“Woke or Not?” The Complexity of Negotiating Blackness. An Analysis of Dear White People's Characters Sam and Coco
von Friederike Alm
Introduction
Dear White People (henceforth DWP) was produced as a proliferation of a film by the same name and same director that had been released three years prior in 2014. The original film was crowd-funded, independently produced and first premiered at the Sundance film festival. In the film, the focus lies on a group of Black students on the fictional Winchester college campus in the United States, who are outraged by the casual and everyday racism they encounter from their peers. All of the students live in the historically Black Armstrong Parker house. One of the students, Sam, has her own college radio show called “Dear White People” in which she calls out campus racism and racist incidents. Irritated and annoyed by Sam’s criticism, a white campus group sets out to organise a blackface party, which is subsequently crashed by a group of Black students.
3. Colorism: The Skin you are in
“If you Black and you love it put your hands up
If you Black and in public put your hands up
If you Black and you proud and not giving a fuck
Put your hands up, put your hands up“[8]
The colour of one’s skin, just like the texture of one’s hair, is an inherently physical phenomenon. Unlike hair, however, skin colour is much less easily altered, but nevertheless holds the power to decisively shape one’s path in life. The reason for this is usually colorism. Broadly speaking, the term colorism describes aspects of one’s status determination due to the colour of one’s skin (Russell-Cole et al. 2013, 102). In this chapter, I work through the notion of colorism. I start by highlighting the scenes in which colorism is invoked by Sam and Coco in DWP. I then go on to offer an insight into the conceptual content of the term and how it can be differentiated from the concept of racism. Subsequently, the history of colorism in the U.S. American context is briefly outlined. I wrap up the chapter by writing about the Politics of Color in the United States, showing how different systems of oppression continue to be connected to one’s skin colour.
3.1 Skin Colour in Dear White People
Just like hair, skin colour is also a topic of discussion between Sam and Coco. This is due to the fact that the physical appearance of both women is decidedly different. Coco’s skin colour is dark. Sam has lighter skin. Coco invokes this fact a few times when the two are interacting. In “Chapter IV”, Sam plays the game “Woke or Not?” on her radio show, a game in which she decides whether certain students are deemed “woke” due to their behaviour and proceeds to make fun of Coco (who she deems “Not Woke”). In a rage, Coco shows up at the radio studio with some of her friends to confront Sam:
Sam: Oh look, it’s Coco and the Marshmallows [reference to Coco’s White friends].
Coco: Normally I wouldn’t dignify your rants with a response, but today your entry level Black rage is particularly galling, Rosa Sparks.[9] Tell me, is using your radio-show to drag other Black women part of your revolution?
Sam: If it brings truth to the masses, yes. I drags [sic] who needs dragging.
Coco: Imagine the reaction if your divisive revolutionary dribble were coming from the mouth of a real sister.
Sam: A real sister? (laughs)
Coco: You get away with murder because you look more like them than I do. That’s your light-skin privilege. Until you acknowledge that, shut the fuck up about who is woke or not.
(DWP, chapter IV, minutes 4.17-4.23)
Skin colour is also a topic in the argument cited earlier, when hairstyle became a topic. The argument continues:
Coco: ’Dear White People. Let me tell you about yourselves while I don’t even know who the hell I am.’
Sam: Oh, I don’t know who I am, Colandrea?
k
Coco: No, you don’t, but I do. You’re the girl who didn’t learn she was Black until Beth Wheeler left you out of her second-grade sleepover, ‘cause you’d be the ‘only one’.
Sam: That is the last time I share a personal story with you.
Coco: Well you see, with me, there is no confusion. People take one look at my skin and they assume that I’m poor or uneducated or ratchet. So yeah, I tone it down. Make myself more palatable, join a sorority, what’s so wrong with that?
Sam: Everything.
Coco: ’Dear White People, you made me hate myself as a kid, so now I hate you and that’s my secret shame.’
Sam:’Dear White People, if you wanted to demoralize us with your European beauty standards, mission accomplished. Ooh, ow, ooh, ow.’
(DWP, Netflix, Chapter IV, minutes 19.30-20.55, italics by F.A.)
In both of these dialogues, the color of each woman’s skin becomes an identity marker for her. Coco is enraged by Sam’s “Woke or Not?” game and angrily tells her that “a real sister” would not have gotten away with her “entry level Black rage”. Also, Coco points out that Sam only gets away with what she says on her show, because she looks more “like them”, presumably white people, than Coco. Coco calls Sam out on this, demanding her to acknowledge her “light-skin privilege” or “shut the fuck up”.
In the other scene, when Coco accuses Sam of not knowing who she really is, Sam retorts by pointing out Coco’s real first name. This is possibly in an effort to underline Coco’s Blackness, which Sam does not think Coco enacts fully by wearing straight-hair weaves and using a nickname. However, this argument goes awry when Coco underlines that she has never had to be confused about the colour of her skin, pointing out the prejudice someone of her skin colour is associated with. It follows that due to her lighter skin, Sam has not had to live through the same level of discrimination as Coco. Coco proceeds to explain her own choice to alter her appearance to “make [herself] more palatable”, presumably for non-Black people, something that Sam deeply condemns and views as an effort to emulate white beauty standards. The following chapter will shed light on the deeper meaning behind these verbal exchanges and the significance of colorism.
3.2 Colorism: Explaining the Concept
While the personal, structural and institutional discrimination a person faces due to the colour of their skin is usually subsumed under the widely used concept of racism, the notion of colorism represents a similar concept, albeit with a distinctly different conceptual content (Jones 2000, 1489f). Not unlike racism, colorism describes a system (or systems) of oppression due to the physical appearance related to one’s ethnic background. However, while racism also contains discrimination for cultural and ethnical specificities outside of the physical realm, with skin colour just one of the indicators to determine its social construction, status determination in colorism is based exclusively on the physical manifestation of skin colour (ibid., 1497). In fact, research by Russell-Cole et al. has shown that colorism could be said to be a global phenomenon, with different forms of skin colour discrimination found in many societies on each and every continent (Russell-Cole et al. 2013). The way in which this social stratification works, differs significantly according to the context. However, they all hold in common that lighter skin is preferred to darker skin, resulting in what the authors call “color-class hierarchies” (Russell-Cole et al. 2013, 27). This means that “along a continuum of possible shades, those with the lightest skin color enjoy the highest social standing, and those with the darkest skin color are among the poorest” (ibid.). The fact that colorism is so pervasive is attributed to the rise of colonialism and persistent Western (cultural) hegemony (Wilder 2010, 186f) in what Russell-Cole et al. call the “bleaching syndrome” that occurred during and after colonialism and slavery (2013, 29).
Bibliography
Banks, Ingrid (2000): Hair Matters. New York: NYU Press.
Caldwell, Paulette (1991): A Hair Piece: Perspectives on the Intersection of Race and Gender. In: Duke Law Journal (2), pp. 356–396.
Erasmus, Zimitri (1997): 'Oe! My Hare Gaan Huistoe': Hair-Styling as Black Cultural Practice. In: Agenda: Empowering Women for Gender Equity (32), pp. 11–16.
Hochschild, Jennifer L. and Vesla Weaver (2007): The Skin Color Paradox and the American Racial Order. In: Social Forces 86 (2), S. 643–670.
Hunter, Margaret L. (2002): "If You're Light You're Alright": Light Skin Color as Social Capital for Women of Color. In: Gender and Society 16 (2), pp. 175–193.
Jones, Trina (2000): Shades of Brown: The Law of Skin Color. In: Duke Law Journal 49 (6), pp. 1487–1557.
Patton, Tracey Owens (2006): Hey Girl, Am I More than My Hair?: African American Women and Their Struggles with Beauty, Body Image, and Hair. In: NWSA Journal 18 (2), pp. 24–51.
Pittman, Chavella T. (2011): Getting Mad But Ending Up Sad: The Mental Health Consequences for African American Using Anger to Cope With Racism. In: Journal of Black Studies 42 (7), pp. 1106–1124.
Russell-Cole, Kathy; Wilson, Midge; Hall, Ronald E. (2013): The Color Complex. The Politics of Skin Color in a New Millennium. New York: Anchor Books.
Sekayi, Dia (2003): Aesthetic Resistance to Commercial Influences: The Impact of the Eurocentric Beauty Standard on Black College Women. In: The Journal of Negro Education 72 (4), pp. 467–477.
Shakur, Assata (1987): Assata: an autobiography. Westport, Connecticut.
Simien, Justin (2014): Dear White People. A Guide to Inter-Racial Harmony in „Post-Racial“ America. Atria Books.
Synnott, Anthony (1987): Shame and Glory: A Sociology of Hair. In: The British Journal of Sociology 38 (3), pp. 381–413.
Thompson, Maxine S. and Verna M. Keith (2001): The Blacker the Berry: Gender, Skin Tone, Self-Esteem, and Self-Efficacy. In: Gender and Society 15 (3), pp. 226–357.
Weitz, Rose (2015): Women and Their Hair: Seeking Power through Resistance and Accommodation. In: Gender and Society 15, pp. 667–686.
Wilder, JeffriAnne (2010): Revisiting "Color Names and Color Notions": A Contemporary Examination of the Language and Attitudes of Skin Color Among Young Black Women. In: Journal of Black Studies 41 (1), pp. 184–206.
Wilkins, Amy C. (2012): Becoming Black Women: Intimate Stories and Intersectional Identities. In: Social Psychology Quarterly 75 (2), S. 173–196.
Online Sources:
Genius (2017) : DON’T TOUCH MY HAIR LYRICS. https://genius.com/Solange-dont-touch-my-hair-lyrics.
“Wake up! Wake up! Wake up!”
Radio host Mister Señor Love Daddy in Spike Lee’s „Do the Right Thing“, 1989, featured on Sam’s radio show in „Dear White People“, 2017
Introduction
Coco: ‘Dear White People. Let me tell you about yourselves while I don’t even know who the hell I am.’
Sam: Oh, I don’t know who I am, Colandrea?
Coco: No, you don’t, but I do. You’re the girl who didn’t learn she was Black until Beth Wheeler left you out of her second-grade sleepover, ‘cause you’d be the ‘only one’.
Sam: That is the last time I share a personal story with you.
Coco: Well, you see, with me, there is no confusion. People take one look at my skin and they assume that I’m poor or uneducated or ratchet. So yeah, I tone it down. Make myself more palatable; join a sorority, what’s so wrong with that?
Sam: Everything.
(Dear White People, Netflix, Chapter IV, minutes 19.30-20.55, italics by F.A.) [1]
This dialogue is taken from Justin Simien’s TV series “Dear White People” that premiered on Netflix in late April 2017. In the scene, two of the main female characters, Samantha and Colandrea (Sam and Coco) are having an argument. In what is initially a different conflict, the fight between the two roommates and friends evolves into something much deeper, revealing a basic tension between the two women: Since the two college students first met in their freshman year, Sam has evolved into an outspoken activist, joining the Black Students’ Union (BSU) with her own campus radio show called “Dear White People” calling out campus racism. Coco, on the other hand, has joined (and left) a prestigious black sorority and does not participate in and at times actively rejects the activism put forward by the BSU.
Sam: Oh, I don’t know who I am, Colandrea?
Coco: No, you don’t, but I do. You’re the girl who didn’t learn she was Black until Beth Wheeler left you out of her second-grade sleepover, ‘cause you’d be the ‘only one’.
Sam: That is the last time I share a personal story with you.
Coco: Well, you see, with me, there is no confusion. People take one look at my skin and they assume that I’m poor or uneducated or ratchet. So yeah, I tone it down. Make myself more palatable; join a sorority, what’s so wrong with that?
Sam: Everything.
(Dear White People, Netflix, Chapter IV, minutes 19.30-20.55, italics by F.A.) [1]
This dialogue is taken from Justin Simien’s TV series “Dear White People” that premiered on Netflix in late April 2017. In the scene, two of the main female characters, Samantha and Colandrea (Sam and Coco) are having an argument. In what is initially a different conflict, the fight between the two roommates and friends evolves into something much deeper, revealing a basic tension between the two women: Since the two college students first met in their freshman year, Sam has evolved into an outspoken activist, joining the Black Students’ Union (BSU) with her own campus radio show called “Dear White People” calling out campus racism. Coco, on the other hand, has joined (and left) a prestigious black sorority and does not participate in and at times actively rejects the activism put forward by the BSU.
A cursory and superficial interpretation of the juxtaposition of these two main protagonists could lead the viewer to conclude that their trope is merely meant to exemplify the simple dichotomy of the “Revolutionary” (Sam) versus the “Conformist” (Coco). This could be underlined by the fact that Sam has a segment in her radio show called “Woke or Not” [2] in which she specifically calls out Coco and claims that Coco’s behaviour is not “woke”. However, as I will argue in this paper, the ideological tension that these two women embody throughout the show is more complex and warrants a deeper analysis. The point I aim to make is that both women choose different paths both to negotiating their Blackness and to resist racial oppression – and neither path is easily labelled. How and why their paths differ can be explored through two themes that are repeatedly invoked in exchanges between the two women such as the one quoted above and which continue to be topics of socio-political relevance for the Black[3] community today: Black women’s hair and skin color. The additional point I aim to make is that these two characters could be understood as fictional archetypes for common themes and struggles in contemporary Black activism.
