Don’t Revoke My Black Card
The concept of the black card is as old as time.
This time last year, the 'don't revoke my black card' trend was all over the bird app. Inspired by the card game 'Black Card Revoked', people were confessing the habits, opinions and personality traits that might put into question their acceptance into the larger black culture. 'Black Card Revoked' is described as, '…a fun, nostalgia-filled card game that tests knowledge of cultural milestones and know-how within American Black popular culture.' The premise is simple. Each player holds four black answer cards marked A to D. Each participant takes turns reading a white card and the other players have to respond with an answer using their black card. Some questions have correct answers but others are determined by popular opinion or the majority vote.
Inspired by 'black twitter', this card game is the brainchild of Latesha Williams and her friends. Much like black twitter themselves, the game covers anything from #ThanksgivingWithBlackFamilies and #BlackChurch to pushing for the removal of the confederate flag. I have nothing against this game [not that it needs my endorsement], in fact, it sounds like a lot of fun. Much like how every joke has some truth in it, the fun-hearted nature of the game does stem from a problematic concept. I am of course speaking of the black card itself.
The very existence of a black card, furthermore the card being something that can be taken away doesn't sit well with me. As a black woman who has lost the accent of her homeland, listens to Harry Styles and has always been more academic than athletically inclined, I've had my 'black card' revoked a few too many times. It was, of course, meant to be playful and #notthatdeep, but it very much is THAT deep.
We as a society have to some degree accepted that black people are a monolith.
monolith: a group of people who are thought of as being all the same:
There seems to be one widely accepted picture of a black person and anyone with even a single personality trait that differs from that is suddenly seen as either not black or less black. As if that could be possible. Think about the black characters you've seen in the media – their interests, their roles, their style, their familial structures. Whether you've realised it or not, 80% of the representation we've been given is one person played by many [similar looking] faces.
This representation is problematic enough without us as a community adopting it, and essentially weaponising it against our own. This representation along with our own adopted notions of who belongs have created an incomplete and toxic picture of what a black person should or can be. For those who can't identify with having their black card revoked, maybe being called an oreo [or a coconut] resonates more with you. Being called an oreo (brown on the outside, white on the inside), is like being told you were never had your black card in the first place.
I don't remember when I was first called an oreo or when I first had my black card revoked. They say you never forget your first, but I have. What I can't seem to shake however is what I felt in those moments and the insecurities that stemmed from those experiences. Something like this can lead to a child forcing themselves to enjoy things they don't or it can lead them to believe that they're deemed unacceptable by their own community. I fell into the latter. Making black friends or being myself around the larger black community was very difficult for me in my formative years because all I could imagine them thinking was, "she's not black enough", or "who is she kidding with that accent?" or "she doesn't belong here." None of this was true obviously but projecting isn't that hard when you have enough incidences that back up those lies. Realising this and growing from it wasn't an easy process and if I'm being honest, I'm still somewhat working through it.
The black community has it hard enough on every continent without the addition of this. Immigrant children living in the diaspora have enough identity crises already.
This trifle of black identity has another layer. The 'compliments'. Put in quotation marks because they're not really compliments. These phrases come from deep inside people's internal racism and limited expectations for black people. You get complimented on being articulate, graceful, well-educated, intelligent, well-behaved or driven. Most black people who exhibit positive attributes [positive being subjective of course] are labelled the exception. 'Not like the other blacks' in other words. You're basically told that you don't belong in your own community, you never could, but you have the right attributes to be adopted by another community – one full of people that want to love you despite your blackness. People that look down on everyone else like you. It's about as comforting as a dental procedure... with no anaesthesia.
The point is, society as a whole and the black community has A LOT of unlearning to do. It's becoming less and less about a lack of diversity and more about an unwilling to redefine what being black is. To anyone else who identifies with some of this struggle, it's also important to realise that your community wasn't trying to exclude you. We don't often deal well with the unfamiliar or with anything that defies definition. For some, it may also be triggering to see someone who is well educated or grew up in a good neighbourhood or who has the potential to be anything they want to be. A lot of minorities have adopted struggle as part of their identity. That's not an inherently bad thing but it does mean that the knee-jerk response to anyone who isn't struggling [either at all or in the same way] is anger. Too many of us would rather people suffer in the same way we did than not have to suffer at all. It's called crab mentality. Look it up. So the divergent black feels like a threat that has to be snuffed out or kept out. Less so something to be celebrated or embraced.
I can almost guarantee that I will be called an oreo at least once more in my life, or have my black card revoked again but it doesn't feel like a personal threat anymore. Don't get me wrong it's still problematic as all heck but I understand that it's not entirely about me. Plus I now understand that black is a part of my identity. Regardless of whether or not you want to grant me that privilege. It's not some lucrative club I have yet to earn my way into. I was born into this legacy. I bear its scars, its struggles, its excellence and its pride. Nothing as trivial as my taste in music or food can deny me that. I am blackity black black.
OTHERS