Free Women of Color with their Children and Servants, oil painting by Agostino Brunias, Dominica, c. 1764–1796.
I struggle with how Black to be at work.
This is not a negative reflection of my current job nor of any job I’ve had in particular, really. I also understand that notions of “Blackness” and identity in general are relative and complicated. None of us exists as part of a monolith nor can we be reduced to any one facet of ourselves. Perception is such that one person’s O.J. of the late-’80s may be another person’s O.J. of the late-’90s. This collective struggle is a byproduct of existing as a Black woman in integrated spaces: how Black is too Black for any given environment? Are there consequences for crossing that inconsistent line?
And, let’s be clear, there is a line. One of the most insidious talents of racism (and oppression-in-general) is its ability to make you think it isn’t there. Oppression is the heat around a flame. You probably can’t see it. It doesn’t even exist if you’re not close enough to it. However, it can kill you if you are too close.
Read more at The Clyde Fitch Report