This paper was written as a course work for the seminar Beyoncé: Lemonade which was held at Goethe University during the summer term of 2017 with a focus on Black Feminism and activism. It ought to be pointed out that the analysis of both women’s characters will be limited insofar as their experiences are entirely fictional. While it is important to stress this aspect of the analysis, I nevertheless chose this topic and the empirical background because the seminar itself was strongly rooted in readings of individual experiences of activism. Treating the series and its characters as a contemporary cultural testament of the variety of experiences of Black people (being written, directed and acted mainly by Black artists), I believe that an analysis of the two female characters could bring to light some aspects of what it means to negotiate one’s Blackness in the United States.
I begin by giving an outline of the series’ plotline as well as some additional background information to the series’ origins. In chapter 2 I treat the issue of Black women’s hair and in chapter 3 I treat the issue of skin colour discrimination. Chapter 4 is dedicated to tying up the historical and theoretical threads explored in the previous chapters to analyse each woman’s character presentation.
This paper was written as a course work for the seminar Beyoncé: Lemonade which was held at Goethe University during the summer term of 2017 with a focus on Black Feminism and activism. It ought to be pointed out that the analysis of both women’s characters will be limited insofar as their experiences are entirely fictional. While it is important to stress this aspect of the analysis, I nevertheless chose this topic and the empirical background because the seminar itself was strongly rooted in readings of individual experiences of activism. Treating the series and its characters as a contemporary cultural testament of the variety of experiences of Black people (being written, directed and acted mainly by Black artists), I believe that an analysis of the two female characters could bring to light some aspects of what it means to negotiate one’s Blackness in the United States.
I begin by giving an outline of the series’ plotline as well as some additional background information to the series’ origins. In chapter 2 I treat the issue of Black women’s hair and in chapter 3 I treat the issue of skin colour discrimination. Chapter 4 is dedicated to tying up the historical and theoretical threads explored in the previous chapters to analyse each woman’s character presentation.
1. Setting the Stage: Dear White People
The series “Dear White People” was released on the online streaming service Netflix in April 2017. The series’ trailer came out in early 2017 and received a stream of outrage (The Independent 2017). In this trailer, one of the main protagonists, Samantha White, speaks into a radio microphone and declares: “Dear White People, here is a list of acceptable Halloween costumes: pirates, slutty nurse, any of our first 43 presidents. Top of the list of unacceptable costumes: Me.”[4]. The trailer then goes on to show several pictures of white people in blackface[5] at a party. The Youtube video for the trailer has close to five million views and about 424.000 dislikes as opposed to 58.000 likes. The backlash the trailer received was severe: Netflix users called on others to cancel their accounts, the trailer itself was criticized as “anti-white”, “racist against white people” and even propagating “white genocide” (Hooton 2017). The series went on to premiere on April 24th 2017. Just like the film, it was written by screen-writer and author Justin Simien, who claims that the idea for the film is based on his own experience as a Black, gay college student in the United States (Rose 2015).
The series “Dear White People” was released on the online streaming service Netflix in April 2017. The series’ trailer came out in early 2017 and received a stream of outrage (The Independent 2017). In this trailer, one of the main protagonists, Samantha White, speaks into a radio microphone and declares: “Dear White People, here is a list of acceptable Halloween costumes: pirates, slutty nurse, any of our first 43 presidents. Top of the list of unacceptable costumes: Me.”[4]. The trailer then goes on to show several pictures of white people in blackface[5] at a party. The Youtube video for the trailer has close to five million views and about 424.000 dislikes as opposed to 58.000 likes. The backlash the trailer received was severe: Netflix users called on others to cancel their accounts, the trailer itself was criticized as “anti-white”, “racist against white people” and even propagating “white genocide” (Hooton 2017). The series went on to premiere on April 24th 2017. Just like the film, it was written by screen-writer and author Justin Simien, who claims that the idea for the film is based on his own experience as a Black, gay college student in the United States (Rose 2015).
Dear White People (henceforth DWP) was produced as a proliferation of a film by the same name and same director that had been released three years prior in 2014. The original film was crowd-funded, independently produced and first premiered at the Sundance film festival. In the film, the focus lies on a group of Black students on the fictional Winchester college campus in the United States, who are outraged by the casual and everyday racism they encounter from their peers. All of the students live in the historically Black Armstrong Parker house. One of the students, Sam, has her own college radio show called “Dear White People” in which she calls out campus racism and racist incidents. Irritated and annoyed by Sam’s criticism, a white campus group sets out to organise a blackface party, which is subsequently crashed by a group of Black students.
The narration of the series starts off where the film had finished. In each of the ten episodes of the series (which do not have names but are called “chapters”), one of the characters is given screen time - their personal histories as well as their involvement in the incident of the blackface party are shown. The lead characters of the show are: Samantha (henceforth Sam), who is an outspoken critic of campus racism; Troy, the college dean’s son who consistently tries to please everybody (most of all his father) but leads a secret life of affairs and drug-taking; Lionel, the shy reporter for the campus paper who comes into his own when leading the case against the blackface party and Coco, whose original name is Colandrea and who rejects her peers’ outrage at racist incidents. Additional characters of relevance include Reggie, who shares Sam’s outrage at campus racism and has fallen for her, and Joelle, Sam’s best friend, who is also part of the friendship group of the Black Student Union, as well as Gabe, Sam’s white boyfriend, who is caught up negotiating the tensions that are felt by his girlfriend and her peers with his own status as a white man.
Taking place in the aftermath of the crashed and exposed blackface party, the series contains numerous flash-backs to earlier instances in the characters’ lives and relationships, arguably to deepen each character’s background. This is also the case for Sam and Coco- while they are no longer friends in the timeframe of the series’ events, there are flash-backs to when they used to be friends in order to explain how their friendship came to an end when both women developed different ideological attitudes. Sam and Coco’s relationship is one of the series’ main plotlines. The tension between the two women is exposed right at the beginning of the first episode and continues throughout the series. The dialogues from DWP used in this paper are mainly between the two women and serve to illustrate the theoretical dimension of their conflict.
2. Black Women’s Hair: A Socio-political Entanglement
“Don't touch my hair
When it's the feelings I wear
Don't touch my soul
When it's the rhythm I know
Don't touch my crown
They say the vision I've found
Don't touch what's there
When it's the feelings I wear”[6]
This quote is taken from Solange’s song “Don’t touch my hair”. It demonstrates the deep connection the songwriter feels to the physical state of her hair, invoking the image of a crown and her hair representing her emotions. The feelings connected to hair and the relevance attributed to it are not only shown in this lyrical example, they are also mirrored in social research on hair.
“Hair seems to be such a little thing.” Caldwell writes (1991, 370). However, this is not so, as she goes on to state that “a black woman’s hair is related to the perpetuation of social, political and economic domination of subordinated racial and gender groups” (ibid.). In an exploration of Black women’s narratives on their hair, Banks (2000, 24) asserts that the common trope encountered in her research is that “the physical state of black hair takes on social meaning” and it is “socially, culturally and politically loaded” (ibid., 37). These accounts from research show that Black women’s hair is anything but “a little thing”, but rather an important topic.
The aim of this chapter is to understand the asserted cultural, social and political significance of hair for Black women. As a first step, I show how the subject of hair is approached between Sam and Coco in DWP. I then go on to write about the sociology of hair, how hair is embedded in the history of African-American women and briefly explore aspects of the enduring discourse on hair resistance and compliance for Black women.
2.1 Hair in Dear White People
The subject of hair is invoked a few times in DWP and it is a topic between Sam and Coco, especially when the two of them are in an argument. In the first episode, Coco enters the scene of a meeting between the different campus Black students’ associations and introduces herself with her shortened name, prompting Sam to react:
Coco: “Coco, CORE’s new treasurer. “
Sam: “Real name: Colandrea. C-O-L-A-N-D-R-E-A. For accuracy.”
Coco: “Don’t do it, boo. Not with that mess on top your head you like to pass off as natural. Held together by bobby-pins and prayer? Lord.”
Sam: “You want to go there? With half of India’s GDP on top your head?”
(DWP, chapter I, minutes 13.20-13.50, italics by F.A.)
In a later episode, hair also becomes a topic of conversation, when Coco and Sam fight:
Coco: “Sweets, the oppressed do not get their freedom by appealing to the morality of their oppressor. Ever think of that? Assata Shakur[7] did, so boom.”
Sam: “Don’t Assata Shakur me. I told you about Assata Shakur. And what would she say about you overdrawing your bank account for a weave?”
Coco: “You have a rat’s nest on top of your head with a comb sticking out of it, running around campus, trying to be Miss Blackety-Black-Black.”
Sam: “I wanted an avant-garde look. Like Solange. Something that says: ‘I’m woke, but I’ll also kick your ass in an elevator.’”
(DWP, chapter VI, minutes 19.30-20.55, italics by F.A.)
As both of these dialogues show, Samantha has chosen to wear her hair in braids, whereas Coco prefers to have a straight-haired weave put in or to wear wigs. In a later episode in the series, Coco decides to take out her weave, prompting Sam to ask: “What’s up with your hair? I mean I love it, but do you need money? Are you high?” (Chapter IX, minutes 13.52-14.30). Coco does not respond to Sam’s startled question.
In these dialogues, the hairstyle each woman has chosen is invoked to taunt, criticize or gently mock the other woman. Hair is also not only represented as an individual choice, but as a means to position oneself socially and politically: Sam criticizes Coco’s expenditure on straight-hair weaves (“half of India’s GDP”/”Overdrawing your bank account for a weave”). In doing so, she implicitly mocks Coco’s willingness to spend a lot of money for a weave while also implying a lack of conscience or political awareness: “What would she [Assata Shakur] say?” to Coco choosing to spend her money on hair. Sam also stresses that she changed her hair from straightening it at the beginning of college to now braiding it, because she wanted to look “like Solange”. This is interesting insofar as Solange herself caused a stir on social media back in 2009, when she decided to no longer artificially alter her hair in an effort to “be free from the bondage black women sometimes put on themselves with hair” (cited in Russell-Cole et al. 2013, 116). Much like Solange, Sam seeks to communicate her political stance through her hairstyle choices.
“Don't touch my hair
When it's the feelings I wear
Don't touch my soul
When it's the rhythm I know
Don't touch my crown
They say the vision I've found
Don't touch what's there
When it's the feelings I wear”[6]
This quote is taken from Solange’s song “Don’t touch my hair”. It demonstrates the deep connection the songwriter feels to the physical state of her hair, invoking the image of a crown and her hair representing her emotions. The feelings connected to hair and the relevance attributed to it are not only shown in this lyrical example, they are also mirrored in social research on hair.
“Hair seems to be such a little thing.” Caldwell writes (1991, 370). However, this is not so, as she goes on to state that “a black woman’s hair is related to the perpetuation of social, political and economic domination of subordinated racial and gender groups” (ibid.). In an exploration of Black women’s narratives on their hair, Banks (2000, 24) asserts that the common trope encountered in her research is that “the physical state of black hair takes on social meaning” and it is “socially, culturally and politically loaded” (ibid., 37). These accounts from research show that Black women’s hair is anything but “a little thing”, but rather an important topic.
The aim of this chapter is to understand the asserted cultural, social and political significance of hair for Black women. As a first step, I show how the subject of hair is approached between Sam and Coco in DWP. I then go on to write about the sociology of hair, how hair is embedded in the history of African-American women and briefly explore aspects of the enduring discourse on hair resistance and compliance for Black women.
2.1 Hair in Dear White People
The subject of hair is invoked a few times in DWP and it is a topic between Sam and Coco, especially when the two of them are in an argument. In the first episode, Coco enters the scene of a meeting between the different campus Black students’ associations and introduces herself with her shortened name, prompting Sam to react:
Coco: “Coco, CORE’s new treasurer. “
Sam: “Real name: Colandrea. C-O-L-A-N-D-R-E-A. For accuracy.”
Coco: “Don’t do it, boo. Not with that mess on top your head you like to pass off as natural. Held together by bobby-pins and prayer? Lord.”
Sam: “You want to go there? With half of India’s GDP on top your head?”
(DWP, chapter I, minutes 13.20-13.50, italics by F.A.)
In a later episode, hair also becomes a topic of conversation, when Coco and Sam fight:
Coco: “Sweets, the oppressed do not get their freedom by appealing to the morality of their oppressor. Ever think of that? Assata Shakur[7] did, so boom.”
Sam: “Don’t Assata Shakur me. I told you about Assata Shakur. And what would she say about you overdrawing your bank account for a weave?”
Coco: “You have a rat’s nest on top of your head with a comb sticking out of it, running around campus, trying to be Miss Blackety-Black-Black.”
Sam: “I wanted an avant-garde look. Like Solange. Something that says: ‘I’m woke, but I’ll also kick your ass in an elevator.’”
(DWP, chapter VI, minutes 19.30-20.55, italics by F.A.)
