blk girls in the future

#BlackGirlMagic”. I, like many people, heard this phrase for the first time in 2013 when it was popularized on social media by CaShawn Thompson in response to all of the negative things being said about Black women on and offline. I was 14 years old, and the fierce support behind the #BlackGirlMagic movement was something I so desperately needed to see, especially as a young Black girl in a white suburban town where I often was the only Black girl in class. After watching Micah Ariel Watson’s web series “Black Enough” and reflecting on what Black Girl Magic means to me now at 22 years old, I’ve come to realize that within this seemingly simple phrase, there is much to unpack.

“Black Enough” follows Amaya, a young Black woman who grew up in a predominately white suburb and currently attends a PWI (predominately white institution) for college. As a young Black woman who also grew up in a predominately white suburb and attends a PWI, I could relate to many of her experiences. However, a part of the show that really struck me was the idea of a “Black Girl Magic Potion” which Amaya begins to write out on her dorm room mirror in an effort to become ‘blacker’. Of course, this does not work the way she expects it to because blackness cannot be truncated into a list or formulated. It’s complex and will be different for each person; but, I relate to Amaya because I have also not felt ‘Black Enough” at certain points at my own university-based upon what fellow Black students have said about me and comments from my white peers. Amaya’s experience made me wonder what I would put in my own Black Girl Magic Potion with the understanding that no matter what is in my potion, I will always be black enough. There are sooo many things that would go in my potion (my current list has 35 things), but for the sake of this blog post, I will list my top five:

1) Music. My parents named me ‘Aria’ which is an elaborate melody usually sung by a soprano in an opera. As musicians themselves, they knew that music would be in my blood. I have been singing ever since I can remember. From honor choirs, to musicals, governor’s school, auditions, a Cappella, writing my own music, teaching myself how to play guitar, and much more, music is apart of who I am. Music is also a very important part of Black Culture. American music in particular has the fingerprints of Black creators all over it. However, this influence has come with a certain expectation of how I should sound when I sing and I have struggled to find my voice as an artist. I’ve been told that my voice is too delicate or doesn’t have enough soul. I’ve had to come to realize for myself that there is only one me and I don’t need to sound like anyone else but myself. Music is in my roots and I will forever be linked to its rhythm, for music is the heartbeat of my potion.

2) My Faith in God. The Sunday church services and bible studies. Blasting “Revolution” by Kirk Franklin after service. Doing the grand usher march on Usher Sunday and singing in the choir. I grew up in the Black Church, and my Baptist roots are an essential ingredient of my potion. My faith in God has carried me through the ups and downs of college, and has also shaped my behavior as a person. My faith is attached to my strength and resiliency. It is also what allows me to know that I can be vulnerable, knowing that I do not need to have all of the answers, I just have to trust in the Lord.

3) Soul Food. My mom is from Louisiana, so you already know that I grew up eating some bomb Creole soul food. Gumbo. Dirty Rice. Catfish. Pound Cake. Collard Greens. I never get tired of it. Throughout my life, but especially over quarantine, my mom taught me how to make a lot of soul food, so the heart and soul of my mother’s cooking is another necessary ingredient — an ingredient that will also be passed on to my children.

4) The Art of Hip-Hop Dance. When I was younger, I tried ballet, jazz, and lyrical, but I fell in love with Hip-Hop. The history of Hip-Hip within itself is rich and complex, not unlike African American History as a whole. My mother taught Hip-Hop when I was younger. I eventually took Advanced Hip-Hop in High School and joined William & Mary’s Hip-Hop Dance Team. Having the creative outlet of dance in college has been a much needed stress reliever and has provided me with a second family and a safe haven in a challenging environment.

5) Glitter. I joke that glitter is my favorite color all of the time because I love glitter a lot. This is a must-have in my potion. I never go a day without some glitter, whether that is body spray, eyeshadow, or an accessory. Glitter helps me feel confident and I love the way it makes me feel and shine in real life. Glitter is magical and it is the perfect ingredient to include in my Black Girl Magic Potion. When I get my Congressional Office, I hope they are ready for sparkly stationery.

As for the rest of what’s in my potion, the list goes on, but no matter what is in my potion, I will forever be a proud Black woman. I am shaped by the good and the bad experiences I have faced. The happy and the sad feelings. I am a mix of so many things in life, but they have made me who I am today. The only person who can define who I am is me, and I am sugar, spice, and everything in between. And that’s on some #BlackGirlMagic.

