On August 30th, it started with British singer Adele.

She posted an Instagram photo wearing Bantu knots and a Jamaican-flag patterned top. Of course, reactions poured in. Adele trended on Twitter, while the notorious drama page on Instagram @TheShadeRoom reposted Adele and incited debate in their comment section.  Many Black people, primarily British Jamaicans, said that this was an example of cultural appreciation, not appropriation. Adele was at Notting Hill Carnival, an annual cultural event organized by the British West Indian community.

Others argued that it was cultural appropriation, due to the large amount of praise white women receive for wearing hairstyles that Black women are vilified for. On my side of Twitter, Adele’s Bantu knots also led to jokes: edits of Adele’s song “Someone Like You” with a reggae twist, etc. 

However, instead of remaining a meme or becoming a simple disagreement about cultural appropriation vs. appreciation, it spiraled into a debate over whether Black-Americans had the right to call-out cultural appropriation.

Literally all of us were laughing and clowning on the TL….. what do y’all even be talking about https://t.co/wECsYpAgrT

— HOOD VOGUE is tired of poverty (@itskeyon) August 31, 2020

Nearly five months later, I think back to this incident often. While it was my first time witnessing such large-scale arguing amongst Black people on Twitter, it would certainly not be the last. In fact, “diaspora wars,” referring to arguments that break out within members of the global African diaspora, are all too common. Some of these “wars” are tiny and meaningless– such as arguing over which culture makes the best food– but others reveal internalized anti-Blackness.

The Adele situation provides a good example of how diaspora wars harm Black people. The fact that this furor and disrespect towards other cultural groups (on both sides) was in defense of a white woman never sat right with me. 

Isn’t it ironic how we spent a few days grieving the death of Chadwick Boseman who starred in a film that deals with the disconnect within the African diaspora only to have a Caribbean & African vs AA twitter war over a white girl in Bantu knots a few days later?

— Papa Rose 🥀 (@GoldenChild_IV) September 1, 2020

At the end of the day, it’s not like Adele was even a victim of cancel culture. Calling her out for cultural appropriation, or defending her actions as cultural appreciation had no impact on her career. Two months later, Adele was hosting SNL, as famous and celebrated as ever. Yet, there was intractable harm done to online relations between Black Americans, Africans, British West-Indians, and others.

The Philadelphia Inquirer notes another cause behind a past diaspora war centered among Black people in America: the casting of British-Nigerian actress Cynthia Erivo as Harriet Tubman, a Black-American abolitionist who is a cultural symbol of freedom and resistance. When an old tweet of Erivo’s surfaced mocking “ghetto American accents,” some people claimed that she should not portray a Black American hero.  According to reporter Valerie Russ, Erivo’s casting, among other incidents that have sparked diaspora wars, raised these questions: 

“Who is black in America? Can there be unity based on skin color alone? Who gets to speak for African Americans?”

So far, there isn’t unity based on skin color alone– but there should be (at least within different Black groups living in the United States). There are always going to be inherent differences between how members of the diaspora respond to racism and injustice– because we simply don’t share the same experiences. 

For example: A common component of the diaspora wars are Black Americans being accused of being “obsessed” with race, because we’re quick to point out microaggressions. Of course, coming from a Black American standpoint, I’m inherently biased. But when you think of the Black experience in the United States– Black people always being in the minority, always being forced to assimilate, always having our culture dismissed by white society– we care more about seemingly immaterial issues like cultural appropriation because we’ve been told our trends and styles are more acceptable on white bodies. 

If you’ve grown up in a Black-majority country, however, a foreigner or white person wearing box braids is an indication that they’re attempting to assimilate or connect with your culture. Living in a country as a minority culture vs a minority culture creates completely different ideas about what constitutes as racial injustice.

Diaspora wars often bring to light the stereotypes we believe about other Black groups, most of them negative. These stereotypes are built from global white supremacy and anti-Blackness, such as the notion that African or Caribbean cultures are inferior or that Black-Americans are all lazy and low-achieving.

I’m so tired of diaspora wars. All y’all do is be antiblack to each other.

— Zee (@ZeeTheBrat_) January 29, 2021

I can’t directly speak for African or Caribbean-American communities. But I can say this: 

Whether we’ve been divided by willful immigration or involuntary enslavement, at the end of the day, we’re all Black. We may have separate cultures and values, but issues such as racism and white supremacy impact us all the same. In many ways, our divergent cultures are built with components of one another. Standing for Black people, and empowering Black people, means standing for all Black people, even when they don’t share your culture or nationality. 

Acknowledging genuine hurt is important. When people claim that, say, they felt like their African culture was dismissed or made fun of by Black Americans, those feelings of hurt are valid. When African-Americans are hurt when they’re told that they’re lacking a culture by those who know their African ancestry, those feelings are valid, too. But continuing this cycle of hurt online benefits no one.