As both of these dialogues show, Samantha has chosen to wear her hair in braids, whereas Coco prefers to have a straight-haired weave put in or to wear wigs. In a later episode in the series, Coco decides to take out her weave, prompting Sam to ask: “What’s up with your hair? I mean I love it, but do you need money? Are you high?” (Chapter IX, minutes 13.52-14.30). Coco does not respond to Sam’s startled question.
In these dialogues, the hairstyle each woman has chosen is invoked to taunt, criticize or gently mock the other woman. Hair is also not only represented as an individual choice, but as a means to position oneself socially and politically: Sam criticizes Coco’s expenditure on straight-hair weaves (“half of India’s GDP”/”Overdrawing your bank account for a weave”). In doing so, she implicitly mocks Coco’s willingness to spend a lot of money for a weave while also implying a lack of conscience or political awareness: “What would she [Assata Shakur] say?” to Coco choosing to spend her money on hair. Sam also stresses that she changed her hair from straightening it at the beginning of college to now braiding it, because she wanted to look “like Solange”. This is interesting insofar as Solange herself caused a stir on social media back in 2009, when she decided to no longer artificially alter her hair in an effort to “be free from the bondage black women sometimes put on themselves with hair” (cited in Russell-Cole et al. 2013, 116). Much like Solange, Sam seeks to communicate her political stance through her hairstyle choices.
Coco, on the other hand, mocks Sam’s braids as wanting to “pass [herself] off as natural”, and claims that Sam’s hairstyle (a “rat’s nest”) is her attempt to try to be “Miss Blackety-Black-Black”. This is presumably an attempt to belittle Sam’s aesthetic choices. Coco herself wears a straight-hair weave or wigs for most of the series. However, in a sex scene with Troy, her wig falls off, causing her to feel incredibly embarrassed. As Troy reassures her that he is not taken aback by the fact that Coco wears a wig, she proceeds to wear her natural hair later-on in the series, which is why Sam asks her if “everything is ok” with her. In order to understand the relevance of the different accusations and provocations brought forward by the two women against one another, a deeper look at the sociology of hair and the history of Black women’s hair is presented in the following.
2.2 A Sociology of Hair: The Personal and Public Entanglement of Hair and Identity
As Solange sings about her hair as her “crown”, she invokes an image of her hair being her pride, something that distinguishes her and makes her who she is. Synnott (1987, 384), one of the earlier scholars to write about the sociology of hair, underlines that the entanglement of a woman’s hair with the image of it being a “crowing glory” goes back centuries and is reified in poetry, the media and fashion. He also remarks on the specific relationship that is formed by hair and gender:
“Gender and ideology are 'made flesh' in the hair as people conform to, or deviate from, the norms, and even deviate from deviant norms; they thereby symbolize their identities with respect to a wide range of phenomena: religious, political, sexual, social, occupational and other.” (ibid., 405)
Synnott’s assertion highlights two specific points: Firstly, that hair and gender are in fact specifically linked and secondly, that hair is an expression of identity and (non-) conformity to societal expectations. Hair is the “most powerful symbol of individual and group identity” Synnott writes (ibid., 381) and he concludes: “Hair enables social distinctions to be symbolized, and changes to be symbolized. Indeed, the major divisions in our society are symbolized in hair, as are our specific individual identities.” (ibid., 410).
As Solange sings about her hair as her “crown”, she invokes an image of her hair being her pride, something that distinguishes her and makes her who she is. Synnott (1987, 384), one of the earlier scholars to write about the sociology of hair, underlines that the entanglement of a woman’s hair with the image of it being a “crowing glory” goes back centuries and is reified in poetry, the media and fashion. He also remarks on the specific relationship that is formed by hair and gender:
“Gender and ideology are 'made flesh' in the hair as people conform to, or deviate from, the norms, and even deviate from deviant norms; they thereby symbolize their identities with respect to a wide range of phenomena: religious, political, sexual, social, occupational and other.” (ibid., 405)
Synnott’s assertion highlights two specific points: Firstly, that hair and gender are in fact specifically linked and secondly, that hair is an expression of identity and (non-) conformity to societal expectations. Hair is the “most powerful symbol of individual and group identity” Synnott writes (ibid., 381) and he concludes: “Hair enables social distinctions to be symbolized, and changes to be symbolized. Indeed, the major divisions in our society are symbolized in hair, as are our specific individual identities.” (ibid., 410).
This theoretical approach to hairstyles holds significant value when analysing the political and social relevance of Black women’s hairstyles. Caldwell (1991, 383) approaches Black hair through this lens, highlighting the gendered aspect of hair and the social and political significance that hair holds in the Black community:
“Hairstyle choices are an important mode of self-expression. For blacks, and particularly for black women, such choices also reflect the search for a survival mechanism in a culture where social, political and economic choices of racialized individuals and groups are conditioned by the extent to which their physical characteristics, both mutable and immutable, approximate those of the dominant racial group. Hair becomes a proxy for legitimacy and determines the extent to which individual blacks can ‘crossover’ from the private world of segregation and colonization (and historically, in the case of black women, service in another's home) into the mainstream of American life. Black women bear the brunt of racist intimidation resulting from western standards of physical beauty.” (ibid.)
In this quote, Caldwell shows how hair takes on symbolic meaning, just like it was stressed by Synnott. For women especially, hair is a means for both personal expression but it can also serve as a “proxy for legitimacy” (ibid.). Caldwell approaches the subject of hair as a fundamental aspect of “survival”. The fundamental and gendered aspects of hair are also highlighted by Weitz in her article: “Women and Their Hair: Seeking power through Resistance and Accomodation” (2015). Weitz (2015, 668) approaches her subject matter through the lens of personal resistance reified in the physical body, highlighting hair in particular. Referring to Foucault’s notion of “docile bodies” which are required to conform to the demands of modern societies, Weitz claims that “disciplinary practices” are used by individuals which both serve to “internalize and act on the ideologies that underlie their own subordination” (ibid.). Most significantly, these practices “have made the body a site for power struggles and, potentially, for resistance, as individual choices about the body become laden with political meaning” (ibid.).
By highlighting the body as a site of power and resistance, Weitz both confirms and expands Synnott’s assertion that ideology is a fundamental part of hair representation. Weitz also adds to the gendered dimension of hair as she introduces the dominant norm that is expected from women, echoing Caldwell. According to her findings, in order for women’s hair to be considered attractive it should be “long, curly or wavy, and preferably blonde. It should most definitely not be gray or kinky (suggesting African or Jewish heritage.)” (ibid., 672). While Weitz’s assertion is arguably situated on the North American and European context, it holds relevance, because the subject matter presented in this chapter referring to Black women’s hair is positioned in the same societal context.
Both Caldwell and Weitz approach the body in general and hair in particular as sites for the expression of power and resistance. Caldwell and Weitz’s claims also highlight two significant aspects that are missing in Synnott’s previously referenced analysis of the social significance of hair, namely the role of race and social class for hair:
“Hairstyle choices are an important mode of self-expression. For blacks, and particularly for black women, such choices also reflect the search for a survival mechanism in a culture where social, political and economic choices of racialized individuals and groups are conditioned by the extent to which their physical characteristics, both mutable and immutable, approximate those of the dominant racial group. Hair becomes a proxy for legitimacy and determines the extent to which individual blacks can ‘crossover’ from the private world of segregation and colonization (and historically, in the case of black women, service in another's home) into the mainstream of American life. Black women bear the brunt of racist intimidation resulting from western standards of physical beauty.” (ibid.)
In this quote, Caldwell shows how hair takes on symbolic meaning, just like it was stressed by Synnott. For women especially, hair is a means for both personal expression but it can also serve as a “proxy for legitimacy” (ibid.). Caldwell approaches the subject of hair as a fundamental aspect of “survival”. The fundamental and gendered aspects of hair are also highlighted by Weitz in her article: “Women and Their Hair: Seeking power through Resistance and Accomodation” (2015). Weitz (2015, 668) approaches her subject matter through the lens of personal resistance reified in the physical body, highlighting hair in particular. Referring to Foucault’s notion of “docile bodies” which are required to conform to the demands of modern societies, Weitz claims that “disciplinary practices” are used by individuals which both serve to “internalize and act on the ideologies that underlie their own subordination” (ibid.). Most significantly, these practices “have made the body a site for power struggles and, potentially, for resistance, as individual choices about the body become laden with political meaning” (ibid.).
By highlighting the body as a site of power and resistance, Weitz both confirms and expands Synnott’s assertion that ideology is a fundamental part of hair representation. Weitz also adds to the gendered dimension of hair as she introduces the dominant norm that is expected from women, echoing Caldwell. According to her findings, in order for women’s hair to be considered attractive it should be “long, curly or wavy, and preferably blonde. It should most definitely not be gray or kinky (suggesting African or Jewish heritage.)” (ibid., 672). While Weitz’s assertion is arguably situated on the North American and European context, it holds relevance, because the subject matter presented in this chapter referring to Black women’s hair is positioned in the same societal context.
Both Caldwell and Weitz approach the body in general and hair in particular as sites for the expression of power and resistance. Caldwell and Weitz’s claims also highlight two significant aspects that are missing in Synnott’s previously referenced analysis of the social significance of hair, namely the role of race and social class for hair:
Synnott claims that the way hair is presented ought to be understood through three “polar oppositions”, namely “gender (male-female), ideology (centre-deviant) and physique (head-body)” (Synnott 1987, 410). While these basic differentiations are insightful, Caldwell and Weitz’s assertions lead me to add the dimensions race (white – P.O.C.) and socio-economic background (wealthy-poor) which could also be considered to form polar opposites in hair sociology. What I mean to stress by adding these two “opposites” is that the ability to participate in socially accepted or glorified hairstyles might differ significantly from person to person or group-to-group depending on these factors. If, like Caldwell and Weitz, we consider the socially dominant group to be the one that sets the standard for how hair ought to be worn in professional settings or what kind of hair is considered desirable, these two factors become even more salient. In order to analyse the political and social significance of Black women’s hair, these two factors cannot be neglected.
As we can see at this stage, the social significance of hair ought to be considered anything but “such a little thing” (Caldwell 1991, 370) and rather a significant physical expression of numerous social factors, specifically personal and group identity. One’s hairstyle can become an expression of compliance or of resistance, and it can determine the extent to which one is able to participate in certain social realms. These struggles, represented by and experienced through hair, go back a long time through history for African-American women, as the next sub-section will show.
2.3 Hairstory: Disentangling Black Women’s Hair from Historical Oppression and “Aesthetic Hegemony”
The relationship between African-American women and hair is historically rooted in the history of slavery (Patton 2006, 26). According to Patton, the enslavers of Western Africans that were to be sent to the American continent made a point of cutting off slaves’ hair, because they realised the cultural importance that their victims associated with their hairstyles (ibid., 27). Once arrived on the American continent, slaves with lighter skin, straighter hair and more “European” features tended to be given preferential treatment (ibid., 28): Because light skin and straight hair were associated with superiority, lighter-skinned, straighter-haired slaves were predominantly chosen to work in the house, and darker-skinned, more curly-haired slaves were made to work in the fields (ibid.). Patton points out that slaves who worked in the house tended to have better access to clothes, education and food, making the emulation of “white European traits (…) essential to survival” (ibid.).
As we can see at this stage, the social significance of hair ought to be considered anything but “such a little thing” (Caldwell 1991, 370) and rather a significant physical expression of numerous social factors, specifically personal and group identity. One’s hairstyle can become an expression of compliance or of resistance, and it can determine the extent to which one is able to participate in certain social realms. These struggles, represented by and experienced through hair, go back a long time through history for African-American women, as the next sub-section will show.
2.3 Hairstory: Disentangling Black Women’s Hair from Historical Oppression and “Aesthetic Hegemony”
The relationship between African-American women and hair is historically rooted in the history of slavery (Patton 2006, 26). According to Patton, the enslavers of Western Africans that were to be sent to the American continent made a point of cutting off slaves’ hair, because they realised the cultural importance that their victims associated with their hairstyles (ibid., 27). Once arrived on the American continent, slaves with lighter skin, straighter hair and more “European” features tended to be given preferential treatment (ibid., 28): Because light skin and straight hair were associated with superiority, lighter-skinned, straighter-haired slaves were predominantly chosen to work in the house, and darker-skinned, more curly-haired slaves were made to work in the fields (ibid.). Patton points out that slaves who worked in the house tended to have better access to clothes, education and food, making the emulation of “white European traits (…) essential to survival” (ibid.).
Given the historical legacy of the oppression of Black people due to their appearance, Patton points out that “African-American women and their beauty” have long been “juxtaposed against White beauty standards” (Patton 2006, 26) in what Sekayi (2003, 475) calls the “aesthetic hegemony”. The long-standing desire for straight hair is made evident by the first female black millionaire, Sarah Breedlove McWilliams Walker, who at the end of the 1800s introduced the first line of hair-straightening products to the U.S.-American market (Russell-Cole et al. 2013, 103).
