True Story
As promised, I'm going to tell you all a true story about my Halloween.
I have to emphasise that this is indeed a true story, and not something I made up just to rile people up or to be dramatic or start shit or whatever. Besides, I haven't made up stories just to put on this blog...I only speak the truth.
Last Friday my sister and I went down to a bar near the Miami airport for a Halloween party. We were meeting up with friends of the owner of the bar. The place itself was in a rather sketchy location, and the clientele consisted of the townies who were irritated by the influx of the other attendees, local and not-so-local kids partying on Halloween. Anyway, of the people that were there in costume, there were all sorts of great costumes and such. My sister and I walked in and started looking for our friends, noticing that we were getting lots of stares. We're used to that. Plus, my sister's costume was freaking awesome - she was a Wii remote. We found our friends, grabbed some beers, hit the dance floor for a little bit, and then we saw them.
Two girls, one in an afro wig, and one with a scarf tied up on her head, painted black from head to toe.
I repeat: Painted black from head to toe. With bright red lipstick to boot.
People still do shit like this in 2008.
At first, my sister and I were just shocked. I started to realize that the stares we got when we walked in the bar weren't because of our costumes. It was because we were the only two black people to enter the bar when there were two girls there in blackface.
We didn't know what to do. Our friends soon noticed the idiot girls and were quick to point out that they thought it was extremely messed up and offensive.
I knew I had choices, and I knew I had to tread carefully. I could have created a scene right then and there in front of everyone and given those two girls a complete dressing down. I could have gone up to one or both of them and said, "Hey, I love your costume. Let me guess...you're a bigot!" I could have just ignored it, and decided that saying something wouldn't be worth my time. But something clicked or snapped inside me.
My parents worked hard to provide the best possible life for my sister and I. We were raised to be proud of ourselves and the women that we have become. We were raised to understand where our ancestors had come from, all of them, from Africa to Europe to right here in America. We understand that people might look down on us simply because we're brown-skinned, but that does not, in any way, make us worth less than anyone else on this planet.
When I saw those two girls, I saw someone trying to mock my history. I saw someone trying to say that they still see non-white people - of any origin - as the wretched stereotypes that have developed over hundreds of years. I saw Aunt Jemima and Little Black Sambo and Stepin Fetchit. And I was pissed.
I saw those two girls headed to the bathroom, and I knew I had to do something. I told my sister that we were going to go talk to them. Not beat them up, not threaten them, just talk. And we followed them to the ladies' room.
And I stand true to my word. We didn't beat those sad little ignorant girls up. I started by launching into a tirade about how I didn't know where the girls thought they were coming from, but my sister and I were, are, and will be more successful in life than those two ever would be, and they were lucky that my sister and I were in the bar that night and not someone else because someone else might have kicked their asses or stabbed or shot them, but we're better than that and we're just telling them that what they did was fucked up and they better not ever think of doing something stupid like that ever again. My sister, realizing that I was losing it, jumped in and simply said that what those two girls did was extremely offensive, and it hurt us, and if they knew the history of racism in America, they would have realized that what they did was messed up.
The girls, of course, spewed the kind of crap that I expected them to say. "Oh, we weren't trying to offend anyone." "We looked for brown paint but we couldn't find any." "We're from Venezuela, and there's people of all different races there, were not racist."
And I said, "But there's no one in Venezuela who looks like that." Pointing to their blacked-over skin.
Other girls put in their two cents here and there, mostly attempting to defend the idiot girls. "So are you going to go yell at the mariachis and the girl dressed like a geisha too? That's racist too."
Au contraire.
Geisha actually existed and still do. There is a great and beautiful tradition behind geisha culture. Mariachis exist. They are a part of a long standing Mexican tradition and culture.
Blackface evolved as a way of marginalizing and ridiculing a race of people in order to make another race feel superior and justify the enslavement and later disenfranchisement of people of African descent.
As I realized that these sad, ignorant girls weren't ever really going to realize the magnitude of what they had done, one of our friends came in and said, "Ok, let it go." My sister wisely told her to come get us in ten minutes if we hadn't returned to the group. So we let it go. No pointed fingers, no wagging heads or hands on hips, no makeshift shanks or broken bottles brandished. We left the ladies room and went back to our friends and let it go.
The two girls actually stayed in the bar, too. They avoided eye contact at all costs, but they didn't go home.
The amazing thing in all of this is not that those two girls did not get injured that night. (There was a primal, reptilian, "oh no you di'nt" part of me that wanted to slap the black off of them. Literally.) The amazing thing is that in 2008, those two girls actually thought it would be a great idea to go out in public as "soul sisters," painted black from head to toe.
It's sad. And it hurts.
People talk about how we're starting to get to a post-racial era. People talk about color-blindness. I have news for you: race will always exist. We will never be truly colorblind. The true test of how our society has evolved will be when we get to a point where we can acknowledge and embrace our differences. When we get to a point to where we're willing to learn about each other's history and why we're so different. When we get to a point to where we truly celebrate differences instead of using those differences to tear this country apart. When that happens, if it ever happens, we'll be on the right track.
My sincere hope is that we're taking a step in that direction today in electing Barack Obama. I hope that the American people vote for him not because he is black, or vote against him because he is black, but that we vote for him because he's dedicated to bringing Americans together.
Say your prayers and cross your fingers, y'all. It's going to be a crazy night.
