The expectations of being Black
A couple weekends ago, I was biking with my dad up in the Northeast part of Philadelphia. By chance we started talking with a White couple. The conversation started as we all were taking a water break, and my dad pointed out their pretty cool bike. Conversations have a way of flowing in unpredictable ways and we began talking about a road trip my dad and I took last year. After finishing my PhD my dad and I took a week and drove from Los Angeles to Philadelphia. We visited states we had never traveled to before, went to the Grand Canyon, got a flat tire; minus the latter, it was a great time which we discussed this vividly with the couple. Unfortunately for the couple, we were not living up (actually down) to their expectation of being Black in America.
It almost seemed as if they would have preferred we embodied stereotypes they had heard about Black people. It would be received better. A previous blog I wrote examined an interaction I had with a professor who failed to recognize I knew or even had a father. There I was not conforming to their Black expectations. White people have always tried to box me into their version of what it means to be Black. As an adult, I now realize most White people don’t know enough about Black history or culture to make that call. It is upsetting because many White people still live in a White bubble, live in White neighborhoods, schools, and rely on our anti-Black society to equip them with the skills they think make them qualified to judge Blackness.
I grew up middle class in a city with a large Black population. It was quite common, and still is for me to interact with all types of Black people. Never have I lived in the projects or gone to public school; assumptions that come quick for some White people. I was fortunate to attend a diverse Catholic school until 8th grade, which in hindsight helped strengthen my foundation of diversity. From there I attended a private school on the mainline, a suburban area of Philadelphia known for its wealth, and whiteness. My time there was eye-opening. It was the first time my surroundings tried to box me into their accounts of what they interpreted as for Black. I was on the swim team, not the basketball team. Another white expectation ignored. Black folks swim. I lived in the city. Ok my white peers could live with that, but being from a middle-class family was questionable. Some of my peers believed I was there because of my athletic abilities, but in reality I received an academic scholarship to attend the school. My nonconformity into their Black box made them rethink why I was even there. If it wasn’t for sports then it must have just been to check a diversity box.
Since I enjoy swimming, and because I am not a first-generation college student, does that mean am I not Black? Do the two letters DR. in front of my name make me less “threatening”? Since I know my father, does that dispel me from all things Black? Well, non of these parts of my identity have shielded me from anti-Black culture and racism. They have not made the spaces I navigate in more safe. They have not made those in my surroundings treat me as if I am one of their own. Working in a dominantly white field, I am reminded weekly, if not daily, that I am Black. It could be as simple as being introduced to a stranger by a colleague as a “Diversity Hire” or a comment on how my job is secure because no Black people can get fired given the current climate. I am consistently reduced to an arbitrary set of characteristics set by White people.
What I struggle to grasp is, why people hold onto these associations?
“Black people just don’t work hard enough.”
Are you referring to those who built the buildings we are standing in? Built for free or reduced wages simply because they are Black? The hardest working people I know are Black. Our white society, however, is stingy when giving them alcaldes or acknowledging the work they do. That does not mean they are not hard-working. The anti-Black culture found in academia makes it difficult for Black scholars to excel. In my opinion, what drives this is a preconceived notion of who we consider a scholar. The fact that Black people just don’t work hard makes it easy for colleagues to dismiss them as a peer and add them to that Black box, checked for diversity purposes. I know many Black people who may not have a PhD or even a college education, but they are intelligent. To this day, they give me advice on my work.
“Most Black people come from ‘troubled’ households”.
Unfortunately there is some truth here, when we consider access to education, proper health care, jobs, and opportunities to elevate ones economic status. Researchers understand that your zip-code determines a lot about your life, and many zip-codes with primarily Black residents face an uphill battle. The basis for all of this lies primarily in slavery and policies created during the Jim Crow era that make it difficult for Black people to fully be considered members of our society. Even though I grew up in a middle class household, I am more likely to become lower class than a white woman who is lower class is to become middle class. I am fortunate and Blessed in this sense.
“Well Camille, you can’t blame everything on slavery”
When we are talking about race in America, yes I can.
Those of you that prescribe to the Black box, let us reevaluate its contents. There is one common entity that unites all Black people, irrespective of economic status, education, and sexual orientation. We all have been reduced to white ideas of Black people. Yes, even you Clarence Thomas and Ben Carson’s. Whether we admit it or not is a different story. I ask fellow allies to unpack their box filled with white assumptions of the Black experience, and fill it with Black history and the systematic ways our society stifles their voices. It will give you a new perspective on race and an extremely different way of interacting with the Black community.