Toni Morrison’s Cinderella’s Stepsisters had me truly thinking about what black girlhood and sisterhood in the present world. It is appalling to me that this Morrison delivered this in 1979, yet it is still so applicable today. Why must we endure decades of abuse at the hands of other women? When Morrison wrote, “of women gathered together and held together in order to abuse another woman” on page 110, my mind started spiraling in a bunch of different ways. I immediately began thinking of the impact of social media on body image. On social media, we are seeing an overwhelmingly amount of women of all races embrace body enhancements surgery. Perhaps the most infamous is the BBL, which has recently been rending as the dangers are the same as open heart surgery. While I am supportive of whatever one wishes to do with their body (in fact, it’s none of my business), I still find myself feeling bad because I wonder what made them feel the need to put themselves at such risk. In response, I find myself blaming the beauty standards falsely presented in media. Young women want to look like the people they see instead of embracing the beautiful way they were born. Furthermore, I know that these body insecurities are often the result of bullying and judgement from others specifically other women. It has become a normal thing to see a woman on social media tearing down another woman. As women, we have so much to deal with, so many things going against our success. One would think that we would find safety and comfort in one another. Shows like Bad Girls Club and Joseline’s Cabernet, while entertaining, reinforce this false sense of competition amongst women instead of encouraging women to be a unified force. For example, a scene from the latter show has been going viral because a young woman shared her experience with abortion and received an insensitive response from other women; scenes such as this one show that some women have no problem using another woman’s vulnerability against her. As Morrison writes on page 111, “I want not to as you but to tell you not to participate in the oppression of your sisters.” As Beyonce said, girls run the world; moving forward, I would love to see collective power in womanhood, specifically black womanhood. For me, this looks like hyping up other women on social media filter or no filter; encouraging other women to embrace change and risk; and helping other women out in everyday life. This does not look like talking down to them, using them for personal gain, or judging them for personal decisions. Cinderella’s Stepsisters has encouraged me to be a better presence in the lives of the women around me, and I would encourage all women to give it a read. As a woman in a black greek-letter sorority, I think our sisterhood has the job of being role models and displaying positive sisterly interactions. We as women can use our power for good.

A Song Below Water is a world with strong community, and each character feel so, undeniably real, that I genuinely felt that I had no choice BUT to be drawn into their world.

A Song Below Water is the only book in a long time that has put me through a genuine roller coaster of emotion. Sure, with Kindred, I experienced pain, but A Song Below Water has made me experience nearly every emotion on the spectrum. It feels as though I am truly a part of the world–like I’m right there with Tavia and Effie, feeling the same suspense they do, coming upon the same findings that they do, and feeling the emotions that they do as well.

For example, when Tavia was reading Effie the love letter from Elric to Euphemia, when he commented on her “dark skin” and “midnight eyes”, I raised my eyebrows and made a sound. I then read that they had the same exact reactions that I had, truly making ME, the reader feel… almost seen in a way. Like there was some sort of bond between the three of us, some sort of unspoken community and understanding.

Another instance in which I felt like this was when the photograph of Devonte Hart hugging the police officer was mentioned in the book, and I immediately knew the exact picture that she was talking about. I’m so used to reading books about far off instances and time periods that to see an event being mentioned that I actually lived through was… jarring. It made me take a step back from being “in the moment” and made me look “at the moment”, if that makes sense–things that I’ve lived through in my own life, things that I looked at, processed, and experienced, are significant enough to be noted within a book, to be carried on forever. Everyone looks back at history, but it’s hard to realize that you are LIVING history. The fact that this book was able to make me feel perspective about events in my own world only made me feel more drawn into the world, the community of the book.

Though I experienced a strong sense of warmth in community with Tavia and Effie, I also experienced a feeling of disconnect with Naema. Interestingly, though, that disconnect was very refreshing, and it felt like it added to the sense of community I had, instead of taking away from it. That’s because, in most novels, black women seem to be so one dimensional–they have a singular black woman fulfilling whatever role they need to fulfill, be it the sweet, misunderstood girl, or the bully, or the foil character, and that’s it. However, in A Song Before water, Bethany C. Morrow creates a community in which we actually see the diversity in PERSONALITIES of black women, not only appearances. It was so nice to see black women not only in the role of protagonist, but also in the role of antagonist, all in the same novel–and that no one role was meant to symbolize ALL black women. It just felt like, since there were multiple black women within the plot, they were all just able to have their own personalities instead of having to fit every single message and every single thought process into one.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Connecting a Song Below Water back to Toni Morrison’s “Cinderella’s Stepsisters”, we see women who are envious and nasty to other women within A Song Below Water (Naema), but we also see beautiful depictions of sisterhood. Tavia and Effie genuinely love each other, and care about each others well being in such a pure way that’s beautiful to read. It’s so beautiful that it actually makes me look forward to their interactions, like the time when they woke up in bed together and Tavia fixed Effie’s hair for her, or Effie’s sensitivity and empathy to Tavia’s throat overheating. Even the times they stand up for each other when the other isn't there. It seems, in media, that we often see what destructive relationships between women look like, but rarely pure, genuine ones. Tavia and Effie’s relationship was healthy, supportive, and non-possessive, and just all-around, a wonderful model for friendship.

I have to say that I really enjoyed reading A Song Below Water by Bethany Morrow. One thing that stood out to me in novel was the bond between Effie and Tavia. There were several instances where Tavia mentioned that she was jealous of Effie, but she never allowed her feelings of jealousy to affect how she treated Effie. I found their sisterhood bond to be extremely admirable because they always looked out for each other, no matter how difficult a situation was. Their bond was tested in the last part of the novel when Naema attempted to out Ellie as a siren. There was so much commotion but Tavia refused to leave Effie’s side. If there is one thing that I took away from the situation, it is the importance of surrounding yourself with people that are actually invested in your wellbeing.

I also liked how Bethany Morrow portrayed Tavia and Effie as dynamic characters. They didn’t fall under that superhero archetype of Black women that are portrayed as being able to endure all trauma (which is interesting seeing as Tavia and Effie are mythical creatures). At times they didn’t feel confident in their identities, they were sad, they were angry, they were happy. For instance, near end of the book Effie is having a conversation with Mama Theo and she mentions that Mama Theo would say “button it up” to get her to stop crying. Effie said “I never knew why that was the command, or what it was supposed to teach me. And even when I’d almost manage to swallow it, it’d just come sputtering back to the surface the moment she turned her stern gaze away.” This reminded me experiences with mom who would yell or spank me after I did something that she didn’t like. When I would start crying because I was in pain, she would tell me to stop before she gave me something to cry for. I never really understood why parents expected you to be able to immediately bottle up your emotions after a spanking, but I could never do it. It was refreshing to see this kind this kind of representation, as media is often saturated with depictions of Black women as being able to endure anything.