At their core, diaspora wars are caused by a lack of understanding and an unwillingness to listen to another group’s differences. We are not each other’s enemies, and we can unite with each other without being the same. White supremacy in America (and abroad) doesn’t care what nationality you are or what culture you have. Instead of fighting amongst ourselves and feeding into anti-Blackness, let’s work together to tackle issues that impact Black people worldwide.

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Art credits: Bria Nicole, @briapaints on Instagram

When Eva Longoria dismissed the large role Black female voters played in the 2020 presidential election in a television interview with MSNBC, Black women everywhere were not surprised. 

Due to the efforts of Black women such as Stacey Abrams, former candidate for the role of Georgia’s governor, President-elect Joe Biden became the first Democratic presidential candidate to win Georgia since 1992. Nationwide, 90% of Black women voted for Biden, a higher percentage than any other demographic in the country. 

In the interview, Longoria said, “Of course, you saw in Georgia what Black women have done but Latina women were the real heroines here, beating men in turnout in every state and voting for Biden-Harris at an average rate of 3:1.” 

that eva longoria msnbc interview is why we emphasize that you specifically say “black women” and not “woc”…because even within our own communities our work is diminished and erased…

— amy gdala ✨ (@lyviafm) November 9, 2020

black women are constantly being spoken over, treated like dirt and dismissed and eva longoria speaking the way she did on msnbc tonight was a prime example. shocking

— niall (@outspokenegro) November 9, 2020

Following the online backlash, Longoria released an apology, stating “Watching this back I can see that this sounds like I’m comparing Latinas to Black women, which I would never do. I was comparing Latinas to their male counterparts, but my wording was not clear and I deeply regret that.”

Still, her words struck the wrong note. In a Refinery29 article, Afro-Latinx writer Jasely Molina stated, “When you diminish the work of Black women from within and without your community, from society, and from history, you are also invalidating their experiences, their roots, their identity, their existence.”

As a Black woman, the underlying message in Longoria’s original statement felt all too familiar. For me, as well as many others online, it was reminiscent of Gina Rodriguez’s many instances of anti-Blackness. One example is her complaint about the lack of Latinx representation in Marvel films during Black Panther’s 2018 release, all the while ignoring Tessa Thompson and Zoe Saldana, two Afro-Latinx women who recently had been given leading roles in Marvel films. 

It is quite possible for Gina Rodriguez to advocate for better Latinx representation without constantly evoking African American advances in a way that implies they're part of the problem. If she refuses to learn that, her cultural activism actually perpetuates the problem.

— Sofia Quintero (@sofiaquintero) November 24, 2018

Both Eva Longoria and Gina Rodriguez’s words reflect a larger trend of Black women’s achievements, influence, and efforts being erased in favor of uplifting another group. If you claim the title of activist, as Eva Longoria and Gina Rodriguez do, it’s critical to learn how to advocate for your community’s visibility without devaluing the work or accomplishments of another group.

Eva Longoria and Gina Rodriguez 🤝 contributing to the anti-Black and diminishing of Black women’s cultural and political work

— Evette Dionne (@freeblackgirl) November 9, 2020

Whether it’s our voices being overshadowed by men in the Black Lives Matter movement or white feminists not considering how race intersects with gender when discussing misogyny, Black women are in need of allies that uplift us, not “allies” who silence or dismiss us. Here’s how you can be one. 

Instead of speaking over Black women, speak from the “I” perspective 

In any space where you’re talking about issues relating to race, culture, or identity, speaking from your perspective can prevent you from speaking over others, as Eva Longoria did. It can be hard to decenter yourself from a conversation because so often we aim to put ourselves first. By speaking only from your perspective, you can better self-reflect on how the given topic affects you, while also listening to how it affects others.  

Give credit where credit is due

Dear Dark Skinned Girl writer Anya Carr wrote it best– “It’s no secret that Black culture is quite literally the blueprint for many trends in pop culture today.” Black women and girls in particular have had enormous influence over American fashion and style trends, but oftentimes our looks don’t become trendy until a white person claims it as stylish. When it comes to pop culture trends, showing that you understand where something came from can help end the consistent pattern of Black women’s influence going unacknowledged.

Outside of pop culture, credit also needs to be given to the crucial role Black women have played in some of America’s social justice and political movements, bringing me to my next point….

Don’t contribute to the erasure of Black women from social justice movements

Black women have worked at the forefront of many social justice movements, sometimes without much recognition. Despite the Black Lives Matter movement being created by three Black women– Alicia Garza, Patrisse Cullors, and Opal Tometi– again and again, we’ve seen how the Black community has left the stories of Black women out of the movement. 

Within the feminist movement, a “white feminist” is a feminist who puts the issues of white women first. From the first suffragettes who ignored the voting rights of women of color to continued tone policing as Black women detail their experiences with discrimination, white feminism acts as a barrier to true progress.