The straight-hair trend for Black women continued throughout the first half of the 20th century (ibid., 105). However, change was on the horizon in the 1960s. In a time of “rapid social change”, with social movements for black liberation on the rise, the movements also grew resistant in their physical appearance (Caldwell 1991, 384). As Caldwell describes, a lot of Black people “chose to wear ‘natural’ or Afro hairstyles as a celebration of self-esteem, a rejection of the shackles of racist oppression, or a claim to cultural identity” (ibid.). The wearing of Afros faced strong societal opposition: those who chose not to conform to straight hair norms faced the possibility of losing their employment and were associated with rebellious political views (ibid.). Russell-Cole et al. (2013, 105) brand this period as revolutionary, since the wearing of Afros not only “associated the wearer with the politics of the Black Power movement”, but it also signified a clear rejection of the long-standing straight-hair beauty standard.
However, in the 1970s and 80s, this trend was reversed: “The old tradition of calling hair that was straight or wavy good and hair that was tightly curled bad returned, or as many would argue, it had never really gone away.” (Russell-Cole et al. 2013, 106). According to Patton (2006, 38), however, this changed in the 1990s, when a in a “counter-hegemonic turn”, African-American women adopted a “resistive strategy of acceptance” towards their hair and created their own beauty standard. Nonetheless, the discussion about the entanglement of hair with the struggle of racist oppression and white beauty standards continues and is made evident by products of popular culture, in law and in everyday life for Black women.
One example of this discussion is the discourse around “good” and “bad” hair. The so-called “Good Hair-Bad Hair” dichotomy originates in the distinction made between hair that is “long, shiny and straight” as opposed to hair that is “measly, short and nappy” (Erasmus 1997, 13; Banks 2000, 28, 31). Banks’ (2000, 28) research on Black women’s hair narratives confirms that the good hair-bad hair dichotomy is often invoked when one’s own hair is described - often “putting women in two camps”. This distinction is reflected in popular cultural products such as Chris Rock’s comedic documentary called “Good Hair”, which was released in 2009 and in which the politics of Black hair are discussed. In 2010, a sketch in the popular children’s show Sesame Street addressed the issue of hair. In it, a brown-skinned muppet girl with an Afro sings proudly about loving her natural hair. The sketch received overwhelmingly positive feedback: “More than a few adult viewers admitted never having seen anything so positive and self-affirming about having kinky hair; they only wished they had seen something like that when they were little” (Russell-Cole et al. 2013, 113).
The reason why this children’s sketch resonated in this way could be due to the fact that hair becomes a topic very early-on in the socialization of young Black girls and adolescents. Russell-Cole et al. (2013, 109) point out that the meaning of good hair vs. bad hair is understood from a young age. Banks (2000, 22) also stresses the centrality of hair issues for Black girls when growing up, where hair becomes a “marker of difference”, in particular when perceived through “media representations of what constitutes beauty” (ibid., 23), which is why the Sesame Street sketch might have finally presented a counter-narrative to the popular beauty hegemony of straight hair.
The theme that is expressed by “putting women in two camps” and affirming or resisting the “aesthetic hegemony” (Sekayi 2003, 476) of long and straight hair is one of assimilation or resistance, but it is also an expression of class. Russell-Cole et al. (2013, 102) note that hairstyle signifies both “status and assimilation”, and go on to analyse the class differences in hairstyles meticulously:
“All things being equal, a black woman whose hair grows naturally straight is usually thought to be from a better family than a woman whose hair is very nappy. Black women who wear natural styles, like braids, cut across socioeconomic lines, but a politically defiant style like locs is generally a middle-class expression of Black consciousness. Inner-city girls and women are probably the last likely to wear locs. Poor Black women with very kinky hair strive instead for straighter-looking hair, but because they cannot afford constant professional relaxation treatments (which can cost up to 85 dollars a session), their hair often looks stiff and overly processed in what is derisively called a ‘ghetto do’.” (ibid., 120).
In turn, the question of who assimilates to the hegemonic norm becomes a question of class and status. For certain jobs, straightening one’s hair is a basic requirement and therefore becomes a socio-economic necessity. So while it might be frowned upon as “assimilationist” and “subscribing to the dominant cultural standards of beauty” (Patton 2006, 27), it remains a socio-economic privilege for Black women to freely choose how to wear their hair. This is an important counter-argument to the “self-hatred theory” (Banks 2000, 60), which states that Black women who choose to straighten their hair do so out of a “lack of self-acceptance” (ibid.). Erasmus (1997, 15) also rejects the notion that “black women who straighten their hair are reactionary and Black women who do not are progressive”, claiming that this over-simplification “empowers a new kind of hair police to check on degrees of blackness in terms of degrees of naturalness for the purposes of exclusion”. In fact, the economic necessity for altering one’s hair is made evident by numerous legal cases in which Black women lost their employment because of their natural hairstyles, i.e. the famous Rogers case, in which a Black flight attendant was fired for wearing braids (Caldwell 1991, 366).
The straight-hair trend for Black women continued throughout the first half of the 20th century (ibid., 105). However, change was on the horizon in the 1960s. In a time of “rapid social change”, with social movements for black liberation on the rise, the movements also grew resistant in their physical appearance (Caldwell 1991, 384). As Caldwell describes, a lot of Black people “chose to wear ‘natural’ or Afro hairstyles as a celebration of self-esteem, a rejection of the shackles of racist oppression, or a claim to cultural identity” (ibid.). The wearing of Afros faced strong societal opposition: those who chose not to conform to straight hair norms faced the possibility of losing their employment and were associated with rebellious political views (ibid.). Russell-Cole et al. (2013, 105) brand this period as revolutionary, since the wearing of Afros not only “associated the wearer with the politics of the Black Power movement”, but it also signified a clear rejection of the long-standing straight-hair beauty standard.
However, in the 1970s and 80s, this trend was reversed: “The old tradition of calling hair that was straight or wavy good and hair that was tightly curled bad returned, or as many would argue, it had never really gone away.” (Russell-Cole et al. 2013, 106). According to Patton (2006, 38), however, this changed in the 1990s, when a in a “counter-hegemonic turn”, African-American women adopted a “resistive strategy of acceptance” towards their hair and created their own beauty standard. Nonetheless, the discussion about the entanglement of hair with the struggle of racist oppression and white beauty standards continues and is made evident by products of popular culture, in law and in everyday life for Black women.
One example of this discussion is the discourse around “good” and “bad” hair. The so-called “Good Hair-Bad Hair” dichotomy originates in the distinction made between hair that is “long, shiny and straight” as opposed to hair that is “measly, short and nappy” (Erasmus 1997, 13; Banks 2000, 28, 31). Banks’ (2000, 28) research on Black women’s hair narratives confirms that the good hair-bad hair dichotomy is often invoked when one’s own hair is described - often “putting women in two camps”. This distinction is reflected in popular cultural products such as Chris Rock’s comedic documentary called “Good Hair”, which was released in 2009 and in which the politics of Black hair are discussed. In 2010, a sketch in the popular children’s show Sesame Street addressed the issue of hair. In it, a brown-skinned muppet girl with an Afro sings proudly about loving her natural hair. The sketch received overwhelmingly positive feedback: “More than a few adult viewers admitted never having seen anything so positive and self-affirming about having kinky hair; they only wished they had seen something like that when they were little” (Russell-Cole et al. 2013, 113).
The reason why this children’s sketch resonated in this way could be due to the fact that hair becomes a topic very early-on in the socialization of young Black girls and adolescents. Russell-Cole et al. (2013, 109) point out that the meaning of good hair vs. bad hair is understood from a young age. Banks (2000, 22) also stresses the centrality of hair issues for Black girls when growing up, where hair becomes a “marker of difference”, in particular when perceived through “media representations of what constitutes beauty” (ibid., 23), which is why the Sesame Street sketch might have finally presented a counter-narrative to the popular beauty hegemony of straight hair.
The theme that is expressed by “putting women in two camps” and affirming or resisting the “aesthetic hegemony” (Sekayi 2003, 476) of long and straight hair is one of assimilation or resistance, but it is also an expression of class. Russell-Cole et al. (2013, 102) note that hairstyle signifies both “status and assimilation”, and go on to analyse the class differences in hairstyles meticulously:
“All things being equal, a black woman whose hair grows naturally straight is usually thought to be from a better family than a woman whose hair is very nappy. Black women who wear natural styles, like braids, cut across socioeconomic lines, but a politically defiant style like locs is generally a middle-class expression of Black consciousness. Inner-city girls and women are probably the last likely to wear locs. Poor Black women with very kinky hair strive instead for straighter-looking hair, but because they cannot afford constant professional relaxation treatments (which can cost up to 85 dollars a session), their hair often looks stiff and overly processed in what is derisively called a ‘ghetto do’.” (ibid., 120).
In turn, the question of who assimilates to the hegemonic norm becomes a question of class and status. For certain jobs, straightening one’s hair is a basic requirement and therefore becomes a socio-economic necessity. So while it might be frowned upon as “assimilationist” and “subscribing to the dominant cultural standards of beauty” (Patton 2006, 27), it remains a socio-economic privilege for Black women to freely choose how to wear their hair. This is an important counter-argument to the “self-hatred theory” (Banks 2000, 60), which states that Black women who choose to straighten their hair do so out of a “lack of self-acceptance” (ibid.). Erasmus (1997, 15) also rejects the notion that “black women who straighten their hair are reactionary and Black women who do not are progressive”, claiming that this over-simplification “empowers a new kind of hair police to check on degrees of blackness in terms of degrees of naturalness for the purposes of exclusion”. In fact, the economic necessity for altering one’s hair is made evident by numerous legal cases in which Black women lost their employment because of their natural hairstyles, i.e. the famous Rogers case, in which a Black flight attendant was fired for wearing braids (Caldwell 1991, 366).
As we can see, the ways in which Black women’s hairstyles represent a physical expression of socio-political circumstances are manifold. The symbolic power of Black women’s hair is inherently political and ought not be dismissed. Rather, as we can see, Black women’s hair holds the power to communicate where the socio-economic circumstances of wearer as well as how she wishes to be perceived. In the final chapter of this paper, I connect the social meaning of hair to the topic explored in the next chapter, skin colour, in an analysis of both of these issues in Dear White People.
3. Colorism: The Skin you are in
“If you Black and you love it put your hands up
If you Black and in public put your hands up
If you Black and you proud and not giving a fuck
Put your hands up, put your hands up“[8]
The colour of one’s skin, just like the texture of one’s hair, is an inherently physical phenomenon. Unlike hair, however, skin colour is much less easily altered, but nevertheless holds the power to decisively shape one’s path in life. The reason for this is usually colorism. Broadly speaking, the term colorism describes aspects of one’s status determination due to the colour of one’s skin (Russell-Cole et al. 2013, 102). In this chapter, I work through the notion of colorism. I start by highlighting the scenes in which colorism is invoked by Sam and Coco in DWP. I then go on to offer an insight into the conceptual content of the term and how it can be differentiated from the concept of racism. Subsequently, the history of colorism in the U.S. American context is briefly outlined. I wrap up the chapter by writing about the Politics of Color in the United States, showing how different systems of oppression continue to be connected to one’s skin colour.
3.1 Skin Colour in Dear White People
Just like hair, skin colour is also a topic of discussion between Sam and Coco. This is due to the fact that the physical appearance of both women is decidedly different. Coco’s skin colour is dark. Sam has lighter skin. Coco invokes this fact a few times when the two are interacting. In “Chapter IV”, Sam plays the game “Woke or Not?” on her radio show, a game in which she decides whether certain students are deemed “woke” due to their behaviour and proceeds to make fun of Coco (who she deems “Not Woke”). In a rage, Coco shows up at the radio studio with some of her friends to confront Sam:
Sam: Oh look, it’s Coco and the Marshmallows [reference to Coco’s White friends].
Coco: Normally I wouldn’t dignify your rants with a response, but today your entry level Black rage is particularly galling, Rosa Sparks.[9] Tell me, is using your radio-show to drag other Black women part of your revolution?
Sam: If it brings truth to the masses, yes. I drags [sic] who needs dragging.
Coco: Imagine the reaction if your divisive revolutionary dribble were coming from the mouth of a real sister.
Sam: A real sister? (laughs)
Coco: You get away with murder because you look more like them than I do. That’s your light-skin privilege. Until you acknowledge that, shut the fuck up about who is woke or not.
(DWP, chapter IV, minutes 4.17-4.23)
Skin colour is also a topic in the argument cited earlier, when hairstyle became a topic. The argument continues:
Coco: ’Dear White People. Let me tell you about yourselves while I don’t even know who the hell I am.’
Sam: Oh, I don’t know who I am, Colandrea?
k
Coco: No, you don’t, but I do. You’re the girl who didn’t learn she was Black until Beth Wheeler left you out of her second-grade sleepover, ‘cause you’d be the ‘only one’.
Sam: That is the last time I share a personal story with you.
Coco: Well you see, with me, there is no confusion. People take one look at my skin and they assume that I’m poor or uneducated or ratchet. So yeah, I tone it down. Make myself more palatable, join a sorority, what’s so wrong with that?
Sam: Everything.
Coco: ’Dear White People, you made me hate myself as a kid, so now I hate you and that’s my secret shame.’
Sam:’Dear White People, if you wanted to demoralize us with your European beauty standards, mission accomplished. Ooh, ow, ooh, ow.’
(DWP, Netflix, Chapter IV, minutes 19.30-20.55, italics by F.A.)
