What’s good, Medium? Black womanhood edition
What does it mean to be a Black woman in 2016?
Last week, Dr. Tamika Cross was prevented from assisting a sick passenger on a flight because the flight attendant didn’t believe a Black woman could actually be a medical doctor. In 2016.
Over at the Honey & Rue Podcast, she recalls a similar incident where she was mistaken for the help:
Interestingly enough, reading about Dr. Cross’ experience on that flight took me back not to my time in Corporate America, but rather my to high school days when I attended an elite all-girls private school on the Upper East Side of Manhattan. Although this experience was in many ways a different world from what I was used to, I found myself fitting in relatively well with my classmates and friends; yes, we were for the most part from different backgrounds, but the racial and socio-economic diversity which existed back then (less so, now) and the overall openness of the students gave me a sense of belonging. So, when I visited one of my good friends at her nearby apartment and the doorman asked me whether I was the cleaning lady, this was a record scratch, to say the least.
Kara Crutcher over at Obvi, We're The Ladies opens up on being a “token Black girl” in a mostly white city and why representation matters for folks of color:
This is the first time I haven’t lived in a big city, AND I’ve resumed the position as the token black girl in my classrooms. I thought I knew what all of those things meant for me on the daily; what I’d have to deal with, how I’d feel. But small towns and the token black girl life have never felt comfortable to me, so that on top of the regular shit like making new friends, learning new streets and grocery stores, and being a student again has been a lot to deal with.
I’m so glad I didn’t go out because it’s been not only the classroom but also the nightlife that has forced me into situations that have perpetuated my discomfort. On Friday, I was so exhausted. As a social work student, I spend my days talking about oppression, and as a black woman with no real money to her name, I walk out of the classroom and live it. I’m tired as fuck and it’s only been three weeks since school has “officially” started. I stayed in because I couldn’t handle going out, having some drinks, and being at risk for drunken anxiety and discomfort because someone else has asked me to teach them how to twerk.
Around midnight, I was binging A Different World, possibly one of my favorite shows ever. I needed to watch something that felt like home. I needed to remember that I can be a person, not a black person, not a woman. A person who just is alive and does regular shit like the rest of the world.
Meanwhile, Uche Ukuku will never be a “lady” and that’s A-Ok with her:
Recently, I’ve come to the realization that I’ll never be a lady.
I don’t know if it’s because my legs start to quiver and my back starts to arch when I hear “It’s Cash Money Records taking over for the 99 and 2000” or because I can still recite every lyric on Ja Rule’s Pain is Love cd.
But something tells me I’m not cut out to be a lady, and I don’t think I mind.
