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“Brains, beauty, curves — envied, judged, fetishized.”

Cornelia Amoussou,
Des Moines, IA

I chose these six words because they capture how my identity as a Black woman is often reduced to stereotypes. Growing up as a first-generation American with Togolese parents, I experienced the weight of others’ assumptions early on. My body was judged and sexualized before I even understood what that meant. Friends envied me, strangers stared at me, and men fetishized me, leaving me to question my worth beyond appearance. These words highlight how race, gender, and body image intersect to create a complicated reality, one where intelligence, strength, and heritage can be overshadowed by objectification and judgment. People always talk about pretty privilege, which does exist, and I know a lot of people deal with the opposite. Sure, I was liked by lots of guys. But people rarely address the dark side of pretty privilege. People always want it all, but let me tell you: being smart, pretty, strong, and Black is hard, and you have to be truly mentally strong to deal with all of the judgment, stares, and everything that comes with it. I am now determined not to judge or envy others without knowing the person inside. I’m still judged, but I’ve learned how to manage it. Those experiences left scars and trust issues, but they also shaped my resilience, independence, and empathy. I fight to protect other girls from the same pain. This card is my reclamation: I am more than envy, judgment, or objectification. I am intelligent. I am strong. I am whole. I am proud of my heritage, my body, my mind, and my voice.

School that introduced me to The Race Card Project: DMACC or Des Moines Area Community College.

You are dating a black girl?

IMG_0873Michael K. Wallace,
Johnson City, TN.

This was the opening question to the most consistent family conversation I had during my freshmen year of highschool. It was said as a question, although it was a statement. Yes, I am dating a black girl. Thank you for the reminder. Would you care to know who she is outside of her race? For my grandmother, it was inconceivable.

My grandmother’s reaction stuck with me, and I’m glad it did. I want to be reminded of a reaction that I don’t want future generations to see. Equality must be found, and everyone is a part of it.

Who will love this black girl?

10459109_10101674801950279_3464419202044908446_nGabby Mbeki,
Boston, MA.

In the fall of 1997, I started 6th grade at a day independent school in Connecticut. I grew up in a predominately West Indian neighborhood surrounded by faces like mine, but my father wanted me to have a more rigorous education. I entered the school being one of three students of color in my class and it was a shock for me. It was not as though I never been around white people, but I never been surrounded as much as I had been when I started at this school. I spent seven years at the school. I grew up and became a woman at this school. I also fell in “love” at this school. Because there were no men that looked like me I found love in the white male and since then I have always been attracted to white males. I have been ridiculed for such preference and felt guilt that I am attracted to such and at times feel as though I am offending my black race. However, I also feel as though white men do not take me as seriously either. They date me because they are curious. They want to know if dating a black girl feels different. If making love to her feels the same…and at the end of the day. I always feel prodded and used. I have grown not to trust love and wonder how much of race has to do with it. I sometimes feel trapped and feel as though I will forever to be alone.

Black girl attitude, but sounds white.

Saba-painting-of-KhuwailahKhuwailah Beyah,
Durham, NC.

For as long as I can remember people have said to me, and sometimes to my mother, the I “talk white” or that I’m trying to be white because of the way I speak and some of the things that interest me. I have never quite gotten this. I don’t have “white sounding” name, but I do speak like I’m American, which I am. Growing up I did not quite understand why they would say these things to me. I didn’t understand why a lot of black kids taunted me about the way I carried myself. My mother would just explain it away and say, “You just more after the white side of family baby. Don’t worry about them.” A relation of mine, on a few occasions, greeted me, “Hey white girl.” White people label/labeled me as different from “the rest of them.” My interests are varied, I listen to all sorts of music because that was what was being played in my household, and I like what I like. I refuse to defend my blackness to anyone. I refuse to let the status quo dictate what kind of person I should be and what type of interests I should have. I am educated, I love to read, I love to travel, I speak well, and that should not constitute “being white.” But the flip side of this is: when I express anger or irritation, I am thought of as an angry black girl/women and that I have an “black girl” attitude. What does that even mean? I should be able to express my anger without being a labeled a problem or an agitator. I have a good sense of self and that’s the way I was brought up to be as Black Muslim woman in the South. I don’t “talk white”, I speak as if I am educated and I am. Deal with it!

Gifted Black Girl’s Road Less Traveled

Giji Mischel Dennard,
Burtonsville, MD

While my cross-culture world view likely has been shaped by my early exposure to people with ethnicities different from my own, I can’t help but believe that by divine design I was wired for this often “road less traveled” life journey. As far back as 3rd grade, other Black kids called me names like “Black cracker,” due to my speech pattern…primarily the result of growing up in a family of educators. It didn’t help that from 3rd through 5th grades, I was the only Black child in the gifted program. Many of my other friends in this group were first-generation Americans, whose parents were from Cuba, Syria, Sicily, Lebanon and Canada. Until tenth grade or so–separated by relocation–my best friend was Jewish and hers was the only house of non-family members where I could spend the night. I was surrounded by affluence, but lived on the other side of the track. In 9th grade, I attended a prep school where I was the only Black kid in the entire school. But I was raised in Florida and experienced some violent racist encounters between 7th grade and my senior year in high school. I’ve dated guys from Lebanon, Haiti, Palestine, the Ivory Coast, Tonga, the Bahamas and a few African-Americans in-between. When I went to grad school at Stanford Law School, I often was asked how I was “adjusting” having gone to Howard University undergrad. The truth was Stanford was what I knew and Howard was quite a culture shock. Not many of my undergraduate peers had studied, Latin and classical Greek and I was the only one who went all the way through 3rd-year Russian. All these years later, I still often find myself a minority within a minority. I’m a conservative African-American with strong messianic Jewish leanings. I often find I am drawn to and most embraced by others, like me, who lead cross-cultural lives. While my race is a core part of my identity, it has much less influence on what defines me.

