Black Youth Divided: Who is Included in “Community”?
Towards the end of October, Black Twitter went ablaze after celebrity kid-turned-singer Willow Smith shared both her and her brother Jaden’s experience of being “shunned” by the black community for being “too different”. It all started on an episode of the Facebook Live show Red Table Talk when Willow and her mom — Jada Pinkett Smith— reflected on the hate they’ve received from black fans over the years. For instance, Jada revealed receiving nasty backlash from mothers when she allowed an 11-year-old Willow to shave her head and dye her hair colors like pink and neon green. The negativity continued as son Jaden’s music career shot him into the spotlight, as his red carpet appearances and editorial shoots featured him bending conventional gender norms in skirts and dresses. In 2016, he continued to break barriers by starring in a Louis Vuitton womenswear campaign and creating MSFTSrep, a gender-neutral clothing line. The black community, however, shamed both Jaden and his mother for this then-radical step beyond the confines of what it means to be a “black man.”
Later in the episode, Jada suggests that the way in which the black community reacted to Willow and Jaden’s choices stems from protective instincts. She says that the parents shaming her on social media “know what it’s like to be a black or brown person in this world” and that they feel as though letting their kids do anything to further stand out is “doing [them] a disservice.” But what does it mean when these parents are training their kids to shame those who are “different”? What happens when the world begins to embrace uniqueness and it’s our own community that’s holding us back? Isn’t that a disservice?
When I first saw Willow’s words making the social media rounds, I felt an inexplicable sense of relief. Whether in times of joy, such as Kamala Harris becoming the first black and first female Vice President, or in times of tragedy, such as the heartbreaking wave of murders by police officers that took innocent black men away from their families, the black community prides itself on being an unbreakable unit. We have a secret code, secret references, and a not-so-secret tendency to be excluded, belittled, and even feared on the sole basis of our skin color. We all know the looks, the microaggressions, the SMH moments that quietly reek of racism. To the public, we are one. But when Willow came forward, it felt great to know that she and I know better.
Fitting into groups of black youth has been one of the hardest feats of my teenage life. Having been raised by immigrant parents and growing up in predominantly white spaces, I didn’t realize until I enrolled in a more diverse high school that there was more to the black youth community than a shared hurt. Instead, there was a cultural dictionary filled with specific music, TV, and pop culture references, there was a dialect complete with specific slang, and, most disappointingly, there was a rigidity in the rhetoric surrounding sexuality, gender identity, and mental illness.
When I had black friends in my car, I put certain playlists and songs on the Spotify queue that hid my love for original Broadway cast albums and Twenty One Pilots. In group conversations, I learned to laugh off the “bro, you’re not even black” comments that came when I revealed that I’d never heard of The Boondocks or that the lyrics to “OOOUUU” by Young M.A weren’t exactly second nature. I was told that I “talk white” but was ridiculed when I tried to incorporate the slang that I heard into my vocabulary. Worst of all, or maybe best, I was avoided like the plague when the serious topics came up. I didn’t, couldn’t, tolerate the careless homophobia (“that shit is so gay!”), the intolerance of mental illness (“depression is so weak”), or the toxic masculinity that infected the black men around me.
As a disclaimer, I am completely aware that my experience is not indicative of the behavior of every black American teen. Fortunately, there are awesome, open-minded people in the black community who are committed to bringing their peers and family members into a more diverse and more accepting future. However, when we’re still seeing people like Willow Smith, Lil Nas X, and even Kanye West get ridiculed and made fun of in the comments section of The Shade Room for their hair colors, music tastes, sexual preference, and struggles with mental illness; it’s clear that this exclusion that runs through the veins of the black community is a widespread problem that needs to be faced.
The black American experience is rooted in being treated differently or viewed as lesser simply because we look “different”. Characteristics are assigned to us, generalizations are made: all of which makes us, the members of the black community, extremely angry. So, why is it that a community so constantly plagued by this problem is so able to do it to others? Able to make others feel little, feel weak, feel unwanted for simply being who they are? Maybe it’s a reclamation project, a desire to have the exclusionary power that has been used against black people for, well, ever. As a race who is always made to feel like we stand at the bottom of the social ladder, maybe these problems stem from a desire to feel just one step above someone else.
I completely agree with Jada Pinkett Smith’s sentiments on Red Table Talk: black and brown Americans are, unfortunately, always in defense mode. But when we can’t even come back to our own communities to let our guards down and be ourselves? There may as well be no community at all.
