Shades of Understanding: Blacknowledgement

Carlos Santana featuring Seal “You Are My Kind”

I thought I was being a clever wordsmith but, alas, a Google search has proven me wrong.

UrbanDictionary.com describes  blacknowledgement as “the process by which a Black person acknowledges another black person’s presence in a social environment where black people are scarce or otherwise absent. These environments include places and events like: lacrosse parties, ice hockey games, early morning classes, Russia and The Ku Klux Clan Annual General Meeting.  Blacknowledgement is a show of solidarity and support indicating to another black person that you understand their social anxiety and feel their inner torment.”

Stuff-About.com goes further with “A blacknowledgement can be executed using anything from a simple nod to a well executed six part, click and snap, integrated handshake. In less friendly situations, a blacknowledgement may be used as a territorial gesture. It can be used to signal to another black person that you are the resident black person in that environment and that they should cower off and find non-black friends of their own. Many black people feel that their novelty wears thin when they find out that they are not the “token black person” anymore.”

Whether I agree with these definitions 100% or not, they are the basis and blacknowledgement exists and is prevalent.

I started “realizing” blacknowledgement a few years ago but it’s been a part of my life as far back as I can remember.  When I am in public and see another black person across the room, across the street, in the boardroom or behind the counter, I acknowledge my recognition of their permanent tan.  It’s generally subtle, typically eye contact and a nod will suffice.   But it’s there.  Since I recognize I’m doing it, I’ll try not to go out of my way.  Some people will make it a POINT to go out of their way to reach out to you, especially in professional or large group social settings.  Even though, I may not make giant strides across a room to shake your hand, if you do not at least make eye contact, I feel slighted.  Ridiculous or not.

As I came to “realize” my unconscious blacknowledgement, I tried to figure out how I’d explain it, especially to non-black people.  Why do it?  Who taught me to do it?  Consequences of not doing it?  Really I don’t know.  I imagine it’s truly (good or bad) just acknowledging someone somewhat like you.  Sure you could have different backgrounds and experiences but in whatever situation you’re currently in you’re both at least (if not only) black.  As someone whose professional and social circles do not regularly include many chocolate-hued faces, it is somewhat comforting to see another black person in those groups.  And it doesn’t matter what part of the country you’re in.  I’ve experienced blacknowledgement in Tennessee, Texas, New York City, Chicago, San Francisco and Ames, IA.

How did I learn?  I have absolutely no idea.  No one ever told me to do it or even discussed the phenomenon with me.  I think I just learned by watching the adults in my family and recognizing other people were doing it to me.  Either way, I am a well-established participant in regular blacknowledgement.

I’m not aware of any consequences.  But I’d imagine some people may feel slighted.  For whatever reason, I do at times.  Brown faces in a sea of beige and pink stick out.  No one’s truly THAT race/color-blind.  I know you saw me…

So what are we to learn about/from blacknowledgement?  I’m really not sure.  I don’t see anything intrinsically wrong with acknowledging the other black people around me.  I don’t ignore all non-black people in the same situations.  It’s just an extra.  I imagine I do the same thing when in situations with only one or two more women.  However, for whatever reason, 1.) I’m more often the only African-American than woman, 2.) I’m less uncomfortable as the only woman, and 3.) There is a sense of potential competition with the “other woman” that I can’t say I feel with the “other black”.

I imagine I’ll go on acknowledging my brothers and sisters and laughing a little when I realize I’m doing it.  To further overuse a corporate crutch word, I’m just acknowledging diversity (one type, but diversity just the same).

Is this unique to African-Americans?  Do other ethnicities and/or groups do this?

Acknowledging anyone who read this, black or not,

Jo’van

The World…As I See It: Losing Your Voice

Words have power. Of course, I’ve never been able to fully recognize the actual power of the words I use but the potential’s undeniable.  I remember things strangers told me (positive and negative) from age 7 and have been confronted with the impact of things I’d told people (positive and negative) 5 years earlier.  Let’s be honest the negative things have a tendency to stick with you longer…

I began my career as a “creative” in the mid-90s.  (Haha. I sound so old.)  My middle school song writing evolved into high school poetry, college performances of both and blogging in my twenties.  I can’t exactly claim that anything I’ve ever created/written has been good – especially pre-2004 – but I’ve found increasing pleasure in “composing” and finding “acceptance” in “performing” my “pieces”.  All of that is in quotations because I would like to avoid coming off as a prententious poet but either way it’s pretty cool to see friends and strangers alike react (positively) to carefully chosen words expressing some part of yourself.

You don’t have to call yourself a songwriter or a poet in order to be one.  Anyone willing to share  a piece of themself and essentially letting it go deserves some level of recognition.  While all art is relative, I understand thtat some things are good and others just bad.  But I try to respect the effort  (except that of Souljah Boy and Heidi Montag, ugh)

As someone who has “created” for years (15 years makes me a veteran, right?), I began to notice over the last 2+ years that I had less motivation – or maybe just less to say.  My writing has slowly evolved from broad (simple songwriting) to personal (poetry) to borderline narcissistic (blogging).  And while there are still plenty of things I’d like to say, I haven’t found the drive to do so.  I get lazy and wonder who cares anyway?

“Who cares?”  That is probably the most troublesome question any “creative” can ask themselves.  Not that everything that every/anyone could create is amazing but not knowing your audience immediately isn’t such a bad thing.  Unless you’re writing on deadlines or with retainers chasing you, most “creatives” create on their own time, on their own terms.

