黑妞
Dear Babygirl,
When I was growing up, the neighborhood called me 黑妞 [dark girl]. My tan complexion, a stark contrast against the fair, light skin that Grandma and Aunty J had, made me an easy target within a community that prized the social status of whiteness. For as long as we were living in Echo Park, I was constantly mocked for being dark, terrorized by adults who taught me to hate my face. And because all the grown-ups teased me, it gave their children permission to do the same. It was relentless, and I didn’t know how to defend myself.
I have so many vivid memories, but this one plays back in my head often: Judy and Kenneth’s dad would walk a group of us home from school everyday and I hated it because he would always single me out and ask, “美金 [Jenny], why is your face so dark? One day, I am going to cut out your mole and use it for a bell.” All the kids burst out laughing and I would tell myself not to breathe because if I did, I would start crying and then everyone would mess with me for not being able to take a joke. To this day, I’ll still hold my breath to stop myself from crying. Movies, verbal disagreements, sad commercials, all of it.
Maybe that’s why I didn’t feel so bad when we were robbed at gunpoint one day as he was walking us home from school. We were close to home when three thugs approached us and wanted his wallet. I grabbed Aunty J’s hand and we ran all the way home. I can still remember his shrill cries yelling, “No, noooo,” as her ran from them away from the alley the led to the back of our complex.
I remember looking back to find Daniel, the youngest of our group who was about four-years-old, and one of the gangsters had grabbed his hand and was leading him down the street. I couldn’t stop and go back; I had my little sister to think about.
When we got close to home, one Grandma came to door to ask what the commotion was. I hollered that I need to use the phone.
It was the first time I ever called 911.
Over the the years, I learned to shield myself from the sun. I spent so much time hiding in the shade, so much money on brightening and whitening products; reinforcing the message from society that the color of our skin is rooted in identity and value. Because what the adults on Logan Street were really telling me - the entire world I knew at the time - was that the real me - little, third-grade Jenny - isn’t acceptable. And when you hear these things, day in and day out, you start to feel like you’re never enough; a form of self-hatred that you can’t escape.
I grew up to become another statistic in this sick, embedded obsession of colorism, colonialism, and classism. It all connects. The color of my skin now is the direct result of spending my entire life indoors because we give preferential treatment and reward people with light skin in all sorts of ways… and in my youth, I wanted in.
So what is the lesson here?
This isn’t what I want for you, baby. For you and your generation. Like the rapper Bambu says, “the standard of beauty is truly rooted in whiteface.” It’s the 21st century and mainstream media is still perpetuating whiteness all over magazine covers, movies and everything in between. There’s too much money to be made off it.
It’s gotten better, true, but we have the capacity to do more. This implicit bias is so lodged in our culture that we need to retrain the colonized mind to redefine what beauty is.
I want you to think about this as you get older. Take the time to self-reflect and acknowledge that this problem is pervasive and very real. Tap into your privilege that you were born with light skin and use it to educate to those who are ignorant to the issue. Knowledge is power, baby, and I want your generation to level up.
In love and power, Mommy