When talking about gender-based discrimination, we also need to talk about race. When talking about race, we also need to talk about gender. Misogynoir– a term created by Black feminist Moya Bailey to describe the “the specific hatred, dislike, distrust, and prejudice directed toward Black women”– captures the reality of the Black female experience that “misogyny” simply doesn’t.

Don’t leave Black women behind in your activism, simple as that. When police or domestic violence targets Black women be sure to step up the same as you would if it was a male victim. Within the Black community, we collectively need to stop trivializing Black women’s pain through jokes. Fighting for Black lives means fighting for Black women. 

Continue to educate yourself when you can, instead of relying on activists and community organizers to do all the heavy lifting

I genuinely love answering people’s questions and creating new content that helps people understand issues facing Black women and the Black community. But sometimes, it can be a lot, especially when the topic at hand is emotionally exhausting. Show your support for marginalized communities by continuing to do your own research, instead of letting one person or team be your all-encompassing source of information. This way, you can create your own informed opinions on a given topic, and contribute to the social justice conversation in a more meaningful way. 

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A post shared by @blkpalate

Being Black does not automatically make us experts on social justice. We can’t all talk you through learning how to be an anti-racist, and consistently expecting that emotional labor from your Black peers is a misguided form of allyship. 

Understanding intersectionality when it comes to activism is a constant learning process. You can never know everything, but it’s best when you are willing to listen to BIPOC when they say changes need to be made. If people make the effort to acknowledge Black womens’ role in politics, pop culture, activism, and more, we can help lessen misogynoir’s prevalence in America.

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Photo by Ira L. Black, found on WBUR.org

Let me start by recounting a scenario I always see play out on social media. A Black student posts an ecstatic reaction to their admittance to a selective college. Alongside a flood of comments expressing support, one sticks out– “You only got in because of affirmative action.”

https://vm.tiktok.com/ZMJP4ARQ9/

No matter how high a Black applicant’s test scores or grades may be, the offensive misconception that Black students receive acceptance solely for “diversity reasons” is nearly inescapable.

It’s college admissions season for the class of 2021. As thousands of students vie for the limited spots available in the nation’s top universities, admissions counselors, students, and parents revisit the conversation on affirmative action. Some argue that affirmative action is a form of reverse racism, while others say it’s integral to ensuring campus diversity. 

Affirmative action in college admissions was created as a way to expand educational access to groups that have historically been left out of higher educational institutions. Though people put most of the attention today on Black, Latino and Indigenous students, affirmative action policies have also helped increase white female representation on college campuses and in the workforce.

Today, the debate over affirmative action can pit marginalized groups against each other. In my experience, solidarity among BIPOC is a myth– Anti-Blackness is prevalent in many non-Black communities, and Black communities can hold racist sentiments towards other minority groups as well. Though we all share the fact that we’re not white, we experience racism in America in distinct ways. 

During the college process, many Asian American students have highlighted that they felt stereotyped as applicants. The model minority myth– which generalizes Asian-Americans as perfect high-achieving minorities without taking into account the genuine racism they experience as non-white people in the United States– definitely plays a role in this treatment. 

The idea that all students who are part of underrepresented minority groups that make it to elite colleges are underqualified is racist. The idea that all Asian students are intelligent but indistinguishable is equally racist. These two ideas can coexist, and the discussion surrounding affirmative action needs to hear both perspectives. 

If the high-profile 2019 college admissions scandal taught us anything, it’s that the extremely wealthy– who can pay for an expensive private school, consulting, and extracurriculars– are the ones with the largest advantage. The celebrity parents of Olivia Jade Giannulli, a prominent YouTuber involved in the scandal, were accused of paying $500,000 to get Olivia into the University of Southern California as a rowing recruit.

To make the college process more equitable, we need to interrogate the advantages given to wealthy students instead of directing all the vitriol at Black and Latino students.  Instead of blaming, for example, the hardworking Black student with an ACT score 3 points behind the average for unfairly gaining admission, why not discuss the white, full-pay, two-generation legacy who bought his standardized test scores?  

Last year, New York Times cited a 2011 study revealing that legacy students were found to have a 45% higher probability of admission at 30 selective colleges when other factors were considered equal. The legacy advantage prioritizes students who already have inherent privilege, further tipping the scale in favor of wealthy students.

On a larger scale, fixing existing structural inequalities in lower-income communities of color– such as unemployment, over-policing, and underfunded school systems– could propel more students from underrepresented backgrounds into four-year universities. 

Lower performance on standardized tests can be attributed to a lack of educational resources. Redlining policies throughout the twentieth century, and continued housing discrimination today, left the suburbs segregated. When you live in a whiter, more affluent area, your school systems are better. EdBuild– a nonprofit that researches school funding issues– calculated that primarily non-white schools recieve $23 billion less in funding than white school districts that have the same amount of students. 

