Prejudice within the Black community: where it comes from and what it means for us all
When I was 4 or 5 years old, I remember coming home from Kindergarten one day and just bursting into tears. It was the first time in my life I can remember truly feeling different. I was the only Black kid in my class, and that day I explained to my dad how “unfair” it was.
I didn’t want to be different, and I’d suddenly realized there was no way I couldn’t be.
The next day my Dad brought me home a shirt that said “Say it Loud – I’m Black and Proud,” a nod to the 1968 song by James Brown (his favorite artist). He sat me down and explained his own experience growing up in the south Bronx, a predominantly Black community. He explained that at times as he got older, despite living in a mostly Black neighborhood, he felt the same sense of isolation and difference when surrounded by lighter-skinned Black people. There was a sense, especially in the time he grew up, that lighter skin was more desirable. And when he married into my mom’s family – which was composed of all lighter-skinned people – it was difficult to feel totally accepted by them.
I didn’t get it at the time – I was too young – but it’s a conversation that has always stayed with me.
When I tell my white friends about this historical kind of ethnic or “colorist” prejudice within the Black community, they’re totally surprised. The fact that perceived hierarchies existed/exist within our community based on skin color and/or ethnic background usually eludes them.
Nowadays, this kind of prejudice has become less prevalent, especially as the distinction between “light-skinned” people and multiracial identities blurs. But it’s still important to recognize that this kind of prejudice can exist within underrepresented communities.
One historical example of colorist prejudice comes as a particular surprise to people outside the community: the Brown Paper Bag test. This has mostly faded from popular culture as far as I can tell, but in the 20th century, it was common enough at colleges, churches, and places of work. The test consisted of using a brown paper bag to judge the hue of a Black person’s skin. If you were lighter than the bag, you passed. If you were darker, you didn’t.
There’s anecdotal evidence that this test was used to gauge Black people’s acceptance in all sorts of situations, from gaining entry into a fraternity to landing a blue-collar job.
The legacy of colorism within this country – and within many cultures historically – is extremely strong. The term “colorism” was first coined by Alice Walker, the author of The Color Purple, who described it as the preferential treatment of same-race people based solely on the color of their skin.
But as a sociological phenomenon, colorism is very ancient.
In America, it has its roots in the slave trade. Lighter-skinned enslaved people, who were often born of enforced sexual relationships or rapes, were often afforded certain privileges because of their blood relation to enslavers. This could include working indoors, living in closer proximity to white people, learning to read, or gaining the opportunity to develop other useful skills.
From very early on in the history of slavery, a hierarchy was established that differentiated between Black people with privilege and those without it. Darker-skinned people were often forced to work outdoors, in fields, and without access to any comforts or resources. And a natural amount of resentment developed, given that lighter-skinned people came to be seen (at least by white people) as “less Black” and therefore more deserving of preferential treatment.
Over time, this artificially imposed hierarchy has created prejudice within the Black community that disadvantages – intentionally or not – people with darker skin. But it’s important to recognize that many other cultures have historically demonstrated a similarly colorist approach to skin tone. In China, for example, where skin lighteners are openly marketed as a solution to whiter complexions, dark skin has been associated with agricultural labor and the working classes for thousands of years. And in the US, Mexican-Americans with lighter skin can be expected to “earn more money, complete more years of education, and live in more integrated neighborhoods” than their darker skinned counterparts.
Whiteness and lightness of skin tone are therefore extremely entrenched markers of status in a range of cultures around the world. And even within the Black community, skin tone is not the only explanation for prejudice.
In the chapter on “Ethnicity” in Ibram Kendi’s How to be an Antiracist, Kendi reflects on the “ethnic racism” he saw in his high school towards students of African origin. The schoolroom jokes, he explains, had their roots in the slave trade, when hundreds of years ago European slavers created hierarchies for slaves from different regions of Africa. According to Kendi, this differentiation between “better” and “worse” Africans survived and was transformed into a differentiation in the African-American consciousness between African immigrants and Black Americans.
So skin color and “colorism” are not the only sources of prejudice within the Black community – nor is that form of prejudice unique to our community. But that’s exactly why we need to pay attention to it: colorism is such a strong bias in so many cultures that it has very real impacts on economic and social opportunities.
For Black people, in particular, some of the statistics and studies can be surprising. A 2006 study found that employers universally preferred hiring light-skinned Black men to dark-skinned men, irrespective of their qualifications. Another study of over 2,000 immigrants showed that the lightest of them earned 8-15% more than their darker counterparts. And another showed that Black women with lighter skin are sentenced to 12% less time in prison and end up serving 11% less time than women with darker skin.
Colorist bias has a very real impact on who gets ahead and who doesn’t, which is why for the Black community it has become a source of prejudice. And as a result of these differences in economic opportunity, colorism is also related to a form of classism. Unconsciously or not, darker skin is often associated with working class jobs, less education, and lower levels of wealth.
A recent Netflix film called Passing explores the extent of colorism’s class implications in 1920s New York. The protagonist, played by Irish-Ethiopian actress Ruth Negga, has such a fair complexion that she is able to convince her (white) husband she is also racially white. She meets her old friend (played by Tessa Thompson) in her hotel room, and it becomes clear that the friend – who is also light-skinned but more visibly Black – occupies a very different social position than Ruth Negga’s character. Both are members of upper classes, but whereas Ruth Negga is able to “pass” and glide through the upper-crust hotels of midtown Manhattan, her friend lives uptown in Harlem (in a townhouse with a Black housekeeper) and rarely comes down into the largely segregated city.
The movie is fascinating because it explores the different experiences of two light-skinned Black women in a deeply segregated New York. The clear implication of both their characters is that lighter skin affords more social prestige and economic opportunities. But even though Tessa Thompson’s character lives well and has a successful, prominent doctor for a husband, her prestige and status are restricted to Harlem. In the rest of New York, she is a Black woman, first. Both women enjoy high status, but it is only by denying her Blackness that Ruth Negga’s character is able to move freely between her luxurious, “white” life and the more welcoming communal life of Black Harlem.
The intersection of class and colorism is therefore another potential source of prejudice. Because lighter-skinned people have historically been afforded more economic and social opportunity or privilege – relatively speaking, of course – associations between lighter skin and upward social mobility have also become entrenched in our community.
Obviously, these associations are somewhat stereotypical, but still very real.
The history of the slave trade casts an enormous shadow on our community, including the colorist legacy it left behind. The best way we can resist that bias is to appreciate the diversity of our skin tones and the experiences they create. Our community is much richer for the variety of experiences we all bring to bear.
As the country becomes more and more multiracial and multiethnic, I hope that appreciation will one day create an environment in which my kids eagerly run home from school to tell me how excited they are to be “different” – no matter who they’re in school with.
Porter Braswell
