A Black Feminism | Womanism Blog

Monthly Archives: November 2009

[Originally posted to eliasdiamonds.wordpress.com]

To put it broadly, the interracial couple has always been a controversial figure in American society. During slavery white men had access to the sexual privilege that allowed them to more times than not rape Black and African women or coerce them into sexual relationships by using their position of power over the women or by threatening them and the people they loved with violence, torture, and separation. These are my earliest memories in life of examples of what scholars have termed “interracial intimacies” .

This being the truth, I myself have always found the white-Black interracial couple questionable. As a child, I thought of it as a fetish kind of thing, what is called “jungle fever” to be outright insulting, not PC, and put it bluntly. Still then and even now, I write about the Black-white interracial couple as well as other kinds of interracial couples with social commentary laden intentions with the hope that I can portray them as people who are genuinely in love and care for another. They are not characters who exist on this cloud of racial “colored blindness”, usually in my stories race and class and other social issues is something they have to face and I try to make it as realistic and nuanced as possible.

What is the hype around interracial couples in America with regards to the entrance of Barack Obama as president?

Without getting too much into the geneology, I’ll say this: Barack Obama’s father is Kenyan and his mother is white. He grew up in Hawaii with his white grandparents. That said, its interesting that people, especially white people, put so much emphasis on his “mixedness”, his whiteness, even though he himself has openly said that he identifies as Black. Many people in this country have treated President Obama as if he is Jesus Christ and is bringing the Second Coming, as if he, though his “mixedness”, has become a bridge for white and Black people to meet each other in the middle.

Uh-unh.

I don’t think so.

As a matter of fact, I think having a President who identifies as Black but actually has a white parent has further complicated white Americans’ ideas of the Black-white interracial couple. Consider the following:

  1. What kinds of interracial couples are in the media (commecials, ads, movies, television, magazines, etc.)?
  2. When you see a interracial couple, is one of the people involved white by any chance?
  3. What has the white-Black interracial couple come to symbolize?
  4. What has this emphasis of white people on the white-Black interracial couple done to the image of the Black family and to the idea of other kinds of interracial couples?

In some cases and definitely in the media, I think that the Black-white interracial couple has become a means for white people to ease their white guilt and further integrate themselves into and appropriate Black culture and social life.  Most of the time in images of the media, you never see a interracial couple without a white person somewhere close by to be involved in it, “approve” of it, or sanction it in some way; it is a constant reminder that white people are here and their privilege gives them the right to be a part of your “little ‘colored’ life”. Since the President Obama entered office, I think more so than ever that through the media, more specially literature, the Black-white interracial couple has become yet another symbol and means for white colonization and devaluation of the Black family and other families of color.

Plenty of erotica, erotic romance, and romance writers trespass into the territory of interracial relationships–namely the Black-white interracial couple. They elevate this “interracial intimacy” to a level of fetishdom that is disgusting; one scholar says this is because they view the relationship between master and slave during slavery (think Sally and former white ass President Thomas Jefferson who owned over 257 slaves by the way) as tragically romantic and misunderstood and warped by an oppressive society. White writers in these genres in particular, regardless of the fact that most Black and African slave women were raped or coerced into sexual relations with white men (and with Black men too because they were expected to increase the white master’s slave population) are obsessed with this “interracial intimacy” because they have the privilege of stupidly (sorry, that’s me being pissed off) imagining it as romantic through “artistic license” and willful “creativity”.

The interracial couple has become a fetish and a commodity for writers in particular. There are many fans begging “urban fantasy” (arguable)/paranormal romance writer J.R. Ward to pretty-please-on-their-knees put a “ethnic female character” in her white dominated Black Dagger Brotherhood series. Even if she did, at this point, this woman would be a minority along with Trez and iAm (“the Moors”, obviously Black males who are bouncers and nurses for a drug-dealing, substance-abusing, club-owning, white male pimp vampire). Then J.R. Ward would have a whole other load of an issue in her books to add to my list: 1) appropriation of Black culture and rap and rap culture, 2) ONE ethnic female minority, 3) stereotyping Black males, 4) promoting consumer culture in our crazy ass capitalist nation, etc, etc…. She excuses the lack of people of color by saying, loosely quoted, that she “writes what the Brothers tell her to”; when asked if there will be a ethnic female character, her answer is “you’ll never know who might pop up in the Brothers’ world”. And more than likely, should she even appear, this imagined woman of color, this “ethnic female character, would mostly likely be with a white male vampire. Which leads me right back to interracial couples in writing and media in general.