Students with diverse backgrounds who have overcome challenges deserve their places on college campuses just as much as white, wealthy students do. Diversity– not only in race but also in socio-economic status, ability, gender, religion, sexuality, and many more identifiers– on college campuses is important. First generation students are another population that needs more representation on college campuses.

To be clear, there is inherent diversity within populations of color as well. All Asian-Americans don’t share the same culture, and the same goes for all Latino or Black students as well. Students of color being on campus benefits all students by increasing their understanding of different cultures and identities.

In California, where lawmakers eradicated affirmative action in the 1990s, Black students made up an embarrassingly small percentage of the UC Berkeley student body in 2016. A 2013 East Bay Express article points out that the issue isn’t that Black students aren’t being accepted into Berkeley, it’s that Black students “don’t feel wanted at Berkeley at a time when a large number of other top universities are actively recruiting African Americans and welcoming them with open arms.” 

As I made my college list for this year, the presence of and resources for Black students was a deciding factor in where I chose to apply. Being a Black student in higher education is challenging enough, and schools that didn’t place value on diversity within their student bodies only sent me the message that I wouldn’t feel welcome in their academic and social environment. 

As a Black student, I will never allow people to make me feel as if I am not qualified to be wherever I end up in the college process. Telling BIPOC students that their accomplishments and acceptances aren’t valid is a microaggression. Constantly having to fight negative stereotypes as a Black woman– such as the assumption that I’m unintelligent or that by sharing my opinion I’m “angry”– is an obstacle that my white peers will never face. 

Affirmative action is a well-meaning attempt to fix a broken system that has traditionally been in favor of wealthy white students. It has its faults, but eradicating it will only limit the much needed diversity on college campuses.

The debate on whether affirmative action is fair will likely not end soon. Perhaps the changes sparked by the COVID-19 pandemic, in which admissions officers from Yale to UConn will have to evaluate students without test scores, will increase the representation of minority students on campuses and lessen the institutional need for affirmative action policies. Holistic admissions approaches, which take into account the resources the student had access to, can also even out the playing field. 

American institutions of higher education should focus on recruiting a student body– and teaching staff– that reflects the growing diversity of the country. That needs to happen with both a fair assessment of Asian-American applicants and better educational resources given to underrepresented communities from the start.

By the time I send my kids off to college, I hope that they will feel as though they’ve entered a community where their peers don’t underestimate their abilities due to the color of their skin.

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Image credits: by @peterdevito of @sharahyacarter

Black hair is beautiful. It defies gravity. Black women have discovered an endless amount of ways to style it. And despite how much criticism Black people face because of it, non-Black people continue to imitate it worldwide.

The rampant hair discrimination in this country is a key reason why Black people fight so hard against cultural appropriation. Many members of the Black community have internalized the idea that coily hair is unattractive, causing young Black children to grow up wishing for “good” hair. Even the natural hair movement, which Balck women created to uplift those with coiler curl patterns, has been called out on social media for centering Black women with looser curls. 

The oppression that Black people have faced for their hair began during slavery. The other beauty standards we have today– beauty standards that idealize one’s proximation to whiteness– evolved during this time as well. 

Black hair’s unique texture has been subject to scrutiny throughout the 18th century and beyond. Hair was important in many African cultures, but when people were forced into slavery they were also forced to bear the constant policing of their hair. Many real accounts portray enslaved Black women having their hair cut off by their white masters’ wives out of jealousy or as a punishment. 

In a historical research paper titled “Resistance and Empowerment in Black Women’s Hair Styling,” Indiana University Northwest professor Elizabeth Johnson writes, “By shaving [a Black enslaved person’s] hair, an enslaver was symbolically cutting away a valued history and an African aesthetic.”

Even free Black women were not free to wear their hair as they wished. In 1786, Louisiana passed the Tignon Law, which required that all Black women wear head coverings called tignons. There was an increased free Black population in New Orleans that was becoming wealthy, threatening the rigid social order that put white people on top. The head coverings signified the lower social status of the Black woman. 

Though lawmakers meant to police the way women looked, the Black women in Louisiana protested by wearing decorative and elaborate tignons. Just Like how Black women today continue to challenge the definition of beauty with innovative fashion statements, it was happening 200 years ago as well. 

So many trends created by Black people are not considered fashion-forward or beautiful until worn on white people, and hair is no exception. The controversy incited by Marc Jacobs’s 2016 New York Fashion Week runway show is one of the best examples. The prominent fashion designer’s Spring 2017 collection included a faux locs hairstyle worn by primarily non-Black models. In his misguided attempt to apologize, Jacobs claimed “he didn’t see color.” Yet, there were very few Black women– or even women of color– walking his runway show.

Locs are often considered unprofessional and have lost many Black people their jobs, despite it being a natural and clean protective style. Soon after Marc Jacobs’s high fashion appropriation of a culturally significant Black hairstyle, the U.S. Circuit Court of Appeals decided that banning locs in the workplace is 100% legal. 

