Just look at her arms. Her legs. Her skin and hair.
She’s too fast. Too strong and loud. She’s too aggressive. Too angry.
These are the refrains I have heard my whole life living in a Black girl’s body.
From a young age, I knew that being a Black girl in this world was not going to be easy. At 12, I discovered Toni Morrison’s The Bluest Eye in our school’s library and was immediately drawn in. I didn’t realize it at the time, but the phrase “quiet as it’s kept” would come to frame so much of my life, and the lives of millions of Black girls across the globe.
Even when Black girls are quiet, or “good”, we are made to feel as being anything but. Our bodies experience adultification in ways other little girls do not. Somehow the very nature of our bodies is a problem. A source of shame, something to keep hidden so that we aren’t associated with derogatory descriptions or dreaded categorizations such as a “fast tailed girl”.
Our bodies are sexualized early. Our athleticism is judged as too masculine.
As hard as we strive, Black girls can’t seem to win.
Recently, Black girls, women and femmes are finding ways to push back against the controlling images that have haunted us since the earliest ages of colonialism. We are more than hypersexualized jezebels and wanton sapphires. We are not asexual, grinning mammies, emasculating matriarchs or mannish amazons.
Rather, in the words of Sha’Carri Richardson “we are That Girl” and we are #BlackGirlMagic.
While there is no singular way to read Black Girl Magic, it can be understood as resistance to, and excellence in, a world bent on our destruction. It’s our power to continue to live, thrive, and shine in the face of adversity, negativity, anti-Black racism, and misogynoir.
As a Black feminist scholar, I cannot ignore the ways the media have come out swinging against Black sportswomen like Sha’Carri Richardson, Naomi Osaka, Simone Biles, Simone Manuel, and so many others.
Unfortunately, this isn’t a new phenomenon.
It’s part of the lived experiences of Black girls in sports and beyond. We are exposed and under protected. Often it seems like the only ones who have our backs are ourselves.
Yet that mechanism of self-defense and self-perseverance tends to bring about hate.
From Serena to Sha’Carri
Serena Williams has been the target of critique and criticism since she and Venus changed the game forever with their athletic ability, style, flare, and success. Despite the fines, drug testing, and unflattering cartoons, Serena Williams refuses to be restrained and continues to shine.
Recently, Simone Manuel shared her diagnosis of Overtraining Syndrome. In return she encountered backlash, some commenting that overtraining doesn’t exist or it’s something that she caused herself and thus not something worth of empathy or care. Yet despite the flood of unflattering comments about her body and her looks, Simone Manuel rose above the venom and punched her ticket to the Tokyo Olympic Games.
Then there’s Sha’Carri Richardson.
The 21-year-old 100m champ has brought a new fire to track and field, invoking comparisons to the late, great Florence “Flo Jo” Griffith Joyner. Joyner still holds the 100m (10.49) and 200m (21.34) world records. Yet everyone watching Richardson blaze down the track can’t deny that if anyone is close on the heels of Joyner, it is this young woman. Her equally fabulous long hair and nails, powerful stride and unparalleled confidence makes it a natural comparison. And their connection is only strengthened through their shared criticism about their bodies and having their femininity called into question at times as well.
Being a Black girl, athlete or not, means having to face those challenges.
Your attitude is criticized and your place is always questioned. I discussed this in my story on the policing of Black girls in sports. Athletes like Simone Biles and French figure skater Surya Bonaly, both of whom performed routines other sportswomen in their respective sports never attempted, saw the rules questioned once they successfully set new standards. This policing happens outside of the realm of sports as well, particularly in education where Black girls are more likely to be sanctioned and punished within the school system than other groups.
The punishment of Black girls within the education system is largely tied to their experiences of adultification, which is related to the experience of misogynoir. This particular form of racism and sexism experienced by Black girls, women, and femmes leads to representational politics which frames us as being decidedly too much.
This is not new though.
At the US Open in 2002, Serena Williams took the court in a black catsuit and a media frenzy ensued immediately. Her beautiful Black sports body was deemed “grotesque,” “lewd” and “obscene” (Hobson 2003). The reactions exemplified the ways in which mass media responds to Black women’s bodies. They often view it as negative, drawing upon, as Hobson notes, controlling images such as “mammy,” “jezebel,” and sapphire”.
Serena, however, calmly responded to the criticisms with her own retort.
“If you don’t have a decent shape, this isn’t the outfit to have.”
She has never lost her confidence in her appearance. It’s a trait the current generation of Black girl athletes possesses as well. It’s a necessity as many of the powers that be are coming for the bodies of Black girls.
Just look at the current situation in track and field. A few weeks before the start of the Olympic Games in Tokyo, Black girls are being plucked off.
Sha’Carri Richardson, America’s best hope for a gold medal in the 100m, was suspended today and disqualified from competing in the event after testing positive for marijuana.
This decision has been met with backlash from both sides. For those in disagreement with her punishment, Sha’Carri’s tweet about her humanity brings up several emotions.
Before the trials, the young sprinter discovered her biological mother had died. She raced with the pain of that knowledge, made the Olympic team, and then collapsed in the embrace of her grandmother. Grief and coping look different for everyone, and I don’t believe she should miss the Olympics for trying to manage that grief through marijuana, which is legal in Oregon, home of the US trials.
The Targeting of Black Sportswomen Continues
We cannot ignore the history that both Black people and athletes face. We are often viewed as too quick and too strong. They make us superhuman while simultaneously consider us subhuman.
Just look at South African runner Caster Semenya.
The continued rhetoric against her first started in 2009 after she won the 800m at the World Championships in Berlin. Since then, international sporting organizations have continued to block her from running her signature race on the grounds that her body produces “too much” testosterone. This means that not only isn’t she a “natural woman”, she also possesses an unfair advantage over the competition.
There is no conclusive evidence that testosterone provides women with an athletic advantage (Cooky and Dworkin, 2018). Yet media outlets and international athletic organizations continue to challenge the bodies of Black women.
Look at what just happened to Namibia’s Christine Mboma and Beatrice Masilingi. They were pulled from the 400m at the Olympic Games and will only run the 200m as it appears that, according to The Namibian, the athletes “did not meet the World Athletics eligibility requirements for female classification that apply to running events from 400m to the mile and that their testosterone levels are too high.”
They all identify as women. Yet they are prohibited from running their strongest races because, as noted in that story, they refuse to take birth control pills to lower their testosterone levels. This is exactly what happened to Semenya.
She was born on my birthday, the birthday of Zora Neal Hurston, and deserves better. She deserves to run, to be great and let her Black Girl Magic explode on the track where she belongs.
As Black girls, women, and femmes, our bodies are often read as everything but what they really are.
But our bodies are no longer going to be “quiet as its kept” because we are, as we always have been, living out loud.
References:
Cooky, C. and Dworkin, S. 2018. Policing the Boundaries of Sex a Critical Examination of Gender Verification and the Caster Semenya Controversy. In, No Slam Dunk.
Hobson, Janell. 2003. The “Batty” Politic: Toward an Aesthetic of the Black Female Body. Hypatia, 18(4), 87-105.
