1
This thesis has been approved by
The Honors Tutorial College and the Department of English
______
Dr. Gary E. Holcomb
Professor, African American Studies
Thesis Advisor
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Dr. Mary Kate Hurley
Director of Studies, English
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Dr. Donal Skinner
Dean, Honors Tutorial College 2
POSTMODERN BLACKNESS: WRITING MELANIN AGAINST A WHITE BACKDROP
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A Thesis
Presented to
The Honors Tutorial College
Ohio University
______
In Partial Fulfillment of the Requirements for Graduation from the Honors Tutorial College with the degree of
Bachelor of Art in English
______by
Camryn E. Hughes
May 2021 3
Table of Contents
Preface 5
Introduction/Overview 8
Chapter One: The Black Woman 12
Chapter Two: Black Art 27 4
I want to dedicate this thesis project to all the little black boys and girls who grew up hearing that they were too white, too dark, too ghetto, too loud, too soft.. I see you and I hear you. Your
blackness is most beautiful in its authentic form and it needs the validation of no one. 5
Preface:
If internalized racism enters the souls of black folks through years of socialization then
we are not going to be rid of it simply by giving shallow expressions to the notion that
black is beautiful. We must live in our bodies in such a way that we daily indicate that
black is beautiful. We must talk about blackness differently. And we cannot do any of this
constructive action without first loving blackness.
—bell hooks, Sisters of the Yam: Black Women and Self-Recovery
I remember the first time I hated being black. I was four. For my birthday that year, I begged my mother for a doll. As I listened to the sounds from the television echo across my living room walls, my eyes locked with the screen each time the advertisement would appear.
The doll was absolutely beautiful. Not daring to glance away even for a moment, I gazed in pure admiration at her perfect alabaster skin and the silky blonde hair that fell past her waist. My desire for the doll grew to such an extreme that I pleaded with my mother for it every day. When my birthday finally arrived, I remember bounding down the staircase and hastily ripping the gift open to discover the object beneath the colorful wrapping paper. Instantly, I felt my enthusiasm falter. The package did not contain the same doll from the advertisement that I gawked at for so many weeks, but instead, a doll that was an exact replica of myself. The plastic skin was not alabaster, but a caramel pigment that matched mine perfectly. The hair was not long and silky, but kinky like the curls that grew from my own scalp. Tears began to form beneath my eyelids and then escaped on to my face as I realized that I had not received what I had asked for. How could my mother get me a gift that was so hideous?
This occurred more than eighteen years ago, but remains a powerful memory. As I have grown older and examined this moment in my life more closely, I realize that my refusal to 6 accept this black doll was not merely an example of a young child selfishly acting out on her birthday, but an identity crisis that plagues the minds of African American women across the country. To be a black woman in America is to fight to love yourself in a world that has repeatedly refused to love you. From the start of my childhood and extending on to my adolescence and transition to adulthood, the world has tried to get me again and again to deny every aspect of myself that embraces my identity as a black woman. I can see this in the advertisement that only celebrated the beauty of a white doll in a world filled with black and brown children. I can see this in the way my peers and coworkers scold my hair when it remains in its natural state, yet celebrate it when I succumb to using a straightener or wearing a hair weave. I can see this in the way I was always encouraged to stay out of the sun as a child so that my skin would not become “too dark.”
My arrival at Ohio University was something of a culture shock for me. Unlike the diversity of the community I grew up, I found that this campus was completely dominated by both white students and white staff. In the setting of a predominantly white institution, the whiteness that constantly surrounded me made my own blackness sharp and absolutely impossible to ignore. For the first time in my life, I often found myself to be the only black student in several of my classes. The racial difference was so apparent that I could feel the separation from my white peers. It was in this space that I felt my blackness more than ever before. As a result of this, I found myself being confronted with the choice to embrace this part of my identity or assimilate myself further to fit the white community around me.
Rather than shying away from my blackness the way I was often taught as a child, I threw myself into becoming a part of the small black community on campus. Along with going to social events hosted by black students, I made it a priority to join black organizations such as 7
Unified Sisters and Alpha Kappa Alpha Sorority, Incorporated, the first ever black Greek letter sorority. As a black student on the campus of a predominantly white institution, I found that these were the spaces that were most significant to my growth in both an academic and personal sense. They offered an escape and a solace from the racist comments and tendencies I confronted daily in classroom settings. My peers in this community helped show me the beauty in my black identity I had never seen before. I used my freedom as a student in the Honors Tutorial College to take African American studies courses and eventually I became an African American studies minor. I took these classes not only because they genuinely interested me, but also because they taught history that was often omitted from Western culture. With each class I took, I felt the hatred I once felt towards my own blackness shift into complete admiration for African
American culture in general and my identity as a black woman.
In “Postmodern Blackness,” bell hooks recognizes that as a society, “we have too long imposed upon us, a narrow constricting notion of blackness” (4). She insists that postmodern blackness employs “varied black experience” and “also challenges colonial imperialist paradigms of black identity which represent blackness one-dimensionally in ways that reinforce and sustain white supremacy” (4). For my senior thesis project, I decided to focus my research on the concept of postmodern blackness because it embodies my personal experience as a black woman in America. From the very start of my childhood, members of Western society have attempted to enforce this “narrow constricting notion of blackness” upon me by defining my black identity by their terms rather than my own (hooks 4). In my early adult life, I have finally seized control back from Western culture by daring to define my blackness authentically and outside of the racism rooted in our society. This is a challenge black people as a whole have to confront in America. As a black citizen, you must redefine your own identity against the racist 8 and inferior images that are constantly perpetuated. By redefining ourselves outside of this bigotry that has overtaken us, America might finally become a country that seeks justice for all.
Introduction/Overview:
To be a Negro in this country and to be relatively conscious is to be in a state of rage
almost all of the time.
—James Baldwin, “The Negro in American Culture”
Black people take part in a unique experience in the Western world. Unlike any other racial group, African Americans have virtually no connection to their continent of origin outside of their ancestry. Although most black people can assume their ancestors came from Africa, very rarely are African Americans able to accurately identify their country of origin on the African continent or the culture and traditions of their past. This is a result of the connections lost throughout the Middle Passage and continued on into slavery. Due to the ignorance of their past,
African Americans have been presented the task of redefining themselves through a history that has been lost.
Historically, identity has been a challenge at the center of the African American community. Many African Americans of both the past and current day have struggled to define their blackness in the space of the Western world. While most members of society have the ability to fully connect and define themselves solely through one racial or ethnic group, African
Americans encounter the challenge of duality in regard to their own identity. In The Souls of
Black Folk, W. E. B. Du Bois examines this duality specifically through the concept of
“double-consciousness” (1). Du Bois defines “the Negro” as “a sort of seventh son, born with a veil, and gifted with second-sight in this American world, — a world which yields him no 9 self-consciousness, but only lets him see himself through the revelation of the other world” (1).
Through the imagery of the “veil,” Du Bois identifies the “double-consciousness,” or dual identity African Americans are forced to endure within a Western space (1). In this society, blacks are continuously refused the opportunity to examine themselves through their own eyes and are pressured to develop “this sense of always looking at one’s self through the eyes of others, of measuring one’s soul by the tape of a world that looks on in amused contempt and pity” (1). By perceiving themselves “through the eyes of others,” African Americans are in turn limited to defining themselves through the same “amused contempt and pity” that is seen by the
Western world (1). As a result of this, the “veil” ultimately functions as a form of permanent imprisonment against the African American race as a whole (1). Throughout time, the vision of the black subject has not been clear, but instead blurred by the constant veil they live under. Like the members of Western culture, the black subject defines themselves solely through their inferiority to the white man. They are never able to define their blackness outside of this inferiority and, as a result, it has become the universal identity for themselves and future generations of African Americans to come.
The double-consciousness Du Bois discusses may be traced to the very first appearance of Africans in the New World. In In Hope of Liberty, Lois and James Oliver Horton articulate that although “the English were latecomers to the African slave trade, by the turn of the eighteenth century, British traders dominated the enterprise” (4). As the slave trade progressed,
“the number of Africans brought to British North America rose from 1,600 between 1626 and
1650, to over 50,000 between 1721 and 1740, and to over 100,000 during the peak period between 1741 and 1760,” eventually totaling to “almost 380,000” between 1781 and 1810 (4).
Forced out of their homes and into an unfamiliar continent, Africans encountered the difficult 10 task of maintaining their culture of origin in a community that continuously pressured them to deny it. The Europeans did not allow Africans to define their blackness on their own terms and instead urged them to take on the black identity that fit into the mold of Western culture. They often became “frustrated by the tenacity with which Africans clung to their Old World ways” and
“complained that their work” to civilize them “was greatly hampered by the prejudices of the slaves themselves’” (Horton & Horton 30).
The insistence of the Europeans to strip Africans of their former identity caused the establishment of double-consciousness in the Western space. The Africans were not granted the opportunity to form their own authentic identity, but instead were encouraged to view themselves
“through the eyes” of their European counterparts (Du Bois 1). From the moment they arrived to the New World, the clear vision Africans once embodied in their homeland was replaced by the blurriness found under the veil of double-consciousness. Blacks were only given the space to perceive themselves through the savagery and inferiority that the Europeans forced upon them.