The court decided on the ruling based on a case where an employers revoked an African-American woman’s job offer because she refused to cut off her locs. Locs are a hairstyle that can be well maintained and professional, and the assumption that locs are automatically unkempt and unfit for a workplace is discriminatory. 

In other news… the sky is blue, grass is green, and Black women been told y’all https://t.co/htNyWOKjB8

— Blk Girl Culture (@blkgirlculture) August 13, 2020

If locs were attractive and fashionable on Gigi Hadid during Marc Jacobs’s show, we should not see Black people losing opportunities because of a style that is meant for our hair texture. As someone with locs, I still fear having to cut the hair I’ve had since I was four to get a job. That should not be the case.

Hair discrimination isn’t limited to locs– it’s also been applied to other protective styles such as box braids and cornrows. In 2017, a  school in Boston threatened two Black sisters with suspension because their box braids violated their school’s dress code.  

Hair discrimination also appears as a result of the European colonization of Africa. A South African all-girls school, which was before white-only until 1994 under Apartheid, set limitations on how the Black students were able to wear their hair. According to the Huffington Post, Pretoria High School For Girls’ restrictions specified that “cornrows, dreadlocks, and braids may not be more than 10mm in diameter.” Though explicitly banned in the school handbook, the students’ afros were also a source of criticism from their white teachers, who told them to neaten their hair.

A study done by beauty brand Dove revealed that Black women are “80% more likely to change her natural hair to meet social norms or expectations at work.” The next time you’re confused about why Kim Kardashian renaming box braids “Bo Derek Braids” and being called a trendsetter incites controversy in the Black community, look no further than all the instances of hair discrimination throughout history, 

It isn’t just hair if I can’t even braid my hair until after I get the job. It’s not just hair when you gotta cut your locs just to graduate. It’s not just hair when it’s written in school dress codes that braids are a violation. It’s not just hair.

— Drew Neal (@_nealyy) September 8, 2020

In June 2019, the passage of the CROWN Act (which stands for “Create a Respectful and Open Workplace for Natural Hair”) made California the first U.S. state to ban discrimination based on hair texture. Several states have also passed similar legislation, including New York and New Jersey, but hair discrimination remains legal in much of the country. 

Positive media representation of Black hair is key to further acceptance in society. Assimilation caused many Black women to straighten their hair to fit beauty standards, meaning that many models, actresses, and musical artists rarely are seen embracing an afro or natural styles. 

It’s clear that the entertainment industry still has a long way to go. Lupita Nyong’o, called out Grazia UK magazine in 2017 for photoshopping out her afro puff for the cover issue. Numerous Black and Afro-Latinx models, such as Joan Smalls and Anok Yai, recently called out stylists within the fashion industry for claiming Black hair is “too difficult to work with.” 

On the flip side, the Oscar-winning animated short film Hair Love is a step in the right direction. In the film, the father of a little Black girl learns to style his daughter’s coily Afro hair. When I saw Hair Love for the first time, it was so exciting to see Black families and the importance of Black hair portrayed so beautifully.  

There may be clear signs of progress, but there is still so much work that society must do. Until Black women (and men) can wear styles that hold cultural importance everywhere without penalization, we will not be living in a world where Black people are treated equally. We should not have to chemically straighten our hair to receive the same respect that society gives white people.

My hair is not distracting. My hair is not messy. My hair is not unprofessional. My hair is part of my culture- and it does not have to fit your European standards of beauty.

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full credit for featured image goes to April Kae, @loveaprilkae on Instagram

CW: mentions of suicide

Amidst a national call for police officers to be held accountable for the murder of innocent Black people, police officers shot another unarmed Black man named Jacob Blake on Sunday in Wisconsin. As of August 25, it has been 165 days since police officers killed Breonna Taylor in her own house. Her name and image have made it on to t-shirts, magazine covers, and more, but officials have yet to arrest those responsible.

Being Black in America means feeling like your voice– and your humanity– is always disregarded. Enduring systemic racism each day has a detrimental impact on the mental health of Black Americans. 

This means that in the U.S, racism is legitimately a public health crisis. 

For example, @saddie.baddies, a mental health resource for women of color, made an Instagram post about vicarious trauma, which occurs when “a person witnesses or is exposed to a traumatic event.”

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|you don’t have to consume graphic media over and over again just to be informed. vicarious trauma can affect us on several levels, swipe to learn more 🤎 . . . #wellness #wellnessjourney #mentalhealth #mentalhealthawareness #inspoquotes #blackmentalhealth #anxiety #selfcare #depression #selflove #wellness #mentalhealthmatters #therapy #mentalillness #mindfulness #healing #wellbeing #meditation #saddiebaddies #blacklivesmatter #vicarioustrauma #secondarytrauma #ptsd #racialptsd #antiracism

A post shared by saddie_baddies ™ (@saddie_baddies) on Aug 25, 2020 at 5:57am PDT

When police officers killed George Floyd in May, I remember people posting the video everywhere to “spread awareness.” Now, it’s happening again with the shooting of Jacob Blake. 