I also really liked how Ellie’s journey to discovering who she really was portrayed throughout the book. Even after discovering that she was a gorgon, she still seemed unsure of herself. I thought it was touching to see how Tavia was in awe of Ellie’s true form when she first saw it. In a way it reminded of a Black woman’s journey to self-discovery. From personal experience, I remember feeling unsure of myself because I didn’t know how to do my hair and struggled at times going to a high school with very few Black students. Sometimes, I was the only Black student in my classes which felt isolating and lonely at times. Over time, I felt like I discovered my true self and felt less inclined to assimilate to Eurocentric/societal standards. Overall, I really enjoyed how the book covered social injustice with fantasy elements and I felt as if I could relate to the main characters.

I always was obsessed with mermaids growing up. Spending seven years of your life, three times a week tends to do that to you. I used to imagine being this magical sea creature. But every time I thought of mermaids I thought of The Little Mermaid or H20. I never thought of myself as the scary legend in French Guyana, where sirens came at the surface of the water to enhance the sailors and bring them to the bottom of the sea to eat them. Nobody wants to be that kind of siren/ mermaids. But what if those mermaids were not actually cruel and that it was just another example of people demonizing minorities? (For the records, I do believe that mermaids can exist as we do not have any idea of what is happening in the oceans)

  In A Song Below Water, Bethany C. Morrow shows us that the stories that we are told are controlled by the ones who are scared of them. I really found it interesting how the author succeeds in using the metaphor of black women being silenced down sirens. 

  The first thing that intrigued me was how Tavia was also feared by her parents and the marked absence of her mother. I always wondered who can parents be ashamed of their children, or be afraid of what they represent. If you do not hurt anybody, if your existence is to simply embrace yourself and be proud of who you are, without endangering people’s physical and mental health then what is the issue. Throughout the first third of the book, we can see how Tavia’s existence makes her dad really uncomfortable. He is blaming her for being a siren, but the question is why? In one of the passages where he talks about how younger generations put the lights on the social and racial injustices happening, they also put the light on every black person. In a sense, they engage them in this fight. It reminded me how at the time of the Civil Rights, there was a distinction between the older and younger black generation. While the younger were fighting for their rights to be recognized and applicable immediately, they were seen as radicalized. They did not accept second mesures. But the older generation, where more for a homogeneous transition, with this idea of the change more peaceful, more in collaboration with the government. This older generation, I think, is quite represented by Tavia’s father. But also I think that there is a genuine fear for his daughter that forces him to be this unsupporting. I think that sometimes parents react in a way that they become a danger to their children. 

  But I also think that the novel relates also on how the place of black women was denied during the Civil Rights. Even if we know how much these women are the ones that started the movement and created it, we still think of the famous male figures. Here the older generation of women is nowhere to be found. Tavia’s mother is basically speechless, Tavia’s grandmother -who is also a siren- can’t be heard, Effie’s mother died, and Effie’s grandmother seems to want her granddaughter to be influenced by Tavia. Concerning the two sisters, each one has a reason not to be vocal. In the class of Miss. Fisher -who by the way I came to hate- we learn a bit more about how the control of sirens became a governmental issue. Even if the story was unfair, sexist, and deals with idiots, I also find a sense of comfort. The black sirens represented powerful black women who are amazing enough to be followed by people. Not because they are monstrous people and power hungry, but because they are right. When Tavia uses her siren voice it is to fix an unfair situation, being pulled over by the police for no reason. Not at any moment she was told what she did wrong or asked for her vehicle papers or license. She had the right to use her powers, it might even have saved her life. 

Dirty Computer by Janelle Monáe is a multifaceted challenge and vision for its viewers: on one hand, the film (and album on which it’s based) disrupts common conceptions of Queerness, femininity, and identity; on the other hand, though, Dirty Computer turns that disruption into a manifesto, creating a world where sexual and gender fluidity are intricate parts of an unapologetically Black universe. Monáe ’s character, Jane, likes women and men, is masculine and feminine, and in all cases Blackity Black Black Black. Still, though, Dirty Computer is not a utopian piece - we see in flashbacks that Jane is consistently hunted and persecuted, and her present-day situation before escaping is that of torture, brainwashing, and gaslighting. And what’s more, even Dirty Computer’s ending is open-ended; we don’t know if Jane, Zen, and Ché will be able to be free at last or if they’ll be captured again - there are no neat and tidy happy endings here. Perhaps that’s the point; Monáe is not shy about trials and tribulations here. She weaves a narrative where, yes, there is pride and fun and joy, but also fear, confusion, and oppression. In this way, Dirty Computer is an authentically complex work, one which strives to embody a unique yet universal experience - almost everyone has had some experience with being unable to be who they are without judgment, but Queer Black women (and Janelle Monáe specifically) have their own difficulties and triumphs. The futurism of Dirty Computer allows Monáe and her viewers to explore the multitude of ways in which the digitization of society affects culture and power and introspection.