What these white writers in particular fail to realize is that–despite what white European history and thought, scientific racism, and American culture through ads and commercials and academic and non-academic writing like the afore mentioned genres tell us–there is nothing sexy or loving or romantic about slavery, rape and coercion, oppression, white sexual privilege, and the dehumanization of people of color through systems of oppression. No matter how much they’d like to believe that there is.

I’d like to end this by saying 1) this is in no way an attack on healthy BDSM relationships, 2) I have faith in the potential of interracial relationships of all kinds to be genuine…but I believe in questioning the ones that are created and propagated for the purpose of easing white guilt and normalizing and integrating whiteness into the lives and culture of people of color in the past, the present Age of Obama, and the future.


In some ways, I was very fortunate that I got to spend Thanksgiving at a wealthy white classmate’s house on Mercer Island. My family got to be together back home in Georgia, but when I told them about my evening they said they didn’t have nowhere near what I got to experience. I even got to escape my racist white housemates (who are moving out together, by the way–white flight? Maybe, but thank God!).

I was fortunate in some ways, I think.

In other ways…I was cursed! Check out my Thanksgiving experience!

For real, always,

Ms. Queenly

So, I’ve been in Seattle for four years and, for the first time, I got invited to someone’s house for Thanksgiving, since it would be ridiculous (and expensive) for me fly 3000 miles home with Christmas on the way.

A classmate invited me to her house and, oh boy–let me TELLL you….

Okay, it wasn’t as bad I thought it would be, but, of course, there were some serious things that went down.

After fighting a losing battle with J.R.Ward’s message board moderators and her pissy Site Administrator (general manager, or whatEva) over racialized censorship, I was ready for a break from writing my book and dealing with their shit. Luckily, I’d been invited to my wealthy classmate’s house on Mercer Island for Thanksgiving dinner. So fortunate was I that I didn’t have to spend it with my racist white housemates and their friends who occupied the downstairs area that evening.

She picked me up and I guess I should have been a little suspicious that she’d invited me in the first place when she started warning me about each of her family members and each of their guests. She confessed quite a bit to me over the course of the evening actually.

They lived in a gigantic-damn-house that looks like something out of those Christmas/Thanksgiving-wonderland commercials! It…was…sick! I was a little overwhelmed because I’ve never been in a house like that before, with portraits, little trinkets and knickknacks, antiques, two fireplaces, new electronics, wine/champagne/and water glasses, sets of porcelain dishes, glass cabinets, chandeliers, patio, plush carpeting and hardwood floors–and who knows what the hell was upstairs!

Everyone was white except for me. Needless to say I felt out of place even though they tried their best to make me feel like an esteemed guest.

There was white wine, red wine, port, champagne, two different kinds of pecan pie,  pumpkin pie, turkey, ham, baked sliced sweet potatoes and apples, whole berry cranberry sauce, stuffing (I hate onions but it was good), potatoes and gravy, and brussel sprouts (they were roasted, yummy, never had those before). Appetizers include shrimp cocktail, little muffin/cornbread things, crackers, salmon, cream cheese dip with capers and little green onions, and some manner of pickled carrots and another vegetable that is escaping my memory right now. Needless to say it was quite a spread. Nice.

I know these things because I needed to report back to my family about the swank, posh situation I found myself in that evening. Sure enough, when I talked to them this morning, they asked me what was served and laughed when I told why and how much I drank that evening.

It was my first time being at such a formal dinner and having to mingle with people like that. I think I did okay.

But by the end of the evening, I was, of course, made the token Black.

