July (2016)

Khushbu Patel

If you are my friend and white, I am writing to you. If you are South Asian, raised primarily in white America, I am writing also to you. Don’t mistake my intent – there is no desire to divide for the sake of division. I was taught to write with an audience in mind; right now, I need to speak to you specifically. For even as millennials, one of the most progressive groups leading social shifts in our country, we vote differently along racial lines.

I write because I love you. Because I have shared parts of my life with you, and you have loved me back. I write because I love my black and brown students, friends, colleagues, teachers, writers, neighbors, and community members just as much.

I have been told that I can be dismissive and/or hurtful, in the process of talking about seeking justice. For that, I genuinely apologize because it brings me no joy or pride in doing so. What I do not apologize for, though, is making you feel uncomfortable while you read this, for bringing up something that bums you out, for being repetitive, relentless, for making you reflect in ways you did not ask for.

I was born into a brown body and I’m not sure why. I did not ask for this, either. I love this body. But it took many years of despising it, of ignoring it, of erasing it, to begin the journey of embracing it. There is an inarticulable complexity to Asian American acculturation. This is so deeply rooted that we would rather acculturate into whiteness, or adopt blackness than live in our own identities We are known to bleach our skin, to erase our accents, to integrate our children without teaching their history.

In not learning our history, we are deprived of the opportunity for self love. My friend told me an anecdote of being at a department store in the city and seeing this young white child running like mad through the clothing racks. This child, she imagined, will grow up never thinking twice about the consequences of that, and will enjoy the freedom of their body’s movement in a way she dreamed of for her own future black child. My dream is that my child will grow up loving themselves, their existence, in a way that wasn’t inherent for me. For any group that finds itself a minority in white America, even the act of self-love is radical. It certainly was for me. For being exemplars in this, I am grateful to the black women in my life, in my literature and media.

I have digressed, so let me get back to you. I regret my delay in speaking directly to you. I, too, have been moving through my own awareness-building, and so I can understand that what is being asked for in rectifying this country’s racial politics may run counter to your upbringing, your environment, the teachings of your skin.

That may make this process uncomfortable, but it is not valid grounds for turning away. Most of my life experiences have formed in the shadow of a blanketing white privilege – the one that comes from being upper-middle class South Asian, living in a white northeast suburb, attending a wealthy school district, going to bed with the certainty of college in my future. Our ascension in financial wealth – class – was a gateway to white America in a way that afforded me safety, stability, access.

And what was the cost?

I withstood being called the “little brown friend.” I laughed at racist remarks made by friends’ parents, biting my tongue at the expense of my parent’s dignity. I wore pants in the summer to hide my thick black hair; I wore bikinis to the beach when I never felt comfortable. I unlearned my religion, knowing far more about the origin of Easter than I did about the Mahabharata. I sat for meals at friends’ houses where they repeatedly forgot my vegetarianism; I’d go so far as to offer my own apology. I adopted die hard Beatles-fandom when I’d grown up only on my mom’s lullabies and my uncle singing Kishore Kumar. I allowed others to wear their shoes in my home, while my parents left theirs at the door.

I forgot my place in this world.

I shied away from sharing my father’s profession because even though our socioeconomic status brought us into the safety of manicured lawns, there is a special kind of fear reserved for colored bodies that makes you duck, not bow when you see an American flag waving above your neighbor’s door.

I sat as a token, the kind you could get on board with and invite to your Christmas parties. Until, of course, I learned to openly love myself and my fellow people of color. Until I demanded more of my peers, I demanded reflection and pressing into our humanity to overturn the injustices built into our structures, our socialization.

Then, I remembered who I was. I was never white. It was only a matter of time until I was found, my cloak of invisibility pulled off of a body it never belonged to. Perhaps I’ll learn at the end of my life that this skin was an opportunity to bring shared space between white and black. If that’s the case, I do not want to take my last breath knowing I sat on this satya.

So, in addition to bringing more depth to my breath, I am trying to understand the silence of yours. Even my soft voice feels loud in this part of town. Mine feels loud because it makes others uncomfortable, it makes friends, family members, acquaintences ask me to change the conversation. They hear me as the immigrant’s child who hangs on too deeply to her parent’s story, as a woman who has been overly educated on social issues, as a 20-something with too little experience of the real world.

So, I ask my peers in this letter – why, when your voice is met with so much more respect in this world than is mine, do you choose to retreat? Why, when you access spaces of immense impact that do not see you through a lens of fear, pity, or discomfort do you not bend the light toward us?

Now, because it is easy to be mistaken here, I want to explicitly aknowledge that there is no universality in the experience of privilege. Of course we have intersectional identities – you are more than your skin color, the same way I am. Your story deserves to be nuanced, to have its struggles genuinely acknowledged, and to be heard in the context of your life circumstance. But you are your skin color, also, the same way I am. When it comes to skin color, and the cultures threaded around it, whiteness comes with a beach tag of belongingness on the U.S. shores in a way no one else’s money can buy.

There are particular spectator sections reserved for white audiences that allow for the freedom of enjoying black basketball legends, moving your body to black beats, marathoning hit shows crafted by black visionaries, reading literature written by black geniuses, all while turning the television off when a black body pleads mercy on the asphalt. This is the privilege I speak of. The privilege of turning away, of not taking it as an attack on one’s own life, of being able to whisper “what a shame,” but not go to bed thinking “that could be me tomorrow.”

There lies the privilege of waking up and CHOOSING to speak of these “issues.” It is one I also share. But let us be honest with ourselves. These are not “issues” that plague us – they are our collective, historical demons that we either choose to confront and exorcise, or allow to live on in the language and values and silences we pass onto our children. Systemic racism is a reality, and it’s not going away if we aren’t educated about it. And when communities of color call it out, exposing a legacy of white empowerment that has kept it alive, they are not being “racist against whites.” To point out a historical reality is not racism, it is advocating for change.

We have an issue of class just as we do of race. We have washed our hands of slavery by sewing it into history books and big budget films, but the same hands still turn those pages. We have remained content letting vast pockets of deep, deep poverty persist in the country. The kind that can make one desperate to fund their family, the kind that determines a child’s safety based on neighborhood lines, those determined by manipulative housing policy. The kind that has a white, Catholic priest fighting unapologetically for justice in Chicago.

