Book Report: I’m Black But I Still Needed Instructions

I’m black. Ok. That’s no surprise. Imagine me sitting in a room among my family or friends with a book in my hand that reads in big black bold font against a white background How To Be Black. Imagine the perplexed looks around the room, the snickers and the “ummms” revving up as a smart remark is sure to follow. Welp, that’s how it (sorta) went down for me as my latest read (actually I finished the book nearly a month ago) was How To Be Black by Baratunde Thurston.

Let me explain what attracted me to the book. For one I follow Thurston on Twitter. He had been RT (that’s Twitter speak for Re-tweeted) into my timeline enough that I found his tweets interesting to want to follow him. I was intrigued by his travels. He’s always on the move and of course there is his political satire. For those that don’t know, Thurston is the co-creator of Jack and Jill Politics an online site that focuses on politics from the “black bourgeoisie perspective.” It’s where Thurston writes under the name Jack Turner with co-creator Cheryl Contee who writes as Jill Tubman. Get it? Nat Turner and Harriet Tubman? I’m guessing (I could be wrong here but something tells I’m not totally off) that the Jack and Jill is a “ha ha” at Jack and Jill of America; an organization that is seen as a powerful group among the black elite, as it preps black boys and girls for society.

Nevertheless, in following Thurston  a “Big Whoop!” was made on Twitter about his book that was released in February (the hash tag #HowToBeBlack was thrown around so freely during this time).  Black History Month. Go fig. He actually explains why he released the book in February in the beginning pages of How To Be Black.  Between Thurston RTing what others were saying about his book and what the folks I follow had to say, I had to get into it, if not for the title alone. The book is part memoir, part satire as he offers up an instructional guide – based on his experiences – to other black folks who find themselves in certain situations; how to be the black friend, how to be the black employee, how to be the angry negro, how to be the next black president and a few more scenarios.

Unbeknownst to me, Thurston and I share some kind of kinship. He’s a native Washingtonian and we’re roughly around the same age. Ok, it’s not like we grew up together, but I felt an instant connection to his story. He knew D.C. as I did during the the same time from the late 70’s, 80’s and into the 90’s.  Only thing is, I grew up in southeast. He grew up in northwest.  Matter of fact, he quotes his childhood address as 1522 Newton Street, the home he lived in before moving to Takoma Park, Maryland. Yet, I felt that our childhood here in D.C. wasn’t all that different; we both attended private schools and our mothers kept us busy with extracurricular activities.

His grandmother tried to raise his mother the “proper” way. His mother attended a boarding school in Pennsylvania, but didn’t stay long. She ended up returning to D.C. and  attending Banneker Jr. High and McKinley Tech High. His mother was a radical, down for “the cause,” always seeking and fighting for the progression and equality for black people. One of the eye opening moments is when Thurston briefly mentions how the Envoy Towers on 16th street was the center of black cultural and political activities; it’s where his mother lived before he was born. By the time Thurston came on the scene, his mother had calmed down some, still radical, but opening so many doors for Thurston that it seems he is every bit appreciative of it. I get a sense that his adventures in travel came form his mom as she always took him and his older sister out on camping trips. She enrolled him in the D.C. Youth Orchestra, in Boy Scouts and few other things. However, the two most interesting enrollments came just as Thurston reached junior high school age; she enrolled him into the prestigious Sidwell Friends school and into a weekend program called Ankobia; a program instituted by Pan-African African American activists  in which Thurston writes it was “designed to help black children make the transition into adulthood and withstand the assaults and temptations of life in the crack-ridden city of the 1990s.”

An interesting sect to the book is the panel. The panel is comprised of a few of Thurston’s peers (seven people total; six black that includes an African, one white Canadian, three females and four males. ) He gave his panel questions to ponder over to which a few I found myself doing a little introspective thinking. Here’s a couple of the questions he asked his panel.

Question to the panel:

When did you first realize you were black?

My response in my head:

It might have been when I was watching something I wasn’t suppose to be watching on TV. There were half naked white people and it seemed that the guys always desired or wanted the white woman. I remember telling my folks I wanted to be white after seeing some white lady’s perky naked boobs on the tube. My parents just sighed and asked why. I don’t remember how the rest of that conversation went down. Just to say that my mother tried to re-enforce the whole black is beautiful argument. I think I bought it.  I had to have been only around six. Still, growing up in D.C. when it really was Chocolate City I never had time to ponder or contemplate over blackness much; with the exception on what was on the idiot box. I was aware that the city had this gap; this racial gap that was felt a lot East of the (Anacostia) River. I just wasn’t sure the how, the why and the what. Yet, growing up I was always around an abundance of black people, unless I was in ballet. I guess that’s when I really realized that I was different. I wasn’t the only black girl taking classes at that studio, but one class in particular I was the lone black girl. I would study how my classmate would roll into class. I was dropped off by my mom. They were “grown” and could walk alone to class. I changed  in one swoop and was ready for class. They would snack on bagels, sip on a bottle of real fruit juice or water, digest and then change for class. For some reason my movements would have a slight curve or sass. They were stiff boards when they danced.

