The Brother and the Other

I read the transcript of this interview with Jill Scott a couple days ago, but I just didn’t have the energy to do anything with it. Today, I only have the energy to post and it and ask if any of you, honestly, have ever felt “the wince”?

On second thought …

I’ve felt the wince, depending on what’s going on in my life when I see “the brother” with “the other” (i.e., non-black women). These days, though, it’s become almost taboo to say anything other than “love knows no color.” Scott wasn’t afraid, and I breathed a sigh of relief that someone expressed some of the thoughts I had whilst I winced.

The few brothers I’ve met who are only interested in dating others never give any real, founded (as I see them) reasons. “Black women are too combative.” Or “White women are accommodating.” The men with these preferences and reasons for dating outside their race are welcomed to all the others they want. They don’t want me. I don’t want them. That’s a simple enough equation.

But the brother who dates the other because he prefers her personality to mine, her look to mine, has more in common with her than he does with me … That’s a pretty simple equation to figure out to. I (black woman) am not meant for him (black man).

All that being so, however, I’ve still felt the wince and feel it from time to time even now. I don’t know if I’ll ever stop feeling it, but it happens more infrequently. I suppose that’s because I’m learning that there’s no loss in not having an opportunity to date someone who was never meant for me in the first place. There’s no bitterness there, no anger, no sadness, just a realization that life and the people who live it will do what they will, and it would serve me best to do the same. If I don’t, I’ll never find love (with whoever, whatever race he may be –I’ve got my fingers crossed he’ll be black, honestly) because men don’t tend to be attracted to wincing wenches.

For those of you who can’t watch, some of the most notable quotes follow the video.

My new friend is handsome, African-American, intelligent and seemingly wealthy. He is an athlete, loves his momma, and is happily married to a White woman. I admit when I saw his wedding ring, I privately hoped. But something in me just knew he didn’t marry a sister. Although my guess hit the mark, when my friend told me his wife was indeed Caucasian, I felt my spirit … wince.

When our people were enslaved, “Massa” placed his Caucasian woman on a pedestal. She was spoiled, revered and angelic, while the Black slave woman was overworked, beaten, raped and farmed out like cattle to be mated. She was nothing and neither was our Black man. As slavery died for the greater good of America, and the movement for equality sputtered to life, the White woman was on the cover of every American magazine. She was the dazzling jewel on every movie screen, the glory of every commercial and television show. She was unequivocally the standard of beauty for this country, firmly unattainable to anyone not of her race. We daughters of the dust were seen as ugly, nappy mammies, good for day work and unwanted children, while our men were thought to be thieving, sex-hungry animals with limited brain capacity.

Our minds do understand that people of all races find genuine love in many places. We dig that the world is full of amazing options. But underneath, there is a bite, no matter the ointment, that has yet to stop burning.


~ by MsInklination on April 1, 2010.

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