But I hope we do not overlook this as just a “black issue.” Our big, friendly NRA is just as silent on the 3,000 Hispanic individuals who are lost to gun violence each year. This is especially important for my South Asian brothers and sisters, the ones I hold so dear. Those of us who bought too-big houses on luscious green property and forgot that we had to demand the Immigration and Nationality Act of 1965 to be allowed entry here. And that our visa is conditional upon our compliance, our assimilation, our fulfilling of stereotypes, and our not being Sikh or Muslim. And, most painful to me is that despite how this country inhumanely mass-imprisoned Asian Americans, our model minority nomenclature was earned at the cost of leveraging anti-black sentiment.

We distance ourselves because the one-shade lighter skin buys us enough leverage to access better schools and stability. We continue the pattern of racism and exceptionalism that built America by demarcating ourselves from other minorities. If we could do it, why not them, after-all? Do we forget how India lives, despite 1947 and despite the abolition of caste? But there, also, we use class as a cushion to buffer against the gut wrenching poverty that claims our beautiful children. There, also, our much needed independence came at the cost of yet another border and millions of lives. So, there is little to validate our exceptionalism.

I have yet to hear a viable justification for the condition of the average black family in “post-racial” United States. I have listened to claims of this being an issue of welfare-dependency, of black-on-black crime, of over-sensitivity, of laziness, of drug habits, of broken family systems, of inherent violence, and so-on goes this painful list. I’ve listened and cannot find any way of rationally, realistically, with a decent conscience, believing it. In fact, according to THE Albert Einstein…

Many a sincere person will answer: “Our attitude towards Negroes is the result of unfavorable experiences which we have had by living side by side with Negroes in this country. They are not our equals in intelligence, sense of responsibility, reliability.”

I am firmly convinced that whoever believes this suffers from a fatal misconception. Your ancestors dragged these black people from their homes by force; and in the white man’s quest for wealth and an easy life they have been ruthlessly suppressed and exploited, degraded into slavery. The modern prejudice against Negroes is the result of the desire to maintain this unworthy condition (see here).”

These are the racialized politics we craft out of our own fear, or explanations we accept from governing bodies that help some of us sleep better at night. Because the truth is, we built entire economic systems from the labor of enslaved black families, and then offered abolition without rectifying our institutions. Without repaying stolen land and life. Without reckoning with our deepest spiritual transgressions.

Every time I write about a loss, I think, “I don’t have the words. What do I even say?” And still, I write. Because I think of my brothers and sisters who experience these losses more intimately, attend these funerals more regularly – in person or in their hearts – and they still write, still speak, still burn for our attention. So, if that is what stops you, I reveal to you: none of us have the words. We write out of our humanity, and ask you to access that same place that exists within yourself. Your language can be off, your education on the matters limited. Once you find in yourself the room to fight injustice, you grow your tools over time.

Let us think: how can we rearrange our lives, our consciousness, to encompass doing right by our peers? How can we press deeper into our own worlds, our individual trajectories, in a way that contributes also to a collective action? I’m not yearning for everyone to drop their life and take on social work. That’s quite misguided, I know better. I ask that we all be more reflective about the paths we’ve chosen, or have been chosen for, and use them consciously to right our collective wrongs. That we reflect on how our comforts, joys, safety have come at the expense of particular groups over and over and over again in history.

This does not imply that we have not earned our livelihoods and right to fantastic living. Remember, self love! However, this does mean that we stop thinking that life is handed out equitably, or that earning your way out of poverty is fair or possible. This also means that we hold an even greater responsibility to advocate for justice because we have the means, the resources, and stability to do so without serious risk to our lives.

I use this letter as an extension of my own hand, offering an invitation into deeper self-reflection and engagement with ourselves as active arbiters of the present and future. Each day that passes transitions another moment from present into history, and it’s incredible that we get to contribute to it. I offer my hand because my peers – from all around the world – have been gracious enough to offer me theirs. If you see it from that lens, it becomes apparent that infinite acts of grace have been offered by those repeatedly oppressed. These come in the form of their writing, their voices, their rage, their art, their resistance, their policy suggestions, their fellowship, their forgiveness. Each of these reminds me that there is more we can demand from ourselves in how we tolerate the conditions of others’ lives. Make no mistake – there is no enjoyment inherent in the act of fighting to prove your right to life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness. It is work that exhausts already expended beings. There is no comfort at the end of a day except your community and the knowledge that you fought on the right side of humanity. And even those are hard to hold onto some days.

However, we did not evolve into sophisticated social beings with moral consciousness without good reason. It is imperative we access that purpose now.

The unstoppable rise of an openly racist, Islamophobic, sexist, homophobic, authoritarian presidential nominee did not happen as an anomaly, and if all we are doing is expressing our surprise about this, it is not enough. This candidacy is the long overdue outcome of a national consciousness that has disguised fear and prejudice as patriotic values. The American values I’d like to see us embody instead are those that force us to confront and self-educate on what it means to live as an “other” in this country. In doing so, our education may liberate us from the fear that allows us to misrepresent, misunderstand, or turn our backs from others’ humanity.

One of my earliest favorite books was Walk Two Moons, titled after an American Indian proverb that loosely translates to, “don’t judge a man until you’ve walked two moons in his moccasins.” At the time, I was a little South Asian girl in an all-white school trying to figure out how the hell to put that into practice. I’m still the same South Asian girl in mostly white institutions continually trying to figure out how the hell to put this into practice. I invite you to do this with me –to enact the wisdom of this land’s indigenous forefathers and mothers – but please, do remember, we take off our shoes in this house.

The murder of Pakistan’s “Kim Kardashian” Qandeel Baloch should make us concerned for the way our society treats the real Kim Kardashian

Unfortunately, it was only upon the news of her death—her murder—that I learned of Qandeel Baloch. When I read that Qandeel Baloch was the “Kim Kardashian” of Pakistan (albeit, a description that may not be wholly fitting, according to many South Asians), I was both intrigued and frightened. Intrigued because…well…Kim Kardashian is a pop culture icon made famous for how she presents her body, embraces her sexuality, promotes vanity, etc. I wonder what that would look like, how it would be received, in a culture as conservative and as oppressive towards women as that of Pakistan. Frightened because of the realization that the shame and hate that Pakistanis imposed on Qandeel Baloch doesn’t stray too far from much of what we do to and say about Kim Kardashian for…showing her body, for making money from exposing her body, for being famous for her body, etc.