  QueerOS would therefore be a theoretical framework through which we may understand Dirty Computer on an academic level. QueerOS is a proposed operating system that is built on Queer theory to imagine a new and different way of doing computing. From kernels to the memory, QueerOS breaks down barriers that are otherwise part and parcel of mainstream, currently-existing operating systems; it is a system of potentiality, a mechanism to investigate personhood, digital space, and Queer identity through a quasi-physical lens. Dirty Computer excels as both speculative and realist art because it melds together so many disparate identities, concepts, histories, and politics; in the same way, QueerOS is a machine in a very human sense - QueerOS’ components work together in tandem as part of one unit, not as solely-separate entities, and is also open-source for use in a variety of different contexts so that it is not just one thing, but many at once. The fantastic and the practical of QueerOS and Dirty Computer are situated in their times, in their places, yet still manage to transcend them. It is part of this transcendence that we have to meditate on one sad fact: QueerOS may never exist, and Dirty Computer’s world of pleasure may never be fully realized. They are projects of imagination, with the full potential to be made part of our physical reality, yet we have to accept that they are just that - imagination. There is some comfort here - that QueerOS and Dirty Computer are (for now) works of fiction that frees us to envision our own art and futures; QueerOS goes so far as to explicitly wonder what other operating systems of an anti-oppressive, pro-pride future world may look like, with or without itself as a foundation. Power exists in spaces that reflect our experiences, but reflections are not always exact, and they exist in their own right, a part of and apart from us, the real. Mirrors can be windows into a new reality we may never achieve for ourselves, but can work towards in innovative ways nonetheless.

Black Student Union and Black Caucus are two very different organizations that, in their respective series, serve an important narrative purpose: to introduce the audience to what Blackness is on a certain college campus and how that Blackness congregates into something that resembles a community. In BLACK ENOUGH, the Black Student Union (Weston) is Blackness as multifaceted yet unified - whether you were from Queens or the Caribbean, whether you wore your hair in afros or in braids, if you fit a broad (but admittedly not broad enough) definition of Blackness, you were to be part of the one (non-Greek) Black organization on campus. In Dear White People, however, Black Caucus shows Blackness as an alliance: the Caucus was not a unified entity, more so a forum for various different Black organizations to congregate and discuss the tea of the week; these organizations included CORE, Black AF, the Black Student Union (Winchester), and the African-American Student Union.

I wonder which entity Amaya may have fit better in during her Black Welcome Week - if both Black Student Union and Black Caucus existed, which would she have chosen, if either at all? It’s important to acknowledge that both Weston and Winchester are PWIs/HWIs, with long histories of slavery and segregation; in these institutions, Black people don’t exactly have the luxury of bountiful representation in bodies of power - they have to make their own spaces where they can, whether in 1965 or 2021. As a result of lack of representation, a lot of racism (especially microaggressions) is perpetrated and it is a chore to get White people (and even some Black people) to understand the impact of these incidents. In “Algorithms of Oppression”, Safiya Umoja Noble details how Black minorities in our physical world manifest in the digital as machines, systems designed to oppress Black people. Part of resisting this coded manifestation of White supremacy is to build Black communities, and this is where Noble and BLACK ENOUGH share a common ground: they both make the digital part of their framing with #BlackGirlMagic and “#BlackGirlMagicPotion”. The act of making a hashtag is the act of putting a flag in the ground and summoning people to it in order to build a city around this phrase and ideals that underlie it. #BlackGirlMagic celebrates the multitude of ways in which Black women and girls exist and thrive and create and challenge in a world that is intent on tearing them down on all fronts. On the flip side, though, “#BlackGirlMagicPotion” exposes what happens when certain Blacknesses are excluded from the equation, barred from the city. Amaya is kept out of #BlackGirlMagic yet is constantly invited inside anyway; even if she’s constantly asked to join the Black Student Union, it is with the expectation that she needs to majorly change. Amaya dances with White groups instead of going to Black parties, she doesn’t say “finna” and she can’t really twerk, she relaxes her hair instead of wearing it natural, and this all implicitly makes her a pariah in some Black spaces.

When people talk about Black culture and Black community, they often have a very monolithic notion of what that entails: rap and hip-hop, Malcolm X and W.E.B Dubois, dreadlocks and baby curls, fuck the police and free the Black brutha. Growing up, I didn’t identify with much of any of this, and it instilled in me a pervasive anti-Blackness (especially against Black men) that I am still trying to unlearn to this day. The complexities of identity are often controlled by White simplicity. You actually care about school? Black people don’t care about school, so you’re not really Black - you’re better than them, something else… something White. The many Black characters that Amaya interacts with speak a thousand words with their looks at her: she spends too much time with White people, she’s forgotten how to be Black. While this perspective has some merit, it doesn’t capture the whole picture. What I am continuing to learn is that Blackness is everywhere and in everything - there is nothing out there for White people that Black people haven’t carved out space for themselves in - nerd- and geekdom, for example, can be magnificently Black spaces, even if stereotypes of Black people would refuse to acknowledge that.

Amaya’s journey, like my own, is one where she learns that she doesn’t need to be the Black girl others expect her to be; she can make her own Blackness, using the ingredients of her own lived experiences, to create a new, unique, and just-as-great #BlackGirlMagicPotion. And just as Amaya comes to embrace this in Weston’s halls, we too can embrace our own potions in the digital realm; social media a dangerous yet powerful tool for community-building and self-loving. Thanks to social media, Black people around the world have been able to meet each other and break down cultural barriers that would otherwise have kept them apart. Still, we must be vigilant - Noble is not starry-eyed about the role of technology in Black lives, but she still offers hope for a future where, if we are critical, we can survive and may even start to change that which oppresses us, that our Black magic potions can be potent defenses against the White supremacist arts.

