"You are black in America." That was my dad's favorite line to use right after I'd just done something uncouth. It was a reminder, a warning, and a reprimand all at the same time. It's also my thesis statement. "You are black in America." It was papa's catchphrase. When I went to school with baggy clothing: "You are black in America. Do you think that's the proper way you should be dressing?" When I got my ears pierced in college: "You are black in America, do you want them to look at you like a ghetto?" When I got locs (for the four months I had them): "You are black in America, why do you want to give them a chance to disrespect you because of your hair?"
At my small african church, to the aunties and uncles, this reads as proper child-rearing. A son who presents himself clean-cut, who dresses his seriousness, is a credit to how he was raised.
To my Black-American friend - and honestly, some part of me - it reads different. Locs, earrings, baggy clothes are just self-expression, forms the culture has always had. Stifling that to make white people comfortable is a form of self-hatred. Internalized racism. And in the hallways of my Katy I.S.D public school, and later in the American flag-lined boardrooms at the illustrious Texas A&M, it reads as something else entirely: such expression is reserved for the degenerates and the gangsters, and if I adopt it, I must be one of them too. The message is clear: steer clear.
Three rooms. Three readings of the same kid in the same earrings. And to my parents, there was a fourth layer underneath all of it: The fear that I'd become an "akata." Technically it means a stray cat, a lost child. In practice it's what some Africans call African Americans, and second and third generation African kids who've drifted from where they came from. A slur dressed up as a warning.
To me, the conclusion is less clear. I'm subject to one lens at church, another with my friends, another at school, in my suburb, at work. What happens when Cameroonian, African-American, and American respectability politics meet in one closet? Triple consciousness. A really diverse closet, and no clean way to dress for all three rooms at once.
Just some random musings on a random day. What are you guy's thoughts on this subject?