In both of these dialogues, the color of each woman’s skin becomes an identity marker for her. Coco is enraged by Sam’s “Woke or Not?” game and angrily tells her that “a real sister” would not have gotten away with her “entry level Black rage”. Also, Coco points out that Sam only gets away with what she says on her show, because she looks more “like them”, presumably white people, than Coco. Coco calls Sam out on this, demanding her to acknowledge her “light-skin privilege” or “shut the fuck up”.
In the other scene, when Coco accuses Sam of not knowing who she really is, Sam retorts by pointing out Coco’s real first name. This is possibly in an effort to underline Coco’s Blackness, which Sam does not think Coco enacts fully by wearing straight-hair weaves and using a nickname. However, this argument goes awry when Coco underlines that she has never had to be confused about the colour of her skin, pointing out the prejudice someone of her skin colour is associated with. It follows that due to her lighter skin, Sam has not had to live through the same level of discrimination as Coco. Coco proceeds to explain her own choice to alter her appearance to “make [herself] more palatable”, presumably for non-Black people, something that Sam deeply condemns and views as an effort to emulate white beauty standards. The following chapter will shed light on the deeper meaning behind these verbal exchanges and the significance of colorism.
3.2 Colorism: Explaining the Concept
While the personal, structural and institutional discrimination a person faces due to the colour of their skin is usually subsumed under the widely used concept of racism, the notion of colorism represents a similar concept, albeit with a distinctly different conceptual content (Jones 2000, 1489f). Not unlike racism, colorism describes a system (or systems) of oppression due to the physical appearance related to one’s ethnic background. However, while racism also contains discrimination for cultural and ethnical specificities outside of the physical realm, with skin colour just one of the indicators to determine its social construction, status determination in colorism is based exclusively on the physical manifestation of skin colour (ibid., 1497). In fact, research by Russell-Cole et al. has shown that colorism could be said to be a global phenomenon, with different forms of skin colour discrimination found in many societies on each and every continent (Russell-Cole et al. 2013). The way in which this social stratification works, differs significantly according to the context. However, they all hold in common that lighter skin is preferred to darker skin, resulting in what the authors call “color-class hierarchies” (Russell-Cole et al. 2013, 27). This means that “along a continuum of possible shades, those with the lightest skin color enjoy the highest social standing, and those with the darkest skin color are among the poorest” (ibid.). The fact that colorism is so pervasive is attributed to the rise of colonialism and persistent Western (cultural) hegemony (Wilder 2010, 186f) in what Russell-Cole et al. call the “bleaching syndrome” that occurred during and after colonialism and slavery (2013, 29).
For the U.S.-American context, colorism as a term was first coined by writer Alice Walker[10] in 1983, and can be described as “the internalized bias and favour for light-skin European features and ‘good hair’”, which “has stratified the community for generations” (Wilder 2010, 185). Jones points out that another specificity of colorism as opposed to racism is that it occurs both “intraracially and interracially” (Jones 2000, 1489). This means that people can experience skin color discrimination from members of their own ethnic group. According to Jones, both within the white and the Black community in the United States “light- to medium-brown skin is associated with intelligence, refinement, prosperity and femininity. Darkness is associated with toughness, meanness, indigence, criminality, and masculinity.” (ibid., 1527). Within these associations, the specifically gendered aspect ought to be noted. Just like hairstyle, skin colour stratification seems to hold particular significance for African-American women. As we will explore in the next subsection, skin colour associations are socially constructed and rooted in the history of slavery in the United States.
3.3 The History of Skin Color Discrimination in the United States
Researchers on colorism in the United States commonly agree that the origins of this form of discrimination date back to the colonial era (Jones 2000, 1489; Patton 2006, 26; Wilder 2010, 186f). The values attached to lighter skin go hand in hand with the values attached to straighter hair that were explained in subsection 2.3 of this paper: Lighter-skinned slaves usually worked in the house, whereas darker-skinned slaves worked outside in the fields. Housework was usually easier than menial fieldwork, resulting in lighter-skinned slaves to be more privileged than darker-skinned slaves (Patton 2006, 26; Wilder 2010, 186f; Russell-Cole et al. 2013, 56). Also, light skin was associated with partially white heritage, which meant that “light-skinned blacks carried more economic value, were considered smarter and superior to dark-skinned blacks” (Wilder 2010, 186). In fact, in her research on the history of “color language” in Black American culture from 2010, Wilder finds that her interviewees continue to use the term “house nigga” to describe people with light skin, with one interviewee stating: “I think the problem with the color complex is that everybody wants to be a house nigga” (Wilder 2010, 190). Wilder claims that this demonstrates the “continued reification of the slave mentality within black culture” (ibid.).
3.3 The History of Skin Color Discrimination in the United States
Researchers on colorism in the United States commonly agree that the origins of this form of discrimination date back to the colonial era (Jones 2000, 1489; Patton 2006, 26; Wilder 2010, 186f). The values attached to lighter skin go hand in hand with the values attached to straighter hair that were explained in subsection 2.3 of this paper: Lighter-skinned slaves usually worked in the house, whereas darker-skinned slaves worked outside in the fields. Housework was usually easier than menial fieldwork, resulting in lighter-skinned slaves to be more privileged than darker-skinned slaves (Patton 2006, 26; Wilder 2010, 186f; Russell-Cole et al. 2013, 56). Also, light skin was associated with partially white heritage, which meant that “light-skinned blacks carried more economic value, were considered smarter and superior to dark-skinned blacks” (Wilder 2010, 186). In fact, in her research on the history of “color language” in Black American culture from 2010, Wilder finds that her interviewees continue to use the term “house nigga” to describe people with light skin, with one interviewee stating: “I think the problem with the color complex is that everybody wants to be a house nigga” (Wilder 2010, 190). Wilder claims that this demonstrates the “continued reification of the slave mentality within black culture” (ibid.).
However, the social stratification that resulted from the way in which the European colonizers treated slaves does not solely stem from the division of house and field slaves. A complex legal framework allowed for a system of social divisions based on skin color to emerge. Due to the lack of white women and frequent sexual abuse of slave owners of their female slaves, the population became increasingly heterogeneous in terms of skin colour. The group of people who stemmed from different ethnic backgrounds were often lighter-skinned. Soon, the colonizers needed to work out what status they would afford to this group of people. This is when the so-called “one-drop” rule emerged:
“To prevent any ambiguity in regard to racial classification and to preclude blacks with white ancestry from gaining the same legal status as full-blooded whites, lawmakers mandated the rule of the hypo-descent, or the ‘one-drop’ rule: Even the smallest amount (or drop) of African ancestry legally defined a person as black (…). Although the enforcement of the one-drop rule equalized all blacks in the eyes of the law, in everyday practice, significant differences developed between blacks of varying skin tones, hair textures, and facial features.” (Wilder 2010, 187)
As this quote by Wilder shows, the equalization of all Blacks in front of the law did not prevent an elite group of Black people with lighter skin to emerge. Russell-Cole et al. (2013, 58) describe how this elite sought to manifest an elevated status over darker-skinned African- Americans by stratifying the Black community socially through “private social clubs, churches, neighborhoods, educational institutions and business organisations” which were exclusive for lighter-skinned Blacks. An example of one such organisation was the “Blue Vein Society” in Nashville, for which one could only seek membership if their skin was light enough for the “spidery network of veins at the wrist to be visible to a panel of expert judges” (ibid.). Similar “tests” were carried out for membership in certain churches, where during reconstruction, to join a congregation one had to pass “a paper bag test, a door test, and /or a comb test” (ibid., 60). Here prospective members had to place their arm in a paper bag to see if their skin colour matched or was lighter than the colour of the bag, or they had to stand beside a door frame painted a certain shade of brown, or a comb was placed at the entrance of the church: if one could run the comb through one’s hair, one was accepted. If the comb got stuck, one could not join (ibid.).
“To prevent any ambiguity in regard to racial classification and to preclude blacks with white ancestry from gaining the same legal status as full-blooded whites, lawmakers mandated the rule of the hypo-descent, or the ‘one-drop’ rule: Even the smallest amount (or drop) of African ancestry legally defined a person as black (…). Although the enforcement of the one-drop rule equalized all blacks in the eyes of the law, in everyday practice, significant differences developed between blacks of varying skin tones, hair textures, and facial features.” (Wilder 2010, 187)
As this quote by Wilder shows, the equalization of all Blacks in front of the law did not prevent an elite group of Black people with lighter skin to emerge. Russell-Cole et al. (2013, 58) describe how this elite sought to manifest an elevated status over darker-skinned African- Americans by stratifying the Black community socially through “private social clubs, churches, neighborhoods, educational institutions and business organisations” which were exclusive for lighter-skinned Blacks. An example of one such organisation was the “Blue Vein Society” in Nashville, for which one could only seek membership if their skin was light enough for the “spidery network of veins at the wrist to be visible to a panel of expert judges” (ibid.). Similar “tests” were carried out for membership in certain churches, where during reconstruction, to join a congregation one had to pass “a paper bag test, a door test, and /or a comb test” (ibid., 60). Here prospective members had to place their arm in a paper bag to see if their skin colour matched or was lighter than the colour of the bag, or they had to stand beside a door frame painted a certain shade of brown, or a comb was placed at the entrance of the church: if one could run the comb through one’s hair, one was accepted. If the comb got stuck, one could not join (ibid.).
These accounts bear testament not only to the complicated history of colorism, but also to the additional intra-group colour privileges or discriminations African-Americans have been confronted with. According to Russell-Cole et al. (2013, 61), the spatial segregation of lighter-skinned African-Americans that emerged in that era continues today, as “virtually every urban center across the country has a section where predominantly light-skinned and wealthier African-Americans reside”.
However, the “one-drop” rule resulted in equal discrimination of Black people no matter their tone of skin in front of the law, which in turn lead to a strengthened alliance of all people with African-American heritage in the era of the Civil Rights Movement and the Black Power movement (Jones 2000, 1518). In fact, studies conducted during the Black Power era show a significant ideological shift in attitudes to skin colour, leading to darker skin to gain a more positive connotation (Wilder 2010, 188). Notably, Jones (2000, 1518) describes how despite the “Black unity” displayed during the Black Power movement, sometimes “lighter-skinned Blacks [had] to prove their loyalty” and their “blackness” towards other members of the movement, due to the a “learned mistrust” towards lighter-skinned African-Americans.
In the next section I explore how colorism impacts social and political factors in for African-Americans contemporarily. I show how skin colour has an impact on privileges and disadvantages people of the African American community face, as well as discuss the underlying problem with naming colorism as a problem.
3.4 The contemporary Politics of Colour in the United States
In their work entitled “The Skin Color Paradox and the American Racial Order”, researchers Hochschild and Weaver (2007, 644) start their paper by referencing Wolf Blitzer, the CNN journalist, who during Hurricane Katrina remarked that “the most devastated victims of Katrina are ‘so poor and they are so black’ (Blitzer 2005)”. The authors point out that Blitzer’s remark sheds light on what Russell-Cole et al. (2013, 53) call “color classism”, namely that “racial minorities with dark skin the United States have been disproportionately disadvantaged for centuries” (Hochschild and Weaver 2007, 644). Darker-skinned African-Americans continue to face greater economic and societal challenges than lighter-skinned African-Americans. The extent of the consequences of one’s skin colour is pervasive and touches on almost all societal realms - economic, educational, judicial and inter-personal, as social research has shown:
Empirically, it has been shown that lighter-skinned African-Americans tend to be better educated, hold better employment and earn more than darker-skinned African-Americans (Thompson and Keith 2001, 337). Conversely, darker-skinned African-Americans “have lower levels of education, income and job status. They are less likely to own homes or marry; and dark-skinned Blacks’ prison sentences are longer” (Hochschild and Weaver 2007, 644). In the justice system, Black defendants “are twice as likely to receive the death penalty if they have dark skin and more Afrocentric facial features than if they do not” (Thompson and Keith 2001, 337f.). In the realm of public life, elected politicians are “disproportionately” lighter-skinned (Hochschild and Weaver 2007, 45).
Just like chapter 2 showed for the issue of hair, the topic of skin colour discrimination is also gendered. Thompson and Keith point out that while both genders are concerned by colorism prejudice, “it appears that these effects are stronger for women than men” (Thompson and Keith 2001, 338). In a study on the colorism that women from Mexican-American and African-American communities face, Hunter (2002, 188) finds that those women “who more closely resemble whites receive more rewards, even when they do not work harder or study harder than their darker skinned sisters” and the researcher bluntly sums up that “phenotype mediates the way people are perceived”. Also, Hunter finds that lighter skin correlates with a higher economic status of a person’s spouse (ibid., 187). In general, it has been shown that Black men tend to prefer lighter-skinned women as their partners (Jones 2000, 1520, Thompson and Keith 2001, 338). The overall analysis of the social impact of darker skin on African-American women lead Thompson and Keith to claim that this group experiences a “’quadruple’ oppression, originating in the convergence of social inequalities based on gender, class, race, and color” (Thompson and Keith 2001, 353).
