Dating black man experience 3110c music player updating library
The ease with which this white man navigated the public sphere was simply amazing and I wanted that. No matter how I modified my company, as a conscious black woman, I knew I was different and could not shake that suspicion of being exoticized by white men; I could never fully trust these relationships were real because at the end of the day I was still black.
I was not raised a sheltered, “white washed” black woman, and so the permanence of being black, with all its burdens, was always more important to me than temporary ease of access – but that privilege afforded by my complexion was not so easy to ignore.
The black man occupies a unique space in American culture.
He is an aggressive and inherently violent threat to society.
He declared that this travesty is rooted in the black man’s inability to commit, not just to a woman, but also to a job.
I choose to internalize their experiences of undervaluation, passed over promotions and emasculation.
I choose to carry the burden of [dating] black men, and I choose it often; 90% of the men I’ve dated are black.
The feelings I experienced that fateful night at the bar, and admittedly many times thereafter, now evoke the wise words of Malcolm X: “If you're not careful, the newspapers will have you hating the people who are being oppressed, and loving the people who are doing the oppressing.” Unpacking privilege and sorting through the complexities of racial and sexual politics as a bi-racial woman in white America can be a high task.
Accepting that my seemingly personal decisions regarding who will occupy my company or my body, is a high task.
Sometimes I am black, other times I am Indian or Latina, or I may be French, or just a white girl who tans a bit too much.