Return to story

SEEKING KNOWLEDGE AND ACCEPTANCE IN A WHITE WORLD

February 14, 2009 12:36 am

FOR THE FREE LANCE-STAR

WHEN I WAS a student in college, I resented the recognition of Black History Month. Or rather, I should say that I resented the necessity of Black History Month, and something I experienced in a college poetry class justified that sentiment in my mind.

My classmates and I had just finished performing a "poetry theater," for which we recited poetic works of our choosing and interpreted the poetry through short skits. I was one of two biracial students in the class, and there were perhaps three other black students, and we all interpreted the works of black poets.

When the entire class had presented, our instructor gave his assessment of the class's efforts, and he commented--not maliciously, but expressing a surprise that I found peculiar and offensive--"Every single one of the black students chose black poets."

"So what!" I exclaimed in my head. Why was it really necessary to point out that all the nonwhite students had chosen to recognize nonwhite poets? Did the instructor find it necessary to mention that most white students chose white poets for the project?

What if a black child walked into his elementary school classroom and said, after looking at a carefully assembled bulletin board his teacher may have put together in recognition of Presidents Day, "There sure are a lot of white people represented here"?

I can't say for certain how many elementary school teachers have experienced that, but I'll go out on a limb and say very few, if any, have heard a black child comment on all the white faces he or she would see on a bulletin board of past presidents, and this is because the black child is used to seeing images of white faces reflected.

A scan of the newsstands at the local bookstore demonstrates this. White models grace the covers of most fashion magazines. I rarely see the homes of black families featured in the home-decorating publications I love to read. And someone in Hollywood is always decrying the shortage of meaty roles for black actors that aren't modeled on racial stereotypes.

Further, the reading requirements for American middle and high school students do not include a comprehensive study of black authors. Why was it that I wasn't introduced to "The Souls of Black Folk" until I attended college? And the pleasure of diving into a tale written by the brilliant and, sadly, marginalized Zora Neale Hurston! Surely "Their Eyes Were Watching God" would have more relevance to a teenage girl--white, black, Latina or other--than "Moby-Dick."

Why don't more young black students know that Olaudah Equiano was an African author who wrote "The Interesting Narrative of the Life of Olaudah Equiano, or Gustavus Vassa, the African" well before the abolition of slavery in the United States?

If we are to encourage the development of a strong and self-assured generation of any ethnicity, then a clear understanding of that generation's heritage is necessary; therefore, we should incorporate more works by black authors into the canon of literature worthy of our children. And because we have not, Black History Month is necessary.

My purpose is not to propagate some conspiracy theory, to assert that the exclusion of black authors is purposeful. Rather, my goal is to illustrate what nonwhites understand but not all whites do: that a white-centric society will not be conscious of its "whiteness" until someone possessing an undeniable "otherness" is thrown into the mix and demands recognition, not as others would see him, but as he is.

As a biracial woman and the mother of black-Italian-English-American Indian children (whew!), it's a struggle even for me to remind my children of the richness of their black-American heritage, that it's not defined merely by accomplished athletes and prolific rap artists.

I came of age in the 1980s, and even then I was often ridiculed by other children for my perceived lack of "blackness"--curly hair that wouldn't be relaxed and shaped into intricate, asymmetrical styles, or a manner of speaking that wasn't considered hip enough. It's sad that I was measured by standards defined only by the black popular culture of the time.

So even for me, with one foot in the world of white America and one foot in the black, it was necessary to delve into the richness of my black heritage in order to fully embrace my ethnicity.

Perhaps if American schoolchildren enjoyed a more comprehensive study of black history in schools, my peers might have been able to see past the superficial qualities by which I was often judged.

So what does Black History Month mean to me? It means acceptance. It means self-realization. It means the understanding that we all, of every ethnicity of which our glorious country is composed, are the beneficiaries of brave and illustrious black Americans who came before us.

Liane DiStefano is a copy editor, born in Georgia and raised and educated in Virginia. She resides with her husband and two children in Stafford County. E-mail her in care of
Email: gwoolf@freelancestar.com.