Respectability Politics & Proximity To Whiteness On The Black Identity
I used to hide behind my parents in public when I saw white people coming our way, scared from all of the vivid (at least for a five or six-year-old) tellings of Black history that my school would teach us at the time. God—I never thought about it like this, but how different would I have been had they just waited a little while longer to tell us about such atrocities? One thing is for damn sure, I wouldn’t be writing this post. They definitely could’ve waited just long enough until my brain could comprehend sentence structure and how to solve the seven times table.
Anyway, my mom understood that this fear couldn’t go on. I mean 75% of America’s population is white, so at some point in my life, I was going to have to interact with a person of no color. Instead of a gradual approach like putting me in soccer or swim lessons (and don’t play with me right now, y’all know the demographic of these activities), she threw me to the wolves. She enrolled me at Briarcrest Christian School, where I stayed for eleven years. Fun fact, it’s a private school in Memphis that was originally founded by white Baptists who weren’t too keen on their children going to desegregated schools back in 1973. How ironic. The founders and I had similar issues with being around one another.
The fear didn’t necessarily diminish in elementary school, it just transformed into a deep discomfort of being black in a space that wasn’t even designed for my community in the first place. You see, the school continued (perhaps continues, I haven’t stepped on the grounds in three years) to praise white conservative Christian values. There are only two types of black students they revered: ones that could either be the next Michael Oher (ie. the athletes) or the ones, who like myself (at the time at least), followed respectability politics to a tee.
Do you know what respectability politics are?
In case you don’t, it’s a strategy—which can easily become a mindset might I add—used to combat negative stereotypes of black people, specifically black women but not exclusively, in popular culture. It was essentially developed by Evelyn Brooks Higginbotham in her book Righteous Discontent (1993).
“While respectability politics has been an important way for Black citizens of the United States to integrate into their free lives post-emancipation, there is also a notion that “a deliberate concession to mainstream societal values” does not promote respect, rather it is instead a defense mechanism of minority communities.”
“Even though respectability evolved as an elite ideology, it operates as common sense in most quarters of black America . . . The word “ghetto,” for instance, which a generation ago was used to describe poor, segregated neighborhoods, is now used to characterize the “unacceptable” behavior of black people who live anywhere from a housing project to an affluent suburb.”
So, now that we understand what it is, let’s break it down a little further.
Despite the term being coined in that book in the 90s, many civil rights activists used these same values in order to get the equality that everyone deserves. Think W.E.B. Dubois, Carter G. Woodson, and Booker T. Washington, to name a few.
Therefore, black people have used respectability politics for decades to climb the social ladder, as well as a protection against harmful stereotypes such as being lazy, unclean, dangerous, the Aunt Jemima, the Sapphire (The Angry Black Woman), the Mandigo/Jezebel (extremely hypersexual), and many more. I personally think the reason it’s so prevalent now is because, in the last thirty or so years, people have had the opportunity to see notable figures use it liberally in the media.
I’m going to make the argument that ever since respectability politics was given a name, Generation X, freshly in their 20s or early 30s were beginning to become parents. Parents who were also seeing black mobility through using this ideology in the news and other various media outlets. In turn, they then instilled these same ideas into their Millenial or GenZ children. Take my experience for instance.
My parents put on their customer service voice almost every time they interacted with white people (or at least they used to while I was growing up). They also weren’t big on slang, as my mom would correct me if she ever heard me pronounce a word or say a phrase that wasn’t . . . politically correct, for lack of a better term. I was taught that where hair was concerned “We grow it, not sew it”, so protective styles were never on my radar. Comments were always made in the summer if they felt like I was getting “dark”. I think my dad kind of hates music, and my mom would let me listen to Radio Disney songs on her iPhone 3GS and would never play music she liked. Trust me when I say that real soul/hip-hop/R&B/rap that touches on black love or struggle definitely wasn’t coming from Selena Gomez or Demi Lovato. There were never too many racial talks in my household as a kid, and how that affected them. They were quick to call out when something seems ghetto to them, and how acting like it doesn’t get you anywhere but into trouble. I’m sure there are more examples, but do you get the picture?
I wasn’t taught to hate myself or the skin that I was in, but I don’t think I was taught to embrace black culture on the homefront, due to the effects of respectability politics on them. There’s a hidden line in the sand where this ideology is concerned because it can quickly brainwash you into believing that everything related to black culture isn’t “respectable”. If you grow up with this mindset, and then you are surrounded by people or in spaces that praise black girls and boys who have said mindset—it’s going to stick with you, which brings me to my next point.
Sidebar: I love my immediate family. I think that they’ve definitely progressed as people where accepting the culture is concerned, especially my mom. Through her growing as a person, media, as well as discussions I’ve had with her about my experience at Briarcrest, I think she sees more now how it can affect a kid. I mean she lets my little sister get lavender, bright blue, pink, and red braids now. I’m the trailblazer of the Gathings household, I SWEAR.
Okay now, back to it.
The proximity principle basically states that people that are around each other on a regular basis, are more likely to form relationships with those around them as opposed to those distant. It also touches on the fact that if you are constantly around a certain group of people, you become more like or more comfortable with those said people.
Being in such close proximity to whiteness had a major impact on me because it seemed like you were only celebrated and well-received if you dressed, looked, listened to, or spoke in a certain way. It only makes sense that if I’m around these people on a regular basis, and seeing the positive feedback from their preferences, you would attempt to mirror these behaviors, especially as an impressionable kid.
I didn’t really see a problem while comments like:
“You’re a white girl in a black girl’s body.”
“You’re just [points to a white girl] her with a fake tan.”
“You sure you parents aren’t white? Do you have white grandparents??” God, I get that I’m light, but I don’t look mixed.
“You talk so proper. Are you actually from Memphis?”
“You’re not all that black”
were continuously rolling in. And what’s funny is that while maybe a handful of white kids dared to say things like this to me, it was always other black kids or adults. I never really enjoyed these comments, but it never mattered all that much. I would get a little irritated, but I knew that at the end of the day, I was still black. I mean really, what does it mean to be black? I would hope to God that it doesn’t just mean fashion, music, or speech patterns.
I didn’t start to find an issue with it until I began to feel as though I was denied community from my own community. Does that make sense?
But I’ll explain that in my next post. I believe this feeling of being an outsider of others who look like you, isn’t unique to me. Think of this blog as a prologue that gives more context to the viewpoints I plan to discuss in the next. While I am adamant that the warped usage of respectability politics and proximity to whiteness can be detrimental to the black identity, not being able to surround yourself and connect with others, who systemically share the same experiences as you do, is even worse in the journey of self-love.
As always, thank you so much for reading everyone. I know it’s been a while. I have been wanting to write about this topic since September, and the content/direction I wanted to go has changed a lot since then. Plus, life just gets busy and hard. Y’all know the drill.
I’ll be even more honest; it didn’t feel right to post when there are people suffering so much loss right now. There’s so much hatred, and my heart truly goes out to all of those who are facing atrocities that I will probably never know. Humanity is counting on all of us—not a handful—so use your voice. Free Palestine. Free Congo. Free Sudan. I feel like there’s probably more that I don’t know about, but turning blind eyes to injustice and genocide for the sake of your comfort or convenience—is, for lack of a better word here, shitty. Be the change you want to see in the world type beat.
I’ll see y’all soon-ish.
