Sex Box, Race Box: Painting Outside of the Lines. ? SheGottaHaveIt.

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There?s always someone asking you to underline one piece of yourself ? whether it?s Black, woman, mother, dyke, teacher, etc. ? because that?s the piece that they need to key in to. They want to dismiss everything else.
Audre Lorde

?Real people don?t have sex in boxes? wrote Elizabeth Pisani, in her (awesome) book The Wisdom of Whores. She was writing about the failure of sex boxes in HIV surveillance questionnaires; yet, this comment is just as viable outside of HIV/AIDS research. The misconception that my sexuality, and yours, can be contained in a box is insane. For many people, myself included, being straight, or bisexual, or? gay, or transgender, just doesn?t cut it. There are so many layers to what it means, what it may suggest, and what it may become. While discussing a Blog Post?in which a young?woman?wrote about her realization that she is?bisexual, my friend and fellow blogger, Magda, asked me: ?So, what do you think? Would you say you?re Bi?? To which I grimaced, and responded: ?No, I?m a human being. I hate those labels, they have no depth and they don?t capture the true essence of sexuality, of your experiences with yourself, sex, and relationships.? Ok. Perhaps my response wasn?t as smooth, but it ran along these lines.
I liken my?dislike?for sexual labeling to?the?million and one questions I received about growing up biracial: Do you feel more black, or more white? But if you had to choose? Do you feel like white/black people are racist towards you? Are you confused, lost, messed up? I don?t believe in interracial relationships, do you? Do you like black men or white men? No, but who do you like better?

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Family, Me. Growing up Black and White.

When I was a young girl, an African aunt (who knew damn well my heritage) asked me ?What are you?? To which I replied ?I am Polish, Congolese and Canadian.? ?No, you can?t be all these things. You have to choose just one.? She told me. Her attitude was rampant, and growing up, it was standard. Initially, I had gone through stages where I questioned the?color of my skin; I?hoped to be more like the pretty Eastern European girls with the hair that blew in the wind, eyes?the color of?blown glass and?the?jutting bones that reflected a society?s ideal I?was so far from fulfilling. As I entered my teenage years, I began?devouring book upon book on black history and losing?myself in the prose of Alice Walker and Audre?Lorde. White girls didn?t matter to me anymore; they seemed alien to me and there was a clear disconnect between my reality and theirs. I wanted darker skin; Lauryn Hill?s beauty was one I aspired for.
I grew an afro and wore scarves in my hair and adorned my ear lobes and neck with African inspired jewels. Yet, even then, I was not fulfilled; I had been told for years that although I could have friends of every race, I had to choose for which team I would play. Meanwhile, my tastes and opinions were categorized; my love for books was discarded as ?being white? while the pride I felt at being African was dubbed ?black? or ?threatening?, my sense of humor was apparently ?white? too and so was the way I dressed. The way I argued was ?black? as was the way I danced.
I don?t know when I woke up from this bad dream; but when I realized that I didn?t have to choose, I felt a great burden ease off my shoulders. I had finally found a balance as a Biracial woman; this meant I could talk, dress, write, fuck, sleep, however and with whomever, freely and without contradiction.
Growing up, I always felt submerged by the color of my skin (whether I judged it too dark or not enough). I used to feel that my skin color preceded me being a woman, me being a human being. In a way, although a comfort of a sort, I was a prisoner. When I removed these chains, I started to experience the world in all its colors and shades, freely and ravenously, confidently and fiercely.
These days, talking about race, racism, and the stereotypes one may harbor towards Biracial,Whites, Blacks, Latinos, Indians, Natives, and/or Asians comes easy; I have had many conversations with people who?were scared to open up about how they feel towards ?the other?, for fear that their lack of knowledge will come off as racism. A high school friend, a white girl?with blue eyes and blond hair, once told me ?I never thought my best friend would be a black girl. I never knew we could have so many things in common.? Was that racist? I don?t think so. I think that racism is when you bury your feelings about ?the other?, when instead of demanding a dialogue about your own misconceptions; you either never speak about them, or advertise them as the absolute truth. The friend in question was the one to introduce me to Roll of Thunder, Hear my cry by Mildred D. Taylor (my first introduction to African-American/White relationships), she is also the one who wept when I brought her to a function, at a black church,?because she felt she could never have the same complicity with the other youth as I did, as we were not only linked by the color of our skin but also by our culture.
When I entered the nebulous world of relationships, I discovered that those who were even more critical of who I was as a woman,?were Black men. I was constantly told I wasn?t ?Black? enough, some even teasingly, called me ?White girl?. I didn?t think it was funny; what I found even more troubling is that the times I was called ?White? were the times I demanded better from them as partners. An example; when I complained about their lack of effort, or respect, they immediately connected my needs to a ?fairy tale fantasy?, one who seemed only accessible to White women.
When I stood up for myself, I was told a Black woman stands by her men when times are rough; how does being a Black woman equal with accepting verbal, or physical, abuse because your man is going through a ?rough time?? When I cried, or got emotional, it was my ?White side coming out?,?Black?women?don?t cry; they either shut up or slash your tires. Black?women don?t care about romance, that?s ?White girl? territory. Black women are loyal, they stay with you through thick and thin, White?women only care about your money and they?re submissive. I?ve grown up with all these stereotypes and when I came into my own, I was finally strong enough to repudiate all these misguided assumptions.
I?ve had my trials and tribulations with white men too; some believe dating a Black?woman is exotic, something to try out.?Others believe that having a?Black woman on your arm?is like having?a sign dangling from one?s neck on how progressive, egalitarian, or manly they are. The misconception that Black women are hard to manage and aggressive? is ludicrous; every woman, if put in a certain context and situation, especially over several generations, will adopt and pass on certain traits to protect herself and her daughters. When Black women (and White women) are in fulfilling, healthy relationships, watch them purr like kittens. Women aren?t so different; race and culture do offer variations in how we act but they do not change the fact that, at the core, a woman is a woman and she doesn?t want to be treated like sh*t.
I realize now: The people who wanted me to choose were not considerate of who I was as a human being, or my journey, they wanted me to make it easier?for them to?categorize me. But I don?t fit in a box, on the contrary;?I?m like the paint that spills outside of the canvass and stains the floor, your fingertips and your clothes.
Race aside; I am entering a new area of exploration. Sexuality, my own, is still on the table. At this point, I am not afraid to play with it and I applaud the courage of all the ?Sex ambassadors? who write, and speak, keenly about their own process, their own evolution from checking that sex box to rebelling against it.? Shout out to the lovely Akwaeke??Z? Emezi from The Feel of Free for writing her truth so eloquently and courageously. I am inspired.

Mind your P?s and Q?s: What has been your Racial/Sexual journey?

Source: http://shegottahaveit.wordpress.com/2011/05/25/sex-box-race-box-painting-outside-of-the-lines/

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