By Genesis Hansen
Colorism has been something I've been aware of since I could talk, but I hadn't learned about the term or its history until I was much older. I grew up in a super white area, so most of my colorism socialization came from white people and the media. As a racially ambiguous person, people would always make a point ask me what I am, say that I wasn't really black, or that I was stuck up for being a pretty lightskin. I would have strange white women come up to me in the store and say that they wanted babies like me, and I thought it was because they were jealous my mom once loved a black man, but looking back I realize it was something different. Some of them would give my mom dirty looks, while others would try to touch my hair or make a big deal about my eyes, which always made me feel weird, but my family just taught me to just say thank you and move on. I didn't feel good in my skin and I hated sticking out like a sore thumb in Oregon because I didn't see many black people, and I when I did I always wished that my skin was dark like theirs and that my hair coiled like theirs so I wouldn't have to be alone the middle.
The 'Colorism' article that talks about Kanye West's problematic preference for multiracial women articulated aspects of this issue for me. Kica's story about being Afro-Latina and needing to renounce her blackness really resonated with me because I'm multiracial too, and I often find myself forced to choose which part of me I 'really' am. I found the statistics about Latinx self identification shocking, and it made me sad to think of all those mixed race people who are quick to claim whiteness and hesitant to claim blackness. We could be so strong if we were allowed to accept ourselves.
My mom and the family I grew up with was white so to avoid racism they just acted like my skin color wasn't there. They tried to challenge racial structures by pretending they weren't there, but everywhere else in my life I was radicalized. This made me feel invisible, like it was wrong to talk about how this skin was hurting me in other places of my life. My mixedness made me unhappy and I would resort to dressing and acting like my white friends because it was just easier. When I was older I became frustrated and one year I spend all summer outside just so I could be dark enough for people to believe in my blackness. Throughout my adolescence I shrunk myself and adopted a quiet, polite demeanor to camouflage in hopes that people would just leave me alone about my skin.
In the article, "On Dark Girls" it spoke about the importance of feminine bonding over hair, and this really stuck out to me. After reading I reflected on how colorism has affected my own relationship with my white mom. Lewis is mentioned for saying that, "the hair combing interaction is an optimal time for instilling positive attitudes about racial heritage through storytelling and verbal exchanged supported by comforting and affirming physical proximity," (p. 5). This made me reflect on my past relationship with my hair, since I would always want my mom to straighten it, but because of it's unruliness and length it always seemed like a chore for her. It was as if my hair and color divided my mom and I, instead of bringing us closer. Learning how to straighten my hair made me feel independent, but it also fostered resentment toward my hair.
Nowadays I love my hair, I cut, dye, and braid it myself. I don't let it make me feel small but I use it to make myself bigger. My mom and I are more open and racial topics, and I find myself trusting her with expressing how I feel about things. I sometimes still struggle with what colorism has taught me about others and myself. I found myself using it as a crutch almost, like an easy excuse to put myself down and feel isolated. But now I feel capable of asking for help and seeking community with people who look and live more like me.
I'm not sure what colorism is intimately like for other WOC or black women because I'm still finding my community among those groups, but I will say that we are all frustrated and exhausted with it. To me there seems to be two America's. White American ideology is dominant and it claims to deny any understanding of how racism rains from their clouds of misunderstanding. Whereas brown/black America is forced to stay grounded in the concrete reality of racism, drowning in this toxic rain and swimming in a pool of self hate and self segregation.
How can I expect white people to treat me right if I can't even love my own skin? How can black and brown women support each other with these beauty standards and our pride in the way? I think we should lead by example, and create spaces that operate under a culture that loves and supports melanin rich women in all aspects of their lives, rather than on a conditional basis.