"Dear People: I’m sooooo glad I’m not White."

Which I know sounds odd, coming from somebody who came out as “Not Being Black” just a few short weeks ago, but such is the life of the half-breed city-dweller.

It’s 2014 A.D. and there is a movie out called “Dear White People.”  I saw it – it’s not very good, but what it has done, is it has officially sanctioned it as socially acceptable to make fun of White people, with all of their racism and social ineptness and just general “whiteness.”   It’s like how folks used to say how the last safe minority to poke fun at were fat people.  Well, push on over, fat ppl, it’s now white ppls’ turn.  Like I said: I am soooooo glad I’m not white.

This thought (being soooooo glad that I am not white) occurred to me when I came in on the tail end of an interesting Facebook thread the other day.  The thread had a racial angle, and the original poster was making a point about the online magazine Salon and how, as far as Salon was concerned “If you are White, you skate” [through - in life, without consequence, as a by-product of White privilege].

And, I guess I should be thinking “I am so glad I am not brown!  Because that is the popular thing to say, isn’t it? Oh, wait, that’s not it.  The saying goes “I am so glad I am not Black!” Wait, that’s not it either...nowadays, it’s more like “I wish I was Black.”  There. That’s it. Right there.  I wish I was Black.

"Obviously not Black"

The other weekend I was having a conversation with a long-time friend of mine.  A Black man with roots deep in Jamaica.  He said to me, as if I didn’t know, “Well you know, Maureen, about the "1 drop rule" - if you have 1 drop of Black blood, YOU ARE BLACK.”  

Yes, m’dear - I am fully aware of how the slave-traders, and owners, and would-be owners defined what it meant to be black in terms of who was and who wasn’t ‘up for grabs’ during the slave trade, and Jim Crow thereafter, and even now in certain parts of Amerikkka, I suppose you still have those white folks who use the word ‘nigger’ freely and proudly and are boastful of their Aryan affiliations and White Power associations and all of that, but certainly by no means is the “one-drop” test the Gold Standard these days.  And besides, all of that is irrelevant since I happen to have Half The Drops, but besides my blood, what has been my EXPERIENCE, in this skin?  Please do not pretend to know.  I don’t pretend to know what it feels like to be a Black man in America.  

“Who says you’re not Black, Maureen?” he challenged, when I insisted it was “really OK” that I did not identify as Black.  

To which I replied “Well, Black people of course!” 

And then crickets.  Because quite frankly, what could he say?

And don’t get me wrong, Black people (those who I have identified as Black) have mistreated me because of the power my light skin grants me as I walk through this life.  White people have mistreated me in far more subtle ways: I’m the “safe colored girl.”   My skin suggests ‘indigenous culture,’ (that’s cool, right?!), but my energy suggests 'neighbor.'  Thus, when they slip and make some sort of off-color remark or downright racial slur, there is always an awkward moment of “Crap. Damn her, I forgot that she’s not White!” Followed by “Is she gonna be OK with what I just said?” followed by “What the f#ck did I just say?!?”  Yep. Whoopsies.

Anyway my point is this: if a gun were put to my head and I were forced to choose a side, well obviously, I would choose Black.  And the reasons are layered and varied, complex and also simple.  But a gun is not at my head at this very moment.  And once again, I tell you this: as much as i would like to to choose a side, I simply cannot.   So today, I choose to revel in my particular shade of brown.  As my birth-mother once said to me about our prominent noses: it's functional.