Cinderella’s Stepsisters by Toni Morrison covers an important issue that I often forget. I feel as if I am generally more focused on issues pertaining to racism, sexism, capitalism which leads me to forget that sometimes we play a role in perpetuating the oppression of others just like us. When I think of women that participate oppression of other women, the first thing that comes to mind are pick me girls. These are women who all too often go out of their way to agree with misogynistic values to obtain male validation.

This speech also reminded me of how oppression also occurs in movements centered around women’s rights or just social justice in general. For instance, the feminist movements and suffrage movements mainly benefitted white women. Other women of color, especially Black women, were not able to gain the same freedoms and privileges from such movements. Moreover, many white women use their marginalized identity as a woman to deny or dismiss the privileges that they gain from their whiteness. Toni Morrison explained that “you are moving in the direction of freedom, and the function of freedom is to free someone else.” I think women need to do a better job of not only recognizing when they have privilege in certain spaces, but also need to use their privilege/freedom to free other women.

Women in other racial minority groups also seem to play a role in oppressing other women. I noticed that when COVID first begun there was a lot of hate directed to Asian people regardless of whether they were Chinese or not. Many people rallied against the racism and xenophobia directed toward Asians during this time, especially Black women. However, things went south quickly when racism against Black people in China heightened as fears of imported COVID cases from abroad rose.

Even within the Black community, I’ve noticed that some Black women participate in the oppression of other Black women. I do believe that there are many Black women that want other Black women to be successful, however, it seems as if Black women sometimes participate in competitive and professional violence. Perhaps all the work that goes into achieving success as a Black woman may partially explain why Black women in higher positions may treat other Black women poorly. Instead of working to together to achieve greater success, it seems as if some Black women believe that the only way to keep their spot is to keep other women from advancing. I also think the need to achieve recognition in the workplace also leads to some of the professional and competitive violence.

After reviewing this this speech, I could see how well it relates to the relationship between Effie and Tavia in A Song Below Water. There were many instances where Tavia was jealous of Effie, but she never acted on these emotions. They had an unbreakable bond as “sisters”, and they would help each other put whenever it was possible. Ultimately, these readings of the importance of treating other women with compassion instead of acting in one’s one best interest.

When I was in high school, I took a class about fairytales and we talked about different character tropes. The two we specifically talked about were the ugly, old, and mean woman and the young defenseless, conventionally attractive girl. These character tropes reminded me a lot of modern day feminism, in the sense that they didn’t seem to take into account people of differing backgrounds, non-white and straight femmes. We read Boy, Snow, Bird by Helen Oyeyemi(great book, highly recommend if you haven’t read it), and it was a great retelling of Snow White following the life of Boy, a white woman who ends up marrying a white-passing black man named Arturo, and gains second-hand experience of the harsh realities that black people put themselves through just to exist freely, including shunning an immediate family member to keep up the facade. Despite the fact that the most apparent themes of this book pertained to race, we rarely talked about it. This was one of the weirdest experiences that I’d ever had regarding a written piece for which I was the target audience. Like, how did you manage to take the basis on which a book is made, completely ignore, and still include it in your curriculum? The point of this story was to share that even when the author means for you to be an interlocutor in the dialogue between characters and narrators, if you don’t read something in the right environment, you can still feel as if your voice doesn’t necessarily have a place in the conversation either.

When I first came upon the question posed on pg. 19 of The Dark Fantastic, I immediately thought of Bonnie Bennett from The Vampire Diaries. Julie Plec did her character so dirty, and thus robbed many black girls of the chance of seeing a well written supernatural character that looked like them on air. Bonnie was expected to save her “friends” no matter the cost to herself or family. Her mother ended up being shunned from her family because someone decided that the only way to save themselves was to kill her. Bonnie tells her friends multiple times that she doesn’t feel comfortable with befriending vampires, and they consistently guilt trip her into helping them out of all of their messes. Bonnie consistently puts her life on the line for her “friends”, and when she actually dies Elena, her childhood best friend, only cares to mourn for the loss of her boyfriend, who has tried to kill her, her brother, and her friends on multiple occasions. Bonne finally finds someone who’s willing to put her needs first, other than her family, and then she has to watch him die right in front of her eyes, and then her “best friend” goes on to marry the guy who kills him.

Usually, when I notice that a show or book isn’t written with someone like me in mind I would just go find something else to watch, as I’d lost interest. However, in the case of Bonnie Bennett, I actually loved her character and how she was so obviously the backbone of the entire show, but I disliked how she was treated. So I was a little petty and watched it all of the way through so that I could dissect every character flaw in all of the other characters.

Vampire Diaries was one of my favorite shows in my younger years and I would always root for Bonnie because as a black woman or little girl at the time I could identify with her. I stopped watching the show because something didn’t feel right and as I grew older, I realized Bonnie did not get what she deserved on that show and my young spirit knew.