Kim Kardashian may not be facing silencing by death in our society, but there are countless ways in which our society seeks to silence her that speak to a desire for her social disappearance or social death. In the comments section of any article you’ll find going around about Kim K (and given that she is in the news pretty regularly—there are new ones coming up on the daily), you’ll find not only criticism, but truly hateful, vitriolic language—from people calling her a piece of trash and a whore to a complete “disgrace to society”. I’ve gotten so accustomed to the hate towards Kim that I find myself laughing along with my friends and peers when they go off on her. I myself have said some pretty regrettable things about her.

It took Qandeel Baloch’s death for me to stop and reconsider how I’m contributing to some of the same culture of slut shaming that resulted in Qandeel Baloch’s death. For those of you who may have missed the story, Qandeel Baloch was a 25 year old Pakistani social media star, actress and model who was strangled to her death by her own brother. Her brother claims that he is proud to have killed her because of the shame she brought to her family in an act that exists as part of a larger, widespread phenomenom throughout the Middle East and South Asia called “honor killings”.

The point I am trying to make is not that we should all celebrate Kim—or get behind everything she does. Like many, I find it unsettling that as a culture we spend so much time on her–that so much of what infiltrates our media is dull, vapid, un-intellectual content. What I am trying to say is that shaming her, slut-shaming her, is not only disgraceful but truly damaging to women.

One of the most recurring things I read and hear about Kim is that she is only famous because of her sex tape and that outside of that, she offers no value to society. Let’s think about how damaging that is for a second. Sure, it may not be the most meritorious achievement to be known for a sex tape. But her ex released the sex tape. And it was humiliating for Kim, as she’s stated in an interview from many years ago. She says, “My dad would have been mortified and I’m not happy about it.” If an ex of mine were ever to do the same to me, to say that I would be depressed is an understatement. The phenomenon of women committing suicide because of sex tapes is common enough and yet it doesn’t seem to deter us as a society from making the victims feel like they don’t deserve to have a voice–to live and flourish.

The other thing to consider is the sexism here. Male artists, for example, get to sing and rap about their sex lives, how many women they’ve slept with, etc. and no one says a thing. If anything, they’re praised and rewarded–considered more masculine, etc. For women, it is the opposite that is true. A woman’s worth and value, according to our society, is in being modest, covering up, being cautious about who you have sex with, how many people you have sex with, not being promiscuous, etc.

Is Kim, then, not a hero for claiming what happened to her, for triumphing in the face of it all, and continuing to expose her body–to be known for her revealing her body instead of shriveling up, going into hiding, or forcing herself to be a conventionally “good role model” simply to negate your negative criticisms?

For those that make the argument that we shouldn’t be paying attention to her because she offers no value to society, should we not be more critical of the larger institutions, incentives and cultural trends that bring about celebrities like Kim Kardashian? How could she be the sole person to blame for a supposed degradation of our society, culture and values?

And then there’s this idea to consider–does she truly offer no real value to society? Could she possibly be of some–really meaningful–value to society if only we dare to look at her from a different lens?

Shiveta Vaid, a law student at the University of Minnesota pursuing a degree in biomedical ethics, with an eye toward addressing social inequities, says “I’ve been thinking more and more that one of her contributions as being un-apologetically in control of her body and image – and using that control to expose more of herself (body and self/daily life) rather than use control to create a privacy cocoon. There is nothing wrong with the latter, but the former is subversive when we think about how other women known for being in control of their image (Angelina Jolie, Beyonce) control it to limit exposure rather than expand it….Like, not the fact of exposure, but the mechanics of it, using her autonomy to be visible instead of hidden as many other women do.

Another contribution I think she makes is the example of her business acumen, which I think people are remiss to ignore. Scores of young women and girls are watching a woman without any formal education in business, finance, management, etc., succeed in an old boy’s club. She did have the extreme privilege of being born into the family she has, but it takes some serious chops to build upon what she inherited.”

It’s easy for us to point to outwardly oppressive societies like Pakistan. It’s difficult for us to look inward and examine how many of our own norms might also be damaging to women. But we need to do it.


Beyonce is Unbelievable

“She isn’t real,” one of my friends said to me after watching Lemonade. The words and the idea have been a defining, consistent and consensual reaction to Beyoncé’s existence, artistry, and success for as long as I can remember. Whether it’s her die-hard fans who put her on a pedestal that seems to exist outside of this Earth’s gravitational field and who use the expression as a way of saying that her queendom is too big and too good for us mere mortals—for this world, or her harshest critics who think that she and her success are a product of our capitalist, materialistic, celebrity-worshipping culture in which her ‘flawless’ appearance and world are explained by her top-notch make-up artists, Photoshop, personal trainers and personal chefs who can make vegan meals taste like steak and potatos, there is an air of incredulousness, ranging from ethereal to not real at all, that surrounds Beyoncé. And it makes us all look.

With Lemonade, the visual album released on HBO this Saturday, Beyoncé continues in her tradition of inspiring disbelief among the millions who watch and wonder. And yet this time, it is for very different reasons.

Lemonade shows sides of Beyoncé that we rarely get to see and in ways that we’ve rarely or never seen—broken, heartbroken, suicidal, doubtful, apathetic, vengeful, angry, aggressive, vulgar, jealous. Some of these descriptions are more fitting for the likes of Azealia Banks, who, in my opinion, has served as the pop cultural foil to Beyoncé. Banks is known for her harsh, polarizing tirades on topics such as cultural appropriation, while Beyoncé is known to stay far away from divisive, heavy subjects relating to race relations in our country. Hell, Beyoncé is known for not saying anything at all about anything at all. She goes through stretches of years of giving no public interviews. Her edges usually only come out in her music, and in the form of her alter ego Sasha Fierce.

But her silence has come at a cost.

In recent years, the Carters have been slammed by the African American community for what many would call their eerie silence and indifference on racial injustice in our country. And I agreed with this criticism. I had accepted that their almost unprecedented wealth and fame had put them out touch with the experiences of most black people in the country.