My host seemed to be asking me to forgive all her sins as a upper middle class white woman and kept asking me questions aimed at evaluating her and her home life. The guys were macho and shook my hand really hard and firm and held it. Her mother called me “sister” and “gurlfriend” on multiple occasions over the course of the evening. Every time I brought up race, my host faded the conversation to something else; she also tried to get me drunk (which she admitted) so I wouldn’t remember any of the offensive stuff her family said (5 glasses of white wine, 4 glasses of champagne, and 5 glasses of red wine–down the hatch!). Her uncle was wearing an offensive shirt which pictured Native people with rifles as the original Homeland Security because he thought it was cool. Her sister kept fist-pounding people (like Michelle and Barack Obama did on TV that time during elections, remember?) at the dinner table and trying to speak in Black vernacular whenever I was in the room. I was invited by her cousins (who drove me home) to one of Seattle’s few Southern comfort food restaurants for the “greens and fried catfish”. They also threatened to kidnap me instead of taking me home (joking, I think, and I told them my family didn’t have any money for ransom so they’d be stuck with me); they asked me if I smoked weed (they did, I think) and cigarettes (I know they do), and turned it on the rap, R&B, and hip hop station in their teched out jeep to make me feel better (even though I thought techno trance music was fine). My classmate had to put her son to bed and thought it would be funny for me ride home with her drunk cousin in the backseat, who was wasted and kept talking about being fat with me (she was talking about herself but I’m a “full-figured woman” and she kept asking if I’d ever had the problem of being fat). The cousin balanced out her comments by telling me I was sweet, cute, and very sexy, at several points during the evening and I got lots of hugs from her.

I got to talk about my book though, which was nice even though my classmate wouldn’t let me finish and kept fading the conversation to something else, like she was changing the track on her iPod.

Before we ate that evening, everyone went around the table and said what they were thankful for. I said I was thankful that I would be graduating this year and happy I had a friend good enough to invite me to dinner with her lovely family.


I’ve had some interesting experiences on message boards like Laurel K. Hamilton’s and J.R. Ward’s. Despite the fact that we now have a president in America who identifies as Black, a man of color, it seems race is still a taboo topic even on the internet at established message boards. That leads me to say what I’ve been thinking ever since President Obama became president: I do not believe electing a man of color as president has solved racial issues in this country at all. If not more so than before, the walls are closing in even tighter on people of color and other minorities as many whites try to hang on to their privilege and social norms.

For hundreds of years, the law and white social norms in America have been used to oppress people of color and other minorities and punish those who support them in any way. It is for this reason that I write the following:

What many fail to realize is that the public and the private cannot be separated for people of color especially. It has never been separate. Nor will it ever be. The public is private.

With regards to racialized censorship, in my experience on author message boards, the rules are designed so that you cannot talk about anything political (public) even if the authors themselves use racialized language and illustrate situations regarding race. In the case of J.R. Ward’s message boards specifically, you can’t even ask about it unless you’re begging the author on your knees to add a believable minority and/or character of color to the series. Other than that site admin and mods will Shut.You.Down. Considering the writer’s flagrant appropriation and misuse of Black culture and, by extension in a way, African and Muslim culture, I wonder why in the hell I have to ask why there aren’t any Black characters or social commentary tied into the plot!

The excuses for many readers were as follows: escapism, the authors’ creative fictional license, the author’s 1st Amendment rights, you-don’t-have-to-read-it-Ms.-Queenly-if-you-hate-it-so-much, we-love-anachronisms, etc.

Message boards seem to be a place for flattery, hero worship for the author and the fostering of internalized oppression, oppression, repression, and suppression through reader escapism and censorship.

But who really gets to escape in the micro-chasms of oppression constructed by writers?

How do we combat racialized censorship and the silencing of minorities? How do we form a community to discuss literature and art and fight against this silencing?

Racialized Censorship Pt. II


I wrote this to express some of my thoughts on “Black English”, “Black vernacular”, dialect, “AAE (African-American English)”, “Ebonics”, etc., whatever you wanna call it. What does it mean when writers and other artists express it in their work? When others appropriate and abuse  it?

We’ve all heard it before, I’m assuming. A reader complaining or even returning a book to the store for a very specific reason.

You’ve heard it, haven’t you?

“Why did she have to write this book in that broken English like that?”

Or this comment from Amazon.com:

“Written in Ebonics– The subject matter of this book is already disturbing enough, why did the author add insult to injury by writing it so poorly and in ebonics?! It’s a good thing I borrowed the book didn’t go out and spend my money on it!”