Despite the constant burden blacks faced to conform to Western society, “African ways blended with but did not totally succumb to the pressures of European customs or Christian beliefs” and “African traditions were expressed in many aspects of black life, but perhaps most vividly in ceremonies and festivals” (Horton & Horton 30). This need for the Africans to preserve their traditions in turn caused African American culture to become a form of culture hybridity. It does not uphold solely African or European ideals, but functions as a combination of both. These efforts of preservation, however, have become more and more overshadowed by the veil of double-consciousness over time. For the entirety of their time in the Western world,
African Americans have experienced such extreme levels of oppression that the image their white counterparts upheld of them slowly transformed into the image they have for themselves. 11
Under the control of Western culture, inferiority has become the universal definition of blackness. Any black person who dares to lift their veil to finally see their blackness transparently through their own vision is immediately scolded until they put it back down again.
The one size fits all imagery that Western culture perpetuates of blackness creates a danger to both past and present members of the African American community. It ignores and shuns any form of blackness that challenges the constricting images upheld by Western culture. It fails to recognize the myriad of identities found within the African American community. As a result of this, many black voices are completely omitted and erased from history simply because they refused to fit into the Western definition of blackness. Western culture has tried repeatedly to reduce black identity to a universal image when in reality this is far from possible. Due to cultural hybridity, African Americans as a whole represent such differing versions of black identity that reducing their experiences to a single image completely denies and disregards the reality of so many others.
Oppression and colonization are embedded so deeply in African American identity that many of us often ask ourselves: What is the true definition of blackness? What would black identity look like if it were to be defined authentically? How does black identity appear outside of the control of Western culture? The concept of postmodern blackness answers this by illustrating the layers of black identity that African American culture depicts. Unlike Western culture, postmodern blackness does not force the veil of double-consciousness over the head of the black subject, but instead encourages him or her to toss the veil away and finally see oneself through one’s own eyes. In “Postmodern Blackness,” bell hooks recognizes that as a society, “we have too long imposed upon us, both from the outside and inside, a narrow constricting notion of blackness” (hooks 4). Hooks insists that the “critique of essentialism” that postmodern blackness 12 employs “allows us to affirm multiple black identities” or “varied black experience” and “also challenges colonial imperialist paradigms of black identity which represent blackness one-dimensionally in ways that reinforce and sustain white supremacy” (4). Ultimately, this project works to reconstruct black identity outside of an idea of blackness that is constantly censored by Western literature and in turn perpetuates racial stereotypes. Through the study of postmodern blackness, my own definition of black identity will not appear as singular or “one dimensional,” but instead represent “varied black experience” or “multiple black identities”
(hooks 4).
The first chapter of this work will examine postmodern blackness with regard to black women and the second will study postmodern blackness specifically in regard to black art. Each chapter will offer a direct challenge to Western culture by inviting the reader to recognize all forms of blackness and not just the version that was first given to Africans when they arrived in the New World. By casting away the veil African Americans have lived under throughout the entirety of their time in Western society, the black voices that have always been silenced will finally be heard to reveal their true black experiences.
Chapter One: The Black Woman
This chapter is dedicated to Breonna Taylor, Sandra Bland, Ma’Khia Bryant, and all others who have died in the struggle of being a black woman in America.
The most disrespected person in America is the black woman. The most unprotected
person in America is the black woman. The most neglected person in America is the
black woman.
—Malcolm X, “Robert Stokes Memorial” 13
On May 22, 1962, civil rights activist Malcolm X delivered a eulogy at the funeral of
Ronald Stokes in Los Angeles, California. Although his discussion focused on the murder of
Stokes, as he spoke he also addressed several other topics plaguing the African American community including the vulnerability of black women. While on the subject, Malcolm X passionately declared, “The most disrespected person in America is the black woman. The most unprotected person in America is the black woman. The most neglected person in America is the black woman” (X “Ronald Stokes Memorial”). This speech was delivered over fifty years ago, yet the words from this quote remain as true today as the day they were first spoken.
In Western society, African American women of both the past and the present encounter a distinct challenge that sets them apart from all others. Despite the universal oppression they share with other disadvantaged groups, the double marginalization that black women bear causes them to face more hardships arguably than any other minority in the Western world. In Ar’n’t I a
Woman?: Female Slaves in the Plantation South, Deborah Gray White recognizes this challenge as she states that while “black men can be rescued from the myth of the Negro, […] white women, as part of the dominant racial group, have to defy the woman, a difficult, though not an impossible task[.…] the impossible task confronts the black woman” because “if she is rescued from the myth of the Negro, the myth of woman traps her” and “if she escapes the myth of woman, the myth of the Negro still ensnares her” (28). The oppression the black woman experiences is so unique from all others because it is literally inescapable. The black woman is met with injustice on the level of both her race and sex, so she is forced to live under a constant state of oppression. In the Western world, she remains a prisoner of inequality because she faces it on all sides. Unlike her black male or white female counterparts, the black woman lacks any characteristic that yields her any type of protection within society. As a result of the vulnerability 14 under her double marginalization, the black woman has always been and continues to be “the most disrespected,” “the most unprotected,” and “the most neglected person in America” (X
“Ronald Stokes Memorial”).
African American women descend from a history marked with trauma due to their extreme vulnerability to oppression. Historically, they have faced double the injustice, double the abuse, and double the dehumanization because they are marked by a double marginalization.
Like all other forms of blackness, Western culture has attempted to define African American women through the ideology of inferiority enforced upon them. Overtime, black women, however, have begun to resist this identity. Despite the oppression they constantly confront from all sides of their character, African American women have reconstructed what it means to be a black woman outside of the control of Western culture. This chapter will highlight how stereotypical images Western culture have perpetuated on African American women and then apply aspects of postmodern blackness to resist and dismantle the myths surrounding black womanhood in America.
Promiscuity has been a trope historically imposed on the identity of black women in
America. Under Western control, African American women have been forced to view themselves through the veil of double-consciousness that marks them as sexual beings. The oversexualization of African American women dates back to the initial interaction between
Europeans and African women. In Ar’n’t I a Woman?, White articulates that “the idea that black women were exceptionally sensual first gained credence when Englishmen went to Africa to buy slaves” (29). Due to their unfamiliarity with “the requirements of a tropical climate,” the
Europeans “mistook seminudity” of the African women “for lewdness” and, in addition,
“misinterpreted African cultural traditions, so that polygamy was attributed to the Africans’ 15 uncontrolled lust” and “tribal dances were reduced to the level of orgy” (White 29). The misconception of African practices for overt sexual drive in turn set the precedent for the perception of African American women in the Western world. This is seen specifically through the treatment of slave women throughout the antebellum era. As a result of the promiscuity originally associated with African women, many white Southerners “were convinced that slave women were lewd and lascivious, that they invited sexual overtures from white men, and that any resistance they displayed was mere feigning” (30). This oversexualization of African
American women acted not only as a universal image that was imposed on black womanhood, but also a weapon that forced black women to become extremely vulnerable to sexual advances.
According to this perspective, black women were such sexual beings that any denial of sexual activity was perceived as “mere feigning” (30). This completely yielded any protection for
African American women against sexual assault specifically by “white men” (30).
In her discussion of slave women, White highlights that “one of the most prevalent images of black women in antebellum America was of a person governed almost entirely by her libido, a Jezebel character” (29). She states that “in every way Jezebel was the counterimage of the mid-nineteenth-century ideal of the Victorian lady,” especially by the way “she saw no advantage in prudery” (29). The Jezebel character ultimately acts as a figure that embodies the promiscuity Europeans immediately equated with black women during their very first encounter.
This sexuality that the Jezebel figure depicts is only further emphasized by its “counterimage of the mid-nineteenth-century ideal of the Victorian lady” (White 29). By illustrating the mythology surrounding slave women as the complete opposite of the representation of white women in the antebellum period, White reaffirms the vulnerability of black women in the Western world.
Unlike “the layers of clothing [that] adorned the ‘respectable’ white woman, […] the slave 16 woman’s body commanded no such respect” (White 31-32). More specifically, “very often on the auction block women’s bodies were exposed and handled to determine their capacity for childbearing” (White 31). Slave women were not granted the same respectability extended to their white counterparts. The lack of exposure and protection enforced on the bodies of white women in comparison to the bodies of African American women reveals the clear sexualization that sets apart the two groups. Black women do not hold the same privilege as white women and, as a result, they are dehumanized to the point where they are treated as mere human objects that function to pleasure white men. The Jezebel mythology causes black women to remain the most vulnerable and unprotected minority against sexual assault.
In her 1861 narrative, Incidents in the Life of a Slave Girl, Harriet Jacobs reveals her own traumatic experiences growing up as a young enslaved woman. Jacobs openly admits that
“slavery is terrible for men; but it is far more terrible for women,” stressing that “superadded to the burden common to all, they have wrongs, and sufferings, and mortifications peculiarly their own” (66). Through this dialogue, Jacobs directly illustrates the burden black women specifically take on during slavery due to being targetted both as an African American and a woman. Jacobs elaborates on this burden further when she describes a scene of “two beautiful children playing together. One was a fair, white child: the other was her slave” (28). As the children continue to play, Jacobs confesses that she “foresaw the inevitable blight that would fall on the little slave’s heart” (28). While “the fair child grew up to be a still fairer woman” and “from childhood to womanhood her pathway was blooming with flowers, and overarched by a sunny sky,” the “slave girl” was not destined for the same fate (Jacobs 28). Although she “also, was very beautiful, the flowers and sunshine of love were not for” the slave girl because “she drank the cup of sin, and shame and misery, whereof her persecuted race are compelled to drink” (Jacobs 28). Through the 17 imagery of “flowers and sunshine of love” contrasted with “the cup of sin,” Jacobs inserts the images of the Victorian lady and Jezebel figure into her text (28). As a young black female in
Western society, the slave girl in this scene is unable to enjoy the purity of her youth, but, rather, must succumb to the sexual image perpetuated onto black womanhood. In this space, the slave girl is forced to drink from “the cup of sin” and become the Jezebel while her white playmate enjoys the innocence associated with the Victorian lady (Jacobs 28). By stating that “the flowers and sunshine of love were not for her,” Jacob identifies how the purity was continuously stolen from slave girls (28).