One of the groups of people on the frontlines of racial injustice that are rarely at the forefront of our collective national concern are black women. The women who are losing their sons to police brutality. Who are at effect to police brutality themselves. Who are objectified and overly sexualized in pop culture and media. Who are, as Beyoncé quotes Malcom X in Lemonade, “The most disrespected [people] in America…The most unprotected [people] in America…The most neglected [people] in America…” Who sometimes look to the pioneering black women in our country who have center stage. There’s Oprah. There’s Michelle Obama. There’s Beyoncé. To name a few. Each of these public figures have reminded us, either directly or indirectly, that you can have immense success, respect and fame in America despite being born into your adverse or average circumstances—in this case, being born a black woman in America.

You can have a voiceif you earn the right platform.

But what does it take to get that platform? At least, what did it take during Beyoncé’s formative years? Could she really have stayed completely true and exclusive to her Southern roots and black heritage and gained the platform and mass-appeal that she has today? Could she have been as raw and unfiltered as Azealia Banks to achieve the status she has today?

I’d argue no.

She had to distance herself from certain narratives. Malcolm Gladwell says in a speech at the 2013 New Yorker Festival on the topic of “Tokens, Pariahs and Pioneers” that “If you’re an outsider and you’re accepted, in part, by the majority, your identity has to change and that’s a complex process. That certain parts of your identity may have been tied up in being excluded. What’s interesting, for example, is if you talk to older African Americans who remember segregation…even though they are 100% happy that the days of segregation are over, they will also tell you that there were aspects of being excluded that were positive. There was a sense of community, a sense of coherence. ..When we’re gaining something large, we’re sometimes losing something specific.”

So what exactly has Beyoncé been known to embrace at the expense of other black women? What has distanced her? What is the something specific that has been lost in her being a black woman as an extension of a larger group?

I think that on a subconscious level her fame and success have reinforced the “despite it all” narrative. When Oprah, for example, reminds us that she was able to achieve such success despite being born “a [poor] colored girl in the backwoods of Mississippi,” one of the implicit messages communicated to us is that if she was able to succeed despite such overwhelming adversity—and by such a large margin at that—what is the excuse for everyone else? Do we lack work ethic? Values? Are we just bitter and angry? Beyoncé’s role has had a similar effect. If Beyoncé can have it all—an iconic career, half a billion dollars, a beautiful marriage, a beautiful child and a perfect body after having a child, what is stopping you? Why are other black women and women at large so far from this ideal?

Linked to this is the second point I want to make, which centers around the phenomenon of more direct and deliberate social distancing. Malcolm Gladwell in his speech “Token, Pariahs, and Pioneers” explains that “Sometimes when the door opens, it opens for everybody else. Sometimes when the door opens, it gets shut.” Let me explain.

Beyoncé has been an exception to detrimental narratives and stereotypes of black women in our country. And I’m not sure it has been wholly coincidental. Gladwell says, “One of the things that you see with tokens is that their status is so precarious that in order to maintain it, they feel compelled to adapt to the values of the majority group. So you get the phenomenon of “acting white” if you’re one of the first black people through the door. Or women who feel compelled to masculinize their behavior when they enter all male professions…that actually plays into the dynamics that I’m talking about because it’s another way not only for you not to be seen for who you are, you can’t be who you are. You’re forced to kind of take on another role. And of course the person playing…the majority then, after forcing you to act like them, will judge you even more harshly because you’re not gonna be as good as being them.”

Specifically, Beyoncé has been the antithesis of the detrimental Angry Black Woman narrative. Beyoncé is always smiling. She has climbed up by being pleasant, kind, working harder than anyone we know. In Lemonade, she even says in reference to her husband being distant that she “…tried to change. Close [her] mouth more. Tried to be softer. Prettier. Less awake.” I believe this is also a metaphor in the context of a politically charged album—being less ‘woke’ to the racial distress that plagues our country. The extent to which she has done this because it’s inherent to her nature versus how much she had to force these qualities to be accepted by the larger group, in my opinion, is something worth considering.

Why? Because with Lemonade, as she reaches yet another peak in her career, Beyoncé shows us that much of who she is and how she feels is in fact angry and frustrated. Maybe the qualities that constitute what it means to be a respectable black woman—one that is cooperative, agreeable, all too kind all too often are criterion set by the majority—the non-black majority. It may be easier for white folks to do these things and to seek out the self-help section of Barnes and Noble during difficult times because they just don’t have the same fire burning in them—and burning them.

More than simply expressing her anger, Beyoncé actually embraces the corrosive Angry Black Woman narrative. Beyoncé is no longer saying that your relationship with your man will be okay if you just put on your Freakum Dress and heels. That even civility in leaving someone who has mistreated you isn’t required. In her song “Don’t Hurt Yourself” she says, “Who the fuck do you think I am? You ain’t married to no average bitch boy, you can watch my fat ass twist boy, as I bounce to the next dick boy. And keep your money, I got my own…Motivate your ass…Call me Malcolm X…Fuck you hater.” Or that your relationship with your country will be okay if you hustle harder to prove your worth as her older iconic songs “Diva” and “Upgrade U” remind us. In “Hold Up,” Beyoncé is the same fierce high-heel and dress wearing diva we know and love, but she’s also busting through car windows with a bat…that says “hot sauce” on it. Other parts of the film show her in cornrows and Yoruba paint and defiantly sitting on porch steps with her sisterhood.

Up until now, we thought Beyoncé had everything. And she might. But in Lemonade she so intensely shows us the anger and darkness that also explain her. Maybe she doesn’t exist in some immortal stratosphere of the universe. Maybe she is just one of us, at least in her pain. In her feelings of brokenness (*GASP*). Despite having attained all the measures of success, she still feels her man and her country aren’t treating her right and that she deserves more, but not more in the way of material things as her song “6 inch” reveals—“She works for the money from the start to the finish..Stacking money money everywhere she goes…She grinds day and night…[but]…She’s too smart to crave material things”. She’s not working for material success, but something else—something more. When will she get it? Why hasn’t she gotten it yet?

