Have I Made Myself Soft as a Form of Protection?
Am I tucking flowers in my curls as armor against the opinion of me already in progress?
Photo via VSCO
There’s this concept of black male softness that I’ve seen in art and media a lot in recent years. The depiction of black men in other ways beyond hardened, tough, and violent shows the more complex individuals that they are. See as an example this 2017 i-d photoshoot with photographer Camila Falquez. There are plenty of other photographers and publications using their voices to combat the dangerous notion of black toxic masculinity.
You can see the impact of this in other forms of art as well. Take music artists like Khalid or movies like Moonlight, which actually depict black men with complex emotions and human issues. And, the photos, illustrations, videos, etc. are almost invariably beautiful because, well, black folks are beautiful! I genuinely believe that these depictions work to slowly tip the scales and change the perception of black people. I’m all for it. It’s important to show well-rounded people of color so the world sees us as more than slaves or criminals or rappers.
My whole life, I’ve been one of the those soft black boys. I smile. I wear bright colors. I’ve spent a long time making myself “approachable” and friendly, whether by design or not. My best friend will be the first to remind me that, in high school, I was the guy that gave high fives to everyone in the halls. I was class president. I liked to be liked. And when I first started seeing beautiful photos of black men surrounded by flowers with pastel colors and bright lighting I thought, “Finally! artists are giving representations of people like me!” But as I started thinking about why these depictions matter, why it’s important to actively show black men in soft settings, I started to wonder if I’ve spent my life softening myself as a form of protection. Does it matter if I speak softly and smile at strangers if, they’ve already decided I’m trouble?
Am I tucking flowers in my curls as armor against the opinion of me already in progress?
I say “black lives matter” not as a statement of fact, but as a reminder for the people who may believe that the phrase excludes other lives. They believe this enough to shout “all lives matter” in retaliation to a BLM protest. They say it likely because to them, personally and introspectively, all lives should matter. But, a society in which it has become necessary to explicitly say — and yell at the top of our lungs— “black lives matter” to government agencies after brutal and public lynchings by the hands of those that are expected to protect and serve us, it is clear that all lives do not, in fact, matter. We are constantly seeing images and videos and news reports and social media posts that remind us that black lives don’t matter in this country. When cops see white people, they see human beings. When they see black people, they don’t, even if everything about them is virtually the same. So, we say “black lives matter” until there becomes proof that the statement is true.
They see people when they look at white criminals, but they see criminals when they look at black people.
I’m tired. We’re tired. Black and brown men and women and children and trans folks are tired. Police brutality ending in the murder of black people has gone on for generations, but this generation is seeing it played out worldwide, thanks to social media which has been a handy tool in exposing the racism that lives within all of our governmental systems. That exposure, however helpful it may be in exposing the truth, has done little to actually hold these murderers accountable for their actions.
The fact is that most of my friends are white. Most of my Facebook friends, Twitter followers, most of the people that will read this are white. Hell, even most of my relatives are white. Maybe softening myself was a defense, so I wouldn’t feel alienated or isolated in my predominantly white environments. Maybe I wanted to blend in as much as possible so others would see me the same way they saw my friends, but enough is enough. I’ve put up with Trump supporters who I’m supposed to accept in the name of civility for too long. I’ve allowed people to use my skin and identity as a punchline for too long. I’ve hated myself and wished my skin and hair looked different for too long. I’ve been okay with too much for too long. I’ve been soft for too long. It’s time to get loud.
That starts with education. I came across this thread on Twitter by @thebryreed recently and I’m diving in:
The thread links lots of different readings from black activists throughout history. I’ll include just a few links here to help get you started right away, but please check out some of the others in the thread. I will be too.
At the end of the day, I am who I am. My relationships and experiences have made me who I am, and I like this person. I am soft hearted and flowery and dancey and bright. But the question remains: would I still be me if I hadn’t spent my life trying to hide in plain sight?
Resources to be a Better Ally
“So, we say “black lives matter” until there becomes proof that the statement is true.“ This, too, must be part of a new normal. Black Americans and their non-black allies must remain loud until changes are made on a federal level, and until not one person has to fear for their most basic human right to LIFE because of the color of their skin.
I love you cousin and everything about you! You are so bright and full of love. Your words are powerful and are helping to open up everyone's eyes.