Jacobs extends the thematic sexualization of young black women as she reflects on her own personal experiences. During her adolescence, Jacobs characterizes her “fifteenth year” as
“a sad epoch in the life of a slave girl” because her “master began to whisper foul words in” her
“ear” (Jacobs 26). Like the young slave girl from the scene, Jacobs herself is unable to enjoy the purity of her age and instead is forced to drink from “the cup of sin” to satisfy her master (28).
The sexual advances of Jacobs’s slave master act is a specific example of the consequences and trauma black women encounter under their double marginalization. Already confined by slavery due to their race, slave women are also often subjected to the sexual desires of their masters due to their gender. Their virginity is not treated as sacred like their white counterparts, but rather another piece of property that their masters could take at any time they choose. This sexualization is so embedded within their identity that it is casually introduced to Jacobs during her “fifteenth year” as if it were another stage of her adolescence or introduction to womanhood
(26). The mythology surrounding the Jezebel figure has created a generational trauma for
African American women as a whole. With this mythology that paints them as feigning sexual 18 beings, black women are almost guaranteed to face some form of sexual assault throughout their lifetime in the Western world.
The narrative of the overtly sexual black women in the Jezebel mythology extends well beyond slavery and continues to impact African American women in current day. In “The
‘Offending’ Breast of Janet Jackson: Public Discourse Surrounding the Jackson/Timberlake
Performance at Super Bowl XXXVIII,” Shannon Holland discusses “the Jackson/Timberlake scandal that occurred during Super Bowl XXX- VIIl” and how the consequences Janet Jackson faced following the event paints her as “the ultimate image of the Jezebel” (138). Throughout the performance “Timberlake followed Jackson across the stage in an erotic game of cat and mouse” and “in the final seconds of the finale, Timberlake, having promised to have her naked by the end of the song, reached across Jackson's body and ripped her bodice, exposing her right breast”
(Holland 137). Despite the event being “described by Timberlake as an unfortunate wardrobe malfunction,” several “newspapers read Jackson's highly sexualized persona as a sign of her innate deviance, thereby absolving Timberlake from responsibility and consequently, protecting his white maleness” (Holland 137). Due to her identity as a black woman, Jackson is so sexualized by the media that the fault is immediately placed on her rather than her white counterpart. This underscores the attempt of Western society to establish the Jezebel mythology in modern day. Although she played no role in exposing her breast, like the Jezebel figure,
Jackson is perceived as so promiscuous that she somehow invited this sexual act to take place.
Holland recognizes this as she indicates that the “representations of Jackson's breast exposing itself conjured images of the uncontrollable Black female body” (138). The narrative surrounding “the Jezebel is premised on the image of the insatiably sexual Black female body, a body separate from the Black woman's subjectivity—a body with a mind of its own” and 19 therefore, these “depictions of Jackson's uncontrollable breast invited the logical conclusion that if Black women such as Jackson cannot control their bodies, someone (namely white men) must take control” (Holland 139). In this contemporary space, Jackson mirrors the same trauma as her ancestors. Similarly to slave women, Jackson is shown no protection against sexual abuse. In fact, her sexuality solely serves as justification to the advances of a white man. Like a slave owner, Timberlake holds complete “control” over the black woman’s body and in turn, is entitled in treating it as he pleases (Holland 139). The shift of blame from Timberlake to Jackson underscores how the Jezebel mythology still strongly contributes to the treatment of black women in current mainstream culture. The perception of the overtly sexual black woman remains deeply embedded in the identity of African American women to this day.
As a result of their oversexualization, historically black women have been given the difficult task of reconstructing their sexual identity in the Western world. In a society that constantly perpetuates images of them as overt sexual characters, how is the sexuality of African
American characterized outside of the Jezebel mythology? Is it possible to define black women outside of this imagery in Western society? Toni Morrison applies postmodern concepts to answer this in her 1973 novel, Sula. In Sula, Morrison not only centers her plot on black womanhood specifically, but also creates a protagonist who refuses to define her sexuality through societal norms or the stereotypes enforced on her as a black woman. Following her return home, Sula almost immediately becomes an outcast or “pariah” of the Bottom community due her open sexual identity (Morrison 122). As she settles back home, Sula recognizes that the
“hatred” and “disgust” the people of the Bottom feel for her stems from “the easy way she lay with men” (Morrison 122). The detail of Sula frequently engaging in sexual relationships initially depicts her as a type of Jezebel figure. Similarly to the Jezebel figure, Sula openly 20 expresses her promiscuity and sexual desires. Morrison, however, deconstructs this imagery through Sula’s attitude towards her own sexuality. Despite the backlash she receives from the
Bottom community, Sula does not attempt to resist the social taboo associated with her actions, but instead admits that “she went to bed with men as frequently as she could” (Morrison 122).
Sula refuses to allow her open sexuality to be shamed by the norms of Western culture and instead embraces her promiscuous character with open arms. By developing a figure that is so vocal about her sexuality, Morrison employs Sula to reconstruct the shame originally associated with the Jezebel figure into a source of empowerment for black women as a whole. Through the literary application of the concept of postmodern blackness, Morrison encourages black women to snatch back the ownership of their sexuality and redefine it through their own terms. On a deeper level, Sula engages in sexual activity that functions solely for her own benefit and not the benefit of the men around her. This completely dismantles the Western belief that the bodies of black women exist to pleasure men or white men specifically. Sula regains ownership of her sexuality and in turn reconstructs the sexual identity of black women in Western culture by casually taking part in sexual relations with multiple men. Her authentic and unapologetic attitude towards her sexuality underscores the true empowerment she gains from this reclaiming.
Morrison further emphasizes the postmodern tactics shown through the character of Sula in her nonfiction work, “Unspeakable Things Unspoken: The Afro-American Presence in
American Literature”. In her passage discussing the novel, Morrison admits that she thought of
Sula as “New World black and New World woman extracting choice from choicelessness” (188).
In a world in which women, specifically black women, have no virtually no choices, Sula dared to step forward and choose to define herself in whatever way she chose and under no authority other than her own. The depiction of Sula as “New World black and New World woman” 21 separates her even more from the way black women have always been characterized (Morrison
188). This is only underscored as Morrison points out that “in her final conversation with Nel,”
Sula “refers to herself as a special kind of black person woman, one with choices. Like redwood, she says” (Morrison 188). As a black woman with “choices,” Sula chooses to empower herself through her sexuality and break the generations of trauma associated with the Jezebel mythology
(Morrison 188). Morrison employs the characterization of Sula to break the shackles of Western culture that attempt to imprison the sexual identity of African American women and instead encourages these women to define their sexuality on their own terms.
Despite the shame associated with the Jezebel figure, not all imagery surrounding black womanhood is perceived as negative in Western culture. On the contrary, there are a few mythologies regarding black women that are often celebrated by the Western community. This can specifically be seen through the Mammy figure. Deborah Gray White states that Mammy
“was thought of as someone special, not just another house slave” (48). To expand on this further, White defines Mammy as “a woman completely dedicated to the white family, especially to the children of that family” or “in short, a surrogate mistress and mother” (49). Through “her expertise in all domestic matters” and complete devotion to “the white family,” Mammy became the epitome of the slave woman during the antebellum period (White 47-49). Unlike her peers,
Mammy was never mistreated by her masters, but rather put on a pedestal and celebrated on the plantation. This admiration of the Mammy mythology by the white family throughout the antebellum period further separates it from the Jezebel figure.
Although Mammy was a woman completely adored by the white community, White acknowledges that “the Mammy image is fully as misleading as that of Jezebel” and “both images have just enough grounding in reality to lend credibility to stereotypes that would 22 profoundly affect black women” (49). Mammy did not cast the same shame upon black women that the Jezebel figure did, yet it still became a false narrative for slave women. Due to the
Mammy mythology, the image of the slave woman as “a surrogate mistress and mother [, …] completely dedicated to the white family, especially to the children of that family” became a universal representation of African American women during this time (49). In actuality, the experiences of black women expanded much beyond the Mammy mythology. The constant celebration of this figure by Western culture caused the realities of so many slave women to remain unheard. Under their double marginalization, black women were often subjected to horrors and atrocities that strayed far from the cheerful stories of the highly celebrated Mammy.
Rather than showcase the experiences of all African American women, members of Western culture employed this narrative to conceal the true treatment of black women during slavery.
The misleading imagery the Mammy figure perpetuated of black women can especially be seen in a maternal sense. As Mammy, black women were constantly portrayed as caretakers of white children rather than their own. With this narrative, slave women happily attended to the care of white children while their biological children were cared for by others. This, however, is far from the truth. In her 1987 neo-slave narrative, Beloved, Toni Morrison employs postmodern concepts to reconstruct the images surrounding maternity for black women during this time. By centering her whole narrative on the “thick love” a black woman holds for her biological children, Morrison recreates the maternal identity for slave women (193). Unlike the narratives told by Western culture, Beloved does not illustrate the complete devotion a slave woman has for the white family, but rather her own family. In fact, the protagonist, Sethe, has virtually no relationship with white children and the white characters function as mere background in her 23 story. This reconstruction of Mammy breaks the barriers surrounding the maternal identity of
African American women during the antebellum period.
