All I Want For Christmas Is For Sports Misogynoir to Have A Seat

I woke up this morning with every intention not to write anything today.  Recently, life for me ain’t been no kinds of a crystal stair.  For the past three weeks through a cold, stomach virus, work fatigue and life in general, I’d been reading and writing for finals in both my classes.  After confirming that I scored another 4.0 for the semester, I decided that for the next three days I was on a writing break.  I needed time for my brain to breathe and fingers to relax.  But then I got an email from the National Conference of Black Political Scientists congratulating me on my second paper abstract being accepted for this year’s conference.  Doing the “me” thing, I decided to bend my rules a little and brush up on some of the reading I did for the submission.  Given that my topic is on Black Female Sexuality and its present reception in society, a lot of my readings were based on theory as well as pop culture things like Amber Rose’s SlutWalk and Brelyn Bowman’s purity pledge.  Scouring the internet for more pop culture examples to dissect in my presentation, I happened upon the whole uproar with Gilbert talking shit about the WBNA.  Admittedly, I heard about his comments before, but that was around the time I was in a post-finals/sick fog where I couldn’t lend it the random pop culture intellect I can now (read as: I was far too tired to give a fuck).  But now that I have my second wind and while I’m in the zone of Black feminist/Womanist thought, let’s have a quick chat about how incredibly stupid comments like Gilly’s really are.  

 

While blog site after blog site can tell you numerous ways how asininely sexist the comments were, I want to take a step back for a minute and look at the framework from whence this bullshit came.  The bigger problem with Gilbert’s incredibly fucked-up, sexist comments is that they stem from the long-standing tradition and practice of undermining Black women’s sports acumen by criticizing their appearance.  This isn’t an isolated incident.  We’ve been here before.  

 

We were there in 2000 with Love and Basketball.  Aside from the constant crooning of Maxwell everytime Monica and Quincy were around each other and Zeke keeping his wife’s fine ass in Gucci and gold (such a joy of a quote), one of the subplots in the movie touched on this subject.   While there were no direct comments correlating Monica’s appearance to her basketball ability, one of her constant conflicts throughout the film was the expectation of balancing (or at times outweighing) society’s standard of “being ladylike” against her passion for the sport.  The most compelling scene in the film on this topic was the debate Monica and Quincy had in the car regarding how her “attitude” on the court could cost her being selected for a college team.  When Quincy advises that she should calm down when playing, Monica points out the double standard that women have when playing the sport,

 

Please, you jump in some guy’s face, talk smack and you get a pat on your ass.  But because I’m a female, I get told to calm down and act like a “lady”.  I’m a ballplayer, okay?  

 

While rooted in fiction, this example stems from a serious, real-life quagmire female athletes, particularly Black, find themselves in.  When their ability is top-notch, they are often the targets of ad hominem attacks with their femininity being called into question.

We were there in 2007 with Don Imus.  While most of the public outrage was directed to the fact that Imus referred to the Rutgers University Women’s Basketball Team as “nappy headed hoes,” what wasn’t discussed as much was the underlying sentiment that the University of Tennessee Women’s Basketball Team won because they were the “prettier” (and not-so-ironically fairer-skinned) team.  Such reasoning feeds into the erroneous assumption that appearance influences ability.  If that were truly the case, there should be a whole rack of people in the NBA, NFL, and whatever else 3 or 4-lettered sports organizations on unemployment because their looks don’t compare to their ability.  

 

We were there in 2012 with Gabby Douglas.  Here we had young Miss Douglas slaying the gymnastics competition in the OLYMPICS, yet there was all this controversy about how she wore her hair.  Of course some people in the pithole of opinion hell aka Twitter went just as far to say that Gabby’s hair was the missing element in her being the quintessential Black female athlete role model.

 

Seriously.  

 

For starters, she is an athlete.  Having gone to an all-girl high school, it really wasn’t an uncommon thing at all for ANY athlete regardless of the sport they played to have a ponytail.  Secondly, she was 16 at the time.  Have any of you people met 16-year-olds?  Their appearances can range from gorge to plain and everything in between.  This includes hairstyle.  When you blend together Gabby’s age and her profession (a profession that she has not even out of high school, mind you), I was neither shocked nor outraged by any of it.  In fact, I expected it.  Watching student athletes in action, who would want to invest time away from practices and working out and money into going to the hairdresser if you’re only going to sweat your hair out hours later?  What was our problem that we were far more concerned with the girl’s snatchback than we were with her snatching gold medals in the name of these United States?