As the @saddie.baddies Instagram post states, however, “when the [black] body is used for shock value it takes away several components….it desensitizes us to think that violent acts towards Black people are normal, or ordinary. They are not.”

Black people dying is not content.

— Black Ashley (@ashleysimpo) August 24, 2020

Constantly seeing video footage of those with power brutalizing people who look like you has a lasting effect on one’s mental health. Sharing video footage like this does more harm to Black people than good.

Despite the shared impact that experiencing racial injustice has on Black people, mental health remains stigmatized and ignored within the Black community. The National Alliance on Mental Illness states that only “one in three Black people who need mental health care receive it.” 

The stigma placed on mental health in the Black community likely comes from the many barriers Black Americans have to access it. 

A professor at the University of Southern California’s School of Social Work, Susan White, cites a mistrust of the medical system due to frequent misdiagnoses and exploitation. As I wrote in my August 7th post, “How the Healthcare System Fails Black Women,” I explained the dangers of implicit bias in the medical field. Implicit bias from medical professionals extends to mental health, too. 

So often as Black women, people ignore or disrespect our pain and suffering. Speaking up about experiencing issues with our mental health can be difficult because society tells us to be independent and enduring. Our families dealing with institutionalized racism for centuries has led to a belief that showing signs of needing mental health care is a weakness. 

This, combined with the familiar “strong Black woman stereotype,” causes Black women to be left behind in the mental health discussion.

Why do people love to romanticise how strong black women are? Are we strong when we’re crying uncontrollably? When we’re suffering depressive states? When we doubt ourselves or second guess reality from being gaslighted? Let black women be vulnerable, delicate & in need of help.

— JO (@jodietweets_) June 3, 2020

@blackgirlboardingschool, an anonymous Instagram page created by a Black teen to educate others about the experience of Black girls in U.S. boarding schools, opened up about her experience with mental health. 

“My mental health is on a slippery slope,” she wrote. “As a black woman, there are not as many spaces and people for me to go to talk about it. My options are my black family that doesn’t believe in mental health and a school counselor that says it’s just a teenage girl thing.”

Black families not accepting mental health differences in their children has dangerous outcomes. No child should feel as if they can’t turn to their parents for accurate guidance and advice.

According to the U.S. Department of Health and Human Services, “African American females, grades 9-12, were 70 percent more likely to attempt suicide in 2017, as compared to non-Hispanic white females of the same age.” When I read this statistic, I immediately thought of how necessary it is for parents of Black girls to have conversations that check on mental health. 

So what can we do to break the stigma so that more Black people get the help they need?

We need diverse representation in mental health facilities. Being able to talk to someone who shares your ethnic background can help create an immediate bond that leads to a greater understanding. The staff of school counseling offices should reflect the diversity of the student body so that each student feels welcomed and understood when they seek help.

On another note, Susan White of the University of California’s School of Social Work cites the frequent criminalization of Black people with mental health as another source of stigma. 

Black Americans make up a large proportion of the incarcerated U.S. population. White states, “If an African American person with a mental illness acts out in violence, they are much more likely to be criminalized than to be given the opportunity to receive mental health care.”

Lastly, to put it simply, Black people need to talk about it. Mental health should not be a taboo topic to talk about in a family setting.

When mental health is treated as something that people shouldn’t open up about, people are left to process negative emotions on their own instead of asking for the help they need. Our generation has the power to make a difference and stop the cycle of mental health going untreated in our friends, relatives, and eventually our children.

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LIST OF MENTAL HEALTH RESOURCES FOR BLACK WOMEN

photo credits: Illustration by Reyna Noriega  (@reynanoriega_) on Instagram.

In elementary school, I wanted an American Girl Doll, one like all my classmates had. The doll’s stories are based on important historical events and eras, such as colonial America or World War II. There were several white dolls available and a few other girls of color, but at the time there was only one Black doll named Addy Walker. She was the first Black doll the American girl brand created in 1993, and remained the only Black doll available until the release of 2011’s Cecile Rey. Addy’s backstory was that she was a slave. While the other historical American girl dolls had unique hobbies and best friends, Addy’s story started with escaping the plantation so she could reunite with her family. 

Addy was important because she helped introduce children to the reality of Black oppression in America. As the hero of her story, Addy’s background sparked much-needed conversations with parents about Black history. She looked like me, with textured hair and brown skin, and as a child, I was grateful for that mainstream representation. 

Looking back as a teenager, though, I wonder how much I would have benefitted from a historical Black American Girl doll with a story that didn’t center around slavery. A slave character who was strong and kind may be one narrative that young Black girls should grow up with, but as white children did, we should have had the chance to grow up with many more choices. Black people are more than the result of oppression from others. 

