These are heady times for Black artistry. With Black History Month just past, and the Academy Awards ceremony upon us, the Motherland is represented in full effect, perhaps as a belated homage to centuries of struggle and strife that spawned this creativity.
Away from the spotlight, a black aesthetic is also in vogue, as Caucasians mimic inner city fashion to the point where they transcend dress to assume the physical characteristics of their sepia-toned brethren. These include attributes that were the source of ridicule in a bygone era. This practice has garnered the moniker “black-fishing,” a term conceived by journalist Wanna Thompson as a play on the social media word “cat-fishing.” It describes the methods used by White people to appear Black or racially ambiguous. Doing so is achieved via makeup, tanning, injections, and often surgery. A prime example is the Kardashian family of social influencers, who have built a billion dollar empire by appropriating black imagery with lip injections and possibly involving cosmetically enhanced buttocks.
Alas, the children of Africa remain under siege, as a dramatic power shift seems hellbent on undermining the considerate gains achieved over the past decades through the blood, sweat, and tears of activists of all races. This comes after Black style, or swag, has creeped into every facet of American and global culture, while those who’ve fashioned it remain marginalized, oppressed, and minimally compensated for the fruits of their labors.
To examine this imbalance, a trio of African American men agreed to share their experiences in the hostile environment which shaped their ascent to manhood.
“Deacon’s” upbringing involved equal parts in Compton, the city that has become an aesthetically significant symbol of Black America, and the Inland Empire. The similar demographic of Afrocentric populations in both locales meant a relatively seamless transition during childhood. Upon entering college in the pursuit of a visual arts career, he was handicapped by his usage of Black people in art projects. Class criticism centered on his choice of subject matter, as he countered by pointing out the overwhelming choice of Caucasian models depicted by his peers.
Most of his critics regularly patronized Black music selections to relax in the dorms. Things became more complicated when he was forced to confront them on their use of the “N” word. This led him to an unsettling conclusion.“They love our culture but they don’t love our Blackness,” he declared.
Later in the conversation, he put it another way.
“They love our rhythm, but they don’t love our struggle.”
Transitions from “Do the Right Thing,” 1989 by Spike Lee
Mookie: Pino, who’s your favorite basketball player?
Pino: Magic Johnson.
Mookie: And who’s your favorite movie star?
Pino: Eddie Murphy.
Mookie: And who’s your favorite rock star?
[Pino doesn’t respond]
Mookie: Prince. You’re a Prince freak.
Pino: Boss. Bruce.
Mookie: Prince.
Pino: Bruce!
Mookie: Pino, all you ever talk about is n—-r this and n—-r that, and all your favorite people are so-called n—-rs.
Pino: It’s different. Magic, Eddie, Prince… are not n—-rs. I mean, they’re not black, I mean – Let me explain myself. They’re – They’re not really black. I mean, they’re black, but they’re not really black. They’re more than black. It’s different.
Celebrities enjoy a measure of separation from the harsh realities of life, including racial tension. This is a luxury not afforded to the masses.
Josef Woods came of age in Watts, a neighborhood peppered with the rhythms and sounds of Latin syncopation as much as the earthy funk of soul music.
“The street where I lived was so unitized, to where my mother was one of the only Black women to watch over Hispanic kids.”
After a youthful flirtation with a career in rap, he embraced a successful, if not fulfilling career in management. Financially secure, he recently opened The Comic Den, a retail shop devoted to comic book merchandising catering to all ethnicities, hoping to build a community of inclusion in the neighborhoods of Del Rey and Ladera Heights.
He remains optimistic about improved relations in his hometown.
“I think it’s a lot better since I was younger,“ pointing out increased interactions between the races. He is more concerned about the hostile interplay among Blacks themselves.
“I think we still got a long way to go with each other. I think we’re still our own worst enemies.”
Eddie Wiley is a New Yorker, born and bred, more specifically from the city of Mount Vernon. In that bastion of diversity he honed considerable skills, as a rapper, singer, basketball player and entertainer extraordinaire. The era that he lived in afforded him an opportunity to witness (and participate) in the growth of rap from a Black dominated street art into a global commodity. Soon Italians and young Whites from the other boroughs flocked to sample these exotic rhymes, despite parental disapproval. These fans are now middle aged, demonstrating the possibilities of acceptance and tolerance, even at a snail’s pace over the course of a generation.
Today, the proof is in the pudding, as he successfully spreads his east coast sensibilities as a comedian in the radically diverse San Fernando Valley, as the recipient of Cali love.