Now  there’s nothing wrong with wanting to create a piece for a particular audience.  If you have it (or need it), go for it.  But if you only have an idea, chase it.  The human brain is an amazing “thing”.  Your entire life’s experience and observations can be revealed in the subtle connections our minds make to things.  I’d imagine it’s rare an artist’s initial vision is the final outcome.  We often learn as we go along.  A genuine idea can be the hardest thing to find.  When you do, run with it.  Unlike an architect or hairstylist, if a creative has an idea (they’re not being commissioned to develop), that turns out bad or ill-formed, nothing’s been spent but time.  No one else has to know.  No one else really has to judge.  Chalk it up to “not right now” and move on.  I’ve started pieces or ideas that I’ve quit/grown tired/gotten distracted and come back to/been reminded of weeks/months/years later with renewed interest/new perspectives.  The human mind and life experiences and all…

Recently, I’ve begun to wonder if I’ve “lost” my voice.  I think I’d just quit/grown tired/gotten distracted from my entire creative side.  I used to write about my recent drama’s, undiscovered loves and exaggerated heartbreaks.  However, about the time my creative side quieted, life simply got more real.  Layoffs, lost friendships, work struggles and successes, romantic failures and learning real love.  I’m in a good place which can be fodder for great new pieces or unspoken contentment.  But who really wants to be unspoken?

The spark’s been reignited.  With my ashes for lent, I’ll just roll with this momentum, wherever it leads me.

Sincerely yours,

Jo’van

Romantic Cynic: What Daria Thinks About Valentine’s Day

I saw this post today and had to share.

Daria Morgendorffer

Philosopher and former TV star

MTV’s Daria Morgendorffer Tells Us What She Thinks About Valentine’s Day

Glenn Eichler developed and served as executive producer for the MTV series “Daria.”

As told to Glenn Eichler…

I always just assumed that when the inevitable happened and The Huffington Post finally begged me to write for them, I’d take a cue from my fellow celebrities and blog about an international humanitarian issue dear to my heart. Golf Clubs for Orphans, that sort of thing. And yet here I am being asked to write about Valentine’s Day, I suppose because they thought my somewhat low tolerance for sentimentality would make it amusing. You know, like having a bond trader write about basic human decency. And it’s true that sappiness leaves me cold. I remember being invited to a birthday party as a child, watching a video of the movie E.T., and being the only five-year-old in the room who booed when the bug-eyed little freak’s heart started back up. Come to think of it, that’s the only birthday party I remember being invited to as a child.

But Valentine’s Day is by no means my least favorite holiday. For instance, just five weeks ago on January 6th, we had the Christian feast day of Epiphany. I can’t stand Epiphany, because the whole day I feel like I should be having one. Yet when it’s all over and the sun goes down, my sister makes no more sense than she did when it came up. Some mysteries are too big for epiphanies, and Rosetta Stone doesn’t make a Gibberish edition.

At least Epiphany is a real holiday, though, and not one of those phony ones Hallmark came up with to sell cards, like Administrative Professionals Day or Friendship Day or Clergy Appreciation Day or my mother’s birthday. Hey, Hallmark, I’ve got an idea for a new card-sending occasion: “National Hallmark Comes Up With A Card Whose Insipidness Doesn’t Make You Retch Day.” We can celebrate it every year on the 33rd of Nevruary.

As a kid, by the way, my favorite holiday was May Day. Not because of the crocuses peeping their heads up or any of that crap, but because I would wake before dawn, tiptoe down the hall to my parents’ bedroom, throw the door open so it banged against the wall and yell, “MAYDAY! MAYDAY!” Then I’d consult my watch to see how many seconds it took my father to realize the bed hadn’t been hit by a German torpedo and it was okay to crawl out from under it. Man, that never got old. Unlike my father, who for some reason seems to be aging prematurely.

Anyway, my point is that I don’t have anything against Valentine’s Day. In fact, I think it’s kind of cute. If couples want to surprise each other with flowers and chocolates and dinners and jewelry and pharmaceutical-grade ecstasy, accompanied by heart-shaped cards reading “I love you more than life itself and [your transgression here] will never happen again,” more power to them. Some say the day just forces us into a spiral of anxiety; unable to articulate our feelings, we try to compensate with cards and gifts and uncomfortable new positions that, honestly, don’t show either one of you in your best light. I say it can’t hurt for Americans to be reminded once a year of their basic lack of eloquence. Then maybe they’ll shut up when they’re sitting behind me at the movies.

Besides, Valentine’s Day always precedes one of my absolute favorite holidays, February 15th, “National Half-Off Every Piece of Red-Foil-Wrapped Sugary Crap in CVS Day,” the day I really get out there and do my bit for America’s economy. (And before you fire off your angry tweetmails, I’m well aware that February 15th is also Susan B. Anthony Day, when schoolkids learn about women’s suffrage, except in Texas where they learn about America’s proud heritage of uncirculated dollar coins).

And I myself am not utterly without romance. I am seeing someone right now — I’d rather not give any details, except to say proudly that he does not wear a house-arrest anklet — and he and I are planning a traditional holiday celebration. Tonight we’re going door to door in Santa hats, caroling “Good King Wenceslas” at the top of our lungs.

That ought to liven up a few candlelit dinners.

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