How To Be Black
Content warning: This piece contains racial slurs.
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You are born in America, and you are Black.1If you are not a Black American, that’s fine, but you need to make sure you can look and act the part. Find the music videos, the comedians, the actors. Imitate, imitate, imitate. If you are a Black American, you inherently know the part to play.
Do not worry about How To Be. You will learn.
Endure primary and secondary education.
“Nigger,” he calls you. You ignore it. A friend dates him. She will lose her virginity to him and tell you all about it.
“Nigger,” he laughs again. He pulls your hair. “Just kidding; I like you.”
You tell a teacher. She sniggers herself. “I didn’t hear it,” she says.2Your teachers have expectations for you, often when they are Not Black. Look to them for the disappointment and distrust you undoubtedly receive from authority figures later in life. Some are loving, and you may suspect it to be in the form of pity or guilt. Sometimes it is, sometimes not.
Later, you lament to a different friend about these events. Another White boy overhears.
“You’re not a nigger,” he says, looking sorrowful. You twitch at these words. “This is a nigger. You’re not like them.” He pulls out his phone. It shows photos of Black rappers and Black men who are dating White women.3In school, you learn that everyone you meet from this point on has an idea of how you should act. Just ask if you are unsure. Your White friends and non-Black friends of color tell you how simultaneously funny and hard you should be. Have no feelings but be sure to make them laugh. You also need to know how to sing, dance, or rap.
Learn from your family.
Tell your family about what you experienced.
“Maybe if you knew how to fight, they wouldn’t talk to you like that,” Sister says.4Sister teaches you how to kiss, how to laugh, how to spit venom, and how to shut your mouth.
“I don’t let them talk to me like that,” Brother says.5Brother teaches you how to be cool, how to fight, how to play games, and how to shut your mouth.
“You don’t let them White people talk to you like that,” Father says.6Father teaches you how to dance, how to clean, how to ride a bike, and how to shut your mouth. “Go help your mother.”
“That’s just the way it is,” Mother says.7Mother teaches you how to cook, how to argue, how to fold, and how to shut your goddamn mouth. “Clean these dishes.”
Learn how other people are Black.8Other Blackness is very similar to yours, but you must conform if you wish to have community.
Go to college or start working. People don’t talk to you like that anymore. You are too old, and they fear you.
People still expect you to be jovial and sassy. If you do not play the part, they isolate you. “You are weird,” they say.9Your classmates or coworkers let you know when you’re acting out of accordance with Blackness. They consume media and are aware of what to expect from you.
You are queer. You attempt to join spaces dedicated to queerness. You are not welcome.10Black people are straight and cisgender by default. If you suspect you may be “queer or trans,” consult your preacher.
You have depression. Your therapist is baffled.11Black people are strong. Consult your preacher for signs of doubt in your “mental health.” “You can’t get out of bed because you are scared?” she questions. “What are you scared of?”
You are poorer than your peers. This is embarrassing.12If you are still a poor Black person, you may be considered a “crab in the bucket.” Slavery is over. Consult your preacher and pray for more money.
Often, you are proud of the creations that come from your people. It is at these moments that you find music, poetry, hair, and bodies are coveted.13When it is convenient, Blackness is universal.
You have been diversifying the experience of your peers. They write about you in their grant applications and fellowship essays.14Black people teach others how to be better people.
You go home during the holidays. You realize that your parents were abusive. They stepped to the vocals of old men who fuck 15-year-olds. They slapped you in the mouth when you protested vacuuming under your brother’s feet. But they also taught you how to season your food. They didn’t know any better, and you still love them.15If you disagree with how you were raised, you are contributing to the degradation of the Black nuclear family. Consult your preacher for reassurance. It is complicated. You do not expect an apology.
Decide your next step.
Have a baby. Make art. Kill yourself.
You are older, and you are alone now.16It is time to write the next edition of steps.
Danielle Monique (she/they) is a queer Black writer who publishes short stories and essays about purposeful omissions. She was born in raised in South Texas and now lives in Minneapolis. You can find more of her work here.
