GRAND ARMY + feminism (Solidarity pt. I) — kiana morgan
By: Kiana Morgan
Tags: Feminism, Grand Army, Black Women

Buckle up, y’all. It’s gonna be an uncomfortable ride.

What made me a feminist was the men in my family.

Since I was a youngin’, I knew it was inappropriate for the men in the family to talk about women and their bodies the way they did. I remember watching television and a woman had on a bathing suit. Disclaimer: these MEN were men, not boys. They started mentioning how her breast looked and how they wanted to see her do “jumping jacks.” Those men continued, even after I said that it made me uncomfortable — only because they noticed that I was uncomfortable with them sexualizing a woman in front of me, a soon-to-be woman.

Add that to watching men silence women in various ways, it gave me a peek into what men think about women.

Those kinds of things made me see men in a different light. How could I expect a partner to respect my body when grown men in my family couldn’t?

Feminism didn’t make me want to be a career-driven woman. My parents did. Those men did. I still want to create a family — I just know which uncles are not allowed around my sons alone.

I haven’t always been the best feminist. I didn’t believe a victim of sexual assault in high school because of my view of her. Now, I understand that my boundaries don’t dictate the value of another woman.

I watch a lot of feminist-friendly television, so I decided to watch Grand Army on Netflix. It is like a less-dramatic Degarassi and less drug-induced Euphoria. It is about a group of teens at Grand Army High School in Brooklyn recovering after a literal bomb goes off blocks away from the campus and metaphorical bombs in their lives. Dom (played by Odley Jean) was born to a Haitian family and lives with her mom, older sister, niece, and nephews in a New York apartment. She has this unspoken disdain for the other main character, Joey Del Marco (Odessa A’zion). Dom, being a black girl, sees Joey’s display of Feminism (i.e., freeing the nipple) as trivial compared to her fight for police brutality and the school to prison pipeline.

In college, especially in my classes based around diversity, I rolled my eyes whenever a white girl started a sentence with, “As a modern woman…” It seemed that their Feminism started with body positivity and ended with women CEOs. While necessary, it has very little to do with my plight as a black woman.

“Am I a feminist? Is being black more important than being a woman?” are questions I had in college.

I’ve read books, watched lectures, and heard stories by black women who also struggle to see themselves in the movement. I needed to understand if I was alone. If I chose one as my main focus, race or gender, was I anti the other?

Shout out to Roxanne Gay’s Bad Feminist for first opening my mind about Black women in the Feminist Movement.

I am currently reading Hood Feminism: Notes from the Women That a Movement Forgot by Mikki Kendall. So far, it is a fantastic read. The first chapter alone has inspired this post. It is called “Solidarity Is Still For White Women.”

Let’s get into it.

Solidarity is “unity or agreement of feeling or action, especially among individuals with a common interest.” That means that everyone benefits from a common goal. In Feminism, because every woman differs in sexuality, gender expression, race, religion, solidarity means that sometimes, it isn’t your turn to be in the spotlight.

Unfortunately, it doesn’t work like that in many movements based on solidarity. White women are the center of most conversations of women’s rights. For white women (or white people in leftist organizations, or non-black people in BIPOC and WOC communities), solidarity is there for two reasons: to do the bare minimum and to allow them to be guests (appropriate) in our culture without repercussion. It is about optics. It is a performance. That’s what “solidarity is for white women” means — the marginalized group gets the shorter end of the stick.

I don’t want the Taylor-Swift-Lena-Dunham-type Feminism. We all know at the 2009 MTV VMAs, Kanye West interrupted Taylor Swift’s speech with the iconic line, “Imma let you finish, but…” Swift was awarded Best Female Video for “You Belong With Me,” beating out Beyonce’s “Single Ladies.” Everyone who is black and watches award shows knows that black artists get snubbed because of racism and lack of cultural understanding in committees. For example, after that, Adele won the Grammy for AOTY in 2017. Adele made 25, and Beyoncé created Lemonade. The cultural impact of Lemonade made that the AOTY. Who is still listening to 25 with no skips? Please, tell me. See also: Kendrick Lamar losing to Macklemore in 2014.

It should have started a conversation about this black man standing up for a black woman who was overlooked because of racism. Instead, the Kanye-Taylor feud was used to further the narrative that white women need to be protected. And Taylor Swift fed into it and continues to feed it to us.