Despite the evident disadvantages that darker-skinned African-Americans face in comparison to lighter-skinned African-Americans, there has been little preoccupation with the issue of colorism in the Black community. In fact, Russell-Cole et al. (2013, 75) stress that “the effects of skin colour on Black identity are far from straight forward”. Hochschild and Weaver (2007) dedicate a whole study to what they call the “skin color paradox”. While it has been empirically shown that darker-skinned African Americans experience a vast degree of “secondary marginalization” (Hochschild and Weaver 2007, 658) due to the colour of their skin, “blacks’ perception of discrimination, belief that their fates are linked, or attachment to their race almost never vary by skin color” (ibid., 643). According to the authors, the reasons for this disparity are manifold and hard to pin down, but they nevertheless attempt to formulate a general explanation:
“Blacks' commitment to racial identity overrides the potential for skin color discrimination to have political significance. That is, because most blacks see the fight against racial hierarchy as requiring their primary allegiance, they do not see or do not choose to express concern about the internal hierarchy of skin tone. Thus dark-skinned blacks' widespread experience of harm has no political outlet - which generates the skin color paradox.” (ibid., 643)
In short, then, the “mobilization around primary marginalization trumps mobilization around secondary marginalization” (ibid., 658). The inclusion of this particular concept should not suggest that colorism represents a greater problem than racism in the United States (or other contexts) (ibid., 60). If anything, it is questionable to quantitatively dissect the level of marginalization an individual faces due to different aspects of their appearance or identity. However, Hochschild and Weaver stress that the issue of colorism should not be “ignored as trivial or submerged from public view in the name of racial solidarity” (ibid., 66).
After having theoretically and empirically evaluated the topics Hair and Colorism, the next chapter is dedicated to an analysis of the underlying conflict between the two women that is exemplified by their dialogue on these issues which I broadly summarize as issues of Blackness or Black identity.
3.4 The contemporary Politics of Colour in the United States
In their work entitled “The Skin Color Paradox and the American Racial Order”, researchers Hochschild and Weaver (2007, 644) start their paper by referencing Wolf Blitzer, the CNN journalist, who during Hurricane Katrina remarked that “the most devastated victims of Katrina are ‘so poor and they are so black’ (Blitzer 2005)”. The authors point out that Blitzer’s remark sheds light on what Russell-Cole et al. (2013, 53) call “color classism”, namely that “racial minorities with dark skin the United States have been disproportionately disadvantaged for centuries” (Hochschild and Weaver 2007, 644). Darker-skinned African-Americans continue to face greater economic and societal challenges than lighter-skinned African-Americans. The extent of the consequences of one’s skin colour is pervasive and touches on almost all societal realms - economic, educational, judicial and inter-personal, as social research has shown:
Empirically, it has been shown that lighter-skinned African-Americans tend to be better educated, hold better employment and earn more than darker-skinned African-Americans (Thompson and Keith 2001, 337). Conversely, darker-skinned African-Americans “have lower levels of education, income and job status. They are less likely to own homes or marry; and dark-skinned Blacks’ prison sentences are longer” (Hochschild and Weaver 2007, 644). In the justice system, Black defendants “are twice as likely to receive the death penalty if they have dark skin and more Afrocentric facial features than if they do not” (Thompson and Keith 2001, 337f.). In the realm of public life, elected politicians are “disproportionately” lighter-skinned (Hochschild and Weaver 2007, 45).
Just like chapter 2 showed for the issue of hair, the topic of skin colour discrimination is also gendered. Thompson and Keith point out that while both genders are concerned by colorism prejudice, “it appears that these effects are stronger for women than men” (Thompson and Keith 2001, 338). In a study on the colorism that women from Mexican-American and African-American communities face, Hunter (2002, 188) finds that those women “who more closely resemble whites receive more rewards, even when they do not work harder or study harder than their darker skinned sisters” and the researcher bluntly sums up that “phenotype mediates the way people are perceived”. Also, Hunter finds that lighter skin correlates with a higher economic status of a person’s spouse (ibid., 187). In general, it has been shown that Black men tend to prefer lighter-skinned women as their partners (Jones 2000, 1520, Thompson and Keith 2001, 338). The overall analysis of the social impact of darker skin on African-American women lead Thompson and Keith to claim that this group experiences a “’quadruple’ oppression, originating in the convergence of social inequalities based on gender, class, race, and color” (Thompson and Keith 2001, 353).
Despite the evident disadvantages that darker-skinned African-Americans face in comparison to lighter-skinned African-Americans, there has been little preoccupation with the issue of colorism in the Black community. In fact, Russell-Cole et al. (2013, 75) stress that “the effects of skin colour on Black identity are far from straight forward”. Hochschild and Weaver (2007) dedicate a whole study to what they call the “skin color paradox”. While it has been empirically shown that darker-skinned African Americans experience a vast degree of “secondary marginalization” (Hochschild and Weaver 2007, 658) due to the colour of their skin, “blacks’ perception of discrimination, belief that their fates are linked, or attachment to their race almost never vary by skin color” (ibid., 643). According to the authors, the reasons for this disparity are manifold and hard to pin down, but they nevertheless attempt to formulate a general explanation:
“Blacks' commitment to racial identity overrides the potential for skin color discrimination to have political significance. That is, because most blacks see the fight against racial hierarchy as requiring their primary allegiance, they do not see or do not choose to express concern about the internal hierarchy of skin tone. Thus dark-skinned blacks' widespread experience of harm has no political outlet - which generates the skin color paradox.” (ibid., 643)
In short, then, the “mobilization around primary marginalization trumps mobilization around secondary marginalization” (ibid., 658). The inclusion of this particular concept should not suggest that colorism represents a greater problem than racism in the United States (or other contexts) (ibid., 60). If anything, it is questionable to quantitatively dissect the level of marginalization an individual faces due to different aspects of their appearance or identity. However, Hochschild and Weaver stress that the issue of colorism should not be “ignored as trivial or submerged from public view in the name of racial solidarity” (ibid., 66).
After having theoretically and empirically evaluated the topics Hair and Colorism, the next chapter is dedicated to an analysis of the underlying conflict between the two women that is exemplified by their dialogue on these issues which I broadly summarize as issues of Blackness or Black identity.
4. “Woke or Not?” Exploring Sam and Coco’s “Ideological Chasm”
As Sam and her friends crash the blackface party, Sam runs into Coco, who has chosen to attend the party herself. In disbelief she asks:
Sam: Really, Coco?
Coco: What? You want to be a freedom fighter? Go ahead. This may come as a shock to you but these people don’t give a fuck about no Harriet motherfucking Tubman [11]. They spend millions of dollars on their lips, their tans, their asses, Kanye tickets, because they want to be like us. And they got to be for a night. I’m not about to go out into the street and protest a fucking Halloween party.
Narrator: This perspective on race made the ideological chasm between Sam and Coco deeper than Thane’s [a minor character who has an accident and subsequently dies] grave.
(Chapter IV, minutes 1.50-2.15, italics by F.A.)
As we can see in this quote, Coco addresses a fundamental conflict between the two women: Coco had chosen to attend the very party that Sam has chosen to crash. Coco chooses to reinterpret the blackface party not as an act of racism, but as an act of white people wanting “to be like us”. Whether or not Coco entirely believes in this interpretation of a blackface party is left unaddressed. As the narrator adds pointedly, this scene illustrates their “ideological chasm”, a term that I have borrowed for the title of this chapter.
As I hinted in the introduction, an oversimplified reading of Sam and Coco would not have necessitated this paper. One could have just concluded that Sam represents the righteous and selfless revolutionary who continues fighting for her cause, willing to self-sacrifice for it. Coco, on the other hand, represents the utilitarian and somewhat self-centred conformist, who mostly seeks to better her own standing in society through the resources available to her, but does not care much for participating in any form of social resistance. However, a closer analysis of these characters’ tropes and the exploration of their individual trajectories paints a different picture. To break with the aforementioned heuristic, I will devote one section to each character in the following. I argue that it is in the issue of hair that the simplified representation of the two women’s positions is further entrenched, but it is in the issue of skin colour that the interpretation of their paths becomes more complex.
4.1 Sam: The Privileged Revolutionary
Throughout the series and in the excerpts presented in this paper, it is without a doubt that Sam’s character aims to position herself as a devoted activist. On hair, we have learned that she chooses to wear it without chemically altering it. In line with the theoretical and historical analysis of Black women’s hair, not conforming to the white beauty standard can in itself be read as an act of resistance on Sam’s part. It is note-worthy that her hairstyle has changed from when she first starts at college (wearing a straightened weave) to the time when the series takes place (intricate braids), hinting at a physical change in line with an ideological change. Sam undoubtedly considers herself “woke” and her hair, along with her general dress style, is meant to represent that. In light of the historic oppression that Black women wearing their hair naturally have faced, her hair-resistance adds to her ideological conviction.
As Sam and her friends crash the blackface party, Sam runs into Coco, who has chosen to attend the party herself. In disbelief she asks:
Sam: Really, Coco?
Coco: What? You want to be a freedom fighter? Go ahead. This may come as a shock to you but these people don’t give a fuck about no Harriet motherfucking Tubman [11]. They spend millions of dollars on their lips, their tans, their asses, Kanye tickets, because they want to be like us. And they got to be for a night. I’m not about to go out into the street and protest a fucking Halloween party.
Narrator: This perspective on race made the ideological chasm between Sam and Coco deeper than Thane’s [a minor character who has an accident and subsequently dies] grave.
(Chapter IV, minutes 1.50-2.15, italics by F.A.)
As we can see in this quote, Coco addresses a fundamental conflict between the two women: Coco had chosen to attend the very party that Sam has chosen to crash. Coco chooses to reinterpret the blackface party not as an act of racism, but as an act of white people wanting “to be like us”. Whether or not Coco entirely believes in this interpretation of a blackface party is left unaddressed. As the narrator adds pointedly, this scene illustrates their “ideological chasm”, a term that I have borrowed for the title of this chapter.
As I hinted in the introduction, an oversimplified reading of Sam and Coco would not have necessitated this paper. One could have just concluded that Sam represents the righteous and selfless revolutionary who continues fighting for her cause, willing to self-sacrifice for it. Coco, on the other hand, represents the utilitarian and somewhat self-centred conformist, who mostly seeks to better her own standing in society through the resources available to her, but does not care much for participating in any form of social resistance. However, a closer analysis of these characters’ tropes and the exploration of their individual trajectories paints a different picture. To break with the aforementioned heuristic, I will devote one section to each character in the following. I argue that it is in the issue of hair that the simplified representation of the two women’s positions is further entrenched, but it is in the issue of skin colour that the interpretation of their paths becomes more complex.
4.1 Sam: The Privileged Revolutionary
Throughout the series and in the excerpts presented in this paper, it is without a doubt that Sam’s character aims to position herself as a devoted activist. On hair, we have learned that she chooses to wear it without chemically altering it. In line with the theoretical and historical analysis of Black women’s hair, not conforming to the white beauty standard can in itself be read as an act of resistance on Sam’s part. It is note-worthy that her hairstyle has changed from when she first starts at college (wearing a straightened weave) to the time when the series takes place (intricate braids), hinting at a physical change in line with an ideological change. Sam undoubtedly considers herself “woke” and her hair, along with her general dress style, is meant to represent that. In light of the historic oppression that Black women wearing their hair naturally have faced, her hair-resistance adds to her ideological conviction.
On skin colour, matters become more complex. As was shown at the beginning of chapter 3, Sam is reminded by Coco that she enjoys light-skin privilege several times. The deeper analysis of this issue in Chapter 3 has shown that Coco is not wrong with her reproach that Sam “get[s] away with murder, because [she] looks more like them” than Coco does. Conversely, this implies that if Coco were to exhibit a similar form of activism to Sam, she might suffer more severe repercussions for it. While this is difficult to prove, it is a note-worthy charge against Sam and it opens up a difficult question for her: Does her light-skin privilege allow her to be the activist that she is?
The question is left unanswered in the series, but Simien’s invocation of this issue should not be dismissed as a minor off-handed comment. Rather, I would argue that in bringing up this conflict between the two women, he intends to show that the colorism and the classism that go hand in hand do intensely affect the way in which a person is able to show resistance. He does not belittle Sam for her activism, but he seems to want to remind whoever is watching the series, that self-righteousness in activism comes at a cost. Conversely, the message Simien seems to want to convey with Sam’s character is that self-reflection on one’s privilege is warranted before criticising how “Woke or Not” someone is.
4.2 Coco: The Realist Preservationist
Coco is initially represented as someone who fits into a classic neo-liberal representation of self-improvement. As opposed to Sam, she joins a prestigious Black sorority, something that Sam rejects. She starts a relationship with Troy, who is the college dean’s son, and imagines herself, in one quote, as “the second female Black president” (DWP, Chapter IX, minute 20). Her life is meticulously planned out and she does not devote any time to activism. Her apparent resistance to the resistance and her tendency to adapt to rather than to deconstruct the white beauty standards is represented in her hair. In the series, she devotes time and money to having weaves put in. She also suffers through pain when those are put in, something that Sam does not understand. This is also reflected in the excerpt given in 2.1, in which Sam directly confronts Coco for her willingness to suffer for her hair.