In her particularly politically charged song “Formation” (in which she sits atop a drowning cop car), she says, “Earned all this money but they never take the country off me.” This line, in the context of the song, reinforces my belief about Beyoncé’s previously more aggressive business-like, mass-appeal approach to her craft than a free-spirited, wholly artistic one in the way we might recognize in her little sister Solange. She’s worked incredibly hard to arrive at where she is. She and Jay-Z have a combined net worth of one billion dollars. And yet she can’t seem to escape being scrutinized through a racial lens—whether its people perceiving her as “acting white” or being silent on matters of police brutality or setting an unrealistic image that women are simply unable to attain. She can earn a billion more dollars, but she will always be defined in the context in which she lives and exists—which is not as much of a post-racial America as it is the “New Jim Crow”. And she will always be understood in the context of her black female body. The images of the mothers of Trayvon Martin, Eric Garner and Michael Brown holding pictures of their respective sons who they lost to senseless police brutality is one of the most chilling moments in the film.

Some have even gone to say that Beyoncé breaking from her previous demeanor so much and so suddenly is so shock inducing that it might just be a master marketing ploy. That there is no–was no–trouble in her marriage. Again, her emotions are pinned as inauthentic (She isn’t real). But for the fans who believe her hurt and brokenness (regardless of whether or not Jay-Z actually cheated) and for those who, in the least, appreciate Lemonade as a standalone piece of work, the disbelief comes from Beyoncé’s willingness to embrace all too real emotions and narratives—ones that have been tossed under the national rug with the hopes that they’ll go away if we ignore them long enough. Beyoncé seems to embrace the ‘Angry Black Woman’ narrative not only because she is angry, but because she thinks she and other black women have real reasons to be angry. What I get from Lemonade is that Beyoncé is a hell of a lot stronger than I thought, and because she embraces her vulnerabilities. We are all a lot more whole when we acknowledge the darker sides to our stories than we are in simply wishing them away.


Interview with Alford A. Young, Author of “The Minds of Marginalized Black Men”

Alford Young is a professor of sociology at the University of Michigan and an expert on the life experience of inner-city African-American men. He is also chair of the department of sociology at Michigan. His 2006 book, The Minds of Marginalized Black Men: Making Sense of Mobility, Opportunity, and Future Life Chances, is based on several dozen interviews in Chicago of young men in one of the most segregated parts of the city.

I first came across your book–the one we’re discussing today–through my graduate coursework in sociology and GWU. It really struck me at the time because the narrative of the subject of your ethnographic work really departs from many other ethnographies that I’ve read on the subject of the urban African American male. On page 10, you write, “The Minds of Marginalized Black Men explores the capacity of young black men to think critically and creatively about the ways in which mobility and opportunity operate in American society, showing how they situate their own lives within the broader social and economic forces that surround them. As the title suggests, rather than privilege the actions and behaviors of these men, this book seeks to place their minds at center stage. By doing so, it is my aim to break from the standard way of assessing how people see themselves in regard to the world around them. In both public policy and most scholarship on urban life, that standard approach has been to formulate a picture of what individuals think based solely on their actions. Indeed, urban ethnography, the branch of sociology that is primarily committed to observing and documenting behavior in public and private settings, has played a crucial role in sustaining the notion that what people think can be derived from what they do. Ethnography has sustained the notion that what people do with their family members, friends, and associates conveys how they make meaning of themselves, other people, and varied aspects of the social world. The flaw in this approach is that one’s behavior is not a transparent reflection of one’s underlying thoughts. For example, the fact that an individual is chronically unemployed and does not go to work on a regular basis (his behavior) tells us nothing about the complexity of his thoughts on the intricacies of the modern labor markets (his thoughts).”

What is the dominant narrative of the urban African American male that you are aiming to be critical of or depart from in your text?

Professor Young:
My concern is that there is too direct a connection made between the behaviors of individuals and their value orientation. And by implication too direct a connection between a behavior and the ability for people to define what kind of cultural agents they are. I think that there’s more to understanding the cultural orientation of people (and in the case of this work, black men) than simply looking at behaviors. And some of what serves then as behavior is due to a set of factors, properties, circumstances that you can only interrogate through interviewing. So the simple way of putting it is that black men have historically been casted as having improper value orientations or flawed value systems. And the evidence has been to look at how they behave. And I’m calling for a more complicated vision of cultural dynamics that involves having people pay attention to what men think about social reality and the foundation of them making claims about who they are as cultural agents rather than simply saying “we can determine all they think from how they behave”.

Okay, sure. So one of the more notable topics in your work is that of the thought process that the subjects of your study internalize as it relates to employment. Could you talk about your findings with regards to this particular topic?

Professor Young: In that particular case, I’m struck by a larger conversation that has to do with whether we need to provide incentives to get black men to either secure better employment… or whether there should be sanctioning systems in place. And what I’m intrigued by is how some men’s understanding of the workplace…was actually so different than what actually happens in many mainstream work environments. And so my concern is that the vision of these men often assumes that they think about work the way people who are going to work everyday do. And I recall hearing men talk about conflicts they had with employers or other employees in jobs that they had in the short term that surfaced because they had an imagination of what should go on at work that didn’t have any bearing that what went on at work, so some men who didn’t understand that in certain business setting in certain work settings the boss the manager the employer…is going to privilege people that he or she knows better or in some cases, that he or she is related to over other employees. And a good number of men I’ve researched and engaged with over time didn’t get that. And they also didn’t get how certain kind of everyday dynamics…how they dress…how they talk…the kind of ways in which they manage their bodies in work settings could work against them in these places, so for me it was important to begin to ask them…about what they understood to be the dynamics that were in place…whether they showed a distinction in how they talked to colleagues, whether they understood mobility at work, moving from position to position. And for men who didn’t have a work history, the inability to talk about any of those dynamics unfolded, which is a really shocking comparison to people who do have work histories. And so again for me the point was not to say these men don’t value work or they don’t wanna work or they don’t care to do the right thing. Some of them just don’t know.

This sort of gets to the term the “culture of poverty” that’s been thrown around in current events as it relates to urban poverty. I’m thinking of Congressman Paul Ryan’s statements [from a couple years ago] that…engaged the public with this whole debate. You got to the point about work ethic and value as it relates to work and the narrative that’s imposed on those who aren’t working or who aren’t successful in navigating the workplace as we understand it, there’s this label of “culture of poverty” that’s imposed on these individuals that argues that the behaviors and values of the poor are what lead to this self perpetuating world of dependence.

