Chapter 62 - Portrayal

I have moved jobs now; I have managed to escape. Although, in truth, psychologically, I feel little has changed. I still feel insecure in my work and continue to be riled that some —possibly many— believe that a symptom of being a black, plain woman, as I am; is that one can never truly amount to anything. Neither can one command the attention of a crowd, and that most of what we say and do is implausible and nonsensical. 

Acceptable appearance, together with the power to portray, perpetuate and subdue, using language, chiefly the written word, is a very powerful arsenal. Even more powerful is the ability to claim ownership over the English language. Those who possess the right characteristics, often Caucasian men, can claim it, and have conquered many using it. 

I think my designated racial group has been unlucky for hundreds of years — possibly more. And although we now have a black American president, a great orator; a handsome, and confident man, I still feel I circulate in a world that is not mine. I belong to a people whose voice has been stifled, regarded as inarticulate by some who possess little resemblance to Sub-Saharan black Africans. We have acquired names and labels over the years: sub-human, slaves, and niggers. Black women in particular, I note, are portrayed through the media as physically aggressive and domineering. We are still the other; the less sophisticated female, when compared to all other races. 

This battle that has been thrust upon me, is making me very tired.

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