 

My God, when are we NOT there with Serena?  If I listed every, single example of how her appearance undermined her sports skills, I’d most likely still be writing this “short” piece well into 2016.  Her incidents include Tomasz Wiktorowski comparing Agnieszka Radwanska to Serena stating that they keep her small “because first of all she’s a woman, and she wants to be a woman, being called arrogant and cocky, to the most bizarre recent pandering that a horse be more deserving of Sports Illustrated’s 2015 SportsPERSON of the year honor.  But again, much of the grievances against Williams harken back to the misogynoir framework that a Black female athlete can’t simply be a good athlete without her appearance being called in for critique as well.   

 

So how do we resolve this conundrum?  For starters, we can continue to serving seats for folks comments, posts, articles, and whatnot that perpetuate this kind of bullshit.  And said seats can be occupied by both men and women (believe me, there were just as many women standing by Arenas as there were men).  But in making this mass purchase order, it will take the effort for both men and women to be vocal about this.   It was great and expected that the WNBA spoke out, and yet we’ve heard next to nothing from the NBA.  Perhaps because deep down, whether they would admit it or not, there is room on the row for them to take a seat as well because they feel the exact same way Arenas does.  As I always say, folks should listen to who speaks and hear who is silent.

 

A Colored Girl Considering Womanism When Feminism Doesn’t Seem To Be Enough

feminist womanist black

(This isn’t every Black woman’s story; this is my story)

So I have this thing.  Whenever someone is talking to me about a subject that requires a bit of thought, I’ll always think of a particular song lyric that applies to the question as I’m thinking of an answer.  For instance, let’s say somebody asks me, “Are you a feminist?”  While searching the brain for a statement, I think of Mya:

I’mmmm so confused/I don’t know what to dooooooo

No matter if I knew the person was going to ask or not, I’m always confused whenever this question is asked.  I’m not confused in the sense that I don’t have an answer.  I have one, but it is not as direct or simple as the question.

Growing up watching countless hours of television, switching channels from BET, MTV, and VH1 (this was the 90s before they became the holy ratchet television trinity), I had only understood feminism to be three things:  White, angry, and mostly gay.  I watched scores of White women on a field wearing sundresses and combat boots holding hands with other White women wearing buzz cuts and flannel shirts, all swaying to the spellbinding sounds of the Indigo Girls, k.d. lang, and Melissa Etheridge at Lilith Fair.  In the basement far from the watch of my mother or my grandparents, I listened as Meredith Brooks told the world how she was a bitch, a lover, a child, and a mother.  News reports showed hundreds of White college coed girls taking to their campuses with megaphones, candles, and makeshift signs in an effort to “take back the night.”  All these sounds and images were bonded together in my pre-adolescent understanding by one word: feminism.  From hearing that word tossed around at interviews and news reports of the aforementioned events, I developed an associative understanding of feminism.  But based on how I rarely saw similar faces in these spaces that looked like mine, I didn’t think that feminism was a “thing” for a little black girl like me.  Sure, every once in a while I would catch a glimpse of artists like Tracy Chapman or Meshell Ndegeocello on MTV or VH1, but I was more in awe of their blackness on a predominately White music network than their feminism.  It would not be until my sophomore year of college where my mind would change…sort of.

