Project Cheerful: Search for Happiness, Black Women!

I enjoy browsing the Internet for topics that interest me. I have many links to business, technology, science and a bit of political news. I set up a YouTube, Google, and Technorati search / blog / news / link pages, plus my own searches, to offer up information regarding black women’s lives, and our natural hair. With great dismay, I’ve come to realize that 99% of the content is negative.

Why is that?

Complexity: Woman and Black

I continue to search, yet very few sites exist which convey even a semblance of joy in being a woman, who happens to be black in America. There are black women whose mindset is black first, foremost, and nothing else. I don’t know when and where their concept of womanhood comes into play.

I wonder: Does it ever? How does that kind of self-alienation make sense?

Apparently, life as a black woman is all sorts of hell, damnation, and brimstone. We are forever the victim. Although no one recognizes us as a victim, since there is an oppression index, and we are at the bottom of that one as well. You know, there’s a “true” beauty hierarchy and we are at the bottom. There is a racial victim hierarchy and we are at the bottom. There’s a sexism hierarchy, but we don’t even get the benefit of being included, since so many of us have decided to be “black” first, foremost, and above all.

We can’t be both, ’cause it might confuse the one-dimensional thinking people.

I honestly wonder if some black people think black women are direct descendants of Eve. Or is it Ham? We are doomed unequivocally and forever to hard labor – as punishment for being curious and disobedient.

I remember reading, and hearing, more than one black person express the belief that blacks are cursed. Does the majority think that way?

This morbid fixation on our most sorry state isn’t only coming from web sites devoted to celebrity gossip, quite a few purportedly newsworthy, intellectual and academic sources are just as rancid. Everything is about the shortened, diseased, pathological, abused, and totally miserable lives of black women.

Our Lives Have Priority – To Us

Reading this content from an objective and emotional distance, one has to conclude that being a black woman is the worst thing in the world. Yet the information does not carry with it an imperative push critical enough to require any government, nonprofits, feminists, or black organizations to actually make our lives priority.

This has happened because we’ve allowed ourselves and others to decide our lives aren’t important. Black women are ghosts. People might believe we exist, but no one could swear they’ve seen or was influenced by one. Our power to sway opinion, and induce viable action is negligible. Even animals have PETA for support.

However, when we can and should take credit, or power, we swallow our wills, pretend to be modest, humble, and step back to let others (in those race, sex, victim and beauty hierarchies) take our place! Hard labor for someone else – the almost always ungrateful – is an unenforced error, self-punishment, and an unnecessary, futile exercise.

Plain Talk

Black women, against your giving generous, nurturing, me-last nature, you will have to politely and gently usurp, or just drop kick, black men + white women, or whomever, from their sex, race, victim, and beauty pedestals. Teach them all to put you first. It will be hard in the beginning, but support is a busy superhighway. Stop giving unconditionally. It is not helping you. You are roadkill.

The Sun Will Come Out Tomorrow

This constant focus of “How miserable are we? Can we be any more pathetic?” makes me avoid reading a lot of (black / black women) web sites. Times are bad. Yet, times have been worse.

Can we have a little sunshine and happiness please? Let’s learn to focus on the bright side. If we are in a dark tunnel without light, how about we think about ways to get out of the tunnel? How about focusing on getting something, or even someone, to show us the way out? Staring into space, thinking about how dark it is, is unproductive.

Even the miserable smile on occasion. I remember growing up laughing with family and friends over lots of things. I still do. Life is funny – it has to be. I know I grew up sheltered and protected. Eventually I was exposed to some of the evil this world has to offer, but I learned to put it in perspective: stuff happens.

I have my share of empathy and compassion for people. However, this modern day onslaught of relentless and negative (dis)information is not healthy.

There is nothing conducive to a person’s healthy sense of well being to view every situation relating to one’s race, sex and age as a dead end street. Frankly, I’m a bit miffed and offended at people who relate, with such grim joy and satisfaction, this constant citing of stats as to how bad it is to a black woman in America (or the world).

I Am What I Am

I’m sure they mean well, but I’d also like to tell them: kiss my ass. I love being me. I love being a woman. I love being a black woman. There is no curse on my gender, or “race.”

Got that?

Now lemme go hunt down whatever good news and cheerful stuff exists on the Internet….

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