the abuse inflicted on black people and the abuse we inflict on ourselves, when I see our musical icons dying of suicide and substance abuse, when I go into a classroom of black children and hear them talk to each other or hear parents and administrators talk about them, I am left to wonder, who truly loves black people? Many educate, advocate for, and uplift…. But who loves the people who have been kissed by the sun?
That's so true Sharla!
ReplyDeleteSometimes I feel like I am being pushed in several directions - my blackness being a source of pride, a source of shame, or something that doesn't exist. In some situations I'm forced to embrace it, in others it seems as though it's a disadvantage, and especially in diverse (or not so diverse) environments it's either ignored or spotlighted. It never just IS.
I love what you said about Zora studying blackness simply for the LOVE of it. Not to defend it, or prove a point about it, but simply because of the desire to embrace it & tell our stories. Society as a whole has taught us to hate ourselves & media presents us in a way is definitely not edifying (and we support it). We can make ourselves look like fools on TV as America applauds, but if we have pride & a sense of courage about who we are we're seen as a terror threat.
Other times people try to make race seem irrelevant. We get the "we're all the same underneath our skin" thrown at us, so in an effort to "fit in" with the rest of society we ignore the fact that we're black & become simply American. But then my blackness is revealed as we have small talk & I can't finish the lyrics to a popular Beatles song b/c it simply wasn't in the culture I grew up in. Give me the lyric to an Earth Wind & Fire song & I can have an impromptu performance on the spot!! The truth is my blackness is always relevant because it's who I am. It's the first thing people see when they look at me. It's my experience & it's not something that can be denied.
But who loves us? That's a great question. It seems one of two extremes - "radical" or "ignorant" ... there's no happy medium. I think Zora can teach us a great lesson about loving ourselves for who we are, just because. Not for debate & defense, but just because.
Thanks for your response, Felicia.
DeleteI totally relate to feeling pushed in to these extremes-- defending our culture, apologizing for or feeling bad about our culture, or being forced to assimilate to a mainstream culture. But where is the love? How do I bring that love into my profession and into my personal relationships, without ignoring the reality that black people and black culture are in a state of chaos and crisis right now? Sigh. It ain't easy....