Professor Young:
And my point is simply that belief systems matter critically…it’s not just values. That you have to have some understanding of the inner dynamics of an organization, a workplace, a social institution, whatever sphere of life you occupy, you have to have some level of competence of what goes on there and engage it properly. And that’s aside from what your value orientation is. Even around work, there’s a culture of poverty discussion around flawed values. If you don’t understand what’s going on, it’s going to be hard for you. And the same thing goes for higher ed…people who are the 3rd and 4th generation in their family to go to college have a clue above and beyond first generation attendees. It doesn’t mean first generation college attendees don’t value college, it means that their sense of understanding is different. They may do things, say things and experience things that cause them greater problems and in some cases cause them to withdraw from college.

You also talk extensively about the term habitus. Could you explain what you mean by habitus?

Professor Young:
I regard habitus to be the amalgamation of conscious and semi-conscious dimensions of thought and action so that it is possible for us to construct an argument and construct a defense, make a claim or challenge to somebody. But there are aspects of our articulations that are so common [and] so familiar to us, that we may not have the creative capacity to interrogate them in and of themselves. It becomes clear to a researcher, who would be interviewing 10, 20, 30, 50 men over a period of time that they tend to say certain things or respond in certain ways that reflect where they stand in social life, whether its unemployed men or men who are incarcerated. Habitus of action has to do with conscious and unconscious dimensions of behavior. Why do we stop at a traffic light when there are no cars coming, right? We don’t question, we just do that. We can translate that into certain black men navigating communities, right? How they look at people, how they make judgements, how to determine who to approach, how to approach…you don’t always consciously consider that, right? Those are ingrained responses to the environment you’re in.

Sure. So would you say, and let me try to frame this as best as I can, that the types of habitus that render certain norms and institutions valid for those who are successfully able to navigate the world of work and school and relationships, depart from the habitus of the community or individuals you were looking at in the near East Side of Chicago.

Professor Young:
The habitus that captures their lives doesn’t match well with the social situations around work around school that they encounter.

So one example that really struck me in your book was your discussion of the world of gangs. That, albeit an extreme example, presents itself as an interesting case study because you talk about a sense of social isolation versus social inclusion as it relates to gang culture and gang membership– that in it’s own way, it’s…legitimate or renders certain decision making legitimate and valid.

Professor Young:
So for the men that I deal with that are gang members this sense that you may have to respond violently around certain encounters, it’s for no other reason than to diminish the possibility that you’ll be subjected to violence later on. To protect yourself in the moment, but not just in the moment, but because what you do in the moment determines how people will respond in the next week, the next day, the next month, that goes on. In terms of how you assess people—who you determine as a friend, versus who is an associate versus who is a distant presence in your community. Those decisions are carefully made in ways in which others don’t even have to think about so much because you assess people as possibly being connected to the unfolding of violence around you or the inflicting of violence upon you. Those are the dynamics that affect gangs and these men. Other factors that I didn’t talk about a whole lot, but are critically important as well, is that membership of gangs subjects some of these men to putting their bodies on the line for several gang members. That’s…a heroic act…it involves a certain kind of courageous, emotional, existential commitment that a lot of folks don’t have and it changes then the oriented outlook of how these men behave—what does it mean to participate in a shootout? Not many people would decide to do that, right? That shapes these men’s sense of how they relate to each other. So there are some negative consequences. There are some strong humanistic ties.

On page 45, you connect chronic unemployment to the ever-present possibility of violence for some of these men as a means of having something to organize around.

Professor Young:
Right. Organizing your life in that way situates you in ways that may not necessarily connect to how you would organize yourself in school or in the world. Violence may not be occurring everyday, but there’s a perception that it could, which means that you navigate the streets in a very different way than in which you would navigate the streets of a university campus or the workplace. You can’t just abandon that as you move across different spaces.

Tied to this is the unique interpretation of different types of capital—human, financial, and cultural capital. What are some specific examples of how the interpretation of capital [in the studied communities] departed from the sort of mainstream—more conventional—interpretations of it.

Professor Young:
I mean for them to have the same meaning across various spaces and places, but what’s accumulated may be different. For example…if you have promoted a image of yourself as a tough person in the community and someone that shouldn’t be approached or violated, that’s a strong degree of human capital in that community, right? People won’t bother you. That same kind of imagery, though, would cause great threat to an employer. Or it might make you a problematic individual in the school. So the very human capital that allows you to survive the neighborhood can deny you access or comfort in the workplace or the school. That’s what I mean.

That’s a very, very interesting point. And looking at the flip side, you give the example of Lester, whose family placed a particularly strong emphasis on education and church-going. Families and mentorship like his, having a strained situation, where on the one hand you’re trying to assimilate into a world that could render you more opportunities in the long-term sense, are themselves, on the other hand, very problematic to defending yourself or protecting yourself in the more spatially, temporally immediate sense.

Professor Young:
Right, right, right.

So one of the main points that I found very interesting in your work is this emphasis on the men that you were looking at and speaking with as being deeply critical thinkers of the world in which they were engaged.

Professor Young:
Yeah, critical in that they get how to navigate the spaces that are most familiar to them. They are in many ways lost in knowing how to navigate the workplace or certain schooling environments and neighborhood unlike their own. But I don’t want the fact that some of these men who may be perceived to be problematic employees or bad citizens in a schooling environment to mean that they’re stupid or incapable of critical reflection—they’ve figured out how to survive their communities. They think about it, they make sense of it. Even men who have engaged in violent activities will raise very strong normative claims about what they did. I have men who say to me, “I probably shouldn’t have gone to jail for a, b, and c but here’s why I did it and here’s why I’d do it again”. That doesn’t mean they lack a sense of normative orientation. It means they have thought about what needs to be done at a point in time to achieve a certain outcome. I don’t mean to celebrate these guys I mean they just have a critical lens about them, right?

I think it’s interesting—stating the concept of mobility and status—and how certain socially reprehensible actions (violent action) actually helps certain individuals attain a higher social status or sense of upward mobility in their respective communities. This happens despite having an awareness that the larger, mainstream American community might frown upon the particular actions that render them sort of a higher standing in the more immediate communities. In speaking with the men that you spoke with, did you observe that tension of awareness—of knowing one thing but having to do another?

