MONDAY THOUGHTS---BLACK GIRLS

Yes. 

I was rooting for them, too. 

The little Black girl in me is always happy to see intelligent, poised, positive role models, who look like her. 

She used to be excited to see Black people appear on TV. 

She remembers when a street kickball game could end instantly, if someone yelled from a window that there were Black people on TV. 

She watched "Julia" and "Christy Love" and Eartha Kitt as Catwoman on "Batman". 

She watched "Soul Train", "The Bill Cosby Show", and "Room 222". 

She still has her Black History scrapbook from 4th grade.

She doesn't know Viola nor Octavia, but she was hoping to hear BOTH of their names tonight— just because. 

She isn't mad that only one of them won. 

Every time a camera panned to either one of them, as she watched the Oscars, she felt awfully proud. 

Viola and Octavia are just the kind of ladies that Miss Lenora Hall would have instructed her 4th graders to research. Miss Hall would have suggested that the class clip EVERY newspaper article about them, and paste them in their "Noted Blacks in American History" scrapbooks. 

"Class. There are so many things that are not in our textbooks", she would say. "Every now and then, we are going to put them down. When Black people do anything of any significance, preserve that information. Remember them."

It's over. Octavia won. To the little Black girl in me, Viola did, too.

The Oscars are over. 

We all go back to whatever it was we were doing, or simply go to bed. 

They party, go to scheduled interviews, or maybe they go to bed, too.

It was a big deal. 

I imagine that the intense pressure is still on--that pressure many have felt since the first time someone who TRULY experienced terror, rejection, and racial discrimination preached, "You have to be twice as good, and work twice as hard. You represent your race. Don't embarrass us".

Sometimes, it really is enough to just be a part of a thing. 

Maybe winning isn't everything, all of the time. Maybe there's no reason to be disappointed, suspicious, despondent, bitter, angry or sad. 

The Black girls who made us so proud, did their jobs honorably, skillfully, got paid, and were on to the next project. 

Did they even have the grand competition, that is The Academy Awards, in mind as they worked?
Still, we held our breaths, and hoped the Black girls would win, like we've always done, since the Black girls have been reluctantly invited to play. 

Black girls have always been in the game. Are we guilty of only focusing on the negative, because of the positions they were always given?
Had they BOTH walked away with statuettes, it would have been really nice. Our collective pride over something, of which we had no part, except to cheer, would have been immense.

"They were in amazing acting company, though."

"The competition was stiff."

"They looked so beautiful, and carried themselves so well."

"There were a lot of great performances that were ignored this year. At least "our" girls were nominated."

"This will really open new doors for them."

"They made us so proud."
"When they cried, we cried."

Yeah. We said or thought all of that. We always do, no matter what awards show is on.

What IS that thing, that is in so many of us, that is triggered when we see ourselves in arenas that haven't always been inclusive? 

Whether it's a game show, talk show, awards show, sporting event, or election, we hope fairness will finally smile on us. 

Are we still struggling to fit in, desiring to be accepted, praying "they" will see us, count us worthy, and welcome us in? 

(Oh. Weren't we proud as punch of little Cynné Simpson, too? 

When Esperanza Spalding emerged, with her stunning afro, resembling a cottony cloud-like crown, and stood so poised, and sang so sweetly, weren't we beaming? 

Didn't we zero in on the Black "Cirque du Soleil" performers?)

Wait. WE weren't in it. 

We're sitting at home watching, commenting, criticizing, and joking, but the Black people we admire and claim, THEY were in it. 

They had to field all of the questions and comments, that have been asked and made, since Hattie McDaniel accepted her award.

Those who have dared to step out and display their talents, did the work, yet, WE have an expectation that seems as natural as our breathing. 

The Black girls we talked about, as if they were our sisters or first cousins, represented well, and we wanted them to bring home the prize for all of us to collectively share. 

We figured, they could keep the Oscar on Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays, and we'd keep it all the other days, and alternate holidays. Their win, we feel, is OUR long-awaited win, but we're always prepared if they lose. 

We're sort of used to that. 

Perhaps, that’s how we snap back so easily. 

We refer to statistics, lists, and cross our fingers. 

We know who won first, who the last winner was, and how many years have passed in between wins. 

We investigate the age and race of the people who make the final choices. 

We always hope, "This year. Maybe THIS year". 

We argue about who should have won, and for what role. 

We debate about conspiracies. 

We shake our collective heads over snubs, and wonder why one thing is elevated, while another thing isn't. (We're STILL trying to process the whole pimp song thing, and the roles for which Halle and Denzel were finally recognized. Sometimes, you'd rather that a bone NOT be thrown your way.)