Morrison often utilizes the motif of milk to showcase Sethe’s “thicke love” and devotion to her children (193). In a confession to Paul D, Sethe admits that she was in a hurry to escape
Sweet Home because she “was pregnant with Denver” and “had milk for” her “baby girl”
(Morrison 19). Through the images of the “milk” and Sethe being “pregnant,” Morrison already completely dismantles the mythology of the Mammy myth (19). Rather than connecting her to the white family she is enslaved to, Morrison employs these maternal images to symbolize the deep connection Sethe shares with her own children. Both her pregnancy and breast milk physically tie Sethe to her children and as a result further distant her from the Mammy figure.
This biological connection is deepened further when Sethe discloses that on her journey to freedom, “All I knew was I had to get my milk to my baby girl. Nobody was going to nurse her like me […] nobody had her milk but me” (Morrison 19). In this scene, Morrison uses the motif of “milk” and nursing to depict the deep maternal bond that can only be created through a mother and her biological child (19). The repetition of the “nobody” in Sethe’s dialogue underscores that unalterable connection she has with her children (Morrison 19). The Mammy mythology paints slave women solely as caregivers to white children, but in this passage Morrison highlights that no maternal bond can truly run deeper for the black woman than the one she shares with her own biological children.
As the passage progresses, Sethe reveals that during her escape from Sweet Home,
Schoolteacher's nephews “held” her “down” and “took” her “milk” (Morrison 19-20). This assault not only references the vulnerability of black women to sexual advances from white men, but on a deeper level, symbolizes the maternal role that was continuously stolen from slave 24 women during this time. By taking her “milk,” Schoolteacher’s nephews steal the physical connection Sethe has to her children, in turn stripping her of her maternity (Morrison 20). This scene parallels the treatment and experiences of slave women during the antebellum period. Like
Sethe being physically stripped of her maternity through the theft of her milk, symbolically slave women were often stripped of their maternal role in their biological children’s lives by being forced to become caregivers of the white family. The mythology of the Mammy figure happily serving white children fails to acknowledge the maternal connection she loses as a result of her devotion. The symbolism Morrison employs in this scene uncovers the untold truth of stolen maternity that the Mammy mythology refuses to tell. Along with this, the scene also demonstrates the pure dehumanization that black women were constantly subjected to. As white men, Schoolteacher’s nephews perceived Sethe as so inferior that they drained her breast milk from her as if she were an animal.
The dehumanization of slave women in their maternal role is foreshadowed through
Sethe’s mother herself. After Beloved’s arrival at 124 Bluestone Road, Sethe reveals to her in flashback that she “doesn’t remember” anything of her own “mother,” and that she “didn’t see her but a few times out in the fields” (Morrison 72). The imagery of Sethe only encountering her mother “but a few times out in the fields” first underscores the forced detachment of slave women to their children at this time (Morrison 72). Due to their demanding labor, black mothers were unable to maternally bond and be present in their children’s lives while enslaved. As the passage progresses, Sethe expands on this maternal disconnection when she adds that “Nan was the one she knew best, who was around all day” and “who nursed the babies” (Morrison 73).
The image of milk is traditionally used to symbolize the bond of mother and child. The characterization of Nan as the figure “who nursed the babies” on the plantation further deepens 25 the forced detachment of slave women to their children (Morrison 73). Not only did her field work deny her the emotional presence in her child’s memory, but the absence of breastfeeding too strips her of a physical connection to Sethe.
Sethe displays the ultimate act of “thick love” through the juxtaposition hidden within the killing of her own child (Morrison 193). On the surface, murder serves as a complete act of hatred, but on a deeper level, it symbolizes an act of pure “love” within the narrative (Morrison
193). In her role as a mother, Sethe feels such everlasting devotion and love for her children that she would rather risk the consequences associated with being a murderer rather than subjecting them to the horrors of slavery. This is only confirmed as she tells Paul D after seeing the arrival of Schoolteacher to 124 Bluestone Road she “took and put” her “babies where they’d be safe”
(Morrison 103). In a complete act of desperation, Sethe attempted to murder all of her children, but only succeeded in killing one so that they would not experience the pain and trauma that came with being black in the Western world. Her dead child acts as a very symbol of this “thick love” (Morrison 193). This is shown through her name, Beloved, underlining how deeply Sethe truly loved her. Through this murder and other literary techniques, Morrison reconstructs the maternal role of African American women during this time.
The blatant disrespect for the bodies of black women in the Western world goes far beyond the antebellum era and extends into modern day. Despite the progress black women have made in terms of their place in society, their bodies are treated with the same disregard and vulnerability that their ancestors were forced to endure when they first stepped foot into
America. In the award-winning poetry collection Citizen, An American Lyric, Claudia Rankine examines this thematic disrespect specifically through the experiences of the American tennis player, Serena Williams. At the start of her piece, Rankine illustrates the stereotype of “an angry 26 nigger exterior” that “can be engaged or played like the race card and is solely tied to the performance of blackness and not to the emotional state of particular individuals in particular situation” (23). Rather than attempting to understand the root of their frustrations, members of
Western culture often chalk up the anger of black citizens to be a result of their overagression.
This is seen particularly with black women, and Rankine employs Williams to depict a direct example of this. Even in modern day history and over a century following the emancipation of slavery, nothing “could shield” Williams “ultimately from the people who felt her black body didn’t belong on their court, in their world” (Rankine 26). During her emotional outbursts throughout games, Williams’s anger was never seen to be a result of the unfair calls against her, but instead a result of her overagression and “angry nigger exterior” (Rankine 36). The lack of protection shown toward the black female body is so deeply embedded that it continues to follow and affect black women in current day. The vulnerability of Williams’s black body to these racial stereotypes underscores that the black woman remains the most disrespected, unprotected, and neglected person in America.
It is when “thrown against the sharp white background” of the Western world that
African American women find their bodies to be most unprotected (Rankine 53). In this space, the bodies of black women are still treated with the same contempt and disrespect despite their attempts to reconstruct their place within society against this imagery. The inevitable trauma black women often find themselves condemned to is displayed specifically through those who have become victims of police brutality, the focus of the Black Lives Matter movement. Natasha
Mckenna. Sandra Bland. Breonna Taylor. Ma’Khia Bryant. All dead when they had so much more life left to live. All examples of women whose bodies were treated with the utmost disregard merely because they bore the characteristics of being both black and female in 27
America. Although this chapter underlines the ways in which postmodern blackness has been employed to redefine black womanhood, these women are direct illustrations of the progress that we still need to make as a society. Black women are arguably the very backbone of this nation and their contributions are often shunned and forgotten due to the complete inferiority they are equated with. It is now the time for members of the Western world to truly open their arms and embrace the authentic version of black womanhood.
Chapter Two: Black Art
The black artist is dangerous. Black art controls the “Negro’s” reality, negates negative
influences, and creates positive images.
—Sonia Sanchez, Black Women Writers at Work
In our society, art has historically been perceived as a field that knows no bounds or limitations. The beauty often found within this creative tool is the liberty it grants to artists to create pieces completely outside the control or censorship of society. Art forms of all genres are perceived as safe spaces that allow artists to have an outlet for their own self expression. Rather than demanding that they reflect the traditional way of thinking, members of society encourage artists to tap into their creativity and construct original pieces that stray far beyond the norm. As a result of this, artists who dare to break boundaries and force us to form a new way of thinking often become the most celebrated.
Despite the freedom and liberation rooted within the very definition of this tool, African
American artists often face the same dilemma in reference to their self-expression in all art forms. Like all other spaces within the Western world, society attempts to limit black artists to one constricting and universal identity. Unlike their white counterparts, black artists are not 28 extended the liberty to push the barriers, but instead are forced to stay inside the carefully drawn lines that society puts them in. They are not given the freedom to employ art as an outlet for their own individual self-expression, but instead pressed to use their work to emphasize the narrowing definition of blackness that perpetuates the idea that their identity appears as singular and one-dimensional. Black art is not judged for its creative value; it is only measured by the way it conforms to this universal imagery of Western culture or compares to white art in its inferiority.
In his famous 1926 speech, “Criteria of Negro Art,” W. E. B. Du Bois underlines the significance of interpretation specifically in regard to African American artists. He insists “all art is propaganda and ever must be, despite the wailing of the purists” (296). Unlike their white counterparts, Du Bois argues that black artists cannot create pieces that exist solely for “beauty” or aesthetic purposes (291). Although he does “not doubt that the ultimate art coming from black folk is going to be just as beautiful, and beautiful largely in the same ways, as the art that comes from white folk, or yellow, or red,” Du Bois emphasizes to his audience that “the point today is that until the art of the black folk compels recognition they will not be rated as human” (297).
In other words, Du Bois asserts that black art must be utilized as a form of activism to implement social change for the African American race. As a black man, Du Bois recognizes the deeply embedded oppression black citizens have been forced to endure since they first stepped foot into America. He demands that black artists employ their own platforms as a way to speak out against these inequalities and make progress for their black peers. Despite the relevance of injustices taking place that Du Bois discusses, this speech articulates the same threat to the identity of African American artists as Western culture. Art is supposedly an outlet completely free of boundaries, yet Du Bois ironically demands black artists limit their work to one constricting message. By urging all black art to take the form of propaganda, Du Bois seizes the 29 self-expression from African American artists and places their blackness in a one-dimensional box similar to the one drawn out by Western society.
