Ain't I a Womanist: Part II--Just What Is a Strong Black Woman?

The idea for this post originated one morning a couple of weeks ago as I nosed around over at Black Women Blow the Trumpet(BWBT). That morning the blog host featured the article “Cutting the Ball and Chain of the Strong Black Woman.” The article is very thought-provoking and well worth your time.

As I read the article, something occurred to me. I have heard the term “strong black woman” bandied about so freely and used by so many women as to become almost trite or at worst, a running joke. Who can forget the Kathy Griffin stand-up comedy special Strong Black Woman.

Most, if not all, black women I know refer to themselves as “strong black women.” However, I am not quite sure exactly what constitutes a “strong black woman.”

Often the behavior I witness that is posited as evidence of one’s strength, frequently could be interpreted by another to be a weakness, or even further, a cover for personal shortcomings and/or insecurities. Allow me, please, to provide two examples.

When I was a child, a lady and her seven children attended my father’s church. She was a very intelligent lady. In fact, if I remember correctly, she was a school teacher. However, her husband did not work and spent his time and what little money he could scrape up drinking, gambling, and chasing women. He was abusive to both her and their children.

Most of the time I knew this woman, she worked two and sometimes three jobs just to make ends meet. But she stayed with her husband up until the time he finally died of liver failure. During his funeral everyone commended her on her strength, but I distinctly remember thinking, even at that young age, how irrational it all seemed. If anything, she should have thrown his trifling behind out in the street a long time previous, if not for her own sake, for the sake of the children.

And let’s discuss for a moment one of my colleagues. She proclaims herself a “strong black woman” very loudly and to any and all who will listen and actually believes that people dislike her for just this reason. But the reason people dislike her is because she is overly boisterous, very rude, and extremely pugnacious.

Treating those around you with contempt and disrespect is not a sign of strength. Talking crazy to people and being overall confrontational is not a sign of strength. In her supposed strength, she has managed to alienate her husband, her children, her co-workers and anyone else she comes into contact with on a regular basis.

I could provide other examples, but the space allowed by this post prohibits it. However, I will leave it to you provide your own examples. I’m sure you have many yourselves.

But if I might paraphrase the blog host at BWBT, strength is evinced when you are comfortable enough with yourself to play the various roles circumstance offers, and not because that is what you believe is expected of you, but because that is your prerogative as a woman, as a human being.

As we individually work toward an acceptable personal definition of a “strong black woman,” allow me to issue this challenge to my sisters.

No one can be strong all the time. No one can be strong given any circumstance, any situation. That being said, each of us, black men and black women, can serve as the complement of the other; where one is weak the other can provide strength, and where one is strong she or he can act as support for the other. And neither party will have to posture nor feign strength, often to the detriment of self.

We can all be much better than we are. We can all treat each other far better than we do. But before we begin to do so, we must sit down as equals, as equal stakeholders. Our greatest strength lies in our unity, in our grounding with one another.

Ain't I a Womanist: Part 1--One Brother Attempts to Ground with His Sisters

The discussion that ensued following my post on Saturday kind of got out of hand. And I apologize for that. Possibly I could have done a better job as moderator. But it did give me the opportunity to discuss something that has been on my mind for quite some time.

When I left home at age seventeen, an adult male family member advised me simply, “In any and all things, just be a man.” However, the extent of his advice stopped there; I was left to determine just what a man was.

Over the years that followed, I attempted to define manhood for myself. It was a hit or miss proposition; usually I took one step forward and two steps back. But I evolved and am continuing to evolve.

Perhaps the time of my greatest growth was my first year of graduate school and ironically, under the tutelage of a woman. I took a seminar entitled “Womanist Principles” from Professor Debra Walker King of the University of Florida, and as with any good teacher, she forced me to confront and evaluate many of my long-held beliefs and convictions. Later I served with her as a TA as well.

But I know what you are going to say. One seminar and a semester as a TA does not a womanist make. Even further, perhaps as a man, I cannot claim the label of womanist. I’ve already had that argument. But as a man, I can adopt and adapt womanist principals to guide me in the moral and ethical choices I must make. And I have endeavored to do that. However, in a recent incident I fell very short.

I was assigned to go on an out-of-town day trip with a female colleague for my job. Perhaps I should also add that this female colleague is subordinate to me.

Well, of course I volunteered to drive. And I was a perfect gentleman the whole day. Perhaps this was the source of the problem.

I opened doors for her. I pulled out chairs for her. I even purchased lunch for her. However, the nicer I was, the more I acquiesced, the testier she got. In fact, by the time we began the long drive home, she was hardly speaking to me. And then I did it. I asked about her children. She looked at me in horror and disgust and shut down completely. She still hasn’t spoken to me except when our jobs required us to speak. Needless to say, the whole incident puzzled me.

I took my conundrum to a few close friends with the hope that they would be able to show me where I went wrong. Well, you can pretty much guess what the fellows said. And most of the ladies I asked didn’t have a clue either. But finally my good friend, the one who rocks the fly afro puffs, clued me in.

The problem, she informed me, was that I allowed gender to enter into an arena in which it had no place. To put it more succinctly, instead of treating her like a competent and able colleague, I treated her like a delicate, helpless creature.

My friend continued:

“Would I have volunteered to drive had she been a man?” No.

“Would I have spent the day opening doors and pulling out chairs had she been a man?” No.

And the big one.

“Had she been a man of a certain age, would I have assumed she had children?” Perhaps, but probably no.

In my zeal to prove myself a gentleman, I only succeeded in exposing the last remnants of a learned sexism and patriarchal worldview.

But I think she was a bit too hard on me. Perhaps she was insulted by my behavior, but in another era, I would have been applauded for the same behavior. Even now I would be applauded and appreciated in some circles.

Had she just taken the time to just talk to me, politely tell me of my ineptitude, my shortcomings, I would have, I could have taken the time to repair. But now there is a seemingly irreparable breach between the two of us that I do not know how to mend.

Maybe I’m reading too much into it when I think that perhaps this could be a metaphor for African American male and female relationships overall. Both genders have varied expectations of the other, and without effective and affective dialogue, the misunderstandings will only escalate.

Sistas, I am trying, I really am. But if I and my other brothers who too are really trying are too succeed, we need your input.

Tomorrow: Ain't I a Womanist: Part II--Just What Is a Strong Black Woman?