Professor Young:
Oh yeah, some of it was just being denied access to act upon that which you learned or figured out in other contexts or unique experiences. There were some men that just caught bad breaks—either got arrested or things happen. So part of what I’m trying to say is the ability to recognize and make sense of and plan for navigating certain barriers and obstacles may not play out given other things that happen, but that you know there are also another set of men who have figured some kind of strategy of navigation that if put in another place that might be effective for them. If some of these guys were working in the military. Or for some guys, through sports. They have access to other worlds and opportunities. The fundamental point I’m trying to get at in that part of the discussion is that it’s not so much the perceptions of barriers or obstacles that matter, but more-so whether people can configure someway in engaging, minimizing or avoiding them and there are some men that have figured them out. Some guys become gang leaders because they’ve figured out how to employ the capital in the community, whether they’re bigger, stronger, or have better street sense or daring, whatever it is that enables them to maneuver in that place. Others have used those opportunities to get some minimal foothold in the world of work and work opportunity and then think, alright, I can think now about how to deal with a boss a manager. So the extent to which they’ve figured out what is stacked up against them and how they’re going to deal with that, seems to matter in my research more than feeling that there are just obstacles—there’s got to be a road map in place. And some of that road map comes out of their ability to employ the capital they’ve accumulated, in different settings.

You, specifically, were looking at the Henry Horner Homes and the ABLA Projects. What are some of the unique attributes of that particular community or those housing projects that stood out to you in comparison to other contexts that you could have looked at?

Professor Young:
The main thing was that both housing developments are situated in pretty broad and wide impoverished communities. So the sense that you don’t have a half an hour walk in even a working class neighborhood, but for miles in many directions, for much of these housing developments, they are very well situated in poor communities, such that you have a hard time accessing anything other than poor folks. You’ve got to go far to get away. It struck me how cemented how many of these men were in almost entirely black, entirely poor places…large numbers of people not working, large numbers of people struggling. And I thought that was unique in comparison to other cities, where poor neighborhood might be interspersed with more working class, middle class neighborhoods. These folks are really steeped in poverty in the geographic sense.

That’s really interesting because I’m thinking about one of the contexts I’ve been exposed to which is in Washington, DC where the public transportation, although expensive and although it isolates many low income communities from other areas—spatially, geographically, there is some degree of immediate access to the world outside.

Professor Young:
I think having some visible exposure to another kind of people is critical. Even if you don’t engage them substantively, there’s something important about just having access of a physical notion of who other people are and how they live. Talking about DC, as you mentioned…[you have] Bethesda, Maryland, where it seems like every other family has got a parent or two that’s a research scientist. What does that mean for understanding what kinds of choices or options are out there, right? You have kids at age of 10 that can talk about 8 or 9 different types of scientific research. The guys in my neighborhood…scientific research? They’ve never heard of such a thing at that age. Just where you are and the kinds of folks you’re exposed to just means so much.

You talk about the 1960s as being crucial in formulating this sort of depiction of a concrete black urban culture lower class subculture on page 22. What particular trends or events do you mean to point to?

Professor Young: I’m referring to the way in which the culture of poverty conversation in academia seemed to firmly connect to domestic policy initiatives around poverty in America, so both communities shared this investment in having to defeat the culture of poverty, [and] in particular the notion that culture itself reinforces poverty…but by the late 1960s, there was an argument shared by researchers and policymakers alike that culture itself could be a powerful force in shaping poverty. And I wanted to say that I do recognize culture as a powerful force but there is so much more to debate on culture that needs to be had …and in particular this emphasis on values, that “the way to defeat the culture of poverty is we change the values of the people.” I’ve never been convinced that values have been out of whack. I think what’s out of whack is the inability to understand how to navigate spaces and places.

So we’ve touched briefly upon the world of academia, public policy, media…just something worthy of mentioning in my opinion is popular culture and how that further polarizes or reinforces certain stereotypes.

Professor Young:
There are people that I encounter that spend little time in cities and not have access to poor neighborhoods that can tell you with detail and precision what an underclass is and who those folks are. So the reading of this population is so powerful that one of the problems of their ideas is that folks have already made judgements about them before encountering them and very strong judgements. People aren’t just simply curious or questioning. [They think, “These kind of men are like a, b, and c” before encountering them and that has been a powerful effect of media. Images are disseminated at such a rapid rate. You could, through a computer screen, be in a poor neighborhood in so many ways. It creates this false sense of intimate connection.

The way we’re talking about it even now seems to speak to the more negative images we have of urban poverty. Especially in looking at the intersection of popular culture, media and politics. Media also seems to perpetuate this notion that “If you just work hard enough that you’ll end up like Oprah or Jay Z.”

Professor Young:
Right, right, right.

It’s interesting because, you know, speaking to those people who have never had contact with the communities that they have such strong opinions about, there’s this assumption that if you just work hard enough…

Professor Young:
On the one hand, it’s very hard for anybody to admit to being structurally privileged. The justification many of us make for ourselves is we just outworked a bunch of other folks. So consequently the argument made about those that didn’t get ahead is that “you all need to work just a little harder”. It’s a very individualistic kind of focus in how we talk about these things.

What’s very interesting to me in what you just said is that the focal point in this discourse is defending oneself, right? To justify my positioning in society I have to make assumptions about the other, or impose a label or judgment on the other to defend my own accomplishments or standing or what have you.

Professor Young:
Right, right.

N: It’s very interesting. One more thing before I try to conclude our interview—your own background. In the initial part of the book you talk about your own experience in growing up in East Harlem in New York and how that has ingrained in you “a lifelong preoccupation” with the situation of poor black men. What specifically about your experience makes your curious/sympathetic about this subject matter?

Professor Young:
Almost everything. I thought very seriously from a young age that I was positioned to move very differently than a lot of different folks I grew up with in part because very early on I began in Catholic school where I had a quality of education that was so far superior than many of the guys I grew up with. I knew I was experiencing different things and that I was in places that they weren’t in. And there was always some work to do to try to relate to them in certain ways but also to be clear that I wasn’t like them in a lot of ways. My father was college educated, many of my friends back home didn’t grow up with fathers in their home. If they were at home, they weren’t college educated. I was raised with this sense of stark contrast yet points of very strong connection, whether it was through sports, or through common interests or through…I liked talking to guys in barber shops. There were certain things that made sense to me that didn’t always make sense to the people that I went to school with or that I went to college with. When the 80s media saturation of the underclass began to happen I was like “wow, this doesn’t capture all of the men I grew up with.” There are some guys on a given day that look like some of these stories in the media, but there’s something else going on here. There’s so much more to them than that…

the incremental, cumulative environmental racism of washington, dc; our concern shouldn’t stop at Flint’s shock-inducing water crisis

Though still shock-worthy, the water crisis in Flint, Michigan is not news to most Americans. What’s more is that it’s no longer news to much of the world. Once uncovered, the actions of Rick Snyder, Flint’s Republican Governor, were understood as wholly, overwhelmingly corrupt, greedy, immoral.