In “Unspeakable Things Unspoken: The Afro-American Presence in American
Literature,” Toni Morrison expands on the limitations surrounding black art and how these barriers still continue to influence black artists in modern day. Morrison reveals that black literature suffers under Western control: “there is no Afro-American (or third-world) art, it exists but is inferior, it exists and is superior when it measures up to the ‘universal’ criteria of Western art,” or “it is not so much ‘art’ as ore—-rich ore—that requires a Western or Eurocentric smith to refine it from its ‘natural’ state into an aesthetically complex form” (167). Without the presence of Western art, black art has no place in the Western world. By highlighting that black art is only acknowledged when it “measures up to the ‘universal’ criteria of Western art” or marked as
“inferior” and requiring “a Western or Eurocentric smith to refine it,” Morrison underscores the refusal of Western culture to allow African American art to exist in a truly authentic form (167).
Similar to Du Bois’s confining black art to the space of propaganda, Morrison discloses that members of Western culture confine black art by defining it according to the way it compares to their own. This constant comparison blocks African American artists from truly expressing themselves in their art form and locks them away in a blackness that is defined by its connection to the Western world. Despite the censorship of Western society, Morrison declares that
“Afro-American culture exists, and though it is clear how it has responded to Western culture, the instances and means by which it has shaped Western culture are poorly recognized and understood” (164). Morrison furthermore not only emphasizes the existence of black art without the presence of Western art through her references to postmodern works, but also asserts that 30
African American culture has ironically molded Western culture despite being constantly criticized by it.
In “Post-Black Stories: Colson Whitehead’s Sag Harbor and Racial Individualism,”
Cameron Leader-Picone expands on this argument through his discussion of the concept of
“post-black art” as a response to the Black Arts Movement (428). Following “the civil rights and
Black Power movements,” Leader-Picone recognizes that “authentic ‘black art’” was often characterized through “the African American struggle for civil rights” (428). Due to the high racial climate at the time, black art was limited to the context that it appealed to the African
American struggle for equality. This directly mirrors Du Bois’s claim that black art must appear as a form of propaganda or seek to implement change for the African American community.
However, like Morrison, Leader-Picone introduces postmodern concepts to dismantle the barriers forced upon African American artists. Rather than succumbing to the pressure to center on “civil rights and Black Power movements,” Leader-Picone indicates that “the term ‘post-black art’ has been turned into a broader concept of post-blackness, which emphasizes the possibility of freedom from the potential confinements of normative racial identity, though not necessarily from the race itself” (146-148). This concept ultimately works to separate the artists from the race and, by doing, frees them from the box that constricts the ways in which they define their blackness. Post-black art does not lump all African American artists into a singular identity, but encourages them to explore how their work appears outside of the various norms. Leader-Picone states that “the application of the term as an adjective refers not to being ‘post-black’ in any totalizing way but rather to the attempt to understand the meaning of blackness in the present without being circumscribed by earlier normative definitions,” underscoring that “the aesthetic 31 liberation conceptualized by ‘post-black art’ occurs on the level of the individual rather than that of the race as a whole” (428).
Like all black subjects, African American artists have been forced to live under the veil of double consciousness. They see their blackness through the blurriness of what Western culture expects them to be rather than seeing themselves in an authentic form. This chapter will focus on post-black art in order to reconstruct the identity of African American artists. In contrast to condensing their blackness into a single box, I invite all black artists to explore and express their true selves in their work. By analyzing several postmodern texts that center on post-black art, I will reveal the myriad of identities found within the blackness of African American artists. The voices that have been shunned will finally be heard.
In Erasure (2001), Percival Everett examines the concepts of erasure and reverse passing in order to expose the harsh pressures black artists have to endure to be accepted and acknowledged in society. Throughout the novel, the protagonist, Monk, struggles with his identity as a black man and, more specifically, with his career as an African American writer. At the very start of the story, Monk immediately reveals to the reader that he has “dark brown skin, curly hair, broad nose,” also underlining that his “ancestors were slaves” and he has “been detained by pasty white policemen” (Everett 1). On the surface, Monk clearly establishes his
“race” as a “black” man with these characteristics (Everett 1). Physically, he embodies all the traits of an African American, and both his enslaved ancestors and his poor experiences with the police reinforce this fact. Despite his clear racial identity, as he reflects back on his life, Monk admits that “some people” who are “described as being black” and “some people whom the society calls white” have often accused him of not being “black enough” (Everett 2). Through the juxtaposition of Monk physically being “black” yet still ridiculed by society for not being 32
“black enough,” Everett showcases the complexity surrounding African American identity (2).
The imagery of Monk not being “black enough” highlights the constraints surrounding racial identity in text (Everett 2). Society refuses to recognize how layered and multi-dimensional
African American identity is and compresses it to a universal image or experience. Although he obviously belongs in this racial group, Monk’s blackness is questioned by society because he does not conform to the image of what they expect him to be.
The thematic condensing of black identity is extended as Monk discloses the difficulties he encounters as an African American writer. After attending “a party in New York,” a “book agent” insists that Monk “could sell many books if” he would “forget about writing retellings of
Euripides and parodies of French poststructuralists and settle down to write the true, gritty real stories of black life” (Everett 2). This suggestion depicts the attempts of society to censor his blackness even in his creative space. Not only is Monk scolded for not being black enough when he defines his individual blackness by his own terms, but also, professionally, he is pressured to ignore his genuine interests and concentrate his writing completely on the black experience because this conforms to this universal identity of African American writers. He is most intrigued by the “retellings of Euripides and parodies of French poststructuralists,” but as an
African American writer, Monk must appeal to the “master narrative,” as Morrison calls it, and focus on “black life” in order to “sell many books'' to be accepted in society (Everett 2). Despite being urged on all sides of his character to adjust his work to the terms of the writing industry,
Monk openly admits to the reader that “the hard, gritty truth of the matter is that” he “hardly ever thinks about race” and he does not “believe in race” (Everett 2). Through this confession, Everett appeals to postmodern blackness. Unlike other African American writers, Monk refuses to focus his writing on the black experience and instead forms his own micro narrative by continuing to 33 write about his genuine interests. Everett employs Monk to resist the societal expectation of how
African American writers should define themselves in literature and makes him seize control of this authority and define himself. Ultimately, Monk defies the status quo by choosing to separate his individual self from his race both in his personal life and art form.
As Monk’s character develops further, Everett asserts the themes of erasure and reverse passing to deepen his discussion regarding African American identity, specifically in context to black art. The theme of erasure is first established through Monk’s mother as she begins to
“forget things” and her health slowly deteriorates due to dementia (Everett 5). By continuing to
“forget things,” Monk’s mother undergoes an erasure of her past self (Everett 5). The erasing of her memory through her Alzheimer's disease in turn foreshadows the erasure Monk is forced to undergo in his own identity. Monk constantly dodges any attempts of society to control and censor the work he puts out as a black writer but over time this shifts. Desperate to earn money in his career in order to support his mother’s poor health, Monk studies the “passages of [Richard
Wright’s] Native Son and [Alice Walker’s] The Color Purple and Amos and Andy” and finally succumbs to writing about a popular and therefore sensationalized version of the black experience rather than his true interests (Everett 61). In the novel within a novel, “My Pafology,”
Monk creates a narrative that follows the life of a troubled black man as he commits crimes and causes chaos. By writing a novel that focuses completely on a reductive idea of black experience and reenacting a master narrative of blackness, Monk symbolically departs from his micro narrative and erases his true self as a writer. This is signified through the pseudonym of “Stagg
R. Leigh” that he adopts under the text (Everett 63). As a writer, Monk is so disconnected from his work, as he must take on a new identity and literally erase his true self. This erasure is further illustrated as Monk admits that while he chose a specific dialect for black characters in his novel, 34 in reality, he “didn’t sound like that,” his “mother didn’t sound like that,” and his “father didn’t sound like that” (Everett 62). The lack of correlation from the language of his novel to his actual life reflects the erasure of his individual blackness in order to be accepted within society. Monk must take part in a form of reverse passing in order to achieve success as a writer. Due to his societal status as not being “black enough,” Monk must apply reverse passing by erasing his true self and becoming more “black” to be acknowledged in society (Everett 2).
Everett utilizes the trope of erasure to explore reverse passing through the intertextual conversations that take place in the novel. In the vignette, “Àppropos de bottes” (essentially, about nothing), the characterization of Tom directly mirrors Monk. As he prepares to go on a TV show, a “red-haired woman” insists he isn’t “‘dark enough’” and proceeds to “rub the compound into the skin of Tom’s face” (Everett 173). The imagery of Tom’s “oak brown skin” becoming
“chocolate brown” underscores the trope of erasure and theme of reverse passing in the novel
(Everett 173). Similarly to Monk metaphorically becoming more black by society’s terms with the publication of his novel, Tom physically becomes more black with the darkening of his skin.
Ultimately, Tom embodies the physical form of erasure within the novel. By painting his “skin”
“chocolate brown,” the makeup artist erases Tom’s true self and forces him to become more black in order to appeal to the master narrative of blackness (Everett 173). The intertextual conversation that takes place between “Àppropos de botte” and the novel itself further underscores the trope of erasure through the lens of reverse passing.
The transformation Monk is forced to undergo throughout the novel mirrors the experience of black artists across the world. Despite his postmodern, or post-black, viewpoint and clear attempt to separate his personal identity from his race, the pressures of society to assimilate to their form of blackness is so high that he eventually succumbs to doing so in order 35 to gain their acceptance. In the process of becoming more welcomed by society, the black artist often in turn must erase her true self. This proves that Western culture wishes to see only blackness through the lens they are comfortable with rather than in its most authentic form.
