The Angry Black Woman is Not Angry
And If She Is, It’s Okay
If it’s true that American women are liberated but not empowered and that confidence means nothing without dignity, then much of the power and dignity of African-Americans are ensnared in the persona of “The Angry Black Woman.”
Not until we can be liberated from the fear of being seen as angry in the face of serious discourse and confrontation will we be empowered to rise up and step into the fullness of our humanity.
Dominance, persistence, passion, drive, even anger — all leadership traits we’ve come to expect and respect in white males: Ted Turner, Donald Trump (my favorite reverse gender and race example of an angry black woman — from the finger pointing, the pouched out lip, even the hair issues), Steve Jobs.
Anger + Steve Jobs = creativity.
Passion and pluck + Ted Turner = brilliant media mogul.
More than any black woman, these men get away with being the angry black woman to great societal benefit and personal advantage. Add these traits to Michelle Obama, Shonda Rhimes, Serena Williams and you get, “The Angry Black Woman” backlash that undermines her talent, authority, and achievement.
“The Angry Black Woman” is a stereotype most successful black women do their best to avoid, no matter that it can be nearly impossible to do so when taking a stand or showing up to be seen. All that is needed is a firm choice of words (minus smiley emoji and XO sentiments); a tilt of the head (or neck roll); or, an earnest face devoid of ABS(always be smiling) when discussing serious matters.
Not until “The Angry Black Woman” hot potato landed on me was I astounded at my failure to recognize the full and loathsome consequences of this label. I hadn’t planned to openly discuss the experience of being labeled in this way since much of my own life has been built around escaping any stereotype that could in any way identify me as an “Angry Black Woman.”
Striving to be remain above this criticism, I liked to think I could avoid this fate by managing myself (diction, pitch, pronounce your ‘r’s) and putting my best self (good manners, stand up straight and tall) and face forward (ABS: always be smiling). Being called, “The Angry Black Woman,” burned me deeply and awakened me to the indignity and the chains it’s wrapped around women, black women especially.
Beyond silencing the value, experiences, and ideas of a culture, race, and gender of people under the notion that something about our anger renders us incompetent, disreputable, irrelevant, obstructive, denying us access to an emotion that all human beings feel and experience robs black women of basic humanity.
And beyond feelings of insult, I am ashamed to recognize my own bias in my determination to distance myself from being seen as “some angry black woman.” A bias that does more to contribute to, rather than breakdown, the stigma and stereotype of “The Angry Black Woman.” In treading so lightly in my own life, I’ve been overly cautious with opportunities, submissive to certain points of view, and downright neglectful of and about many of my true feelings and experiences.
Having been groomed to get ahead by working twice as hard, it’s possible I’ve often been overly accepting and content with receiving half as much. Worse, I have erroneously viewed my presence as “the only one in the room” as proof of my own exceptionalism and esteem rather than seeing it for what it truly is: a symptom and result of something out of order and out of balance in the world. Both disastrously furthering the status quo and victimizing society as a whole.
I want the freedom to wear this label with dignity and grace and to embrace what it really means to be an angry black woman.
It’s interesting how we marvel and often raise up and admire the successful black men who attribute their success to being raised by a single black woman without considering the management, leadership, and skills in diplomacy she must have had to make this possible all on her own. Without considering all the things that must have indeed made her angry enough to do better for herself and her family.
Where anger may have been the catalyst, love was the reason.
Our world is missing out on the wealth of knowledge and experience of black women. Women who are brimming with passion and creativity. Women who know how to stretch a dollar. Women who know how to market and talk to other women. Women who understand what it is like to hold one’s head up high even when the soul is downcast. These are all leadership strengths in humility and logic that are valuable to business and society.
Mislabeling passion as anger, organizations suffer the void of good ideas and new ways to solve problems because they shut down rather than listen up. Women and black women especially remain silent across several industries: tech, finance, elected government and leadership, and oil and gas — the list goes on — not only because they don’t speak up, but because they aren’t even there to do so in the first place.
“The Angry Black Woman” stereotype creates barriers and biases that bar many doors to progress, social uplift, and economic advancement.
Black women make up only 3 percent of board seats at Fortune 500 companies. As I write this, Ursula Burns is the lone black female chief executive in all of Fortune 500 companies. And, Burns who describes herself as having a “big mouth,” with “patience not being one of my strengths,” is no wall flower. Nor can she be to effectively do her job.
Studies have shown that, “professional white men have been granted greater status and power when they’ve expressed anger rather than sadness.”
Black women must be empowered to have passion, pluck, candor and raise the stakes and their voices without people assuming they’ve lowered their IQ and the ability to be logical.
The Angry Black Woman is not angry. She’s passionate because there’s a lot at stake. She’s sensitive because she cares so deeply. She’s intense because there’s a lot more to be done.
Think where we would be in our society today without all “The Angry Black Women” who put progress over posture. Think of the women who have gone before us who saw a situation that made them angry and took a passionate and unwavering stand to create a better world.
For where anger may have been the catalyst, love was the reason.
When I’m tempted to back down, speak more softly, or to just grin and bear it, I think of them, and I give myself permission to rise. Thank you Harriet Tubman, Rosa Parks, Michelle Obama, Shonda Rhimes, Condoleeza Rice, Maya Angelou, Toni Morrison, Sojourner Truth, mother, my grandmothers, my great-grandmothers, and any woman who dares live a dream that will outlive her life. OPRAH. These are our sisters, our legacy, our legitimacy and our permission to be.
I want the freedom to be just like them, all of them. Because I see now when I was called, “The Angry Black Woman,” I shouldn’t have been insulted, but proud. Because where anger may have been the catalyst, love was the reason.
Excerpted from the ebook, The Freedom To Be The Angry Black Woman
Write a Response below. (Here’s how.)