I’m surprised you speak so well.

IMG_0909E.C. Boyd,
Canton, OH.

I was not born, but I was raised in a predominantly white neighborhood because the school system was better in Perry Township than the low-income, mostly black Canton City Schools. As the only black person on my school’s debate team, I dealt with a lot of people surprised that I could speak as well as them, despite the obvious difference in our physical appearance, One debate alumni during a practice round said with the best of intentions, “You speak really well for a black girl.” When she saw the look on my face, she followed up with “Trust me–that’s a good thing.”

Not THAT kind of Black Girl.

Lateefah Torrence,
Brooklyn, NY.

At the corner bodega, I’m one of those Black Girls who the Middle Eastern owner must watch from his elevated podium behind the bullet-proof glass. On the subway, I’m a Black Girl on WIC who can give Russian ladies directions to the welfare office. In the taxi, I’m the Black Girl the Mexican driver tries to deliver to the Projects towering behind my co-op.

I’m not That Kind of Black Girl. But even if I were, I’d like you to stop assuming you know me.

Black Girl In A White World

Meleah Williams,
New Orleans, LA

Growing up I experienced police brutality three times before the age of 18. But that’s a black girl in a white world. Looking at a white man slam my mom into a police car as she tried to call my aunt while his partner pull a weapon because I ran at the age of 5 to help my mom was the first time. Being pulled over by three patrol cars because I turned in front of an officer so I deserved to be pulled out of my car and searched in front of my 12 year old sister to prove a point to the rookie at the age of 16. Age 17 pulled over “ going 120 in a 70 “ when my car is parent locked at 90 but I deserved to have to cops pull a firearm and hold it at me and only saved by the badge that my dad holds pleading for my life. So I am a black girl living in a white world but the white man wont define me.

I never thought you’d like this.

Asia Smith,
Kansas City, MO

This has been said to me many times throughout my life. I am a black girl who goes to a majority white school. I love my own culture but growing up in Missouri around a lot of non-black people like Hispanics, Filipinos, Japanese, Indian and Middle Eastern has helped me learn a lot about other cultures. I have tried many different foods and listened to different types of music. I have learned to love broadway music which a lot of people seem shocked when I tell them that. I also watch shows or movies in different languages which is another thing a lot of people wouldn’t assume about me. Being black in a nearly all white city has taught me that I can hold onto my culture while learning or experiencing aspects of others. There are always people from more diverse parts of Kansas City who tell me I’m “too white” or that I act or talk “white” which is really offensive because I have no intention of being/acting white but they don’t understand that it is just how I grew up.

You’re Too Pretty To Be Black

Akira Lee,
Virginia Beach, VA

I once had a woman approach me in a restaurant and tell me that I was really pretty. It was my 13th or 14th birthday, and I had dressed really nicely and was proud that someone noticed how beautiful I looked that day. I responded politely to her, and thanked her, upon which she asked me, “What are you?” I replied that I was Black, but she gave me this confused look and said, “But you’re too pretty to be Black. What else are you?” At the time, I didn’t understand that what she said to me was disrespectful and I ended up taking her hurtful words as a compliment. If I knew then what I know now, I would’ve known she said that to me was ignorance and would have simply walked away.

More than “just a Black girl”

Jolie Anne Chevalier,
San Jose, CA.

This is me at eight years old back in 1979, the daughter of an African-American/Seminole Indian mother, and a Irish-French-American father. Growing up, I was faced with contradictions in a world of opposites; although I was multiracial my mother told me I was Black, and to identify as such due to the “one-drop rule”. My father was silent on the matter. I was mistaken as Puerto Rican by my paternal grandfather, and was called “tanned” by some of my White classmates. Grammar school was an alienating time for me; all of my classmates had parents of the same race, except for me. I was deemed to dark to really fit in with the White kids and too light to fit in with the Black kids. So I ended up making friends with two friends who looked past my background; one was White and the other Guyanese/Indian. In high school, most of my closest friends were Latinas since I seemed to look more like them, and once I entered college, I found liberation in open-minded friends who came from all around the country and world. During this time, in my search of my identity, I became somewhat militant, immersing myself into African American culture, and speaking disparaging about White people in general. As I matured out of that phase, I decided to eschew my mother’s influences; that it was okay to listen to “White” aka pop/rock music, that speaking properly did not equate with “speaking White” and that I was free to embrace all branches of my family tree despite my skin tone. I was overjoyed to check the “Other” box on forms once they were finally implemented rather than just “Black”, and even happier that nowadays, I am free to check all races that apply to me. I am proud of my heritage, and will never make allowances or explanations for it ever again. When asked of my background, I simply answer “Triracial” or “multiracial”.

Exotic for a black girl

Photo-on-11-13-14-at-12.54-PMJasmin Fortune,
Temecula, CA.

I am a multiracial girl who has bullied for the way I looked from K-12. I have been hated because girls thought their boyfriends liked me. I would be threatened to get jumped because they thought I thought of myself as better than them. Black girls never liked me because I was lightskin with long hair and when I cut my hair, they still disliked me because my hair was curly. I had more white friends than black or hispanic because they accepted me not based on my looks, but on common interest. I only accepted because people think I am exotic. I have been told all my life that I look Brazilian or I am so pretty for a black girl. I wish people didn’t care so much about race. I wished people cared more about the inside of someone’s heart than if someone is black or not. We are more than our skin color and texture of our hair.

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