Hip-hop is arguably one of the most influential art forms of our society today. Over the past few decades, it has not only become an integral part of African American identity, but also in mainstream culture in general. Due to its overwhelming popularity in America, it is often assumed that “rap music is considered an art form indigenous to the United States” (Keyes 7).
This, however, does not represent its full history and origins. In The Roots and Stylistic
Foundations of the Rap Music Tradition, Cheryl L. Keyes discusses how “it is important to discuss” the “roots” of hip-hop to wholly appreciate it as an art form (8). Keyes recognizes that
“although rap has been in the Bronx, it goes back to Africa because you had the chanting style of rappin” (4). In order to truly understand hip-hop, one must acknowledge the unique hybridity that African American culture focuses on. Keyes focuses on “the Black Atlantic” which depicts
“the African World” as a “diaspora” (7). Following the Middle Passage, “in the New World,
Africans were enslaved and forced to learn a culture and language different from their own”
(Keyes 7). Under Western authority, Africans were pressured to abandon their old practices and engage in a new culture, in turn resulting in the creation of the Black Atlantic and various forms of cultural hybridity. By forcing Africans “to learn a culture and language different from their own,” the Europeans formed a “diaspora” that forced Africans to break away from their homeland and blend the African cultures with others to form a new one (Keyes 7). This illustrates how African American culture came to be. Keyes discusses how “in the face of this alien context, blacks transformed the new culture and language of the Western world through an
African prism” (7). African American culture ultimately serves as the attempt of black citizens to 36 reunite lost fragments of their past ancestry with the Western culture they are surrounded by in the present day.
The genre of hip-hop is a product of the cultural hybridity that occurred when Africans were forced to leave their homeland for the New World. As the genre has become increasingly popular in America, its African roots have combined with Western culture to form the contemporary version of hip-hop that is seen today. This is depicted through “the bard-rap continuum” that showcases the undeniable parallelism between African practices and hip-hop culture (Keyes 4). Keyes describes “the bard” as “a storyteller-singer and above all a historian who chronicles the nation’s history and transmits cultural traditions and more through performance” in “traditional African societies” (5). During performances, the “bard makes use of formulaic expressions, poetic abstractions, and rhythmic speech—all recited in a chantlike fashion that prefigures rap” (Keyes 7). Like hip-hop artists of current day, the bard engages in rhythm and speech to express the deeper meanings behind his work. Although bard and hip-hop artists exist in two different parts of the world, the similar practices of both draws them together.
The connection of hip-hop to “the Western African bardic tradition” indicates the preservation of
African culture hidden within its roots (Keyes 4).
The influence of bardic tradition is displayed in parts of African American culture that precedes the presence of hip-hop in Western society. According to Keyes, “poetic speech remained paramount to African peoples in the New World” because “language quickly became not only a means of communication but also a device for personal presentation, verbal artistry, and commentary on life’s circumstances” (8). More specifically, “poetic language of African peoples eventually flourished in the New World as testimony of enslavement” (Keyes 8). With this means of communication, slaves had the freedom to express their “existence, hopes and 37 desires” (Keyes 8). The similarity of hip-hop to both the bardic tradition and the language of the enslaved indicates the way in which it literally preserves remnants of black identity that
Europeans pressured blacks to erase in the New World. Hip-hop is a living link to black people in the Western world that connects them to the practices of their ancestors. It is essential to recognize the foundation of hip-hop to understand how much of a tribute it pays as an art form to the very root and traditions of black culture as a whole.
Based on the deep connection between hip-hop and old African traditions, one would assume that this art form is most exempt to the probing of Western culture. After all, how can
Western society possibly redefine black identity in an art form that is rooted within an authentic version of blackness? How can members of Western society implement assimilation in an art form that not only connects black people to their continent of origin, but also has become the poetic language of survival and empowerment for generations of African Americans? In spite of the undeniable link of this genre to African culture, over the past several decades a major shift in hip-hop has caused it to represent ideologies that go against its very origins. Ironically, the language of empowerment and self-expression for African Americans has transformed into a language that further silences them under the authority of Western culture.
In “An Exploration of Spectacular Consumption: Gangsta rap as Cultural Commodity,”
Eric Watts notes this shift by exploring “spectacular consumption” which “describes a process through which the lifeworld of the artist, the meaning of representation, and the operations of the culture industry get transformed based upon terms generated by public consumption of the art”
(43). As hip-hop rose in popularity, members of Western society pressured black artists to appeal to the desires of the public for their own monetary gain. Watts argues that this is specifically seen through “the controversial and contradictory musical genre known as ‘gangsta rap’” (42). He 38 points out that “gangsta rap” glorifies the “street” life by creating “narratives” that “are inscribed with compelling rationales concerning making a living in urban America” (Watts 43). The crime and gang violence often associated with “street” life in urban America takes center stage in gangsta rap (Watts 43). The artists who engage in this genre “attempt to offer good reasons supporting the strategies their narrative protagonists use to make ends” (Watts 43). Although this perspective represents the reality of many people who live in these communities, as gangsta rap emerged into mainstream culture, this lifestyle became the universal imagery surrounding hip-hop artists as a whole. Watts states that “since it is both traditional and trendy for mainstream
America to exploit and relish black cultural artifacts, the glimmering presence of gangsta rap merely stands as another example of a smart, expert market procedure” (42). The glorification of street life in urban America that this genre perpetuates threatens the freedom of hip-hop artists to express their true selves in their work. It forces them to embrace this identity in order to appeal to the public and in turn benefit the “market” system of Western society (Watts 42).
Watts lays the foundation for this argument by identifying “the street orientation” as “a culture whose norms are often consciously opposed to those of mainstream society,” highlighting that “on the streets, a different set of rules and guidelines structure interpersonal interaction, and one's ignorance of them can lead to unfortunate consequences” (44). From a young age, “urban youth” learn that “aggression and toughness earn respect among peers” and that “being able to handle affronts, verbally and physically, is a valuable skill on the streets” (Watts 44). The youth must take on this tough persona in order to ensure their space in these communities. This is especially seen among young black men because “the street code not only structures their daily interactions with others who are also campaigning for respect, but provides them with precarious rites of passage into manhood” (Watts 44). To be acknowledged as masculine in this society, 39 black men must engage in aggressive behavior and collect “trophies” such as “jackets, sneakers, jewelry, cars, and women” (Watts 45). The correlation of possessing these “material possessions” to “manhood” and the earning of “juice or respect” in the community foreshadows the fragile masculinity that mainstream hip-hop concentrates on (Watts 44).
Watts furthermore claims that “undeniably one of the most meaningful accomplishments of gangsta artistry has been to open a window on the daily, gritty grind of inner-city living” (46).
For the first time, mainstream America was able to witness the “social dynamics” of urban communities through the gangsta rap genre (Watts 46). Artists such as “Ice-T, Schooly-D, and
N.W.A.” are groundbreaking to hip-hop because they introduced a style that openly discussed the harsh realities of the street life (Watts 46). Watts discusses how “on their first full-length album,
Straight Outta Compton, the members of N.W.A., Easy-E, Dr. Dre, Ice Cube, MC Ren, and
Yella, proudly announced that America was now about to witness the power of street knowledge” (46). This statement embodies the public’s fascination with the new narrative this style of rap offers.
Watts also argues that “part of the significance of N.W.A. was that they realized that rebellious street norms could be exploited for economic gain” (46). Under the tough persona they embodied in their music, Straight Outta Compton skyrocketed to success by selling two million copies (Watts 46). The immense achievements of N.W.A. and other gangsta rappers gave insight to hip-hop artists of the profit they could potentially gain by giving the public a direct view of life inside of urban communities. The discovery of the economic benefit that came with the embodiment of street life in music signifies the start of the major shift in the hip-hop genre.
Rather than attempting to utilize their art form as a platform for genuine self-expression, hip-hop artists began to employ street code as a commodity for the benefit of both themselves and 40
Western society. Watts recognizes this as he highlights “a spectacularly symbiotic relationship between the dictates of the street code and an energetic American consumerism” (50). More specifically, “these exchange relations legitimate themselves by pointing to increased market consumption and by increasing the status of some of its more talented spokesperson” (Watts 50).
In exchange for appealing to the public by giving them full access to street life, hip-hop artists gain the fame and profit they are seeking with their art form.
While the rise of gangsta rap can be perceived as a gain for hip-hop artists as a whole, in reality, it marks the Western ownership of this genre. The hip-hop artists who appeal to urban life may be more likely to become successful, but at what cost? By correlating the recognition and profit of popular hip-hop artists to their ability to exhibit a street life persona, Western society implies that one must take part in this imagery and appeal to the public in order to prosper in their career. The persona seen in gangsta rap not only traps black artists inside of the universal identity associated with street life, but also works to further degrade the character of both black men and women. Watts states that “musical artists dramatizing the street code depict violent confrontation as a black ghetto norm, present misogyny as an organizing principle of sexual relations, and equate this mentality with mental illness” (47). Like in real urban communities, hip-hop artists must engage in “violent confrontation” and “misogyny” to establish their masculinity in the music industry (Watts 47).
While this persona perpetuates the imagery of black men being criminals or street thugs, the cost of becoming a successful hip-hop artist arguably reflects worst on black women. Watts underscores that “the ‘ownership’ of an attractive young woman builds a young man's self-esteem in a way similar to the donning of a fresh, new pair of AirJordans” and “since the development of genuine affection is discouraged by the street credo of acquisition, this 41 social-exchange dynamic encourages female abuse” (47). The objectification of black women in hip-hop music showcases that they act as the scapegoat in securing the masculinity of black men and in turn propelling their success as an artist.