As she had pretty much done for my entire life, my aunt gave me a book as part of the plethora of Christmas gifts she gave me each year.  The Christmas that I was in the 10th grade, I received Kevin Powell’s Step Into A World anthology.  I skimmed through the book a time or two, but hadn’t really read it until I was in my dorm room one boring snowy Saturday.  With a glass full of apple juice and a large bag of M&Ms, cracked open the book to give my eyes something to do besides look at nothing on television.  Flipping through the writings of Robin D.G. Kelly, Imani Tolliver, Ras Baraka, and dream hampton, I happened upon an essay by a writer named Joan Morgan.  In about 5 pages, I was introduced to a concept called hip-hop feminism.  When reflecting on the treatment of women during the Million Man March with Farrakhan banishing us from the National Mall to our kitchens to “cook for our warriors” as noted by Kristal Brent-Zooks, Morgan cites the need for a new kind of feminism that is relevant to Black women of the present 20th Century (the essay was written in 1999).  She understood that not too many Black women were checking for “the f-word” due to the deep-seeded racism from White women.  But honestly, that wasn’t the part I was checking for.  What drew me was the idea of being a “hip hop feminist.”  Despite my knowing all the words to Bittersweet Symphony, You Oughta Know, Criminal, and Kiss From A Rose (yes, by Seal) thanks to my binge-watching of videos on MTV and VH1, I’m still an avid Rap and Hip Hop fan.  At any given time heading to or from class, I was pumping A Tribe Called Quest, DMX, The Roots, or Missy Elliot in my ears.  I can intelligently discuss the Roxanne Wars, the Bridge Wars and how the Biggie/Tupac beef fucked all that up.  I could tell you about the Zulu Nation and the significance of Afrika Bambaataa.  So to discuss a concept that puts hip hop with anything I was already interested.  But as a young Black woman, I was slightly conflicted.  This was around the time when the sisters at Spelman protested against Nelly’s appearance on their campus in light of the infamous Tip Drill video, one of many menageries of misogyny seen in rap videos at the time.  Yes, I applauded those sisters for standing up against the hypersexual male bravado that flooded our radio stations on a daily basis, but as a lover of rap and hip-hop was I even allowed to do such a thing?  True, I wasn’t constantly checking for songs that had the repetitive message that Black women were nothing more than ass and titties wrapped in a quick weave.  Sure, I was more apt to listen to uplifting and educated rap from Kanye West, Common, or Slum Village.  But I won’t lie and pretend that my bitty booty doesn’t automatically get ready to twerk a lil’ sumthin’ when I hear that Cash Money is taking over for the 99 and the 2000.  Joan Morgan let me know that I was not alone.  That there was a space (or there needed to be) where this kind of thing intersected.  We needed a kind of feminism that “was brave enough to fuck with the grays”  (Morgan, 1999, 59)   We needed a feminism that understands how “truth can’t be found in the voice of any one rapper, but in the juxtaposition of many…they lie at the magical intersection where those contrary voices meet–the juncture where ‘truth’ is no longer black and white, but subtle, intriguing shades of gray” (62).  As part of my quest to find such a feminism, I use a good portion of my refund check to order books from Amazon about Black feminism including Patricia Hill Collins and bell hooks.  I perused through essays from Beverly Guy-Sheftall and Barbara Smith.  I read studies on the feminist writings of Alice Walker and Zora Neale Hurston.

Based on that, feminism and I had formed a relationship situationship.  It was a situationship instead of a relationship is because to be in a relationship means that you relate to the other party that is involved.  Therein was my problem.  I could appreciate learning about Black feminism; but I still couldn’t seem to shake the idea of how White it was, perhaps from the lasting first impression of it from my childhood.  While Morgan, Guy-Sheftall, Smith, hooks, and Collins helped show me myself in the mirror of feminism, its reflection was still a little fuzzy to me.  So I found myself in a situation where I was in search of an ideology that I could relate to.  In not knowing of anything else at the time, I reluctantly linked up with feminism.  I was with it but I wasn’t WITH it, per se.  As with most situationships, there were no labels.  But reading more about the history of feminism, I understood my apathy.  In my historical research prior to joining my sorority, I learned that the founders of Delta Sigma Theta were regulated to march in the back of the processional because of their race during the 1913 Women’s Suffrage March (Paula Giddings, In Search of Sisterhood, 1988, 55-56).  When doing a paper on the history of Black women voting, I learned that the rift in the alliance between Frederick Douglass, Elizabeth Cady Stanton, and Susan B. Anthony was caused with the decision to either support voting rights for Black men or White women (E. Susan Barber, “100 Years Towards Suffrage: An Overview,” 1998).  I learned that while I wasn’t really checking to fully claim feminism, historically it wasn’t really checking for me, either.  The situationship lasted for the remainder of my undergraduate tenure up until my second year of doctoral school when I met Womanism.

