Nearly 150 years after the abolition of slavery, the Black community continues to grapple with its devastating legacy. The issues of colorism and sexual violence, deeply rooted in the era of slavery, persist in our society today.
The trauma passed down through generations can be traced back to when our African ancestors were forcibly taken from their homeland. Although, like many Black individuals, I have limited knowledge about the brutalities faced during the Middle Passage and upon arrival in this country, I sense that the anguish they endured is embedded in my very DNA.
We have inherited the same colorism that plagued our ancestors on slave plantations. Those with lighter skin often found themselves in the Big House, while their darker-skinned counterparts toiled in the fields. This early distinction taught Black people that lighter skin was synonymous with value. Every Black woman carries a story of her family’s experience with this bias — how lighter-skinned women are deemed beautiful while darker-skinned women are unfairly labeled as unattractive. Unfortunately, this critique often falls more heavily on women than men, as we are held to beauty standards that are alien to our African heritage. Instead of celebrating our full lips, textured hair, and rich skin tones, we are told we are “too Black,” our features “too pronounced.”
In my own experience, my paternal grandfather distanced himself from me and my siblings because he held a prejudice against dark-skinned individuals. His inability to love three out of his four children meant that out of his 14 grandchildren, only those with lighter skin received his affection. My mother’s family was similarly affected by colorism; one of my aunts with “good hair” never hesitated to comment on my coarser locks, pulling at them as if I were a pet needing grooming. I vividly remember the last time she did this when I was 30. When she yanked my hair and remarked on its texture, I could no longer stay silent. I slapped her hand away and firmly told her not to touch me again.
The older generations in my family were not exempt from colorism either. My great-aunt, born in 1903, exhibited a clear preference for her lighter-skinned relatives, disregarding those with darker skin. This preference was apparent to her grandchildren, who were painfully aware of their grandmother’s disdain for their skin tone. Colorism also impacted my male cousins, many of whom chose to marry white women while criticizing Black women for being “too bossy” or “too angry.”
A DNA test revealed that I am 15% Western European, Irish, English, and Iberian Peninsula, suggesting a history of biracial ancestry, likely linked to the sexual violence that Black women faced at the hands of white men. The perception of Black women as promiscuous and hypersexual is a stain that continues to affect our society today. It’s essential to recognize that enslaved women had no agency over their bodies; they were treated as property.
As a Black woman, I have encountered numerous white men who perpetuate harmful stereotypes, making comments that objectify us. I have heard lines like, “I’ve heard that Black women are wild in bed” or “You just seem so sensual.” Such remarks reduce us to mere curiosities or conquests, disregarding our individuality and worth. Every Black woman bears similar stories of objectification.
The treatment of Black women during slavery has also shaped how some Black men perceive us. Witnessing the abuse that Black women suffered at the hands of white slave owners has regrettably influenced their behavior today. Unwanted advances from Black men began when I was just 12 years old, as I became the target of lewd comments and unwanted physical attention. I remember a chilling incident when a friend shared her sister’s experience of being molested by her mother’s boyfriend, only to be disbelieved and labeled “fast” by their mother. This heartbreaking reality highlights the ongoing struggle many Black women face in our society.
The legacy of slavery continues to inflict pain on us, particularly Black women. We find ourselves undervalued, unprotected, and unloved by far too many. It is high time for this narrative to change. For those seeking to understand more about these issues, exploring resources such as Healthline’s guide to in vitro fertilization can provide valuable insights. Additionally, for those interested in family planning, consider checking out this at-home insemination kit for an innovative approach to conception.
In summary, the effects of slavery continue to resonate through the experiences of Black women today, manifesting in colorism, sexual violence, and societal undervaluation. It is imperative that we acknowledge these realities and work towards a future where all Black women are valued, protected, and celebrated.