Bonnie always went through hardship and had to be the “strong black women” in the situation without any help while her friends had support from others or her. It’s like she couldn’t have a break or just be weak for a moment. Her friends were not her friends and the fact that they were white women is very fitting. White women see themselves as the main characters and black women as the secondary/background individuals in TV and very much in real life. So, if that secondary/background individual were to step into the main role that would be a threat so its best to invalidate that individual, so they don’t receive the perks of being in that role. They don’t realize both can be main characters and live harmoniously. That’s what happened to Bonnie in this case. She was always expected to support or deal with her own problems alone because she wasn’t in the main position. Now that is very messed up and I definitely was and am not here for it.

Also, there was a lot going on behind the scenes of that show. Kat Graham, the person who played Bonnie, faced discriminatory and racist treatment. Her main tormenter being the writer of the show who ultimately wanted Bonnie off the show because she all of a sudden did not see a black woman in her story. Of course, she couldn’t just take her out easily, but she did make it a living hell for her. Kat, like many black women in Hollywood, never had adequate accommodations for her hair and makeup. The writer wanted her to keep her hair straight for the show which was hard for Kat to do especially without adequate assistance she endured a lot of damage from heat and from wearing weaves and wigs. She also had to deal with microaggressions from the writer and the reason her character even went through so much was because the writer wanted her out. Kat had to fight to stay and luckily Ian Somerhalder decided to help her fight against the racism, discrimination, and microaggressions she was facing at the hands of the writer. Kat said she felt like she had to stay so that things would change for black women in the industry at the time but now she says she won’t be taking any roles that don’t uplift black women.

Honestly, Kat is better than me because I definitely would have left earlier. Kat was much like her character Bonnie, always had to be the “strong black women” and ignore her feelings because she felt like as a black woman, she needed to fit into this idea of being strong and taking one for the team. Well, she didn’t need to do that and I’m glad that chapter of her life is in the past.

I always was obsessed with mermaids growing up. Spending seven years of your life swimming, three times a week tends to do that to you. I used to imagine being this magical sea creature. But every time I thought of mermaids I thought of The Little Mermaid or H20. I never thought of myself as the scary legend in French Guyana, where sirens came at the surface of the water to enhance the sailors and bring them to the bottom of the sea to eat them. Nobody wants to be that kind of siren/ mermaids. But what if those mermaids were not actually cruel and that it was just another example of people demonizing minorities? (For the records, I do believe that mermaids can exist as we do not have any idea of what is happening in the oceans)

In A Song Below Water, Bethany C. Morrow shows us that the stories that we are told are controlled by the ones who are scared of them. I really found it interesting how the author succeeds in using the metaphor of black women being silenced down sirens.

The first thing that intrigued me was how Tavia was also feared by her parents and the marked absence of her mother. I always wondered who can parents be ashamed of their children, or be afraid of what they represent. If you do not hurt anybody, if your existence is to simply embrace yourself and be proud of who you are, without endangering people’s physical and mental health then what is the issue. Throughout the first third of the book, we can see how Tavia’s existence makes her dad really uncomfortable. He is blaming her for being a siren, but the question is why? In one of the passages where he talks about how younger generations put the lights on the social and racial injustices happening, they also put the light on every black person. In a sense, they engage them in this fight. It reminded me how at the time of the Civil Rights, there was a distinction between the older and younger black generation. While the younger were fighting for their rights to be recognized and applicable immediately, they were seen as radicalized. They did not accept second mesures. But the older generation, where more for a homogeneous transition, with this idea of the change more peaceful, more in collaboration with the government. This older generation, I think, is quite represented by Tavia’s father. But also I think that there is a genuine fear for his daughter that forces him to be this unsupporting. I think that sometimes parents react in a way that they become a danger to their children.

But I also think that the novel relates also on how the place of black women was denied during the Civil Rights. Even if we know how much these women are the ones that started the movement and created it, we still think of the famous male figures. Here the older generation of women is nowhere to be found. Tavia’s mother is basically speechless, Tavia’s grandmother -who is also a siren- can’t be heard, Effie’s mother died, and Effie’s grandmother seems to want her granddaughter to be influenced by Tavia. Concerning the two sisters, each one has a reason not to be vocal. In the class of Miss. Fisher -who by the way I came to hate- we learn a bit more about how the control of sirens became a governmental issue. Even if the story was unfair, sexist, and deals with idiots, I also find a sense of comfort. The black sirens represented powerful black women who are amazing enough to be followed by people. Not because they are monstrous people and power hungry, but because they are right. When Tavia uses her siren voice it is to fix an unfair situation, being pulled over by the police for no reason. Not at any moment she was told what she did wrong or asked for her vehicle papers or license. She had the right to use her powers, it might even have saved her life.

I think that the novel reveals how single stories are hurtful to the ones that are a part of the story. As of now, we only have an idea why sirens are “needed to be controlled” from the eyes of the white hegemonic power. We are not given the story of the people who actually lived it.

English and French version

-------------------------------English--------------------------------------

My potion feels like a lie, like a fraud. She is a mix of two amazing sorcerers that forgot to give me my first grimoire.

My potion is the discomfort against the hungry looks that jackals give me, for being this fetishized creature. My potion is how pretty my hair is because it’s bigger, more alive, more fun than white girls’, but smaller, more acceptable than black women’s. It’s how everyone around me feels entitled to touch it and tell me that it would be great as a pillow. My potion is how light my skin is, while still having this honey layer come out when the sun resuscitates me. Making my white friends jealous. It’s my father’s features being slimmed down by my mother’s.