One particular day, just before class began, the girls were playing a game. Most of them went to school together, but I still wanted to make some dance friends, so I asked to play. One in particular (thick white girl, round face, black hair), before any of them could speak turned to me and sharply YELLED … NO!  I remember telling my mother who simply said “silly white girls.” 

Question to the panel:

Have You Ever Wanted to NOT Be Black?

My response in my head:

Aside from that miseducation moment when I was six seeing naked white boobs, I don’t think there’s been a moment when I desired to be something other. I love being black, but yeah it can be exhausting when representing as a black woman. Yeah I know, I don’t have to represent no one but myself, but I do feel this responsibility to carry myself a certain way when I’m around certain (groups) of people. I really felt the weight of this when working in the federal government. Granted there are thousands of other black females working in the government, but the office I was in….I still get pissed (but eventually laugh) when I think about the white lady who, when told I was in college and studying journalism, told me that I wouldn’t be a journalist. She flat out told me I wouldn’t be anything but a copy (read Xerox) girl and would have to work my way up. It took everything within me not to yell “Fuck You!” and really show my blackness that day. The older I am, the more I find that non-blacks are intrigued. I actually like that they are intrigued and some do genuinely want to understand us more; as individuals and as a group of people. I know, that’s all science experiment-ish but……

Speaking of wanting to understand, Thurston points out how some non-blacks genuinely do want to understand black people more, but may have no tact or idea in how to ask when they have questions about something or want our opinion. He points this out in between the chapters How to be The Black Friend and How to Speak for All Black People.  Actually, Thurston has some interesting tips and views on how being the black friend is can be beneficial. Having patience is one of things Thurston mentions that is needed.

“You’re going to get a lot of questions. Many of them will be dumb. Most will be some variation on ‘Is this racist?’ Maintain your cool and focus on listening to your friends. When they ask, ‘Why don’t more black people work hard like immigrants?’ don’t assume bad intentions. Stop. Breathe. Think. What are they really saying with this question?,” says Thurston

That took me back to a time when I was interning with a journalism program. Myself and one other black person were the only two people of color in the program during that time. During one conversation, everyone was talking about their travels abroad, where they had been or where they planned to go. At the time I was into Ghana, because a cousin of mine had did a stint there and wrote back about all these wonderful things about Ghana, amid some of the hardships some of the people faced. I still wanted to go.  Of course I mentioned this to my group of journalism buds and one (white girl) in particular blurted out “Oh Ghana! Is that where your ancestors are from?” I laughed. Of course in my head I go “Now why can’t I go to Ghana just because like she can go to Italy just because?”

Of course the obvious benefit to being the black friend is having access to white people. Thurston writes:

“This should go without saying, but I can’t tell you the number of black folks I’ve met who want nothing to do with white people and yet complain nonstop about how white people do this or white people think that. Be the change you want to see. Go make some white friends.”

Thurston’s book is a funny jewel that perhaps should be introduced in an African American Studies curriculum. Seriously, the whole time I was reading it I kept wondering if Dr. Gregory Carr, who taught a few of my African American studies (it was my minor) courses at Howard, has read this book! Even though it has its satire it’s filled with teachable moments that being black isn’t a “thing” or a concept. It’s not something one can pick up from the shelf or take off and throw at the bottom of the closet floor. That’s the real truth behind the humor. It’s even more evident towards the end when Thurston discusses with his panel the future of blackness. Thurston and his panel ponder over the notion of blackness or being black and reveal that they are just being themselves; individuals that happen to be black. It doesn’t make you less black if you can play the oboe, can swim, eat sushi and tofu and listen to Creed on repeat. It doesn’t make you more black if you dread or braid your hair, get down with the Five Percenters, bear the red, black and green all day long on your outerwear or spew a jargon that only you and your homies understand.

In the end, we’re all just people, but yet, society will forever see us as something more because of our complexion. Go read Baratunde Thurston’s book to get a laugh on how to navigate and deal with being black in a non-black world.

Tagged: african-american, african-american lit, Baratunde Thurston, creative writing, How To Be Black, life, Washington DC, writing

Posted in: Book Report