The reason I thought back to my experience with Addy as a child was because of a recent Disney+ announcement about the introduction of a new character for the Proud Family spinoff named Maya Leibowitz-Jenkins. Maya is a 14-year-old Black activist, and in the announcement Disney described her as . I never grew up watching Proud Family, but I found one comment criticizing the show interesting.

its funny how the media excludes black girls when it comes to love and happiness but when it’s time to be an activist they know what a mono racial black girl looks like. a teenagers entire identity shouldn’t be activism let kids be kids

— blairsmus (@blairsmus) August 6, 2020

This made me think of how much I wish that dark-skinned Black girls could see themselves in popular coming-of-age TV shows without being the “loud” or “woke” character. Maya’s character could be the representation that some kids need, but I also see the commenter’s point that the “activist” dark-skinned Black girl could be the newest trope forced onto dark-skinned women. 

Can we ever be the main character with problems that aren’t tied to social justice issues, problems similar to the storylines of the white girls in Booksmart and The Kissing Booth?

When we do receive representation in mainstream media, it’s often as the sassy best friend, but never the love interest. Representation doesn’t begin and end with having people of color in a movie. True representation means creating complex characters that are more than just the stereotypes of their race or ethnic group. Usually, good representation on screen is created by diverse writers and showrunners as well. 

This is where tokenism comes in. The definition of tokenism is “the practice of making only symbolic effort to be inclusive to members of minority groups, especially by recruiting a small number of people from underrepresented groups to give the appearance of racial equality.” Most of the time, movies and shows praised for their diverse casts only include light-skinned women or Black men. I can count on my fingers the number of dark-skinned Black female teenage characters on TV right now.

Grown-ish, which is essentially the only light-hearted Black teen sitcom on TV today, could have been that coming-of-age story that Black girls needed. The main character, Zoey, doesn’t have a life defined by racial justice or trauma. She’s just a girl in college figuring her life out with the help of her friends. 

From the moment the show was cast, however, the lack of dark-skinned female characters was easy to spot. For a show that takes place at a fictional California university, you’d think that one dark-skinned girl would have made it into the diverse ensemble cast.

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never a dull moment on set. #throwback #grownish

A post shared by grown-ish (@grownish) on Aug 13, 2020 at 7:00pm PDT

There was a 2018 episode of Grown-ish titled “It’s Hard Out Here for a Pimp” that focused on how hard dating is for Black women at white colleges. The episode made some points, but the storyline still relied on light-skinned sisters Chloe and Halle Bailey to address the issue. You can’t teach a good lesson on colorism and anti-Blackness without actually putting any dark-skinned women in the cast. It’s unrealistic to pretend that girls who look like Chloe and Halle, A.K.A girls who are the Black beauty standard, would have the same problems with desirability as darker-skinned women do. 

Opportunities for dark-skinned Black girls to be in mainstream movies are often recast as biracial or lighter-skinned women. When looking at all the examples below this tweet, the trend is clear. Hollywood may be producing more movies with Black lead actresses, but only one type of Black girl is deemed acceptable. 

the trend of hollywood casting established black female characters as biracial girls/women, a thread:

— blairsmus (@blairsmus) August 12, 2020

The rhetoric that a lighter-skinned or biracial woman could’ve been what’s “best for the role” of an unambiguously Black woman comes only from colorism and the unwillingness to try and find a dark-skinned woman to play the part. It sends a message to dark-skinned women that they aren’t enough.

All in all, the need for diverse representation of dark-skinned girls comes from the need to establish more than a “single story” of what a Black woman is. If someone were to look at only the people on TV to assume what most Black women looked or acted like, it wouldn’t be representative of the real diversity in what a Black woman can be. Black girls can be light-skinned, but we are also dark and every shade in-between. The central conflicts in our lives do not only revolve around race. We are funny, we are creative, we are smart, we are beautiful– and our onscreen representation should highlight that.

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featured image is of Coco Conners from Netflix’s Dear White People, one of my favorite black women on TV right now.

Colorism– defined as the discriminatin against people with darker skin tones– has always been a difficult topic to discuss within the Black community. People with lighter skin often deny the existence of any preferential treatment. Meanwhile, many darker-skinned people constantly feel forced to make their experiences with colorism known to help educate others.

The debate over whether light skinned privilege exists (hint: it does) reminds me the most of white peoples’ response to learning about white privilege. When faced with the concept of having inherent privileges for being white, I always hear people list off all the struggles they’ve faced in their lives despite being white. The key to understanding white privilege is acknowledging that you can face challenges as a white person, just not challenges caused by your whiteness. It’s the same for light skinned people within the Black community: they can still face racism, but they do not face additional discrimination based off the darkness of their skin. In short, all Black people face racism, but we don’t all face colorism. 

Today, I wanted to unpack some justifications for colorism. There are many more, but I hear these three most often. Until people are ready to confront their biases, colorism will not disappear.

“colorism isn’t a serious issue in the black community.”