While I would love to say that I found out about Womanism on my own, props must go to my Black Political Theory professor for putting me on.  In a discussion with him about the things I wanted to study regarding Black women, he suggested that I check out Dr. Clenora Hudson Weems’s 1993 classic Africana Womanism: Reclaiming Ourselves.  Looking at the book was like looking in a mirror, but only this time my reflection was clearer.  Here was an ideal whose founding roots were rooted in me, a woman of African descent in America.  It was something I could relate to, therefore form a relationship with.  I had heard about Womanism through readings of Alice Walker’s In Search of Our Mother’s Gardens.  But with her saying that feminism and womanism were one in the same, I wasn’t really feeling it.  After reading its sordid history, I dreamed a “feminism” that didn’t just merely acknowledge the racist roots of feminism that continue to subliminally grow, but called it out on its bullshit.  Dr. Weems did just that in her definition of Africana Womanism:

 

Africana Womanism is a term I coined and defined in 1987 after nearly two years of publicly debating the importance of self-naming for Africana woman.  Why the term “Africana Womanism?”  Upon concluding that the term “Black Womanism” was not quite the terminology to include the total meaning desired for this concept, I decided that “Africana Womanism,” a natural evolution in naming, was the ideal terminology for two basic reasons.  The first part of the coinage, Africana, identifies the ethnicity of the woman being considered, and this reference to her ethnicity, establishing her cultural identity, relates directly to her ancestry and land base–Africa.  The second part of the term, Womanism, recalls Sojourner Truth’s powerful impromptu speech “Ain’t I A Woman,” one in which she battles with the dominant alienating forces in her life as a struggling Africana woman, questioning the accepted idea of womanhood.  Without question, she is the flip side of the coin, the co-partner in the struggle for her people, one who, unlike the White woman, has received no special privileges in American society (22-23)

As good as feminism could be, there are still subtleties of racism that cannot and should not be ignored.  Case in point, this whole minimum wage thing.  While there is an uproar about White women making less than men, very little is mentioned about Black women making less than White women.  In the scholarly world, that’s called intersectionality where you have two or more minority issues intersecting at the same time (in this instance, race and gender).  Feminism still hasn’t done the best job in addressing it.  There are even books about the issue, like The Trouble Between Us by Wini Breines.

But that’s not to say I’m now in deep, passionate, theoretical love with Womanism either.  We have our beef, too.  First, it’s the sense of exclusiveness even among Black women the concept seems to have.  In reading about other Womanist works, there is a strong emphasis on spirituality and religion.  As a self-identified Christian, I get it.  As a student of political science, I’m bothered by it.  By centering the concept around a particular religious belief, we are pretty much guilty of the same crime we accuse White feminists of committing: leaving folks out.  I’m reminded of the approach Malcolm X proposed in his speech, The Ballot or the Bullet.  Regardless of our backgrounds, we must all come together to realize that we are catching the same two kinds of hell in America constantly: being Black and being a woman.  With that understood, we cannot afford to ostracize anybody from our cause.  Whether she is Christian, Muslim, Catholic, Hindu, Rastafarian, straight, lesbian, bisexual, upper class, middle class, working class, educated by the schools, educated by the streets, every type of Black woman is key in this issue.   It makes no sense that we as Black women vote at the highest rate of all voters (Black or White; men or women), yet our social progress is still among the lowest.

The problems surrounding Black women are in way too critical of a condition to shut out anyone or force them into a situationship with feminism because they do not feel completely embraced or welcomed by Womanism.  There is strength in solidarity.