I have to emphasise that this is indeed a true story, and not something I made up just to rile people up or to be dramatic or start shit or whatever. Besides, I haven't made up stories just to put on this blog...I only speak the truth.
Last Friday my sister and I went down to a bar near the Miami airport for a Halloween party. We were meeting up with friends of the owner of the bar. The place itself was in a rather sketchy location, and the clientele consisted of the townies who were irritated by the influx of the other attendees, local and not-so-local kids partying on Halloween. Anyway, of the people that were there in costume, there were all sorts of great costumes and such. My sister and I walked in and started looking for our friends, noticing that we were getting lots of stares. We're used to that. Plus, my sister's costume was freaking awesome - she was a Wii remote. We found our friends, grabbed some beers, hit the dance floor for a little bit, and then we saw them.
Two girls, one in an afro wig, and one with a scarf tied up on her head, painted black from head to toe.
I repeat: Painted black from head to toe. With bright red lipstick to boot.
People still do shit like this in 2008.
At first, my sister and I were just shocked. I started to realize that the stares we got when we walked in the bar weren't because of our costumes. It was because we were the only two black people to enter the bar when there were two girls there in blackface.
We didn't know what to do. Our friends soon noticed the idiot girls and were quick to point out that they thought it was extremely messed up and offensive.
I knew I had choices, and I knew I had to tread carefully. I could have created a scene right then and there in front of everyone and given those two girls a complete dressing down. I could have gone up to one or both of them and said, "Hey, I love your costume. Let me guess...you're a bigot!" I could have just ignored it, and decided that saying something wouldn't be worth my time. But something clicked or snapped inside me.
My parents worked hard to provide the best possible life for my sister and I. We were raised to be proud of ourselves and the women that we have become. We were raised to understand where our ancestors had come from, all of them, from Africa to Europe to right here in America. We understand that people might look down on us simply because we're brown-skinned, but that does not, in any way, make us worth less than anyone else on this planet.
When I saw those two girls, I saw someone trying to mock my history. I saw someone trying to say that they still see non-white people - of any origin - as the wretched stereotypes that have developed over hundreds of years. I saw Aunt Jemima and Little Black Sambo and Stepin Fetchit. And I was pissed.
I saw those two girls headed to the bathroom, and I knew I had to do something. I told my sister that we were going to go talk to them. Not beat them up, not threaten them, just talk. And we followed them to the ladies' room.
And I stand true to my word. We didn't beat those sad little ignorant girls up. I started by launching into a tirade about how I didn't know where the girls thought they were coming from, but my sister and I were, are, and will be more successful in life than those two ever would be, and they were lucky that my sister and I were in the bar that night and not someone else because someone else might have kicked their asses or stabbed or shot them, but we're better than that and we're just telling them that what they did was fucked up and they better not ever think of doing something stupid like that ever again. My sister, realizing that I was losing it, jumped in and simply said that what those two girls did was extremely offensive, and it hurt us, and if they knew the history of racism in America, they would have realized that what they did was messed up.
The girls, of course, spewed the kind of crap that I expected them to say. "Oh, we weren't trying to offend anyone." "We looked for brown paint but we couldn't find any." "We're from Venezuela, and there's people of all different races there, were not racist."
And I said, "But there's no one in Venezuela who looks like that." Pointing to their blacked-over skin.
Other girls put in their two cents here and there, mostly attempting to defend the idiot girls. "So are you going to go yell at the mariachis and the girl dressed like a geisha too? That's racist too."
Au contraire.
Geisha actually existed and still do. There is a great and beautiful tradition behind geisha culture. Mariachis exist. They are a part of a long standing Mexican tradition and culture.
Blackface evolved as a way of marginalizing and ridiculing a race of people in order to make another race feel superior and justify the enslavement and later disenfranchisement of people of African descent.
As I realized that these sad, ignorant girls weren't ever really going to realize the magnitude of what they had done, one of our friends came in and said, "Ok, let it go." My sister wisely told her to come get us in ten minutes if we hadn't returned to the group. So we let it go. No pointed fingers, no wagging heads or hands on hips, no makeshift shanks or broken bottles brandished. We left the ladies room and went back to our friends and let it go.
The two girls actually stayed in the bar, too. They avoided eye contact at all costs, but they didn't go home.
The amazing thing in all of this is not that those two girls did not get injured that night. (There was a primal, reptilian, "oh no you di'nt" part of me that wanted to slap the black off of them. Literally.) The amazing thing is that in 2008, those two girls actually thought it would be a great idea to go out in public as "soul sisters," painted black from head to toe.
It's sad. And it hurts.
People talk about how we're starting to get to a post-racial era. People talk about color-blindness. I have news for you: race will always exist. We will never be truly colorblind. The true test of how our society has evolved will be when we get to a point where we can acknowledge and embrace our differences. When we get to a point to where we're willing to learn about each other's history and why we're so different. When we get to a point to where we truly celebrate differences instead of using those differences to tear this country apart. When that happens, if it ever happens, we'll be on the right track.
My sincere hope is that we're taking a step in that direction today in electing Barack Obama. I hope that the American people vote for him not because he is black, or vote against him because he is black, but that we vote for him because he's dedicated to bringing Americans together.
Say your prayers and cross your fingers, y'all. It's going to be a crazy night.
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