`Why isn't he white?'
A sister confronts the assumption widely held in the U.K. that ambitious Black British professionals will certainly choose White partners. (our world).(Column)
Essence, March, 2003, by Esther Armah
At some point you'll settle down with a rich White man," a White-male colleague said to me. I laughingly replied, "If I'm lucky, and the gods are smiling down on me, he'll definitely be rich, but he won't be White."
My colleague looked at me sharply. "Why not?" he asked. For a moment I simply stared, shocked at the question. Then I asked him if he was married.
"Yes," he said.
"Is she White and Irish like you?" I asked.
"Yes," he replied.
"Well, why isn't she Black?" I asked him.
"What a ludicrous question," he declared.
Indeed.
I am a Black British woman. My honey happens to be chocolate-brown and, incidentally, fine as hell (I don't mind admitting I'm biased). But after my White-male colleague realized that the man I planned to marry would look like me and not like him, he grew distant. I was intrigued. For me, this incident brought into sharp focus the realities of race and culture in Britain.
I was reminded of these realities on a recent business trip to New York. After a hard day's work, I settled down to let American TV do its work and entertain me. I noticed how often
Black families appeared in ads reminding me of the latest gadget or a new breakfast cereal to try. I thought of media images back home, where the only Black shows to appear in your living room are American imports. In London, if I'm looking for loving Black folks with kids who look like them, it usually means tuning in to Moesha, My Wife and Kids, The Steve Harvey Show and In the House. But expect a different reality when you watch homegrown entertainment.
Soap operas are hugely popular in Britain. They regularly attract in excess of 12 million viewers and are screened up to four times a week. Name any British soap: Coronation Street, EastEnders, Brookside, Family Affairs. You'll see White-on-White relationships on all of them. Occasionally you'll also see White-on-Black. Nothing wrong with that; it's a representation of society. My point is that society also includes me and relationships like mine. But seldom in British soap-opera culture, or in advertisements, do I see myself. Instead I see Black men with White women and Black women with White men. So rarely do you see Black-on-Black relationships that when you do, you end up calling a girlfriend and setting the videotape.
One recent television victory was Babyfather, a drama about a group of friends and their family and love trials and tribulations. The characters are predominantly Black; they are intelligent; the Black men are in love with Black women and vice versa. It was a first. In 2001, this was a first?
There are those who claim British soaps celebrate the U.K.'s truly multicultural society. I'm not one of them. Francesca Adedeji isn't either. "As a lecturer, I teach Black adolescents," she tells me over a bowl of tasty fish soup in her local North London Caribbean restaurant, Hannah's. "And I've found that the absence of Black couples on TV does have an impact on their perception of who they are, especially young Black women. They think it's almost sexy not to date a Black man; it's the in thing, an attractive thing not to do. Even in terms of fashion, going out with a Black man is seen almost as a bore. It's really damaging for Black relationships."
If not seeing positive Black-on-Black relationships in the media affects young people socially, it also affects us at work. "It affects the power structure in the workplace, and the sorts of messages you get about what will make you successful," explains Adedeji. "It does mean that if you have a White husband you're going to do better, because your White colleagues feel they understand you better."
Courtenay Griffiths, Q.C., has had a different experience. He is a Black man who, at 47, has developed a reputation as a formidable barrister. He has three sons and one daughter and still lives in a part of South London he describes as multiracial and working-class. His wife, Angela, is also Black. Griffiths doesn't think his wife's race has in any way affected his progress as a lawyer, but he is intrigued by the reaction others frequently have to finding out that she is Black. "What interests me is that many intelligent Black women are surprised when they find I've got a Black wife," he says. "Most Black women, when they hear what I do, assume that my partner is White. To be honest, I find it offensive."
Lecturer Adedeji believes that racism in the British workplace, manifests itself in a unique way. Americans, she says, are usually prepared to say how they feel right to your face. In the U.K., however, racism is played out in subtler ways.
"Racism here doesn't come at you screaming and shouting," Adedeji observes. "It comes at you willing to co-opt you, and it gives a silent nod of approval when your partner is White."
Stroll down London's streets, and you will see increasing numbers of interracial couples, which makes me wonder about the degree to which media images and unwritten work rules are feeding a downward spiral of Black-on-Black love.
And yet there is a vibrant Black British community in London. Most of us understand that being who you are, choosing to be with someone who looks like you, celebrating yourself, shouldn't mean picking the short straw and abandoning your dream of being successful in an environment hostile to the beauty of Blackness. After all, love comes in all shades.
My shade of love happens to be Black. My honey is blessed with that kind of chocolate-hued complexion that makes you just smile, and smile some more. And despite the media images, I look around my circle of friends and see my experience reflected again and again--Black folks in love with one another, working, building, flourishing, struggling, overcoming. Living life. Together.
Freelance writer Esther Armah makes radio and television documentaries. She lives in London.