Second, I take issue with Womanism being is moreso a belief than an ideology.  Yes, there is an actual difference between the two.  A belief is based on faith or perspective.  It is what a person thinks or perceives.  An ideology, as noted by Karl Mannehiem, is a vehicle used to mobilize a belief (Ideology and Utopia, 1936).  Let’s take a look at feminism to break down what I’m saying.  From its early origins in the Suffrage Movement, feminism has always had a vehicle to move its belief in the form of organizations such as National American Women’s Suffrage Association (NAWSA) and the National Organization for Women (NOW).  Those organizations have the ability to create and move an agenda based on the beliefs of these feminists.  And as history has tells us, they have done a pretty decent job thus far.  It can be considered a national fact that there is hell to be paid in FULL when feminists, mostly white with some Black sprinkled, get mad at something or someone.  Africana Womanism, to me, has not yet reached that level of influence yet, mainly because there is no vehicle to move our agenda which has yet to be created.  When setting our agenda, we need to do so on our own terms, and it would be better done if we did not always look to organizations built on the backs of Black men to champion those ideas for us.  We should be our own champions.  This would require us to move from the trajectory of margin to center (ironically, that’s a quote from by bell hooks, a Black feminist).

So, back to the initial question at hand.  Am I a Black feminist?  Yes and no.  Am I a Womanist?  Yes and no.  I guess I’m like Morgan, in a sense.  I have a need.  I need a Womanism that encompasses the spirit and passion of Black feminism.  I need a Black feminism that doesn’t just acknowledge that there is racism in feminism, but calls it out as part of its advocacy with the understanding that Black women are quick to get lost in the shuffle of other issues.  I need a blend of both, I suppose.

Now playing in my mind, Come Together by The Beatles.

The Ballad of the Post-Racialism Bullshit

trying to make be believe

because OUR president is Black

that equality is here

so they can have my voting rights back

 

trying to make me believe

because OUR president is Black

that equality is here

so they can take the quota back

 

trying to make me believe

because OUR president is Black

that equality is here

so they can take King’s dream back

 

that the price of my mind

is on the struggle sakes rack

$25 mill on the tag

can’t we see through that?

that my schools have to go

yet they won’t let me in their doors

and when they do, it’s a limit

that they keep suing schools for

saying, “oh that’s not fair.

because the president is black. 

he’s done enough for those people.

he’s pulled up all their bootstraps.”

what if i straightened my hair?

what if he pulled up his pants?

we’d magically change our status

we would be given a chance

and let’s ignore the fact

riding a Benz from a hoop

as Mr. West has said

i’m still a nigger in a Coup

white women are enraged

about this unequal wage

but low-key

they’d still make more than me

depending on shade

oh the shade my shade

plays in our daily lives

since they gave us a black president

they can also give us lies

 

trying to make me believe

because OUR President is Black

playing with toy guns in Wal-Mart

means that i’m shot in the back

that a hoodie is a threat

when you’re armed with snacks

jaywalking costs your life

so does loose cigarette packs

this shit ain’t Martin’s dream

this our reality

that i’m still subjected to

police brutality

from cradles to caskets

from playpens to prisons

profits from infancy to inmatehood

the American vision

 

trying to make me believe

because OUR President is Black

there’s no need for me to fight

because i’m not under attack

but if America has changed

why do i feel chains?

not the ones on your ankles

but the ones in your brain?

we say we live in a time

where race means nothing anymore

we’ll if that’s the case

why am i still followed in the store?

if that’s the case

why am i still beaten till i’m sore?

trying to use my rights

to protest my fight

against moral double standards

my people’s daily fight

 

trying to make me believe

because OUR president is Black

we good, let’s clear the hood

and take those ghetto slums back

“let’s give them all the police

they asked about for weeks

let’s build new condo spots

let’s clean up all these streets

let’s have a whole foods here

let’s have a day spa there

let’s charge them over their checks

let’s raise up all the bus fare

let’s force them over yonder

so they’ll never bother

to come back home

they’re not welcomed back at all, Mr. Kotter”

displacement through replacement

of all our residents

 

but it’s all good

after all

WE have a Black President

Sit Down, MotherFather

A few blog posts ago I commented on how American Feminism begat Fuckboyism in our society.  In said post, I mentioned in the last paragraph, “And how about single motherhood?  Yes, that too can be considered a bi-product of feminism begetting fuckboyism.  Shouting to the mountaintops how we can do bad all by ourselves will leave us doing just that” (February 2014).  On Father’s Day, I want to tease that little piece out for a minute.  And it’s not just the holiday that is bringing on this discussion.  While minding my business in the grocery store, I happened upon this little gem in the card section:Image