The question is left unanswered in the series, but Simien’s invocation of this issue should not be dismissed as a minor off-handed comment. Rather, I would argue that in bringing up this conflict between the two women, he intends to show that the colorism and the classism that go hand in hand do intensely affect the way in which a person is able to show resistance. He does not belittle Sam for her activism, but he seems to want to remind whoever is watching the series, that self-righteousness in activism comes at a cost. Conversely, the message Simien seems to want to convey with Sam’s character is that self-reflection on one’s privilege is warranted before criticising how “Woke or Not” someone is.
4.2 Coco: The Realist Preservationist
Coco is initially represented as someone who fits into a classic neo-liberal representation of self-improvement. As opposed to Sam, she joins a prestigious Black sorority, something that Sam rejects. She starts a relationship with Troy, who is the college dean’s son, and imagines herself, in one quote, as “the second female Black president” (DWP, Chapter IX, minute 20). Her life is meticulously planned out and she does not devote any time to activism. Her apparent resistance to the resistance and her tendency to adapt to rather than to deconstruct the white beauty standards is represented in her hair. In the series, she devotes time and money to having weaves put in. She also suffers through pain when those are put in, something that Sam does not understand. This is also reflected in the excerpt given in 2.1, in which Sam directly confronts Coco for her willingness to suffer for her hair.
However, as we learn throughout the series, Coco’s aversion to participating in the social activism brought forward by Sam does not mean that she is any less aware of the injustices Black people continue to face systemically, structurally and most significantly – personally. After campus police threatens one of the Black students, Reggie, with a gun at a party, a discussion erupts in Armstrong Parker about how to deal with this incident. Coco’s response in this discussion is revealing of her own stance towards social struggle:
Unknown student 1: If cops in the real world aren’t held accountable, how can we expect a Winchester cop to suffer anything but a slap on the wrist?
Sam: Exactly. We need to make an example out of that glorified security guard.
(…)
Unknown Student 2: Thoughts and prayers don’t stop bullets (...). We need to run up on that campus pig and handle this ourselves.
Coco: Listen to yourselves. Running up on a cop? Calling them pigs? As soon as you double down on your Blackness, they will double down on their bullshit. They pull guns on us. They shoot us. They kill us. That has not changed in 200 years. We need to manage our Blackness in situations like these.
Lionel: You’re talking about assimilation?
Coco: No, I am talking about self-preservation. Quote me correctly. I grew up on the South Side of Chicago. I’ve actually seen friends and family members shot. And every time it happens I wish they had done something, anything to prevent it. Some of y’all in here with your liberal purity wasting time deciding who is Black enough. Who cares if you’re woke or not, if you’re dead?
(DWP, chapter VI, minutes 4.40-6.05, italics by F.A.)
In the series, Coco stresses several times that her skin colour has meant that she was aware of discriminations towards her from a very young age. To a certain extent, she seems to take a much more dire look at the injustices Black people face, as is shown in this quote. She does not believe that radical resistance serves the purpose of revolution. Rather she situates the situation Reggie found himself in in a direct continuum of the historical oppression Black people have faced: “As soon as you double down on your Blackness, they will double down on their bullshit. They pull guns on us. They shoot us. They kill us. This has not changed in 200 years”. She continues to describe that she has lived through close friends and family members harmed by police officers and pointedly ends her monologue with another dig at Sam and the Black Student Union: “Some of y’all in here with your liberal purity wasting time deciding who is Black enough. Who cares if you’re woke or not, if you’re dead?”. It is of course not solely Coco’s skin colour which has led her to take this approach. But it is reasonable to assume that due to her upbringing in a disadvantaged neighbourhood and the personal discriminations she has faced due to the colour of her skin, she has witnessed what Russell-Cole et al. (2013, 27) call “color-class” stratification. This is especially clear when she rejects the term “assimilation” and instead uses the term “self-preservation” to explain her attitude towards the campus gun incident.
Unknown student 1: If cops in the real world aren’t held accountable, how can we expect a Winchester cop to suffer anything but a slap on the wrist?
Sam: Exactly. We need to make an example out of that glorified security guard.
(…)
Unknown Student 2: Thoughts and prayers don’t stop bullets (...). We need to run up on that campus pig and handle this ourselves.
Coco: Listen to yourselves. Running up on a cop? Calling them pigs? As soon as you double down on your Blackness, they will double down on their bullshit. They pull guns on us. They shoot us. They kill us. That has not changed in 200 years. We need to manage our Blackness in situations like these.
Lionel: You’re talking about assimilation?
Coco: No, I am talking about self-preservation. Quote me correctly. I grew up on the South Side of Chicago. I’ve actually seen friends and family members shot. And every time it happens I wish they had done something, anything to prevent it. Some of y’all in here with your liberal purity wasting time deciding who is Black enough. Who cares if you’re woke or not, if you’re dead?
(DWP, chapter VI, minutes 4.40-6.05, italics by F.A.)
In the series, Coco stresses several times that her skin colour has meant that she was aware of discriminations towards her from a very young age. To a certain extent, she seems to take a much more dire look at the injustices Black people face, as is shown in this quote. She does not believe that radical resistance serves the purpose of revolution. Rather she situates the situation Reggie found himself in in a direct continuum of the historical oppression Black people have faced: “As soon as you double down on your Blackness, they will double down on their bullshit. They pull guns on us. They shoot us. They kill us. This has not changed in 200 years”. She continues to describe that she has lived through close friends and family members harmed by police officers and pointedly ends her monologue with another dig at Sam and the Black Student Union: “Some of y’all in here with your liberal purity wasting time deciding who is Black enough. Who cares if you’re woke or not, if you’re dead?”. It is of course not solely Coco’s skin colour which has led her to take this approach. But it is reasonable to assume that due to her upbringing in a disadvantaged neighbourhood and the personal discriminations she has faced due to the colour of her skin, she has witnessed what Russell-Cole et al. (2013, 27) call “color-class” stratification. This is especially clear when she rejects the term “assimilation” and instead uses the term “self-preservation” to explain her attitude towards the campus gun incident.
It is reasonable to assume that Simien introduced the character of Coco to puzzle the viewer. She does not fit the mould of the opportunist conformist. Rather, as we have seen, she seems to want to make the best of a dire situation by means of self-improvement. This is why her attitude should not be named as “conformist” but rather, to use her own words, “preservationist” and this is why she does away with distinguishing who is “Woke or Not”.
4.3 Negotiating Blackness – Choosing Sam or Coco’s path?
The underlying question that arises when analysing Sam and Coco’s complex character tropes is one of modes of resistance. Both of these women have arguably chosen very different paths in resisting racial oppression. It is apparent that both are strongly aware of the continued oppression of Black people through structural, systemic and inter-personal discrimination. However, each chooses a different path to negotiating their own Blackness in light of these disadvantages. Sam chooses the path of the activist; Coco chooses the path of the preservationist. Simien does not weigh in on which approach is better or more sustainable. Perhaps this is because neither approach should be evaluated as “better” by the viewer. However, having analysed both Sam and Coco’s trajectories, I think it is fair to say that both embody a strategy for resistance. Weitz (2015, 669) writes that resistance is an elusive concept that is hard to pin down. However, it should not be evaluated by its effectiveness, since it is also hard to pin down what effectiveness actually means. Rather, she argues, we ought to abandon effectiveness as a measure of resistance (ibid.). Maybe one such step would be to broaden the scope of viewing resistance from the obvious social activism approach that Sam chooses, to include Coco’s approach of individual betterment. Both paths are seemingly borne out of individual experience and an innate feeling of injustice and either path as this analysis has shown, holds merit. The question Simien asks then shifts from who is “Woke or Not”, to a more differentiated analysis of individual modes of resistance. [12]
4.3 Negotiating Blackness – Choosing Sam or Coco’s path?
The underlying question that arises when analysing Sam and Coco’s complex character tropes is one of modes of resistance. Both of these women have arguably chosen very different paths in resisting racial oppression. It is apparent that both are strongly aware of the continued oppression of Black people through structural, systemic and inter-personal discrimination. However, each chooses a different path to negotiating their own Blackness in light of these disadvantages. Sam chooses the path of the activist; Coco chooses the path of the preservationist. Simien does not weigh in on which approach is better or more sustainable. Perhaps this is because neither approach should be evaluated as “better” by the viewer. However, having analysed both Sam and Coco’s trajectories, I think it is fair to say that both embody a strategy for resistance. Weitz (2015, 669) writes that resistance is an elusive concept that is hard to pin down. However, it should not be evaluated by its effectiveness, since it is also hard to pin down what effectiveness actually means. Rather, she argues, we ought to abandon effectiveness as a measure of resistance (ibid.). Maybe one such step would be to broaden the scope of viewing resistance from the obvious social activism approach that Sam chooses, to include Coco’s approach of individual betterment. Both paths are seemingly borne out of individual experience and an innate feeling of injustice and either path as this analysis has shown, holds merit. The question Simien asks then shifts from who is “Woke or Not”, to a more differentiated analysis of individual modes of resistance. [12]
Conclusion
In this paper, I have analysed the characters Sam and Coco of Justin Simien’s Netflix series Dear White People. After introducing the series’ content, I proceeded to give deeper insight in the issues of Black women’s hair and colorism. These two topics were chosen because they were continuously invoked as points of conflict between the two characters. A deeper theoretical and historical analysis of both issues showed that they are part of physical representations of resistance and compliance to the “aesthetic hegemony” of the white beauty standard (hair) and stratified discriminations (skin color). The preoccupation with both issues has its historical roots in slavery, where straighter hair and lighter skin started to be privileged in U.S. American society as opposed to coarser hair and darker skin.
In this paper, I have analysed the characters Sam and Coco of Justin Simien’s Netflix series Dear White People. After introducing the series’ content, I proceeded to give deeper insight in the issues of Black women’s hair and colorism. These two topics were chosen because they were continuously invoked as points of conflict between the two characters. A deeper theoretical and historical analysis of both issues showed that they are part of physical representations of resistance and compliance to the “aesthetic hegemony” of the white beauty standard (hair) and stratified discriminations (skin color). The preoccupation with both issues has its historical roots in slavery, where straighter hair and lighter skin started to be privileged in U.S. American society as opposed to coarser hair and darker skin.
For both Sam and Coco, these issues are of relevance. Both women taunt each other with the subjects, as excerpts from DWP showed. Also, the formation of their own identities, their strategies for resistance to racial oppression and their negotiation of their own Blackness is strongly entangled with the hairstyles they choose and how they are perceived due to the colour of their skins. In the last chapter, I summarized how the initial superficial reading of Sam and Coco as the Revolutionary versus the Conformist does not hold. In fact, I ended up assigning new titles to each woman’s conduct: Sam is better denoted as the privileged Revolutionary, whose approach does not always take into account the difficult experience of structural disadvantage that people that stem from a similar background as Coco go through. Coco, conversely, cannot be dismissed as a thoughtless Conformist. Rather, her approach stems from a deep conviction of the enduring oppression Black people face. Her response is a fierce belief in individual optimisation, driven by deep ambition to make the best out of the advantages she was lucky enough to have while being strongly aware of the disadvantages she faces. Simien does not ask the viewer to judge which character’s approach holds more transformative potential or is the “right” way to resistance. The question is not whether Sam or Coco are “Woke or Not”, it is rather how they came to choose their personal modes of resistance.
The points made in this paper are manifold and touch on a variety of issues. However, due to space restrictions, I was unable to address a number of other topics that are also part of Sam and Coco’s conversations and their wider storylines. One of those concerns the issue of romance and inter-racial relationships, topics which both women have a hard time negotiating. Another topic, that is not necessarily part of their storylines, concerns issues of queerness and Blackness. All of these were not explored due to the space restrictions of this paper, but they undoubtedly present interesting topics that each warrant closer examination by themselves.
In a paper of Black women’s identity formation, Wilkins (2012, 174) writes that she views “women’s stories as both cultural products and culturally productive (…)”. While Wilkins goes on to analyse the narratives of her interviewees, her point is applicable to the analysis conducted in this paper. Both Sam and Coco are fictional characters created by Justin Simien. Their stories are cultural products, for sure, but their storylines are also culturally productive, as I have shown in this paper: Sam and Coco can be seen as inventive new archetypes for varieties of Black women’s resistance and the negotiation of Blackness in the new Millennia. It will be interesting to see how their stories continue.
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In a paper of Black women’s identity formation, Wilkins (2012, 174) writes that she views “women’s stories as both cultural products and culturally productive (…)”. While Wilkins goes on to analyse the narratives of her interviewees, her point is applicable to the analysis conducted in this paper. Both Sam and Coco are fictional characters created by Justin Simien. Their stories are cultural products, for sure, but their storylines are also culturally productive, as I have shown in this paper: Sam and Coco can be seen as inventive new archetypes for varieties of Black women’s resistance and the negotiation of Blackness in the new Millennia. It will be interesting to see how their stories continue.
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Appendix: Dear White People-Excerpts
Chapter I
(Min 13.20-13.50)
Coco: Coco, CORE’s new treasurer.
Sam: Real name: Colandrea. C-O-L-A-N-D-R-E-A. For accuracy.