Throughout his documentary, Hip Hop: Beyond Beats and Rhymes, director Byron Hurt elaborates on the misogyny deeply embedded in the trends of contemporary hip-hop music. This misogyny is most apparent in popular hip-hop artists who have gained stardom and appealed to mainstream culture by succumbing to violence and acquiring wealth and women. Hurt showcases that this is specifically seen with the multi-platinum rapper Nelly, who was met with
“resistance from the women of Spelman College” due to the degrading imagery of black women in his music (Hurt, 21:58). During the spring of 2004, Nelly paid a visit to the campus to host “a bone marrow drive,” but decided not to attend after “students threatened to protest because of an explicit video called ‘Tip Drill’” (Hurt, 22:19-22:25). Hurt references news coverage that reveals
“in the video, Nelly is seen swiping his credit card down a woman’s backside” (Hurt,
22:27-22:31). This objectification of a black woman’s body blatantly displayed in Nelly’s music underlines the denigration of black women in this space. In order to establish his role as a man in his music, Nelly must treat women as sexual commodities. He is so concerned about conforming to Western ideologies of what a black man should be that he, in turn, causes black women to fall victim to the sexual representations he places them in. The documentary emphasizes this when an interviewee states “one of the disappointing things about ‘Tip Drill’ and the whole genre of music videos is that they have taken of view of women of color that is not radically different from the views of 19th century white slaveholders” (Hurt, 23:25-23:57). As stated in the previous chapter, the sexualization of black women dates back to the first time
Europeans ever came in contact with them and continued on throughout the antebellum era. By 42 representing black women solely through imagery that centers on objectifying their sexuality, male hip-hop artists continue to perpetuate false narratives surrounding black womanhood created by Western society. Rather than employing the same empowerment signified in the foundations of hip-hop, rappers similar to Nelly degrade and put down black women for their own gain.
The rise of gangsta rap especially has a harsh impact on black female rappers who are attempting to make a name of themselves in the industry. Prior to the emergence of gangsta rap into mainstream culture, female rappers shared the spotlight with their male counterparts in the industry and, in turn, broke barriers for future generations of black women to come. Artists and music specialists featured in Ava DuVernay’s documentary, My Mic Sounds Nice: The Truth
About Women And Hip Hop, reflect on “the Golden Age of hip-hop” as a time period in which female rappers dominated the industry during the 1980s and 1990s. (DuVernay, 10:24-10:42).
During this era, the presence of black female rappers was so great that “it was hard to turn on your video show or listen to your radio without hearing a female voice” (DuVernay,
11:56-12:00). The award winning rapper, Trina, admits that “it started with Latifah, it started with MC Lyte, it started with Roxanne Shanté and Salt-N-Pepa,” emphasizing that “these are the icons of hip-hop” and the way they “changed music” ultimately “opened the doors to make it even available for artists” similar to herself (DuVernay, 9:28-9:50). Despite the major influence of black female rappers at this time, in “Nicki Minaj and the Changing Politics of Hip-Hop: Real
Blackness, Real Bodies, Real Feminism,” Margaret Hunter and Alhelí Cuenca acknowledge that
“the success of gangsta rap” and “the shift to the major media conglomerates meant artists had less control over content, and a narrower range of artist was produced for mass consumption”
(27). As a result of this, “fewer record labels were interested in signing women rappers, and their 43 voices were all but absent by the early 2000s” (Hunter & Cuenca 28). Hunter and Cuenca reference “LeVande (2008)” who “argues that deregulation of media ownership in the mid-1990s pushed many women musicians into a narrow, highly sexualized model, or pushed them out of popular music altogether” (28). In the space that viewed hip-hop through the lens of mass consumption, there was no room for female rappers to get the same respect and attention that they received in the golden era. Rather than empowering female rappers to share the spotlight equally with black men, Western society shunted them aside into the narrowing representation that promoted their sexuality. The downfall of female rappers that came with the emergence of gangsta rap exposes the misogynistic intentions behind the genre.
Along with misogyny and the limited representation of black women, homophobia remains a central theme throughout hip-hop culture. Due to the correlation of masculinity to a man’s ability to attract and accumulate women as commodities, no space exists for gay rappers in mainstream hip-hop and any sign of homosexuality among artists is strictly forbidden. An interviewee from Hurt’s documentary emphasizes this as he explains that “when one looks at contemporary landscape of hip-hop, one sees the feminizing assault on masculinity by other men so that the greatest insult that a man might imagine for another man is to assume that he is less than a man and to assign him the very derogatory terms that one usually associates with women”
(Hurt, 34:00-34:18). Another interviewee goes more in depth on the subject as he states that “it’s calling your manhood into question and it’s calling your sexuality into question, saying if you’re not this, you must therefore be gay” (Hurt, 35:20-35:29). The intertwining of masculinity and heterosexuality underlines the homophobia and extremely fragile masculinity entrenched within hip-hop culture. Male rappers are often so insecure about their own masculinity that they mock their peers who display feminizing qualities. Any artist who dares to stray outside the norm of 44 heterosexuality is automatically stripped of their masculinity in the industry. The pressures from
Western society to appear as a masculine heterosexual man in hip-hop music indicates the lack of freedom artists have to express their true sexual identity. By confining their masculinity to the small box of heterosexuality, the voices of artists in the LBGTQ community remain unheard.
Ultimately, the popularity of gangsta rap and the glorification of street life have limited hip-hop artists to portraying an identity promoting this lifestyle in their music. Determined to reach the same fame and success as predecessors, aspiring hip-hop artists take on an urban persona because it’s what the public wants to hear even though it may not represent their truth or reality. Hurts asserts that black men live in “a box” and “in order to be in that box, you have to be strong, you have to be tough, you have to have a lot of girls,” and “you gotta have money”
(Hurt, 00:58-01:06). Under the influence of Western culture, hip-hop artists are robbed of the genuine self-expression buried in the origins of the genre and instead must alter their artistry in order to receive respect and recognition. Later on in the documentary, cultural critic Dr. Mark
Anthony Neal underscores that “when you talk to a lot of these young rappers the most important thing is for them to get a record deal, and what they’re hearing from the record companies is that there are only certain examples of blackness that we’re gonna let flow through this space” (Hurt,
44:37-44:49). As Western cultural commodification seized control of this genre, hip-hop shifted to a language that further perpetuates negative stereotypes regarding black men and traps them in a one-dimensional form of blackness. Under this one-size-fits all imagery, there is no room for black men who appear outside of the tough heterosexual male identity. Like black men, the limited representation of blackness that contemporary hip-hop showcases also reflects poorly on black women. Not only are black women encouraged to solely appeal as sexual commodities for the pleasure of men, but also are forced out of the spotlight as rappers. Their sexuality only 45 functions under the ownership of the heterosexual man and, as a result, they lose the authority to form their own sexual identity. Aside from their place as a promiscuous video vixen, black women have no space in contemporary hip-hop culture.
Despite the pressure of both the industry and the public to appeal to the blackness they deem fit, many hip-hop artists today have resisted the universal imagery of this art form and utilized their platforms to express their authentic selves. A new shift has developed in hip-hop that celebrates artists who dare to step out of the small box society places them in. As hip-hop has grown over the last few years, breaking the status quo has become more widely accepted and as a result of this, hip-hop artists who represent a unique form of blackness are much more present in mainstream media. The remaining part of this chapter will focus on postmodern blackness by shining light on hip-hop artists who redefine what it means to be black in their music.
As an artist, Big Freedia has broken many barriers within the hip-hop community through both his unique gender identity and work to popularize bounce music, a new genre of hip-hop. In
“Big Freedia Is The 21st Century’s Ambassador Of Freedom,” Alison Fensterstock recognizes
Big Freedia’s unprecedented character in the hip-hop industry when she highlights his identity as
“a gay black man with a feminine stage name and fluid pronouns” (1). His identity itself reflects the theory of postmodern blackness by stepping out of the confinement to heterosexuality that
Western society places all black men in throughout hip-hop. Unlike other mainstream hip-hop artists, Big Freedia refuses to shy away from his homosexuality and instead proudly flaunts his identity as “a gay black man” in his music (Fensterstock 1). Big Freedia strengthens this postmodern appeal even more through his “fluid pronouns” (Fensterstock 1). By refusing to confine his identity to solely masculine or feminine labels, Big Freedia deconstructs the carefully 46 drawn box surrounding gender identity in the hip-hop industry and creates a space that allows artists to move freely with their gender roles. Fensterstock highlights “visibility” as a “key to
Freedia's mission and influence as an artist,” or, more specifically, “the right to be seen” (1). This statement itself marks the shift Big Freedia creates with his rise in the hip-hop industry. The
“visibility” of “a gay black man” in a space that traditionally perpetuates homophobia not only dismantles the fragile masculinity hip-hop promotes , but also creates room for other hip-hop artists in the LGBTQ community to be “seen” (Fensterstock 1).
Although he openly expresses his unique identity with his platform, “Freedia didn’t grow up as an artist in a community that necessarily accepted gay or gender nonconforming artists across the board,” and “there were still doors that were closed to Freedia in the local hip-hop scene for months and years after they would have swung wide open for straight-presenting men or women” (Fensterstock 1). The difficulties toward acceptance Big Freedia encountered when he came out on the scene underscores how deeply homophobia is embedded in contemporary hip-hop culture. Western society puts so much pressure on artists to appeal to traditional gender roles that it is nearly impossible for any artists who appeared outside of the norm to reach success. Despite the roadblocks he often confronted, Big Freedia eventually rose to stardom and today he’s been featured in songs by mainstream artists such as Drake and Beyoncé. The emergence of an openly gay hip-hop artist into mainstream culture indicates the big shift that has taken place. With time, hip-hop has slowly transformed back into a platform that recognizes and empowers all black voices and not just the ones that assimilate to Western society.