Two things must be recognized before I break how I break.  1) This card is very real.  I actually was in the Giant and saw the card with my own two eyes and 2) This is not the first time a card like this has been printed.  In fact, I went off about this same shit last year on IG:

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(Yes, I charged my phone after I took this screenshot)

But based on the way the internet is going nuts this ‘go round about this old issue all over again, apparently “y’all ain’t hear me though.”  I’ve read post after post from both sides who are either for the card or against the card.  While I understand what the card may have been attempting to do, I’m still not here for it.  The thing is when card companies (especially Hallmark since they are like the holy grail of holiday validity) make these kinds of cards, they are quietly sending messages about the state of our society.  The message I’m getting from the Mother’s Day card on Father’s Day leaves me with a few questions.  The first pertains the idea that this is a unique issue in the Black community.  If you were to look anywhere else in the card section, you would only find this kind of card under the Mahogany brand.  Okay, Hallmark, we get it.  We get that we have a painfully publicized history of absentee fathers within our community.  But guess what, there are other races that have the same problem as well.  It may not be as sensationalized and publicized, but it is still a problem nonetheless.  Haven’t you been watching Teen Mom 234 lately?  Where is their card?  The second question is what is the ultimate point we are trying to make with these kinds of cards?  Cards on holidays are meant for celebrations.  What exactly are we celebrating in this case?  The fact that Father’s Day can be a painful reminder of what you don’t have?  Are we celebrating brokeness?  Looking at these same cards in this same section for Mother’s Day, I did not see not one card that was a Father’s Day card for Mother’s Day.  With that being said, I’m STILL confused as hell as to why we are doing this.  Thirdly, while I get that having a card like this may be a type of moral alarm clock meant to “wake up” people about the issue of fatherlesness in the Black community, are we aware that this can also be a snooze button of sorts as well?  This is where the feminism part kicks in with “normalizing fuckboy behavior” (The Read, Break Babies, 2014).  To me, making a grand declaration that you are “playing both roles” with the feminist idea of “women can do it all” won’t inspire men (who probably ain’t worth shit anyways if we have to have this conversation in the first place) to step up, but moreso continue to step to the side.  As a man, why should I even bother to try to take my place if you’re clearly already taking it for me?  Furthermore, I think it sends a fucked up message to our kids as well.  For little boys, it increases the likelihood that when they get older and have children for them not to be present in their lives as well.  This stems from the idea that “Well, if my momma played the mother and the father, so can shawty.”  For little girls, it further perpetuates the myth single parenthood is the only parenthood.

 

In closing, before you single mothers out there hit me with the, “you don’t know what it’s like” and all the bitter baby momma bullshit, allow me to clarify.  I am not saying that single mothers should not be praised for their efforts and sacrifices.  I am the product of a single mother.  But in doing so, they should be praised JUST as single mothers on days designated for them (i.e.- Mother’s Day).  Growing up, my mother made it very clear to me that while she was a single mother, I still had some fatherly figures I could look to if I so chose.  She didn’t come at my with that “I’m your mother and your father” bullshit ever. Looking back now 21 years ago when my parents divorced, I can understand why and am appreciative that she didn’t do that to me or my sister.  Am I totally free of daddy issues?  Absolutely not.  But where I am thankful is that I did have some semblance of father throughout my life.  Even now.  So with that being said, I celebrate and salute all the men who step up as fathers and assume fatherly roles.

Leslie, Lupita, and the Ongoing Banter About Black Beauty

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*checks watch to see she’s at 14:55*  Yeah, I have enough time to chime in on this.  Sooooooo about this whole SNL “slave joke gone wrong” debacle.  I will admit, it took me longer than it probably should have to formulate in my mind about how I really feel about the now-infamous joke made by newly hired Black female SNL writer, Leslie Jones.  But the reason is pretty solid (in my opinion).  For one, I actually didn’t watch the show.  The only reason that I even knew about this mess was because of the fuss my Facebook newsfeed and Instagram timeline was making about a “highly disrespectful” joke that was made on SNL.  Of course that sparked my interest and I clicked on the link to see what was all the noise about.  For starters, I was surprised to see the person that was making the joke was a familiar face.  I knew of Leslie Jones back in the days of sneaking late on a school night to watch Comicview as a kid (Still remember how she said a White girl knew how to suck the paint off of a Cadillac.  Had no idea what she was talking about as a middle schooler, but hell it was funny to me).  So in already being familiar with Ms. Jones and her kind of comedy, I really wasn’t all that shocked.

