on "Good Hair" and the NY Times

Check out the NY Times article on the film "Good Hair."

It has a lot of good reporting and presents some alternative perspectives to my recent blog post.

on Black Studies Programs at Black Institutions

What does it means to reflect critically on race? Is simply being black enough? Or does this ignore the fact that each of us, black or not, find ourselves situated in a hegemonic society where the dominant culture has a monopoly over knowledge-making practices?

I recently found myself talking with a historically black college and university (HBCU) graduate about whether there was a place for Black Studies at HBCUs. Morehouse College and Howard University both offer Black studies degrees, while Xavier University’s website doesn’t indicate an option for obtaining such a degree. But are these programs even necessary within an environment that stresses and insulates the black experience for students?

My answer is yes. Attending a HBCU does not automatically make me capable of transcending the patriarchal, white-washed ideas that have surrounded me, as a black female, virtually my entire life. I have soaked up many of the same societal messages as my counterparts. And as the HBCU graduate pointed out, I was and still am subject to the same classroom pedagogy as everyone else, because it is the dominant culture that determines it, and it is why schools are a primary means of transmitting lasting societal messages.

I attended a predominately white institution (PWI). I was aware of prominent institutions like Spelman, Hampton, and Howard, but I chose otherwise. And though I have often heard graduates of HBCUs say those of us who attended PWIs missed out, I would venture to say that there is no comparison­– it is simply different. Admittedly, I may be a little late in the game in finding role models who look like me and affirm my identity as compared to HBCU graduates. Yet, as a result of attending a PWI and sitting through classes where inevitably I was the only black person, I have mastered the sitting-on-your-hands-so-you-don’t-reach-out-and-smack-nobody skill.

By this I mean that comments coming from a place of ignorance rarely upset me anymore; they merely signal a teachable moment. I may choose to pursue this teachable moment or leave it for another day­­– because I’ve sat in enough white classrooms to understand that there’s a lot of teaching that needs to be done, it won’t happen overnight, and the burden does not rest solely on my shoulders. Likewise, I value the level of consciousness that I developed from having to be so deliberate in my quest to explore who I was and where I fit in as a black female in a predominately white setting. My reflections on these experiences inform what I write about and study now.

It is skills such as these, that the HBCU graduate and I agreed are the crux of reflecting critically on race. It’s deeper than just being black. There is a need to be conscious and reflective beyond just your own experience. Therefore, I cannot assume that she was better off attending a HBCU as she cannot assume I was better off attending a PWI. Whether you are at the ivory tower or the ebony tower you must still hone the skills necessary to expose any of your rigidly held beliefs, so you can see beyond your own experiences, and reflect critically in a way that might even call into question your very own notions of race.

on Screening Chris Rock's "Good Hair"

Due out in theaters this October, Chris Rock’s “Good Hair” exposes the black women’s plight to obtain the perfect hairdo. The film’s success at the Sundance Film Awards has created a buzz, and I had the opportunity to attend a recent screening during the National Association of Black Journalists’ annual convention.

In the true nature of Rock-styled humor, the film takes a poignant issue and slathers it with comedy, leading the viewer on a roller coaster of emotions. I found myself cringing when a little girl reveals the age of her first relaxer at one way too young. Laughing, when in his witty commentary, Rock drops tongue and cheek phrases like “nap impresario.” And I couldn’t help but roll my eyes at the eccentricities of the characters gracing the screen, invoking the burgeoning genre of “mockumentary.”

But as the impetus behind the film illustrates– Rock’s youngest daughter asking him in tears, why she didn’t have good hair– insecurity surrounding hair is deeply ingrained in the black community.

So Rock travels to hair salons, barbershops, hair schools, and product plants. He talks to major stake-holders in the black hair market– like the Koreans. He goes to India seeking out the major supplier of weave– Indian Temples. What results is an hour and a half long documentary that lets out a long kept secret– The expenses and discomfort black women endure to have that good hair.

Without a doubt, the film is one of those hilariously funny, strain-your-stomach-muscles kinds of films, and I commend Rock for making movies for and by black people. But I question whether or not the comedy only minimizes an issue that seems to be a festering sore that just won’t heal. Is it really that funny to recount stories of sitting in the hairdresser, sitting on our hands, as the sodium hydroxide forces our hair so far away from its natural state that not even God would recognize it?

And though I was sitting in a room full of highly educated, successful black journalists, whose jobs require them to think critically about the effects of media, what happens when the room is not filled with them? What happens when the audience doesn’t have the opportunity as we did following the screening to question Nia Long, who also appeared in the film, and Chris Rock, promoting more critical analysis?

Walking out of the theater, I didn’t just hear people say, “Girl, that was hilarious!” I also heard, “You know what I think was missing? They didn’t talk about how people are wearing natural styles these days.” Or, “They didn’t address where the idea of good hair being equivalent to straight hair came from.”

We were laughing at the women and men on screen. We laughed at the men providing details about the appropriate way to have “weave sex,” so as not to mess it up, and women paying for their weaves as if they were items on lay-away. We laughed at them, because it was so often foolish and nonsensical. And though I walked out of “Good Hair” with a sense of connectedness to others who also understood what it meant to feel like my crowning glory was also a burden, I wondered what effect it had on those who rocked weaves or sat through chemical burns each month, myself having “gone natural” early in high school.

Deep in thought, it took me a few moments to notice the crowd that was moving me along had stopped and begun to pile up. When I peered over the top to see what the hold up was, I caught a glimpse of why. It was pouring down rain.

“Do you know what kind of store that is?” one women pointed and asked me, exasperated. “Maybe I can get an umbrella.”

Another had a plastic bag on her head.

I smiled at the irony.

Gotta keep that good hair.