In “Queer Black Artists and Their Quests for Visibility,” Annika Brandes expands further on the struggles black gay artists confront in order to be acknowledged by Western society. At the start of the article, Brandes points out that while “black men have more variety in 47 representation” and “due to the hegemonic, misogynistic undertones of the genre, women are boxed into specific categories,” there is barely any “consideration to the LGBTQ community” in the industry (1). Brandes elaborates on this lack of representation when she discusses how
“since gay people of color are less represented in TV, film, or music than gay white people, we can come to understand how being queer is associated with being white, therefore making it unfavorable for fans of Afrocentric hip-hop” (1). Both black women and members of the
LGBTQ community struggle with constantly facing abuse in the world of hip-hop, but black women have some type of established visibility whereas members of the LGBTQ community do not. Being a gay rapper is not only percieved as a trait that emasulates black men, but also is so rarely seen it is often “associated with being white” (Brandes 1). The lack of acceptance shown toward black gay men in mainstream media in comparison to the strong visibility of their white counterparts emphasizes the need for the acknowledgment of gay rappers in the hip-hop world.
Their emergence in the mainstream world breaks barriers for black men as a whole who are part of the LGBTQ community.
As an example , Brandes uses Kevin Abstract to illustrate an artist who has dared to authentically define himself in a world that historically shames him for being both black and gay.
Abstract “came out in 2016, and and since then, he’s vowed to continue rapping about being gay” (Brandes 1). Although “the release” of some of his music has “caused alarm to some hip-hop fans, it hasn’t stopped him from continuing to make his sexuality the forefront of his verses” (Brandes 1). In a world where rarely anyone who represents his experience is seen,
Abstract still dares to create space for himself and boldly declare his sexuality. This is exemplified in the opening lines of his track, “Miserable America,” when he states “my boyfriend saved me, my mother's homophobic / I'm stuck in the closet, I'm so claustrophobic” 48
(Brandes 1). The imagery within these lyrics showcase the theme of Abstract being confined against his sexuality. By openly describing it in his music and coming out of “the closet, ” he frees himself from the societal norms that kept his true self a secret (Brandes 1). Creating room in the industry for artists like Abstract “gives reason for more conservative societies to validate these identities, and it gives young people—the top consumers of media and pop culture—the liberty of seeing themselves represented through mainstream artists” (Brandes 1). In his music,
“Abstract unravels his complicated relationship with a man and the repercussions it entails in a homophobic America” (Brandes 1). This sheds the light on black men who share the same experiences. Abstract and other gay artists are a part of a bigger movement of creating visibility where it has never beem created and amplifying the voices of a community that is traditionally silenced.
Over the past decade, Nicki Minaj has taken the hip-hop world by storm and in turn helped redefine black womanhood within the genre. Despite the misogyny rooted in contemporary hip-hop culture and the passing of female rappers following the Golden Age,
Minaj has managed to make a name for herself while still maintaining her authenticity as an artist. Through her multidimensional identity, Minaj encourages her audience to look beyond
“the boundaries of blackness firmly established in hip-hop more than two decades ago” (Hunter
& Cuenca 31). In their work, Hunter and Cuenca underline that “male hip-hop artists routinely perform a version of blackness that highlights criminality, poverty, violence, anger, and sexual domination over others, especially African American women,” but when she arrived on the scene in 2010 “Nicki Minaj pushed back against the dominant image of the black male rapper and offered a cornucopia of contrasting personalities and styles” (31). Hunter and Cuenca illustrate the different personas Minaj displays as an artist by first recognizing that in mainstream culture 49
“there is no distinction between the rapper’s performance and the rapper him or herself” (31).
This is seen specifically in gangsta rap where there is no line drawn between the violence and misogyny male artists often promote and their true reality. Minaj does not follow this pattern and instead “disrupts the conflation of character and actual artist through her use of personas or characters in her music, and therefore expands the versions of blackness that are performed”
(Hunter & Cuenca 31). Throughout “her music and public appearances, Minaj performs several of these alter egos, each of which has its own identity, voice, accent, personality, and name:
Nicki Lewinsky, Harajuku Barbie, Roman Zolanski, and his mother Martha, for example”
(Hunter & Cuenca 31). By choosing to center her artistry on her ability to take on various “alter egos,” Minaj deconstructs the binaries that reinforce the notion that the only way to reach success as an artist is to succumb to the one size fits all blackness that Western society promotes
(Hunter & Cuenca 31). Her creative use of various personas sends a message to the public that black identity cannot be condensed to one form. Minaj refuses to embody the submissive figure expected of her as a woman in hip-hop and creates a message that emphasizes she can be whoever she wishes to be in her art form. Her complete control over her identity as an artist and her unwillingness to intertwine her artistry with her reality set her apart from the mainstream world of hip-hop.
Nicki Minaj also takes on a postmodern approach in her music through her sexuality.
Many critics have argued that Minaj’s overt sex appeal further perpeuates the sexualization of black women in hip-hop, but this is far from the truth. Hunter and Cuenca highlight that “many women of color feminist scholars suggest that Minaj’s highly sexualized performances differ from the mainstream because she is in control of her sexuality and she sets the terms of the performance” (39). Rather than appearing as a submissive woman whose sexuality is meant for 50 the pleasure of the heterosexual man, Minaj reclaims her sexuality and in turn uses it as a source of female empowerment. This is specifically depicted in her music video, “Anaconda,” where
“there are almost no men in the entire video, decentering the male gaze” (Hunter & Cuenca 39).
Through her choice to showcase imagery that focuses specifically on women with little to no males present, Minaj debunks the expectation that women can solely appear as trophies used to further secure one’s manhood. Instead of succumbing to the norm that promotes the depictions male rappers being surrounded by several promiscuous women, Minaj creates a space where women can openly express their sexuality with no male validation needed. Her sexuality is completely under her own control and therefore empowers her role as a woman. This empowerment is shown again in the video when “Minaj does an extended pseudo-lap dance for the rapper Drake, including crawling on her hands and knees” (Hunter & Cuenca 39). On the surface, the appearance of Drake may be perceived as the presence of a strong heterosexual man, but throughout the dance, Minaj “admonishingly slaps his hand away when he tries to touch her”
(Hunter & Cuenca 39). This small gesture asserts that Minaj remains in control and refuses to be shoved in the submissive role black women traditionally represent in this space. Ultimately,
Minaj’s ability to gain authority over her body deconstructs the narrative that black women exist to pleasure heterosexual men in the world of hip-hop. She steps out the norm and sends a clear message that her sexual identity is defined by her own terms.
It is often found that the work of an artist does not function solely as an activity done for leisure, but the place where they can release their most intimate emotions. This freedom of expression, however, is not granted to black artists. Like in all other spaces of the Western world, black artists must center their work on a form of blackness that is acceptable to the society around them. Mainstream culture does not wish to explore the layers and complexity found in 51 black identity, but instead works to further perpetuate false narratives surrounding black people that were created from their very first moments in America. These false narratives ultimately work to justify the poor treatment African Americans encounter due to their race.
The concept of postmodern blackness is needed now more than ever given the danger of enforcing a one size fits all form of blackness on African American artists, which ignores the myriad of experiences waiting to be told and places silence on communities that need to be amplified. We must begin to incorporate and acknowledge the voices of all black artists and not just those who are deemed as acceptable in society. Refusing to represent the experiences of a single person in turn shuns those of an entire group of people. It is important that we finally give room for the truth of all black artists to be told.
Conclusion:
I believe that this nation can only heal from the wounds of racism if we all begin to love
blackness. And by that I don't mean that we love only that which is best within us, but
that we're also able to love that which is faltering, which is wounded, which is
contradictory, incomplete.
—bell hooks, “There’s No Place to Go But Up”
What is the definition of blackness? The truth is that there is no simple or concrete answer. It cannot be condensed to a single form or representation. Doing so reveals that one refuses to examine the multitude of identities found within the African American community and wishes to silence the voices that do not conform to the form of blackness one agrees or feels comfortable with. Since the arrival of Africans in the New World, Western society has tried to control the way black people are perceived by others and the way they perceive themselves. 52
Under the veil of double consciousness, African Americans remain imprisoned against imagery that reinforces theeir inferiority to the white race. There are no spaces that yield them freedom to express their true authentic selves and as a result the stories of many remain untold.
As a black woman, I have often found that my experiences are lumped together with those that are seen with other people of color, and with time, I have realized the ignorance that comes with the assumption that minorities share one universal story. African Americans descend from a history that is both broken and filled with a trauma that we share with our ancestors.
Unlike any other minority, we have no trace to our country of origin and, as a result of this, we have remained disconnected from the culture of our ancestors for generations. This presents us with a unique challenge in terms of our identity. We are often too black to fit into the mold of
Western society, yet we are also too Westernized to find a place in African culture. There is no place for us to truly connect with our past and explore our blackness on our own terms.
I would argue that postmodern blackness is essential in Western society today. We must encourage all communities to stop feeding into narratives that further perpetuate the inferiority of
African Americans and instead look beyond the universal image of blackness that Western culture presents. I hope that this project inspires you to view black identity in its most authentic form. I hope you give all black people the space to define themselves rather than enforcing a preconceived notion of who they should be upon them. By finally casting away the veil of black subjects, as a society, we can acknowledge that blackness is beautiful on any and all terms. 53
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