Recently, Olivia Jade was able to go on Red Table Talk to get redemption. In March 2019, 50 people were charged for their role in a coordinated effort to buy admission to elite American universities, Olivia Jade’s parents being some of the most notable culprits. She used Red Table Talk to give her first public apology due to her ignorance and on the behalf of her parents. Once again, black women are the rehabilitation centers for other women, especially women who don’t use their privilege and platforms for us. I didn’t watch that episode. She doesn’t need my sympathy or support. That girl will be okay.

Black women are expected to “lean in” for feminism that fails to show up for us. Mikki Kendall summed it up perfectly.

“We can’t afford to believe that helping white women achieve parity with white men means that someday white, mainstream feminist ideals will reflect our needs…We cannot and will not abandon our son, brothers, fathers, husbands, or friends…We have our issues with the patriarchy, but then so do they, as most powerful faces of it aren’t men of color.”

For black women, “leaning in” sometimes looks like assimilation. It looks like casting aside our blackness or personalities for the sake of white comfortability. For the sake of keeping ourselves under the radar. The command for us to “lean in” is just coded language for “show us you are a safe black,” and I see right through it.

I worked in corporate America for a short time. I worked at a place where they proclaimed they “cared” about the “family”, and in the same meetings would say, “If you aren’t having fun, then leave.”

Literally. Nothing about that job felt like a true team.

The department I worked in was all women. Four white women and two of us were black. The reason I didn’t hang out with them during lunch was that I liked my alone time. I would come to work, do my hours, then leave. My boss pulled me aside and said, “The girls don’t think you like them because you aren’t having lunch with them. Girl power.” After I said that I didn’t believe my dedication to my team shouldn’t be dictated by my involvement in extra-curricular activities, I was micromanaged. My boss’s supervisor would greet the entire team, except for me. I was told I was distant and cold. I was told I was too brash.

And, I actually liked everyone I worked with. I worked there for less than a year. I was, and still am, fulfilled in my life. So, I came to work to, surprisingly, do my job. And, I’m an introvert. I like alone time. From 8 am — 5 pm, I am interacting with people. I wanted one hour alone, sue me.

What does leaning in get me? A trophy in a popularity contest? I don’t want it.

I understand because I am a light-skinned, straight woman, this isn’t the extent to what it could be if I was dark-skinned/gay/trans.

White women are allowed and able to ignore the historical context of their behaviors and lean into victimhood. Because while it is awful for white women when the patriarchy categorizes them as precious and docile, it proves to be more dangerous for marginalized groups. A white woman can feign ignorance and innocence, and anyone trying to come for her is a bully. And I am over it.

Solidarity is for white women. Or non-black women in the WOC community. Or white people in the leftist community. And I will keep saying it.

It is one-sided. It is assumed that feminism for them is what it is for all of us. Thinking they have “save” Muslim women from wearing hijabs. Thinking they need to “save” us from cultural norms, with no context or education.

Painting this need for respectability and what freedom looks like for us.

They don’t know anything about us.

And then, they wanna big up Megan Thee Stallion and Cardi B for THEIR version of sexual liberation. And that’s all they care about when it comes to us- and even that is flawed, using the same images men use to sexualize us to liberate ourselves. They don’t want us to be a beauty standard. They don’t want to see us as pivotal people in communities. Because when we make something for us, by us, that serve only us, they cry about solidarity. They cry about inclusion. But, they have no problem using us as a standard, then erasing us. They call Black women “goddesses”, not to make us feel powerful, but because our only use for them is to be this mysterious, magical, deity that only steps in to help, but never has their own needs.

That is Black Girl Magic to them.

This is why they get mad when famous Black men post something about the greatness of Black women. Women of other races and ethnicities comment, “What about us?” What about you? This isn’t your moment.

So, there is Womanism. Black American activist and author Alice Walker has used the term to describe Black women who are committed to the well-being of all of humanity. Walker says, “womanist” unites women of color with the feminist movement at “the intersection of race, class, and gender oppression.” Maybe being a Christian is all I need to be. I don’t really know what God says about intersectionality. I don’t know if God is like, “Hey. I made you a complex being with complex feelings. Just don’t put being a woman over being my child.”

That sounds right. In the meantime, I will continue my womanly journey.

Bye’, y’all.