n a fit of frustration and anger, I kicked the soda machine in hopes that it would kindly return my money.
My friend humorously commented, “You are not acting light skinned, girl that is ghetto!” At the time I laughed, but later asked myself, “Does my complexion truly determine my character?”
If I wasn’t acting “light-skinned,” then does that mean I was acting “dark-skinned?” Whether intentionally or unwittingly, inter-racial discrimination plagues the African-American community.
“Guys on campus only like light-skinned girls with long hair!” a young black female commented in my Black writers and literature class. A high school boyfriend once suggested that I “get a tan” and “dye my hair darker.” I assume he wanted me to look more like what he considered to be a beautiful black woman.
Another boyfriend stated “you are beautiful, but you’re lucky your light skinned.”
Why, how and when did skin color ever become a factor in determining luck or character?
Comments such as these only serve to foster tension among black females of different complexions. One glaring example of how this tension is fueled can be found on Facebook, where a group of young African-American women have created a group with an obscene title expressing hatred toward young women with light complexions. Instead of expressing hate towards a different shade of your own race, why not embrace the love for who you are and not what you look like?
As a race, too many of us are still dragging the baggage of generations past; we seem to still hold on to a shared collective memory of stories passed down through history of how lighter-skin blacks on plantations worked in the big house, while darker blacks worked the fields. But those days are gone. We need not dwell on the past, at least not in this respect.
Instead, what ever happened to the James Brown 1960s-era mantra and song, “Say it loud. I’m black and I’m proud.”
Scientists have recently discovered a gene that determines skin color. Their findings indicate that a significant part of the difference we see among races results from just one rung on the twisted ladder of our DNA. Put another way, we are all might pretty much alike after all.
This is Black History Month, and I suggest that everyone find time to read “The Color Complex”, a novel that breaks down the history of the skin politics in the African-American community.
It will filter, restore and renew the minds of those who can’t get past internalized stereotypes and who are lacking a sense of pride in loving all the beautiful shades of their ethnicity.