Author: Josie Fome

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Student Life

Black History Month: 50 Shades of Black

Graphic by @spooky_soda

Not all Black people are the same

As Black History Month nears its end, here’s a gentle PSA: not all Black people are the same. If that’s a shocking thought for you, allow me to break it down. It’s no secret that all Black people have roots of some kind in Africa. Through the evil that was slavery, forced migration, immigration, or whatever compelled your ancestors to uproot themselves and end up in a new land, Black people can now be found on all corners of the world; from Alaska to Australia. Black people, with their melanin-rich skin, are everywhere—with different backgrounds, different stories, different likes and dislikes, different ambitions, different skills and talents, different short comings, hell, even different shades of skin. And yet, non-Black people still confuse Black people for one another and assume that the behaviour of one Black person is the standard and behaviour of all Black people.

This is evidenced through systems built in place, such as the police and the media; systems that weren’t built in favour of the Black narrative to begin with. It is not uncommon to read a news story about a Black man being arrested because he “matched the description” of the eye-witness. “Who [is] this generic man we all look like?” Dave Chappelle asks in one of his earlier stand-up pieces. Though Chappelle brings humour to this very serious reality by blaming the sketch artists, the fact remains that Black people are not given the decency of a good second look or the benefit of the doubt.

Before Black Panther, Insecure, Atlanta, and Queen Sugar, Black people didn’t have the privilege of playing a character with depth—and yes, White privilege extends to (and through) the television. TV shows or movies had their typical token Black character that was a “slingin’ dope gangster thug” if a man, or a “sassy, doesn’t-take-your-shit, roll her eyes, neck, and hips” of a lady. Black actors were, and still are, in many cases, stuck in that purgatory of not wanting to shuck and jive for the white writer/director/producer but wanting to fulfill their dream and passion of acting/needing to pay bills. That they had to choose is the problem at hand. Since more Black creatives are entering the writers room, more Black directors are directing, and the number of Black producers is increasing, suddenly Black characters have deeper individual development, making shows with Black characters more enjoyable to watch, but more importantly, making them more relatable.

Which brings me back to my main point: not all Black people are the same. According to Canada’s 2016 census of Montreal, of the 1 million visible minorities, 171,385 of those people are Black. Now, that’s a lot of Black people. Some of those Black people are strictly francophones. Some of them are strictly anglophones. Most are probably bilingual because, let’s be real, ici c’est le Québec hein. Some of those Black people are nerds. Some are jocks. Some play instruments. Some braid hair. Some love to travel. Some love politics. Some love anime. Some love to cook. All of them have a good customer service voice (you know, the voice you put on to secure the job). All have feelings. And desires. And ambitions.

This doesn’t just stop for Black Canadians. Be it an Afro-latina or a Black person in Britain, Benin, or Brazil—each one is unique. Not one Black person is an ambassador for all Black people, nor should they be. Just like one white school shooter doesn’t represent all white people. So as Black History Month comes to a close, remember, not all Black people are the same—and it’s about more than just their skin tone.

Black people show their activism differently, Black people celebrate each other differently, and each Black person lives a deeply rich and unique life. Let them. It doesn’t matter if you have two Black friends or 10. And the next time you want to tell a Black person that they remind you of another Black person, don’t.

Feature graphic by @spooky_soda

Categories
Student Life

Black History Month: Black money and activism

Graphic by @spooky_soda

Exercising your economic power to put your money where your culture is

Black History Month is upon us and I’ve got one question for you, dear reader: where is your money going? Black people all over North America spend this month bringing light to the horrible atrocities that were faced in the name of “building a republic.” In order to carve a better future, one must never forget their past; and in the case of black Canadians, they stand on the shoulders of giants. Men and women who persevered throughout the most unimaginable situations are now revered and fondly remembered.

When one thinks of slavery and Canada, it’s easy to think about how this country was the final destination of the Underground Railroad—the escape route many American slaves used, led by the fearless Harriet Tubman. However, allow me to shatter this perception of Canada.

In an article written by Joshua Ostroff published in the Huffington Post, historian Afua Cooper is quoted saying, “slavery was the dominant condition of life for black people in this country for well over 200 years. We’ve been enslaved for longer than we’ve been free.” Although slavery was abolished in Canada in 1834, so many black Canadians are still in bondage when it comes to their finances. So again, dear reader, I ask: where is your money going?

What was once regarded as trivial and inconsequential has grown to influence economic markets worldwide. The present-day black consumer has more power and influence with their $1 bill today than ever before—but this same consumer may be more ignorant about said influence.

