I was around seven years old the first time I was called an “oreo." I had always known that there were some people who were closer to me in skin shade than others, but I hadn’t truly ever thought about life in terms of race yet. One of my favorite uncle’s is Caucasian and I understood that he wasn’t the same color that I was, but I had rationalized that neither were many of the other members of my family.
My mother was working as the director of a daycare at the time, which meant that I was automatically enrolled there for after school care. I had finished my homework in my mom’s office then immediately retreated to my small corner of what we called the “After Schooler’s Room”. I was still considered to be the “new girl” by most of the other kids there, at that point in time, although I did have a few friends. I still referred to the instructor as “Ms.”, despite the fact that she allowed all of us to call her by her first name, because I didn’t quite feel at home just yet.
The only time that I made an effort to remove myself from the corner was when the other kids started playing music. I loved music. My shyness was immediately over-ridden when a song came on the radio and that day in particular one of my favorite songs was being played. I remember feeling very excited and jumping up to go to the middle of the circle of dancing children that was forming. Someone had turned the music up and I was instantly propelled into a Destiny’s Child music video. I’m surprised that I had even heard it when one of the kids said,”Ew, she dance like a white girl. She’s such a oreo.” With my music video interrupted, I stopped and turned to look at her. She and I weren’t really friends, but there also wasn’t any animosity built between us so I was shocked. I didn’t quite fully understand what she meant yet, but I knew that she wasn’t being friendly. I had spent the majority of my life up until that point around a diverse group of people in Atlanta, Georgia, and at any rate we hadn’t begun discussing the Civil Rights Movement in school just yet. Therefore, you can imagine that it took me by surprise when I was informed that I was of my status to the outside world as an “oreo”.
Some of the other kids laughed and agreed in response to her observation about me. I wasn’t sure how to react so I retreated back to my corner feeling very embarrassed despite the fact that I didn’t really understand why and I stayed there while the girl who called me out proceeded to push one of her friends into the circle to dance.
This was the beginning of years and years of being labeled as the “oreo”. The way I spoke, the way I thought, the way I moved, and the way I dressed constituted whiteness all throughout elementary and middle school. I gradually began to understand that among my peers there was a difference between “white” behavior and “black” behavior. Within the context of my experience, I began to see a clearly defined line between how my peers believed that the two races should act and be separated. You were “acting white” if you used “big words”, couldn’t do the latest dances correctly, or listened to country or rock music. You were “acting white” if you participated in any activity that was associated with the Caucasian race. Inversely, you were “acting black” if you used the correct slang, danced in the appropriate manner (or rather sometimes inappropriate manner considering the context), and if you had the right sassy attitude. With my small stature and Christian private school education, I was not able to conform to those ideals. I had lived a sheltered life in relation to the rest of my fellow classmates. They understood a lot more about the world than I had at that time, even for six year olds. They were able to come to the conclusion that “black” and “white” meant different things.
I was challenged so many times after that. Despite the fact that I knew better, I felt constant pressure to make myself worthy of their approval which meant conforming to their idea of “blackness”. I took it upon myself to watch them and model their behavior, but even then it wasn’t 100% authentic at all times. I looked to them to explain the way that the world worked and quickly became familiar with their mindset. The embarrassment that I felt when that label was forced upon me prompted the birth of a new Kristen. She was not an “oreo” and would rebel against anyone who told her that she was, just like a “real” black girl would.
In reference to Bel Hook’s ideals, I adopted the “oppositional gaze” after experiencing the shame associated with looking away.Beforehand, I was ignorant of the injustices of our society and afterwards I embraced every concept that appeared in front of my little brain with no hesitance. My familiarity with what they considered to be “white” culture made me a traitor or an “oreo” in their eyes. Instead of addressing the society with an oppositional gaze, I had been looking away from the issues that existed due to my innocence and my peers made sure that by the time I began high school I had developed my own oppositional gaze like the rest of them and learned about the struggle and pain our people continue to go through by experiential means instead of through Martin Luther King Jr. celebrations once a year. For that, I am and will be forever grateful. I was taught in an unorthodox school setting about the discrimination in the legal system from the others who had experienced it and eventually through my own experiences like the majority of the members in my community. I began to identify with the other kids and believe in the idea that respect was earned through street credibility and attitude. By looking at race relations in America, I became aware of what was going on in the lives of my peers and began to want to challenge authority with my gaze as well as attitude.
The idea of “black” attitude poses an interesting conflict within the African American community. Despite my own personal bias, it is a fact that the minor internal conflicts within the black community have grown as time has passed. Division among African Americans has been discussed as several of the community’s leaders and elders have attempted to reach out to the youth. There are many members of this generation who have blended in with the African American stereotypes and taken pride in that. While blackness has always been imposed on us from outside of our community, blackness is often imposed upon the African American community by its own members.
Some of these movements regarding the definition of “blackness” that can be easily seen today such as “Black Girls Rock” and “Black is Beautiful” are encouraging and even empowering. I have found that my definition of black is contingent on how I deal with my experiences being acknowledged as black woman in today’s society. At a younger age, I was quick to adopt what would be considered the less-flattering aspects of black culture because I thought that I would fit in, but as I grew older I realized that “black” is not a synonym for “hood”, “ratchet”, or “ghetto”. I also understand that “white” is not a synonym for “racist”, “educated”, or “rich”. Engaging in hip hop culture is important to me because hip hop is not a “lesser” form of art in my mind and I acknowledge it as an expression of rhythm and struggle because I understand where, how, and why it came to fruition. That is a choice that I make in regards to my own culture because I can identify with it; however, there is no need for me to feel as if I have to participate in it to solidify my worthiness as a black person. It has taken years for me to be able to say it: it is not possible for anyone else to define my blackness for me. My blackness is MINE! To say that I am loud, crazy, “ghetto”, “ratchet”, “hood”, “white”, or an “oreo” is to project your opinions of society, race, and stereotypes onto me. However, as the racial divide continues to grow stronger in the U.S. and the body count of lives lost in my community because of it continues to increase, I understand that performing “blackness” is the least of my concerns right now.