We love the movies, no matter who is starring in them. 

We've always gone to the movies for entertainment value alone, but when we see ourselves, even silent and in the background as extras, it's still something. 

When the great and powerful Academy acknowledges "us", something happens. 

We become intensely interested in the outcome. 

We purpose to go to the awards shows, courtesy of our television sets, and root for our people. 

It's the only reason we're watching, sometimes. 

We zero in on certain categories, and nothing else. We want them to know we are there in some way. 

We don't want them to worry, though. 

If things don't work out there, there's always BET and the NAACP, where the competition is more likely to look alike, and a win is more feasible--but are there politics and stereotypes lurking in those arenas, too? 

Do those awards mean as much as the Oscar?

While they are celebrating Art, honing their skills, and working, we just want to hear the names of the Black girls: 

Hattie, 

Ethel, 

Juanita, 

Cicely, 

Diahann, 

Dorothy, 

Diana, 

Ruby,

Beah, 

Eartha,

Alfre, 

Halle, 

Margaret, 

Whoopi, 

Marianne, 

Latifah, 

Sophie, 

Loretta,

Jennifer, 

Viola, 

Taraji, 

Oprah,

Angela, 

Gabourey, 

Mo'Nique, 

Octavia...

Somehow, it makes us feel better, and gives us a glimmer of hope in America--an America that hasn't always been kind or fair. 

Should we just be glad for the nod? 

Wait. 

WE didn't get a nod. 

We were sitting at home on our sofas, wishing we could wear dresses like that, and noticing whose forehead didn't seem to be moving.

When Chris Rock took center stage, and Whitney's photo flashed across the screen, we perked up, and got serious.

Did we even pay for a ticket to see the movies, in which the Black girls starred? 

Were we so preoccupied with the whole “maids and mammies” thing, that we forgot history, and the fact that those roles did, and still do exist? 

What do we want to see? What does diversity and inclusion really look like?

Remember now. Some of us said, with our full chests, that Julia and Claire Huxtable were unrealistic.

 

Can Black actresses just be actresses, or are they saddled with the responsibility of representing the rest of us, every time they read a script? 

Never mind “them”, for a second. What, exactly, do we serve ourselves, when equipped with the authority, resources, and opportunities to plan the audio-visual meals? 

Maybe that's the REAL issue we should discuss, as we congratulate Olivia and Viola. 

Is “Hollywood” the culprit, or are we demonstrating insanity for expecting things to change?

While we're waiting for “Hollywood” to give us more diverse, honorable images, what images are we portraying every day, that cause some to conclude, that Black girls are pitifully one-dimensional, loud, lewd, ignorant, void of values, lacking self worth, profane, irresponsible, classless, and woefully cartoonish? 

ARE we a monolith? Where IS this meeting place, where we're all supposed to go, to discuss what we all like and dislike? 

Will there ever be a time, when we can watch an awards show--any awards show, and not be on pins and needles? Will there ever be a time when the elephant in the elegant room (that we want to ignore, but somehow can't), doesn’t answer to the name RACE?

A body can only hope.

I wrote a poem a few years ago, when the little Black girl in me was excited, and chattering in a way that I couldn't ignore. 

She was so proud. 

She was born in Louisiana, see--so were her parents, and their parents, and their parents. 

There's a reason why she's always rooting for Black girls to succeed. 

She grew up, and gave birth to a daughter--another Black girl, who has exceeded her greatest expectations.

LITTLE BLACK GIRLS IN THE WHITE HOUSE
Vanessa Renee Williams

I close my eyes
And the pictures that my mind starts to play
Are really great
It's nothing like
The ordinary that I see when I'm awake
But, that's okay
I've been accused of wishful thinking
And my multicolored, way out there dreaming
Is just because I've been taught to hope
And I believe in peace, and chasing rainbows

I'm in love with love
And think there's good in everybody
If you just take the time to look
And looking for the things that I don't even see
Should tell you just a little bit about me
The childlike wonder, in my heart and my mind?
It doesn't take much to arouse
I feel so many possibilities
Some things I never thought I would ever see
Yes, there are visions happily dancing about
Like little Black girls in the White House

Never been there before
But I'm going
Don't know the ins and outs
But I'll be an expert soon enough
There will be nobody to keep me bound, or keep me out
And I'll be free

To dance about
Like little Black girls in the White House

An over forty-something dream
I'd really love for my over-eighty Daddy to see
Ooo, I can feel it!
A welcomed change within and without
And I'll be strong
Where I belong
Like little Black girls in the White House