Now, when I was a little girl growing up Georgia, I used think there was something wrong with the way I spoke. The influence of reading historical romance, I thought, helped me clear that up. People often commented on how well I spoke. In fact, it earned me the reputation of being a nerd and was part of the reason kids bullied me. Guess they thought I thought I was too good for them.

The comments above are often said about the work of artists like Sapphire, the Black female author of Push, the book that the recently-released-in-theaters film Precious is based off of.

I think that there are artists who abuse and appropriate the use of “Black vernacular” (many writers in particular) or what is called “broken English”, thereby oppressing and creating mocking, racist caricatures of the people who speak it. In the case of Precious in the book Push, I would say that the dialect of English that she speaks and writes in is the result of an education system that neglected her and a parent who verbally and physically abused her–and we see this all too often in American society in particular. Precious could not read or write when we first met her in the film and the book.

Just to note, Black and African people in America during slavery and after Reconstruction for a while were by law barred from learning to read and write along with everything else they couldn’t do because of the oppressive white-dominated world their ancestors had been dragged shackled into in this country.

Some might ask, how do you explain people in school who speak “kind of” like that anyway on a daily basis? I, for example, am in college and I still speak way differently when I go home to Georgia than I do on the streets and in the classrooms of a predominantly white university and city. “Black English/vernacular” or “Ebonics” (I don’t know how PC that really is today…) is a part of our culture. Some people lump our way (and by “our”, I mean Black peoples) of speaking under slang or fads. It is a comfortable way that many of us have spoken since we were children. You don’t just learn it over night. Hell, sometimes we make words up or adjust them to express what we mean! A lot of people who don’t understand this would accuse us of ignorance or stupidity or of being “ghetto”, but that is because they do not understand. They don’t even understand what we mean when we use the word “ghetto”.

Sometimes I feel like I’m forgetting how to be around my own family and friends when I go home, as if I have been assimilated into this white way of speaking and thinking of the world. It seems like they are talking too fast or using words I don’t understand. Its like I’m forgetting that comfortable language in order to learn how to move in the white-dominated, academic and literary world.

With this said, I would argue that books written in the vernacular–not all of them are bad. I had decent English teachers growing up and I think I had a natural inclination towards a passion for reading and writing unlike Precious.

A book like Sapphire’s Push is written that way for a reason. I think that reason is to illustrate the trials that Precious faces being illiterate and struggling to learn how to read and write at the age of sixteen. I think that reason is so that the reader must struggle with her and, in doing so, understand and appreciate her experiences. That is the true definition of having passion for someone, as Black author Nancy Rawles gave a speech on last Spring at the Seattle Public Library–being able to suffer and endure with them.


I just saw it yesterday night. Check out my initial experience with the film. My criticisms will be coming soon…I hope. The movie is very emotionally straining for me to watch so I don’t know if I can offer criticism even at this point.

Edited 7/9/2010


Last night, I performed one of my new and original spoken word pieces at an on-campus open mic, SCRATCH. It couldn’t have gone better I think. I thought it was going to be a gotdamn disaster to be honest!

“The Freak Show, or to be more PC, ‘Coming Attractions’” was written for Sara Baartman, Saartjie of South Africa, who was taken from her homeland under the pretense of offering a marriage arrangement by the British in 1810, then toured all around Europe (Great Britain and France) as a sideshow freak. She died in Paris, after the French couldn’t use her anymore, in 1815 at age 26 and she was dissected, her vagina and brain removed and put on display in a French museum until 2002.

Her story haunts me and pains me and leaves me in agony whenever I think of her. So to convey something of her story and my own experiences at a predominantly white university, I wrote this piece (a few days ago, 11/5/2009).

Its so awkward for most people to discuss race, rape, and general systems of oppression that I thought I’d be told not to perform the piece after they heard it during rehearsal. To my surprise, it spoke to many people in the audience and they came up to me after I was finished and told me so.

Expressing myself, reaching the audience–that felt really good.


I’m thinking I’ll start writing a series of posts detailing my commentary and thoughts about Black culture and Black  female sexuality. I want to address oppression, internalized oppression, and America’s culture of sexual violence as it relates to people of color in general. This seems to be a nice place to start.


So…I finally started a blog… Yeah. I’d like for it to be a video blog, but that’s pretty expensive.

Thus I am forced to make you people READ!



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