COPYRIGHT 2003 Essence Communications, Inc.
COPYRIGHT 2003 Gale Group
Essence, March, 2003, by Esther Armah
At some point you'll settle down with a rich White man," a White-male colleague said to me. I laughingly replied, "If I'm lucky, and the gods are smiling down on me, he'll definitely be rich, but he won't be White."
My colleague looked at me sharply. "Why not?" he asked. For a moment I simply stared, shocked at the question. Then I asked him if he was married.
"Yes," he said.
"Is she White and Irish like you?" I asked.
"Yes," he replied.
"Well, why isn't she Black?" I asked him.
"What a ludicrous question," he declared.
Indeed.
I am a Black British woman. My honey happens to be chocolate-brown and, incidentally, fine as hell (I don't mind admitting I'm biased). But after my White-male colleague realized that the man I planned to marry would look like me and not like him, he grew distant. I was intrigued. For me, this incident brought into sharp focus the realities of race and culture in Britain.
I was reminded of these realities on a recent business trip to New York. After a hard day's work, I settled down to let American TV do its work and entertain me. I noticed how often
Black families appeared in ads reminding me of the latest gadget or a new breakfast cereal to try. I thought of media images back home, where the only Black shows to appear in your living room are American imports. In London, if I'm looking for loving Black folks with kids who look like them, it usually means tuning in to Moesha, My Wife and Kids, The Steve Harvey Show and In the House. But expect a different reality when you watch homegrown entertainment.
Soap operas are hugely popular in Britain. They regularly attract in excess of 12 million viewers and are screened up to four times a week. Name any British soap: Coronation Street, EastEnders, Brookside, Family Affairs. You'll see White-on-White relationships on all of them. Occasionally you'll also see White-on-Black. Nothing wrong with that; it's a representation of society. My point is that society also includes me and relationships like mine. But seldom in British soap-opera culture, or in advertisements, do I see myself. Instead I see Black men with White women and Black women with White men. So rarely do you see Black-on-Black relationships that when you do, you end up calling a girlfriend and setting the videotape.
One recent television victory was Babyfather, a drama about a group of friends and their family and love trials and tribulations. The characters are predominantly Black; they are intelligent; the Black men are in love with Black women and vice versa. It was a first. In 2001, this was a first?
There are those who claim British soaps celebrate the U.K.'s truly multicultural society. I'm not one of them. Francesca Adedeji isn't either. "As a lecturer, I teach Black adolescents," she tells me over a bowl of tasty fish soup in her local North London Caribbean restaurant, Hannah's. "And I've found that the absence of Black couples on TV does have an impact on their perception of who they are, especially young Black women. They think it's almost sexy not to date a Black man; it's the in thing, an attractive thing not to do. Even in terms of fashion, going out with a Black man is seen almost as a bore. It's really damaging for Black relationships."
If not seeing positive Black-on-Black relationships in the media affects young people socially, it also affects us at work. "It affects the power structure in the workplace, and the sorts of messages you get about what will make you successful," explains Adedeji. "It does mean that if you have a White husband you're going to do better, because your White colleagues feel they understand you better."
Courtenay Griffiths, Q.C., has had a different experience. He is a Black man who, at 47, has developed a reputation as a formidable barrister. He has three sons and one daughter and still lives in a part of South London he describes as multiracial and working-class. His wife, Angela, is also Black. Griffiths doesn't think his wife's race has in any way affected his progress as a lawyer, but he is intrigued by the reaction others frequently have to finding out that she is Black. "What interests me is that many intelligent Black women are surprised when they find I've got a Black wife," he says. "Most Black women, when they hear what I do, assume that my partner is White. To be honest, I find it offensive."
Lecturer Adedeji believes that racism in the British workplace, manifests itself in a unique way. Americans, she says, are usually prepared to say how they feel right to your face. In the U.K., however, racism is played out in subtler ways.
"Racism here doesn't come at you screaming and shouting," Adedeji observes. "It comes at you willing to co-opt you, and it gives a silent nod of approval when your partner is White."
Stroll down London's streets, and you will see increasing numbers of interracial couples, which makes me wonder about the degree to which media images and unwritten work rules are feeding a downward spiral of Black-on-Black love.
And yet there is a vibrant Black British community in London. Most of us understand that being who you are, choosing to be with someone who looks like you, celebrating yourself, shouldn't mean picking the short straw and abandoning your dream of being successful in an environment hostile to the beauty of Blackness. After all, love comes in all shades.
My shade of love happens to be Black. My honey is blessed with that kind of chocolate-hued complexion that makes you just smile, and smile some more. And despite the media images, I look around my circle of friends and see my experience reflected again and again--Black folks in love with one another, working, building, flourishing, struggling, overcoming. Living life. Together.
Freelance writer Esther Armah makes radio and television documentaries. She lives in London.
COPYRIGHT 2003 Essence Communications, Inc.
COPYRIGHT 2003 Gale Group
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