But my potion is also the sun-warm hugs that my dad wraps me in. It’s the long hours spent in bathtubs with my mom detangling my curls. It’s my grandmother’s warm apple pie undertaken by the taste of cinnamon that she only does for me. It’s the sound of my parents dancing to the rhythm of zouk. It’s the calm that my soul is, under the shining sun and breathing of the waves. It’s how the salt covers my body like a star dress. It’s how watering my plants feels like nurturing my soul. It’s how decorating my room makes me proud. It’s how my stretch marks flash like lightning. It’s how my body awakens to music by dancing. It’s how a shared fresh beer feels like a vacation. It’s how my aunt braids my hair while reminding me of my place in this world. It’s how pineapple is sweet both in my mouth but also on top of my head, no matter what that dumb child said in middle school. It’s how fictional characters feel more reachable than real people. It’s how fictional characters are so much more lovable. It’s how taking care of my appearance feels like a ceremony. It’s when my giggles forbid me to breathe. It’s the late-night bike rides. It’s my mom’s lasagna. It’s the naps with my baby brother. It’s my friend’s godly presence. It’s the rugby games on the TV. It’s the chance to debate with people and to learn from them. It’s the taste of my dad’s and aunt’s cooking. It’s my zodiac sign serving as an excuse for my love for food, my bed, and my stubbornness. It’s how addicted I have become to inked needles and shiny ones. It’s how the beads in my hair sing like bells, even if it makes too much noise sometimes. It’s how freedom feels driving my car. It’s how magical stars look in the silence. It’s how my brain is one step away from becoming the character from my stories. It’s how proud I am to be a woman. It’s the smell of spices, mostly garlic and madras on my hands. It’s how the cards feel familiar between my hands during the family afternoon. It’s the smell of lavender in my clothes, my bedsheets. It’s the shrimp beignet that my uncle makes. It’s how the rug in my living room feels like a cloud. It’s the late-night cravings that turn into a gastronomic dish. It’s my hair being frozen by coconut oil in winter. It’s the sand in the shower drain. It’s me stealing vinyl from my grandfather because he does not listen to them and they deserve to be loved. It’s being surrounded by a crowd of color, of zouk, of afro-music, and feeling like you are a part of something bigger than yourself. It’s the Vaseline that comes with you everywhere. It’s the tapping of my nails against a table, or my leg jumping up and down because I am too much alive sometimes and I want to explode.

I have my place in both worlds, but I also do not. My potion comes with privilege that others don’t have. It comes at the price of not knowing which community you belong to, it comes to being an individual. I was always reluctant to define myself. I was never the person that says, I am mixed-raced. Because of how light I am, people did not believe me. I always said that my dad was brown and my mom was white. They were definable. And that if I did not look at all like my mom and brothers it was because I was my dad’s daughter. I am aware that I will never experience what black women experience. I am not a black woman, neither am I a white woman, I am neither and both at the same time.

--------------------------------French--------------------------------------

Ma potion a un goût de mensonge, comme une escroquerie. Ma potion est un mélange de deux sorciers incroyables qui ont oublié de me donner mon premier grimoire.

Ma potion est-ce malaise face aux regards affamés que les chacals me lancent, étant cette créature fantasmatique. Ma potion c’est le fait que mes cheveux sont magnifiques car ils sont plus grands, plus animés que ceux des filles blanches, mais plus petit, plus acceptable que ceux des femmes noires. C’est le fait que les gens autour de moi pensent avoir le droit de les toucher et de me dire qu’ils feront un super coussin. Ma potion c’est ma peau claire, tout en ayant ce sou teinte de miel qui ressort quand le soleil me redonne vie. Rendant ainsi mes amis blancs jaloux. C’est les traits de mon père amincis par ceux de ma mère.

Mais ma potion c’est aussi les câlins doux comme le soleil dans lesquels mon papa m’enveloppe. C’est les longues heures passées dans un bain avec ma maman à me démêler les cheveux. C’est les tartes à la pomme chaude, imprégnées de Cannelle, que ma grand-mère ne prépare que pour moi. C’est le son de mes parents qui danse au rythme du zouk. C’est le calme qui envahit mon âme sous le soleil étincelant et le halètement des vagues. C’est le sel qui recouvre mon corps comme une robe d’étoiles. C’est arrosé mes plantes comme si je nourrissais mon âme. C’est le fait que décorer ma chambre me rend fière. C’est mes vergetures qui chatoient telles que les éclairs. C’est mon corps qui s’éveille en dansant au son de la musique. C’est ce sentiment de vacances qui accompagne une bière fraîche partagée. C’est ma tante me tressant les cheveux qui me rappelle ma place dans ce monde. C’est l’exister de l’ananas à la fois dans ma bouche mais aussi sur ma tête, qu’importe ce que ce gosse stupide m’a dit en grande section. C’est à quel point les personnages de fiction semblent plus accessibles que les vraies personnes. C’est combien les personnages de fiction sont beaucoup plus attrayants. C’est comment me préparer me donne l’impression de procéder à une cérémonie sacrée. C’est rire à m’en étouffer. C’est les balades en vélos au milieu de la nuit. C’est les lasagnes de ma maman. C’est les siestes avec mon petit frère. C’est la divine présence de mes amis. C’est les matchs de rugby à la télé. C’est l’opportunité de pouvoir débattre avec les gens et d’apprendre d’eux. C’est la saveur de la cuisine de mon père et de ma tante. C’est le fait d’utiliser mon signe astrologique comme excuse pour mon amour de la nourriture, mon lit et mon entêtement. C’est mon addiction grandissante des aiguilles d’encres et de bijoux. C’est les perles dans mes cheveux qui chantent comme des cloches, même si parfois elles font trop de bruit. C’est ce sentiment de liberté en conduisant ma voiture. C’est cette atmosphère magique que les étoiles ont dans le silence. C’est cette envie irrésistible de devenir un de mes personnages d’histoires. C’est la fierté que je ressens d’être une femme. C’est cette odeur d’épices, d’ail, de madras qui émanent de mes mains. C’est la familiarité des cartes dans mes mains les après-midi en famille. C’est l’odeur de lavande sur mes vêtements et mes draps. C’est les beignets à la crevette que mon oncle prépare. C’est le fait que le tapis du salon me fait penser à un nuage. C’est les fringales au beau milieu de la nuit qui se transforment en repas gastronomique. C’est mes cheveux congelés par l’huile de noix de coco en hiver. C’est le sable dans le siphon de la douche. C’est le vol de vinyle de mon grand-père parce qu’ils ne les écoutent pas et qu’ils méritent d’être aimés. C’est le fait d’être entouré par une foule de couleur, de zouk, de music afro et d’avoir l’impression de faire partie de quelque chose plus grand que toi. C’est la Vaseline qui t’accompagne partout où tu vas. C’est le tâtonnement dès mes ongles sur une table, où ma jambe sautillant parce que des fois je suis si vivante que je veux exploser.