To refresh your memory of the unsettling details, “…Rick Snyder nullified the free elections in Flint, deposed the mayor and city council, then appointed his own man to run the city.” In addition, “to save money, they decided to unhook the people of Flint from their fresh water drinking source, Lake Huron, and instead, make the public drink from the toxic Flint River.”

Each one of the residents of Flint, which includes 9,000 children, has been exposed to this toxic water, which includes levels of lead that have caused irreversible brain damage amongst many. There are a number of other, equally harmful, toxins in Flint’s water and countless other diseases that have resulted from it, such as Legionnaires Disease. Eighty-seven people have already been diagnosed with it, and at least 10 have died from it.

The events that transpired in Flint–the (at best, indifferent and at worst, racist) political leadership that caused the mass dispersion of toxic water as well as the overwhelming effects of the consumption and use of the water–in the form of a sudden, stark increase in related health problems in Flint residents, is what makes this particular case of environmental injustice so news worthy. There are countless cases of environmental injustice, in the form of environmental racism (that Flint’s leadership is being accused of), that go unnoticed and unreported because, I would argue, the causes and effects are not as easy to pinpoint–to attribute to a single individual or administration.

In fact, as in the case with Washington, DC, the causes and effects of environmental racism are comparatively incremental, less concentrated and extended over a greater period of time and thus more difficult to vilify or sympathize with.

One of the reasons that we see so much outrage over the Flint water crisis is that the residents harmed by the toxic water of the Flint River were the most vulnerable–the most low income, and least politically influential. In addition, according to the United States Census Bureau, more than half of the residents of Flint are Black (56%). Last week, Governor Snyder released 247 pages worth of emails relating to Flint’s water crisis. Though the emails themselves make no mention of race, they do…”view things through a political prism, treating some complaints from community representatives as political grandstanding.

In DC, too, it is predominantly and disproportionately low income, Black communities that live at effect to health-endangering environmental conditions. One of the most notable ways in which we see this is through the locations of ‘transfer stations’ throughout the city–a city whose Black-White racial segregation is historically one of the worst in the nation.

What’s the big deal about transfer stations, you ask? Transfer stations exist to move waste from small collection trucks into big trucks for longer-distance hauling. In addition to nuisances like odors, “vectors” (seagulls, rats), and trucks (and their diesel exhaust), transfer stations are also a source of airborne mercury pollution from sources such as broken fluorescent bulbs.

DC’s Department of Public Works (DPW) runs two large transfer stations, in Black communities at Fort Totten and Benning Road. In addition, 15 private transfer stations cropped up in recent years. While most of these private transfer stations have been forced to close because of their disregard for the respective communities, three remain. These three stations are all clustered in Ward 5, in the adjacent black residential neighborhoods of Brentwood and Langdon.

Another factor that explains our disgust over Flint’s water crisis is the frequency and intensity of the resulting health damages over such a concentrated period of time. Though this would certainly fall under the category of the sort of emergency that requires immediate, national-level attention, it is important to note that it is equally damaging to think that incidences in which fewer, less imminent health crises in low-income communities of color are somehow the result of much less corrosive policy.

According to Robin E. Johnson, MD, MPH, author of “Cancer Disparities: An Environmental Justice Issue for Policy Makers”, “Policy makers must address the disparities in the rates of cancers affecting people of color, ethnic minority, and low-income populations…[as]…there is an expanding body of scientific evidence showing the relationship between environmental toxicants and cancer.” He states that “low-income populations and people of color have disproportionately high rates of cancers and are more likely to die or be diagnosed at advanced stages of disease.”

For example, the African-American population has the highest overall rate of cancer and lowest 5-year survival rate cancers. Moreover, African-American men have the highest rate of prostate cancer, and African-American women have the highest mortality rate for breast cancer.

Many of the landfills and incinerators throughout DC are also known to be positioned near prisons and prison communities. Lorton, Virginia was home to DC’s prisons from 1910 until 2001. The youth prison, added to the complex in 1960, is near to the county’s landfill that was located there in 1973. In the early 1980s, another landfill, a private one for construction and demolition waste, opened on the other side of the prison. Just a few years after the youth prison opened, a group of over 50 black Muslim youth inmates rioted, set fires, broke windows and damaged the chapel. In 1985, methane migrating from the county’s landfill entered the plumbing system, causing blasts that killed one inmate and critically burned another, forcing the prison to be quickly evacuated. Inmates were returned after several months, once gas vents were installed. Here, we can see discriminatory policy over the course of many decades–that which culminated incrementally.

Even when not at explosive levels, exposure to the toxins in landfill gas has been found to cause 4-fold increases in bladder cancer and leukemia incidence in women.

Though there is much evidence that points to the pervasiveness of discriminatory environmental policy, there has not been enough–or much at all–in the name of environmental justice–focusing on how the burdens of environmental harms and regulations are allocated among individuals and groups within our society.

According to an analysis by the Center for Public Integrity, “Ninety-five percent of the time, communities of color living in the shadows of polluters find their claims of civil-rights violations denied by the Environmental Protection Agency.”

In addition, in its 22-year history of processing environmental discrimination complaints, the EPA’s Office of Civil Rights has reviewed nearly 300 complaints filed by minority communities. It has never once made a formal finding of a civil-rights violation.

What can you do?

1. Learn more about the causes and effects of environmental racism
– Reccommendation: “Dumping in Dixie: Race, Class, and Environmental Quality” by Robert D. Bullard explains that African American communities are targeted by polluting industries because of their “economic and political vulnerability… and are likely to suffer greater risks from these facilities than are the general population”

2. Attend/testify at the next City Council meeting on Transportation and the Environment, which is this Monday, February 8th at 12 pm.