REACTION TO DARK GIRLS FROM A LIGHT-SKINNED BLACK MAN.
ROBERT WEST, WRITER.
“Can you believe that’s his cousin? Look at how black she is.” Those words, delivered by my third-grade teacher jolted me from the idyllic world that children should be afforded, and catapulted me into a world where the issues of racism and colorism would often consume me. This is the story of how an attack against a “dark girl” left a light-skinned black man emotionally scarred. Before going any further, let me say that I speak of my experiences only, and the complexity of my experiences and sentiments would require much more space than the Huffington Post would allow. Also, that expressed may leave you baffled, and uttering “That’s crazy!” Indeed, constructs such as racism and colorism can reduce one to a state of frustration, confusion and despair, one that when trying to explain their impact, leaves you vulnerable to those who don’t understand, and stuck constantly trying to make order of the internal conflicts one may experience. My mother gave birth to eleven children, with me being the baby of the bunch. My siblings range in skin tone from Denzel Washington to Grace Jones. Then, there’s me... someone who is often said to resemble Steven Seagal, or thought of as Samoan or a fair-skinned Latino. I often seemingly disappoint people by answering “Black” to
the question “What are you?” Over and over, I find myself having to defend my answer, with me usually wanting to exclaim: “I’m not choosing to be Black you nitwit, I am Black!” At the age of five, my family moved into public housing in Fort Pierce, Florida. Our residency there was a magical time for me. In addition to the housing being a huge improvement over our previous abode, it gave us an opportunity to mingle with our extended family, who lived across the street, on a daily basis. The same age as I, my cousin Kim, whose hue is the darkest ebony you can imagine, was my constant companion during this time. I recognized I looked different, but within my family, one looking different didn’t equate to one being better. In third-grade, Kim and I were assigned to the same classroom. I couldn’t have been happier because this meant I’d have family with me all the day long. One day while walking down the halls of Chester A. Moore Elementary School while being escorted by our teacher, Mrs. Logan, we had to yield to the oncoming class passing in front of us. While stopped, our teacher and another teacher had a brief exchange, which at one point, Mrs. Logan summoned Kim and I out of the line. In front of the other teacher and our fellow classmates, Mrs. Logan asked the other teacher, “Can you believe that’s
36 // BIOLOGICAL PIGMENT BIAS: PERSPECTIVES ON COLOURISM