J’appartiens à ces deux mondes, comme je n’y appartiens pas. Ma potion viens avec un privilège que d’autres n’ont pas. Elle vient avec ce prix de ne pas savoir à quel communauté tu appartiens, elle vient accompagnée de l’individualité. J’ai toujours été réticente à me définir. Je n’ai jamais vraiment été cette personne qui dit, je suis métisse. Les gens ne me croyaient pas parce que ma peau est claire. J’ai toujours dis que mon père était métisse et ma mère blanche. On pouvaient les définir. Et si je ne ressemblais pas à ma mère ni mes frères c’étaient parce que j’étais la fille de mon père. Je suis consciente que je ne vivrais jamais ce qu’une femme noire va vivre. Je ne suis pas une femme noire, ni une femme blanche, je suis une femme noire et une femme blanche, je suis à la fois les deux et rien du tout.

As I was reflecting on this question, I realized creating a black girl potion encapsulates multiple sides of black womanhood. I classified this in two ways: the good and the bad. I first thought of the sanguine parts that make up a black girl (which seems like the standard route), but I also considered what I’d include as tools for survival. While this is a small distinction, I’d still like to explore both interpretations by guessing what most black girl potions include. “Black Enough” left us with the message that there is no one answer. While I can try to generalize as much as possible, it’s still going to be confounded by my personal experience. As a light-skinned black woman who has benefitted from both colorism and proximity-to-whiteness privilege, there’s an immense amount of unlearning and relearning required to make sure my idea of what makes a black girl doesn’t impose harmful and unrealistic expectations on other women. All that to say, I’ll do my very best.

When thinking of what makes a black girl, the primary elements I’d include are passion and swagger. I’ve never met a black woman who wasn’t passionate about something, and I think this is the origin of many traits associated with black girl magic (drive, creativity, confidence, etc). In breaking the monolith stereotype, we can point to how broad our passions are. We have passions that span every subject and are somehow always reinventing them. Swagger (or swag) may seem like an interesting choice, but black women are quite literally the blueprint because we engage in our passions with a certain charisma. The idea of swag tends to be narrow, but I think once we find our niche we mesmerize and inspire others. That seems like swag to me. These two elements are demonstrated in countless ways, so when grouped together it truly seems magical.

The other approach I wanted to take may be slightly less empowering but is still very important when evaluating our conception of black girl magic. It honestly feels like a miracle that black women can survive in this world created to break us down at every turn. Part of the magic to those who don’t experience our struggles stems from a place of admiration for our perseverance. We can’t thrive unless we survive, so my potion needs the basics necessary for existing in our society. In this respect, strength and resilience are my main ingredients. I have conflicting feelings about this, to be honest. I’ve talked before about how these traits are weaponized against us so that we don’t receive the time or space to heal and grow, but the reality is we develop them eventually. (Also side note: “weaponize” is apparently my favorite word because I’ve now used it in every blog post). These characteristics aren’t instilled in every group, so while we often gain them through negative experiences it’s remarkable that we do so quickly.

In my opinion, the magic we have is a culmination of the collective good and bad we undergo. I’m not promoting that everything we do is rooted in our trauma, but we’re not at a point where they can be completely separated. Everyone’s black girl magic potion is different, but we should be proud of these foundational elements that connect us. I know I am.

So, what else is in my personal black girl magic potion? Just to give you a little taste of the good and bad: my mom’s advice that turns into hour-long rants, the south side of Chicago, my copy of Beyoncé’s “B’day” CD that I got for my sixth birthday, my volleyball hops, all six seasons of “Glee” – no matter how problematic, my personal salon record of 11 hours, my “white” voice, “That’s So Raven”, “Dreamgirls” the musical, being labeled an affirmative action admit, my loud ass laugh, the fact that I can’t do my edges, my jarring apple watch tan #melanin, fighting for sexual and reproductive justice for black women, and so many more seemingly small yet formative experiences.