Pioneers of the Civil Rights and Black Panther movements were aware of their influence, as evident through their actions. Robert E. Weems, in his article “The Trillion Dollar African American Consumer Market: Economic Empowerment or Economic Dependency?,” writes: “The Montgomery (Alabama) Bus Boycott of 1955-1956 remains the model instance of organized black consumer activism. One cannot overemphasize the resolve demonstrated by Montgomery’s black community during this action. The widespread publicity given black Montgomery’s ultimately successful campaign for respect and dignity subsequently emboldened blacks throughout the South to follow New York Congressman Rev. Adam Clayton Powell, Jr.’s advice to ‘withhold the dollar to make the white man holler.’” Black consumers put their money where their mouths were, and it paid off.

During this month where we take the time to remember our past, I implore you to support black businesses and ensure our future presence within the economic scene. It makes no sense that the majority of hair product stores in Montreal—where, in my experience, most of the shoppers are black people—are owned by East Asians; and hair is just the tip of the iceberg of products black people consume that others have a monopoly over.

Support black businesses. Put your money back into black businesses. Small ones, big ones, Mom & Pop’s, and everything in between. A quick Google search will give you a list of black-owned businesses in Montreal, in Canada, and online.

Feature graphic by @spooky_soda

Categories
Student Life

Black History Month: Walking through life in limbo

Reconciling my identity as a Cameroonian-Canadian in Uganda

It’s 2014. My excitement is so tangible, the man beside me can sense it with every fidget. I haven’t set foot in Cameroon for 15 years; the country from which my parents came of age, the country that holds my earliest memories, the country I’ve been told to refer to as home. In that moment, in the backseat of my uncle’s jeep, for the first time in my life, I felt at home.

Now, it’s 2018 and I am excited to be returning to the motherland for an internship. I’m a bit wary of engaging in a “going abroad” endeavour, but I’m confident that the organization I’ve partnered with is different from your typical non-profit. As the plane descends, my nerves betray me: there’s a dryness in my throat, my body is stiff, and my heart is thumping.

My head is full of thoughts, hopes and expectations. Front and center is the anticipation of that feeling of home filling me once more as it did four years earlier. Although I realized it wasn’t my home country, I was expecting to feel more at home than I did in Canada. Finally, the plane lands, I step out, and as I try to make my way through the crowd, I can feel my body searching for that ‘home’ feeling and failing to grasp it. I push those feelings (or lack thereof) aside and reunite with my fellow Canadians.

My days were spent on a compound with fellow Canadian and Ugandan interns. The work days were packed with various activities; on the weekend, people did their laundry, read a book or hung with the locals. I realized my dark skin allowed me to navigate public spaces in ways some of my fellow interns couldn’t. I could slip out and shop at the market without the boda boda men (those who transport people on motorcycles, referred to as bodas) screaming muzungu (“white” or “foreigner”) my way. I could walk all over town without getting so much as a glance in my direction. This was one of two times in my life I was not a visible minority.

One day, I went out with a friend, a white Canadian girl. We were hungry and wanted to try this cafe, which was filled with white people—foreigners. I noticed eyes on me, but wasn’t fazed. My friend places her order; her friendly disposition leads to a chat with the cashier long after having ordered. I am not greeted with the same energy extended to my friend just seconds before. Though my accent throws the cashier’s guard off, it is not enough to affect him the same way my friend did.

My ability to blend in—if I didn’t speak—was once a blessing, but I realized it was useless if I would still be treated as lesser in the presence of my white friends. I had always known that in Canada, the system favoured white people/white-passing people; but I had underestimated the extent of colonialism in “developing” countries. My time in Uganda showed how so many locals have an automatic association between skin colour and one’s “foreignness.” Even though I, too, was a foreigner, it was never the assumption. When I would speak, my accent would create such a confusion the english-speaking locals would rather speak to fellow locals rather than engage with me.

In Canada, I am a visible minority constantly fighting for the space to be seen, heard and validated unashamedly. I never thought I would have to fight for that same space in a country where most, if not all, of the population looks like me. I felt as if I had to fight even harder than I do back home, because the attention automatically went to my white counterparts.

The struggle on the table is not my desire for attention; on the contrary, it’s a questioning of identity. Where do third culture kids fit when they were born in one place—or their parents come from and identify with one place—but they were raised somewhere else? We spend time this month explicitly to celebrate black history, while so many black people struggle with reconciling their identity.

Should we continue trying to assimilate within the community we most identify with while negating all other parts of ourselves, or should we just create new spaces for people who are in this limbo? This isn’t the first time a black person will have questions about their identity, nor is it the last.

Feature graphic by @spooky_soda

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