It’s 2017, and colorism is clearly alive and well. We know this, although some refuse to acknowledge or admit it. Some don’t think it’s important because at the end of the day, to most, being black will trump the color of your skin. Some don’t admit it out of guilt, lack of empathy or willful ignorance. Regardless, it isn’t going to go anywhere if we cannot have open, honest, and respectful conversations about it without resorting to insults.
As a light-skinned black woman, colorism isn’t a topic I like to broach because I’m damned if I do talk about it and damned if I don’t. I’ve been told that I only believe colorism and light-skinned privilege exist because it makes me feel superior. On the flip side, I’ve also been accused of ignoring light-skinned privilege and the plight of darker-toned black women. Ultimately, I’ve learned that sometimes — a lot of times — I just need to listen. But I do think my experience as a light-skinned woman in the black community has a place in the conversation.
Light-skinned women occupy an awkward space. We are often seen as the “ideal” black woman, but also insulted for being “not really” black, “diluted” black, or just “not black enough.” As a much-needed dark-skinned pride movement bubbles up on social media, some have gone so far as to associate true blackness with dark skin only, patently rejecting the blackness of all else. This leaves women like me in an awkward space because we are not accepted, nor do we belong, outside of black culture.
There’s no question that lighter-toned women are often used as a ‘safer, more acceptable’ representation of black women in mainstream media (and this has been going on for decades now, peep this shockingly colorist vintage Ebony magazine cover) the assumption is that I find this flattering or acceptable. I can only speak on my personal experience and those around me when I say I really don’t — at all. And I don’t know any light-skinned women who cheer when we’re obviously (and often awkwardly) placed in a sea of white women to show “diversity.” Allow me to break down some realities of being a light-skinned token.
1. It increases resentment within the black community, especially among women.
You think that people care that I don’t like light-skinned women being paraded around as ambiguous representations of black beauty? Of course not, we likely won’t even get to that point of the conversation. There’s a misdirected resentment towards light-skinned women due to colorism when we literally have no control over the color of our skin. I actually believe there are specific reasons to promote this division that has roots in slavery, but I’m trying to keep this article semi-short, and the concept is nothing new.
2. People tend to find it more acceptable to say racist things around you.
Sophia Richie expressed this some time ago (and people even threw her a side eye because she apparently doesn’t look black enough), but people don’t have to think you’re white, they just need to think you’re docile or have a reason to be less militant (ie, privileged). “Oh, you aren’t a real black person, I wasn’t talking about you.” Last time I checked, being black wasn’t a processed burger from a fast food joint compiled of artificial materials. My blackness is real, it matters, and I don’t play that shit.
3. Colorism exhibited by the mainstream is anti-black and strips away our identity as black women.
I fail to understand why I would be happy to see someone who looks like me be a representative of the black race when I know that the reason explicitly is rooted in not looking “that” black or being “acceptable” black. What kind of victory is that? This is more of a convenience to the media but a complete disservice to everyone in the black community, not just those excluded in representation.
4. You sometimes question whether an opportunity is the result of your skin color rather than your skill or talent.
I remember years ago asking others if they were okay with accepting an opportunity that they could confirm was the result of privilege, and while I’d like to think not, everyone isn’t that blatant about it. Whether the opportunity is minor or major, it’s a nagging thought.
5. Some believe that your light skin is a ‘get out of racism free!’ card. It isn’t.
Months ago, I saw a combative and divisive meme circulating the web challenging light-skinned women to relay their stories about being called a monkey. The assumption, of course, was that they couldn’t so they should stop whining about being bullied for having lighter skin. But to a racist non-black person, a “monkey” is a beast regardless of skin tone. Not to mention, skin color doesn’t exclude one from having black features that are often ridiculed in society, such as “soup cooler” lips, “nigger noses,” and the like.
Let me be 100% clear, this is not an article that is meant to compare light-skinned and dark-skinned plight. It’s not to dismiss my societal privilege (which is well documented), or my ability to exist more comfortably in certain spaces. It is to show that colorism in its totality is a debilitating thing.