My Heart Gently Weeps: Colorism and Race in the Black Community

Lil’ Kim’s latest look is just one more reminder—at some level we all want in, and if you want in, you can’t be dark.

—

While everyone on the planet was either still grieving the passing of Prince (RIP), abuzz over Beyonce’s Lemonade music video, and whether or not Bernie Sanders was going to bow out of the Democratic Presidential Nomination race, I was perplexed by a recent photo of Lil’ Kim. The hip-hop icon that I hadn’t seen or heard anything about in a couple of years looked as if she had been skin bleaching. Kim’s beautiful brown complexion had been totally erased, only to be replaced by an almost white skin. Unrecognizable, I wouldn’t have known it was her if it wasn’t for the Instagram tag on the photo.  I stared at the photo for a minute and almost cried. Here is a once beautiful Black woman filled with so much self-hate that she has butchered herself in a futile attempt to look white. I sighed and thought about how colorism has affected not only Lil’ Kim, but countless other Black people, including myself.

◊♦◊

As far back as I can remember, colorism has played a huge role in my community, my family, and my life. Going to school, I was teased along with other dark complected kids because of our dark skin. Kids were cruel, slinging insults such as “You so Black, if we turn off the lights we probably can’t see you”, “Damn you Black,” and of course the “Yo mama so Black…” Girls flocked to the lighter complected boys with the pretty light eyes and “good hair”, while people like myself were picked on and ignored. It made me hate being dark. My best friend at the time Nigel, was several shades lighter than I, so I would secretly envy him.  Black men such as Al B Sure and Christopher Williams were sex symbols, and the Black men that looked like me were rarely on TV, unless we were the villain or some unruly criminal. Frustrated, I remember going into the restroom, heating a hot towel, and putting it over my face; hoping I would have lighter skin. When that did not work, I went to my mother and cried, saying “I don’t want to be dark.” My Mother, who is also several shades lighter than me, in her usual brilliance said, “LeRon, you are beautiful. Your dark skin makes you beautiful. I don’t ever want to hear you say that again, do you hear me!” I had rarely heard my Mother talk in such passion before, so I believed her. Looking back on that now I chuckle if only for a little bit. I then realize how much colorism has affected my life.

Like many issues that affect Black and other non-white people, racism is at the center. However, instead of the garden variety name calling and physical brutality, this part of white supremacy is more insidious. By consistently telling people of color that you are not attractive and having the standards of beauty be the “Blonde Haired, Blue Eyed” person, this has affected our psyche. This thought has been drilled into our heads since we have been born through television, music, movies, art, literature, and other kinds of media. This has made many Black, Latino, Asian, Native American, Arab, and other racial minorities want to alter their appearance to look beautiful and accepted into society. We began to abandon our natural ethnic features to get eye surgery, purchasing skin lightening products, and getting “good hair”; anything to look more Eurocentric.

This way of thought has also unfortunately bled into how we communicate and interact within our own communities. In some Black communities, the “Brown Paper Bag Test” was administered. Famed author Zora Neel Hurston described it as to gain entry into certain parties or societies, Blacks would put a brown paper bag next to a person’s face. If the man or woman’s skin was as light as or lighter than the bag, then the person would be deemed attractive, of class, and allowed entry. If the person’s skin was darker, then they would be turned away. I remember hearing about these stories when I was younger. Older folks in conversation would say, “He think he better than somebody cause he light skinned…” I have seen parents rear their children differently if one sibling was light complected. “Don’t stay out in the sun long, you don’t want to get dark,” some family members would say.  Colorism even affects the way people date. Growing up many of my friends would say things like, “I need to find somebody light skinned so I can have pretty babies. ” Or “I don’t like dark females.”  In my 2015 book “All We Really Need Is Love,” Chris, a Chinese-American said his mother stressed to him to “Marry someone with lighter skin,” because people with lighter complexions were associated with sophistication and class.

All of these thoughts and actions are a means to capture whiteness. To be accepted, to be loved, to be beautiful. To emulate the people that set the standard, to possibly even get their approval. What I have come to realize is that Black and other non-white people will never attain whiteness. It is impossible. When we try, we fail and we are laughed at. It is like the finish line is constantly moving. One would wonder why we try and run the race.

◊♦◊

I could sit here and say, “You need to love yourself.” But that is easier said than done. We live in a society that rewards Eurocentric beauty. Every time you walk by a newsstand, there is a white person on the cover of a magazine being praised for their appearance and telling you subconsciously to “look like this.” I am not shocked when I watch a beauty pageant and see very light complected women from India and the Philippines representing their countries.  It is not a surprise that I see people like Lil Kim, Jamaican dance hall artist Vybez Cartel, or countless other non-white people bleaching their skin.  At a basic level, we all want in.

I thank my Mother for teaching me to embrace who I am, to love my skin tone. Today I can say without a doubt I love being this dark. I am as black as the midnight sky and would not have it any other way. I can wear color as good as anyone and love how my smile pops with my black skin. But what about the young girl that doesn’t have a family member to tell them they are beautiful?  To tell them more than “You are pretty for a dark-skinned girl?” What about them? I was having a conversation with a friend about Lil’ Kim’s recent appearance and I remarked, “You know, this is all racism and white supremacy, but this is also our fault as well.” We have to make an effort to “shout over” racism and affirm that Black is beautiful, that being dark is beautiful. This isn’t an issue that we can resolve with a march or boycott. When we see young kids struggling with their shade and complexion, we should say as Dr. Tommy J Curry, assistant professor at Texas A&M says, “Provide cultural reaffirming dolls and books that tell them how beautiful they are.” All of us have a duty in this.

When I think about Lil’ Kim and the changes that she has made to her face and body, I become saddened. I refuse to insult or disparage someone whose victimization under the system of racism/white supremacy is so deep, she would alter her appearance to try and be white. My heart weeps for her.

—

Photo: Getty Images