I think what got people more was the venue in which she said it.  Instead of saying it on the Chapelle Show, In Living Color, or on Comicview back in the 90s within the comfort of an audience of Black people, she said this on Saturday Night Live in front of White people.  And said White people laughed about it.  The reaction kind of reminded me of a joke that another one of my favorite female comics, Wanda Sykes, said on her HBO Special Imma Be Me.  In one segment, she talked about how her mother would scold her if she did or said something “Black” in front of White people.  Be it singing in public or getting watermelon for a snack, she remembered when her mother would hit her and say, “Stop, White people are looking at you.”  The Black outrage and backlash against Jones could be perceived in the same way.  The joke itself may have not been the issue, but the fact that it was another opportunity for White people to laugh at the expense of Black people was the problem.  And let’s not abandoned the fact that Lorne and the folks at 30 Rock (mostly White people) gave the okay for this.  Nobody said, “Hey, Les.  I know your brand of comedy is a little out there and edgy hence why we brought you here.  But er um, nobody has really made any slave jokes since this movie.  Be that as it may, we may not want to rock with this at 30 Rock.”    Yeah, it seems like this joke was out of place and didn’t have any business being told on SNL.  Or did it?

Let’s look at the anatomy of this “joke” and decipher the messages it was conveying that evening.  To me, it was a raw, hard-hitting, “Don’t Get This Fucked Up (DGTFU)” moment.  Leslie’s commentary begins with the praises of the sudden mainstream embracing of Lupita N’Yongo (Sidebar:  Please note that the following analysis show no shade towards our new, fearless, Blerd girl leader, Miss Lupita.  It’s shade against the structure and standard which her beauty is being recognized).  That was the peak of her position.  And then it took a dive into DGTFU.  When Jones jokes how back in slavery she would be the prime choice for forced breeding and her offspring would have been the likes of LeBron and Blake, she essentially was reminding America, specifically Black America, how we shouldn’t be too jaded by the mainstream attention being given to Miss N’Yongo right now.  An outpouring of love for Lupita does not constitute as an outpouring of love for all Black women.  Aside from the continuing of the bad habit of the Academy only seeming to recognize Black Americans in stereotypical roles, we must also consider the look of Lupita seeming “safe” to mainstream as well.  As seen in pictures, Lupita’s shape and frame falls in line towards the White, Eurocentric standard of beauty (being tall and slim).  While this is cool for her (I, too, share in the skinny Black girl struggle), I’m willing to bet that had she been any taller, any wider, and/or any thicker, mainstream society would not be checking for her.  We sure as hell didn’t do it for Gabourey Sidibe when the Academy nominated her for Precious.  Hence why Leslie had to remind us, DGTFU.  Basing our Black beauty standard according to the mainstream standard of beauty still doesn’t work.  And when it does, we fall into the issue of being a commodity of the standard instead of comparable within it.  Long story short, they ain’t totally checking for sistas.

While I cringe at how this conversation happened, I can’t totally argue that it needed to happen.  It was a much needed reality check that the more things change, the more they stay the same.  So the real joke was that none of this was a joke at all, I guess.  Ain’t that funny?

Why Cassandra Joi Doesn’t See It For Mary Jane

I’ll speak my truth.  When I first saw the promotional advertisements for a new show called Being Mary Jane, I was excited.  My soul rejoiced like the ratchets when Booise came home with a “Yaaaaassssss, here is a show where a Black woman has a career AND a nice house.  She a bad broad.”  *insert a twerk to I-N-D-E-P-E-N-D-E-N-T*