Actually, it is. Light-skinned privilege is about more than a dating preference. It’s not a coincidence that many Black people who have rose to mainstream prominence– such as Barack Obama, Beyonce, and Zendaya– have light skin. In America (and many other cultures around the world) light skin comes with opportunity. Aside from media representation, colorism is also present in America’s justice system, making it more serious of a problem than most people see.

Reducing colorism down to “attractiveness” is actively violent because it erases the fact that dark skin Black women are more likely to experience state violence and other tangible forms of anti-Black racism that literally shorten their lives. https://t.co/mOVvrItt5O

— justice (@justiceaudre) July 27, 2020

An Instagram post from @darkest.hue highlights a Villanova University study reveals lighter-skinned women receive prison sentences 12% shorter than those given to dark skinned women. This goes to show that colorism has very real implications on the lives of Black women, outside of only impacting dating. Lack of media representation is a seperate– but still serious issue– that I want to discuss alongside the next excuse.

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It’s about time we talk about the real elephant in the room: Light skin privilege! I DO NOT USE WOMXN ANYMORE. I used it because I was told it was inclusive (by queer and trans people) but I’m not using it anymore because a lot of queer and trans people on this page don’t feel adequately represented by it. Sources: https://www.theroot.com/the-lighter-the-skin-the-shorter-the-prison-term-1790864659/amp https://scholar.harvard.edu/files/monk/files/monk_-_the_color_of_punishment_-_ers.pdf https://qz.com/1724590/colorism-influences-probability-of-going-to-jail-new-study-finds/ https://abcnews.go.com/images/Politics/Colorism_JASP_Article.pdf https://scholar.princeton.edu/sites/default/files/emonk/files/monk_-_the_cost_of_color_-_ajs.pdf https://scholar.princeton.edu/sites/default/files/emonk/files/monk_-_the_consequences_of_race_and_color_in_brazil_-_sp.pdf https://www.sciencedaily.com/releases/2014/01/140114091952.htm https://www.vox.com/2015/2/28/8116799/white-colorism-racism-study #lightskin #darkskin #darkskinwomen #darkskingirls #Blackmen #Blackwomen #racism #colorism #education #employment

A post shared by @ darkest.hue on Jul 12, 2020 at 10:59am PDT

“Dark-Skinned girls are just difficult and bitter.”

It’s nearly undeniable that the social burden of colorism is often put on women instead of men. Dark-skinned men are praised and decently represented in the media, but dark-skinned women do not receive the same treatment. This is where misogyny (or even misogynoir) comes in. 

Most Black people seem to understand why other stereotypes about the Black community are harmful- such as those claiming we’re criminals, uneducated, or lazy. We can recognize that they were created by offensive portrayals in the news and pop culture. However, the stereotypes of dark skinned women being jealous, unfeminine, or unnatractive remain extremely prevalent. Television and movie roles for dark skinned women remain few and far between, and oftentimes they play into preexisting negative stereotypes. 

There was a TED Talk I watched a long time ago, titled “Confessions of a D Girl: Colorism and Global Standards of Beauty.” The woman giving the talk, Chika Okoro, uses her experience of finding out that the casting call for the movie she loved, Straight Outta Compton, put dark-skinned girls on the lowest ladder- the “D” girl. The “A” girls were classified as beautiful, models with light skin and long, natural hair. From levels “A” to “C,” the skin of the girls becomes darker, and the race becomes more specific. Out of all the categories, the only one to explicitly state race was at the “D” girl- African-American girls. The fact that a movie directed by a Black man, sharing the story of Black people, would encourage the depiction of dark-skinned women as “poor” and “in bad shape,” only goes to show how deeply ingrained these notions of beauty are in our community.

The ideas of being difficult and jealous also comes from these media portrayals. It’s time to dismantle the narrative that speaking up about colorism comes from a place of self-hatred and jealousy. Talking about colorism is not meant to divide the Black community- it’s meant to open up the conversation to the experiences of other people. 

“yeah, but why do you care so much about someone’s personal preference?”

Because colorism is more than just personal– it’s institutional. As mentioned earlier, being darker skinned causes harsher treatment in the legal system. All the reasons given for why light-skinned people are more attractive, more intelligent, or less dangerous are imaginary. If people can recognize racist beliefs as ignorant because of how they generalize an entire population, the same should be true for colorist remarks. 

For those of you who are trying to silence the black girls of a darker tone by saying “but light skin black girls get bullied too” while their speaking out, understand that what your doing is almost like White ppl saying “but all lives matter” when black lives are the topic.

— ItGIRL (@AaliyahJay) June 6, 2020

The key feature of colorism that makes it so dangerous is how normalized it is. Numerous dark skinned black men and light-skinned women  have been called out for colorism and they still are praised within the black community. To dismantle colorism, the work needs to stop being forced onto dark-skinned people. It needs to start with the recognition of light skinned privilege.

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image from broadsatyale.com