Say It Loud, ...

The first CNN documentary “Black in America” that debuted with much fanfare left me wanting. Part II left me bored and frustrated. What I remember most about them is Malak Compton Rock’s escapade in Africa feeding starving children. What the what? She took poor black kids from America to Africa to meet even poorer, and blacker, kids. It was like an infomercial for her foundation. Like one of those late-night-Sally-Struthers-Feed-the-Children-send-in-a-donation-adopt-a-child-ads. Okay, where do I buy a starving African kid? Do I purchase one online through your foundation, Malak? Or should I just grab one of the ones from New York and bring ‘em home?

I felt bad for those children she dragged half-way across the world to essentially say, at least it’s what I saw, “you think you got it bad? Look at these mofos right here! You at least get food stamps. All they  get is rice.” Dragging those poor babies from Harlem to see deprivation in Africa was no service learning experience to me. Can they get a regular hot meal first before you start playing dolls with them? That was abusive. What the heck can they do about starving children in Africa when they don’t have food to eat? I bet they couldn’t wait to get back home and get some McDonald’s. What a treat.

So, suffice it to say, this new CNN doc on ‘Who is Black in America” left me not just wanting, but stupefied. You get another opportunity to tell the story of being Black in America – colorism, even – and you give us another infomercial on a non-profit?!! Where can I sign up to get a confused light-skinned black girl who slams poetry on “What am I?”

Hey, let’s first answer the question “Who is Black in America?” The answer is nobody. And the answer is everybody who’s black. If you’re black, your black. If you’re biracial, you are whatever race your color points to. If you don’t look like you could be a contestant on the Bachelor, your ass is black. Sorry, but those are the rules.

I didn’t make up the rules. I wish we lived in a world free of colorism and racism. You don’t know how hard it is bringing up a child in this world, after having witnessed the purity of their hearts, and having to explain race and color to them. And have it make sense. Because it doesn’t. Try it. Try explaining to a caramel colored girl that she’s black – or worse, African American -- and you’ll be met with the most ridiculous argument.

“But mom, I’m brown. How can I be black? And your skin is white, how can you be black, too.”

Where do I start? With Africa? Or my parent’s parents?

Children comprehend color before they can ever comprehend RACE. It took years trying to help my daughter understand why we were called black. Especially why I called myself black! When you teach a child their ABCs and 123s and the colors:  red, yellow and blues; when you point to skin that’s light and say that person is black, the child will look at you like you are Scooby Doo. “Urgh?”

When you see the world through a child’s eyes, you can really see how silly, and frankly, stupid, race is. Not to mention how troubling and absurd racism and discrimination are, and it’s all based upon skin color. It’s crazy.

I really don’t want my daughter to know what I know about racism. It’s ugly. Hateful. And unfair.

I want her to continue to be blind to the black and white of this world, and continue to view is as the rainbow she sees. All colors, all  beautiful, each unique.

“Who is Black in America” is a day late and a dollar short. We should have openly talked about “colorism” in the last century.

Now, go figure, I can’t get any love as a black woman. Now, in the 21^st century, I’m confused as mixed, or Hispanic. So is my daughter. What happened to me just being Black? Even Black people don’t think we’re black! And worse, Hispanics think I’m Hispanic! And I get treated like a sell out when I don’t (or won’t, in their minds) converse with them in Spanish when spoken to.

Further, I’m here to tell you an even sadder fact experiencing life as a Hispanic… they get treated worse than Black Folks!. Yep. I wish I was back black.

So, “Who is Black in America?”

Not me. Not anymore.