I counted down the days when the show that I knew I was going to LOVE was going to appear.  While I didn’t catch the premiere, I still caught the show through the blessings of DVR.  The first few minutes of the show were pretty good.  I appreciated the disclaimer in the beginning stating that this was only one story of one Black woman; not the entire story of all black women.  When we got to the big reveal of the main chick being the side chick, that’s kind of when I emotionally and mentally checked out of the story.  By the time we got to the end with her plan of creating a child with freezer burned sperm, I was pretty much done.  I didn’t give up too much on hope, though.  I rationalized with fanciful fallacies that maybe the first showing had to be intense.  The series would be better, I explained to myself.  So there I was, watching the second, third, and fourth shows.  What I learned from the experience, lying is wrong.  Lying to yourself is wronger (yes, well aware that’s not a word but I’m telling the story here).  What bothered me the most was the constant storyline of dick chasing Mary Jane was doing.  Your know how they say first impressions are lasting impressions?  That quote can apply to television as well.  When we first met Mary Jane, in the very first scene we saw her in, there was dick involved.  We didn’t know she was a successful television journalist.  We didn’t know she was the glue trying to hold her trifling family together.  But we knew she had an affinity for fuckboys.  One being married and the other into the committed non-commitment relationship.  Two of the worst kind.  So with that being my first impression, it’s no wonder why my hope for Mary Jane wasn’t lasting.

I know that those who know me (be it on social media or in actual living and breathing life), may be thinking, “But, you love Scandal, though.  It has the same premise.  What’s the difference?”  I get it, there is a similar mistress storyline for both shows that I love to loathe.  But there is a fundamental difference in the sidechick sagas between Mary Jane and Olivia.

We didn’t know about Olivia’s dick chasing until towards the end of the premiere episode.  When we first met Liv, we knew she was a fixer.  It was her job to make the imperfect appear as perfect.  But in order to keep Olivia palatable to audiences, I guess, there had to be a downside to her.  In literature, it’s called a heroic flaw. But again, not being introduced to that off the break makes all the difference in how you receive and perceive her character.  Furthermore, in Olivia’s case, she knows she’s wrong for doing what she’s doing with Fitz.  She’s tried to make it right, she’s tried to make him right.  Not saying that what she’s doing is excusable.  I just have a thing for people who can admit that they’re wrong, stand in their wrongness, and will at least try to attempt to make it right.  I appreciate that so I thusly appreciate Olivia.  Additionally, Olivia does what few mistresses (real or fiction) do when it comes to recognizing who shares in their trash: She puts the blame on the mister.  She’s not offering up any Clean-Up Woman clichés of “Well if you was doing what you were supposed to I wouldn’t be doing your man” or any of that shit.  She doesn’t justify her wrongness.  She’s trash and she owns her trashiness.

And now, for Mary Jane.

In fairness of this critique, I will make these points early.  Yes, Olivia did knowingly getting with a married man as opposed to Mary Jane unknowingly getting with a married man.  Yes, Mary Jane did have a hint of remorse in the beginning as seen in her first encounter with Avery.  But that’s where it stops for me.  The grill upon which I lay my beef with MJ is in Episode 4 titled Mixed Messages was her speech about being “No. 2.”  If you haven’t seen it, check it out here.  *DEEEEEPPPP EFFFINNGGGG SIIIIIGHHHHH*  What gets my soul sizzling about this mess is that she’s giving this fluke ass number 2 speech in front of a bunch of impressionable little girls.  We already have a huge issue with girls struggling to reach their full potential, battling the red tape of sexism (throw in racism, too, if you’re Black) on a daily basis.  Don’t justify your skanky shenanigans in a disguise of motivational speaking.  Don’t make that okay for them with that Mokenstef Mentality.

I guess what pisses me off the most about Mary Jane more than Olivia is that her story is sooooo close to sooooo many other stories I’ve heard/seen before.  Want to know why?  Because this is nothing but art imitating life.  And in said life, shit like this keeps happening because nobody ever places the blame where it really needs to be: WITH THE DUDE.  We’ve been through this wayyyyyy too long, ladies.  There is no sense in getting mad at the other woman (depending on your situation, but even then).  She didn’t choose to cheat on you.  That fuckboy of husband/fiance/boyfriend did.  But I guess until we as women get that clear, we’re just going to keep giving these writers more materials for these shows to give me more reasons to be pissed.

 

And that is why I don’t see it for Mary Jane.