Advisors, Authors A-H, Of Women, Race & Ethnicity

Black women in USA culture: Part 2 – by Terry Howard

  Black women…showed up and showed out!

Well, I’ll be darn readers! Who would have figured that my last column alone, “The relentless assault on Black women” would lead to a watershed moment in history that would lead to the election of the nation’s first Black female governor, Keisha Lance Bottoms, and other Black women in public offices across the nation. 

Who would have thought that because of little ole me, Black folks across the south would turn out in record numbers to cast their votes because of, in large part, the gutting of the Voting Rights Act, weaponing DEI, “cleansing” museums of uncomfortable reminders of certain aspects of our sordid history, demoting talented Blacks in the military, and other initiatives to roll back progress. 

As a result, I understand that there’s a Nobel Peace Prize with my name etched on it that’s headed my way. 

Okay, seriously folks, if you believe that nonsense then I have a bridge in Brooklyn or a big, beautiful ballroom in DC I can sell you dirt cheap. 

But here’s the truth.

When I wrote the assault on Black women piece, I hadn’t the foggiest idea about the outcome of the midterm elections. Inside trader I’m not. In fact, I anticipated the worst and even started listening to the growing number of Black folks who’ re considering moving to such places as Panama, Ghana and the Dominican Republic. 

But when Americans of all stripes felt that enough was enough about these outrageous gas and grocery prices, a senseless war, the vitriol and division, purging the military of people of color, the “blue wave” swept the nation and flipped both chambers Congress blue. Suddenly a new political landscape emerged, and a portrait of our rich diversity was thrust squarely into our intractable reality. 

I mean, the governor of Texas a Latina? 

I mean a Muslim senator in Michigan?  

I mean a Jewish senator reelected in Georgia?

I mean, the first elected senator from Mississippi a Black man? 

I mean, a gay man elected senator in New Hampshire? 

I mean, a native American elected governor of New Mexico?

I mean…I mean…I mean!

Now to be clear, this piece is not to gloat and celebrate someone’s campaign failure. Nor is it to pooh-pooh, devalue or diminish the hard-earned success of winning campaigns. No, it’s called democracy and the democratic process. But agree with the results or not, success in the face of a history of discrimination should not be glossed over to spare the feelings of habitual malcontents, resisters to change or election deniers.

Among the many reactions shared with me after the election results were in, these three stand out:

Said “Roberta,” who anticipated that I would be working on a piece about the election results, “Terry, in all my years growing up and living in America, I’ve never been prouder to be a Black woman. I’m still in tears and disbelief.”

Said “Robbie,” (only after I promised not to use his real name), “Terry, I have never seen this many gorgeous Black women winning public office in my life. The sisters be fine. Just saying.”

Said “Carol,” a long-time friend, “the levels of academic achievement, professional accomplishments and competence by these talented Black women should slam the door once and for all about any silly accusations of their being “DEI hires.”

Now with absolute certainty, by the time you get around to reading this narrative, the evening news, late night talk shows, social media posts and after dinner conversations will have dissected every imaginable aspect of the election results as nauseam. Blame, excuses and finger pointing will usurp what should be reasonable dialogues.

But if there’s a silver lining in the midst of all the chaos, the late Maya Angelou’s famous poem, “Still I’ll Rise” best summarizes the significance of the moment as it pertains to Black women, inarguably the group that played a pivotal role in the midterm elections. 

Still I’ll Rise – Maya Angelou

You may write me down in history
With your bitter, twisted lies,
You may trod me in the very dirt
But still, like dust, I’ll rise.
Does my sassiness upset you?
Why are you beset with gloom?
’Cause I walk like I’ve got oil wells
Pumping in my living room.
Just like moons and like suns,
With the certainty of tides,
Just like hopes springing high,
Still I’ll rise.
Did you want to see me broken?
Bowed head and lowered eyes?
Shoulders falling down like teardrops,
Weakened by my soulful cries?
Does my haughtiness offend you?
Don’t you take it awful hard
Cause I laugh like I’ve got gold mines
Diggin’ in my own backyard.
You may shoot me with your words,
You may cut me with your eyes,
You may kill me with your hatefulness,
But still, like air, I’ll rise.
Does my sexiness upset you?
Does it come as a surprise
That I dance like I’ve got diamonds
At the meeting of my thighs?
Out of the huts of history’s shame
I rise
p from a past that’s rooted in pain
I rise
I’m a black ocean, leaping and wide,
Welling and swelling I bear in the tide.
Leaving behind nights of terror and fear
I rise
Into a daybreak that’s wondrously clear
I rise
Bringing the gifts that my ancestors gave,
I am the dream and the hope of the slave.
I rise
I rise
I rise

Now I’d be remiss if I didn’t acknowledge some contemporary Black women who took the hits and endured the insults from you know, those who paved the way for the rise of Black women. Count among them Kamala Harris, Stacey Abrams, Latisha James, Karen Bass, Jasmine Crockett, Maxine Waters, Fani Willis and talented Black female journalists, among them Joy Reid, April Ryan and Yamiche Alcindor. 

And to dial it back, thanks to the sacrifices of 16-year-old Barbara Johns, Rosa Parks, Fanni Lou Hamer, Unita Blackwell and scores of other Black women from the annals of history I can now say to my four beautiful Black granddaughters…

….. “You too can aspire one day to be addressed, “Madam Governor!”

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Terry Howard
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