Coco: Don’t do it boo. Not with that mess on top your head you like to pass off as natural. Held together by bobby-pins and prayer? Lord.
Sam: You want to go there? With half of India’s GDP on top your head?
Joelle (to Lionel): They kinda got beef.
Lionel: Kind of picked that up.
Coco: We have nothing, sweets. I just happen to find to be little more than self-serving, Blacker-than-thou propaganda. Feel free to quote me, Lionel.
Chapter IV
(Blackface party)
(Min 1.50-2.15)
Sam: Really, Coco?
Coco: What? You want to be a freedom fighter? Go ahead. This may come as a shock to you but these people don’t give a fuck about no Harriet motherfucking Tubman. They spend millions of dollars on their lips, their tans, their asses, Kanye tickets, because they want to be like us. And they got to be for a night. I’m not about to go out into the street and protest a fucking Halloween party.
Narrator: This perspective on race made the ideological chasm between Sam and Coco deeper than Thane’s grave.
(Min 4.17-4.23)
Sam: Oh look, it’s Coco and the Marshmallows.
Coco: Normally I wouldn’t dignify your rants with a response, but today your entry level black rage is particularly galling, Rosa Sparks. Tell me, is using your radio-show to drag other Black women part of your revolution?
Sam: If it brings truth to the masses, yes. I drags who needs dragging.
Coco: Imagine the reaction if your divisive revolutionary dribble were coming from the mouth of a real sister.
Sam: A real sister? (laughs)
Coco: You get away with murder because you look more like them than I do. That’s your light-skin privilege. Until you acknowledge that, shut the fuck up about who is woke or not.
(Min 8.21- 9.04)
Sam: Dear White People, having a Black vibrator does not count as an interracial relationship.
Coco: Dear White People, dating a Black guy to piss off your parents doesn’t make you down. It makes you an asshole.
Sam: Dear White People, no. You cannot take me home to meet your parents at Thanksgiving. If you need a prop to prove how cultured you’ve become, get a handbag.
Coco: Oh my god, tell me why Muffy invited me home the day after we met.
Sam: Mmm-mm, that’s your crew.
Coco: If eight years of private school taught me anything it’s that you’ve got to join them early. Besides, they mean well.
Sam: Let you tell it.
(Min 9.20-9.54)
Sam: AP is a really inclusive place.
Unkown student: Excuse me, this table is reserved for the Black Student Union.
Coco: We were just leaving anyway.
Sam: What the fuck? What if I wanted to join them? Why do people always assume I’m not down?
Coco: Dear half-white person, you’re just not Black enough for the Union…Just kidding.
(Min. 19.30-20.55)
Coco: “Sweets, the oppressed do not get their freedom by appealing to the morality of their oppressor. Ever think of that? Assata Shakur did, so boom.”
Sam: “Don’t Assata Shakur me. I told you about Assata Shakur. And what would she say about you overdrawing your bank account for a weave?”
Coco: “You have a rat’s nest on top of your head with a comb sticking out of it, running around campus, trying to be Miss Blackety-Black-Black.”
Sam: “I wanted an avant-garde look. Like Solange. Something that says: ‘I’m woke, but I’ll also kick your ass in an elevator.’
Coco: “’Dear White People. Let me tell you about yourselves while I don’t even know who the hell I am.”
Sam: “Oh, I don’t know who I am, Colandrea?”
Coco: “No, you don’t, but I do. You’re the girl who didn’t learn she was Black until Beth Wheeler left you out of her second-grade sleepover, ‘cause you’d be the ‘only one’.”
Sam: “That is the last time I share a personal story with you.”
Coco: “Well you see, with me, there is no confusion. People take one look at my skin and they assume that I’m poor or uneducated or ratchet. So yeah, I tone it down. Make myself more palatable, join a sorority, what’s so wrong with that?”
Sam: “Everything.”
Coco: “’Dear White People, you made me hate myself as a kid, so now I hate you and that’s my secret shame.’”
Sam: “’Dear White People, if you wanted to demoralize us with your European beauty standards, mission accomplished. Ooh, ow, ooh, ow.’”
Coco: “Dear White People, you’re a selfish bitch and I don’t want to live with you anymore.”
Chapter VI
Chapter I
(Min 13.20-13.50)
Coco: Coco, CORE’s new treasurer.
Sam: Real name: Colandrea. C-O-L-A-N-D-R-E-A. For accuracy.
Coco: Don’t do it boo. Not with that mess on top your head you like to pass off as natural. Held together by bobby-pins and prayer? Lord.
Sam: You want to go there? With half of India’s GDP on top your head?
Joelle (to Lionel): They kinda got beef.
Lionel: Kind of picked that up.
Coco: We have nothing, sweets. I just happen to find to be little more than self-serving, Blacker-than-thou propaganda. Feel free to quote me, Lionel.
Chapter IV
(Blackface party)
(Min 1.50-2.15)
Sam: Really, Coco?
Coco: What? You want to be a freedom fighter? Go ahead. This may come as a shock to you but these people don’t give a fuck about no Harriet motherfucking Tubman. They spend millions of dollars on their lips, their tans, their asses, Kanye tickets, because they want to be like us. And they got to be for a night. I’m not about to go out into the street and protest a fucking Halloween party.
Narrator: This perspective on race made the ideological chasm between Sam and Coco deeper than Thane’s grave.
(Min 4.17-4.23)
Sam: Oh look, it’s Coco and the Marshmallows.
Coco: Normally I wouldn’t dignify your rants with a response, but today your entry level black rage is particularly galling, Rosa Sparks. Tell me, is using your radio-show to drag other Black women part of your revolution?
Sam: If it brings truth to the masses, yes. I drags who needs dragging.
Coco: Imagine the reaction if your divisive revolutionary dribble were coming from the mouth of a real sister.
Sam: A real sister? (laughs)
Coco: You get away with murder because you look more like them than I do. That’s your light-skin privilege. Until you acknowledge that, shut the fuck up about who is woke or not.
(Min 8.21- 9.04)
Sam: Dear White People, having a Black vibrator does not count as an interracial relationship.
Coco: Dear White People, dating a Black guy to piss off your parents doesn’t make you down. It makes you an asshole.
Sam: Dear White People, no. You cannot take me home to meet your parents at Thanksgiving. If you need a prop to prove how cultured you’ve become, get a handbag.
Coco: Oh my god, tell me why Muffy invited me home the day after we met.
Sam: Mmm-mm, that’s your crew.
Coco: If eight years of private school taught me anything it’s that you’ve got to join them early. Besides, they mean well.
Sam: Let you tell it.
(Min 9.20-9.54)
Sam: AP is a really inclusive place.
Unkown student: Excuse me, this table is reserved for the Black Student Union.
Coco: We were just leaving anyway.
Sam: What the fuck? What if I wanted to join them? Why do people always assume I’m not down?
Coco: Dear half-white person, you’re just not Black enough for the Union…Just kidding.
(Min. 19.30-20.55)
Coco: “Sweets, the oppressed do not get their freedom by appealing to the morality of their oppressor. Ever think of that? Assata Shakur did, so boom.”
Sam: “Don’t Assata Shakur me. I told you about Assata Shakur. And what would she say about you overdrawing your bank account for a weave?”
Coco: “You have a rat’s nest on top of your head with a comb sticking out of it, running around campus, trying to be Miss Blackety-Black-Black.”
Sam: “I wanted an avant-garde look. Like Solange. Something that says: ‘I’m woke, but I’ll also kick your ass in an elevator.’
Coco: “’Dear White People. Let me tell you about yourselves while I don’t even know who the hell I am.”
Sam: “Oh, I don’t know who I am, Colandrea?”
Coco: “No, you don’t, but I do. You’re the girl who didn’t learn she was Black until Beth Wheeler left you out of her second-grade sleepover, ‘cause you’d be the ‘only one’.”
Sam: “That is the last time I share a personal story with you.”
Coco: “Well you see, with me, there is no confusion. People take one look at my skin and they assume that I’m poor or uneducated or ratchet. So yeah, I tone it down. Make myself more palatable, join a sorority, what’s so wrong with that?”
Sam: “Everything.”
Coco: “’Dear White People, you made me hate myself as a kid, so now I hate you and that’s my secret shame.’”
Sam: “’Dear White People, if you wanted to demoralize us with your European beauty standards, mission accomplished. Ooh, ow, ooh, ow.’”
Coco: “Dear White People, you’re a selfish bitch and I don’t want to live with you anymore.”
Chapter VI
(Min 4.40-6.05)
Unknown student 1: If cops in the real world aren’t held accountable, how can we expect a Winchester cop to suffer anything but a slap on the wrist?
Sam: Exactly. We need to make an example out of that glorified security guard.
Unknown Student 2: Yo, I want to know who called the cops. Bring that fool to me right now.
Gabe: What the fuck were these guys doing with guns in the first place?
Unknown student 3: Brother Reggie, just know that our thoughts and prayers are with you.
Unknown Student 2: Thoughts and prayers don’t stop bullets, Pastor Kordell. We need to run up on that campus pig and handle this ourselves.
Coco: Listen to yourselves. Running up on a cop? Calling them pigs? As soon as you double down on your Blackness, they will double down on their bullshit. They pull guns on us. They shoot us. They kill us. That has not changed in 200 years. We need to manage our blackness in situations like these.
Lionel: You’re talking about assimilation?
Coco: No, I am talking about self-preservation. Quote me correctly. I grew up on the South Side of Chicago. I’ve actually seen friends and family members shot. And every time it happens I wish they had done something, anything to prevent it. Some of y’all in here with your liberal purity wasting time deciding who is Black enough. Who cares if you’re woke or not, if you’re dead.
Chapter IX
(Mins 13.52- 15.00)
Sam: Dear White People of Pastiche. Which is redundant. Redacted Pages? That’s what you call satire these days? You think you can scare me off with that nonsense? That’s just as ridiculous as the administration holding a town hall, thinking they can placate us. The more you try to silence us, mock us, discredit us, the more resolved we are to change things. This shit is fuel.
Coco: Hey Sam, have a minute?
Sam: What’s up with your hair? I mean I love it, but do you need money? Are you high?
Coco: Not since your peace offering. No, it’s been a while since you and I sat around and talked.
Sam: Yeah. We used to talk some shit.
Coco: I got to hand it to you, at least your shit-talking is changing the world. What’s going on?
Sam: Nothing.
Coco: Don’t “nothing” me. I know you. Whenever you hit the kitchen like this, something is wrong. What’s going on with you and white bae?
Sam: I really fucked things up. I don’t want to talk about it.
Coco: Ok, we could talk about something else.
Sam: Maybe I’m not supposed to have a personal life. Maybe all of this is a sign that I’m just supposed to focus on the important things.
Coco: Like your protest? Sam, you don’t have to be a slave to the cause, you know.
Sam: It’s bigger than me, Co.
Coco: If you really want to change things, don’t protest the town hall.
Sam: What are you talking about?
Coco: There are some very influential people who want to integrate A-P. This protest could send them over the edge.
Sam: Integrate A-P? I don’t know who these people are or what edge they are on but they can jump the fuck off.
Coco: Sam, they’ve pledged ten million dollars to the university. That could go towards recruiting students of color-
Sam: Troy’s got you drinking his Kool-Aid – or rather his daddy’s Kool-Aid. So you came to give me a taste, but guess what? I ain’t thirsty girl.
Coco: Troy doesn’t even know I’m here.
Sam: Really?
Troy: Coco, what are you doing here?
Sam: She’s trying to convince me to stop the protest. Which you put her up to, so don’t act all surprised.
Troy: Why would you do that?
Coco: After last night I figured you weren’t going to do it.
Troy: You’re right, I wasn’t.
Sam: Thank you. So, why are you here now?
Troy: To ask you not to protest.
(Sam laughs)
Sam: Wow. You two are the fucking worst. Next time coordinate your Uncle-Tom-foolery before you come up in here.
Troy: Sam, you are always trying to improve the black experience at Winchester. How are you going to feel when A-P is gone and it’s your fault?
Sam: Troy. People have tried that before. It didn’t happen then and it won’t happen now. And I will not be bought.
Troy: Fine. But I’m going to fight you on this.
Sam: Bring it.
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[1] All dialogue from Dear White People quoted in this paper was transcribed by the author FA. Before writing, all scenes in which Coco and Sam interact were transcribed. The corpus of all dialogue that fits this criterion, including the used quotes, has been added at the end of this paper, following the bibliography.
[2] Merriam-Webster traces the etymological origin of the word “woke” to the African-American Vernacular, where it has long been used as an alternative to the more common word “awake”. The meaning has evolved in recent years to “woke” describing a state of social awareness. Merriam-Webster writes: “Stay woke became a watch word in parts of the black community for those who were self-aware, questioning the dominant paradigm and striving for something better. But stay woke became part of a wider discussion in 2014, immediately following the shooing of Michael Brown in Fergusion, Missouri. The word woke be became entwined with the Black Lives Matter movement; instead of just being a word that signalled awareness of injustice or racial tension, it became a word of action. Activists were woke and called on others to stay woke. (Merriam Webster 2017)
[3] There is an on-going debate over the capitalization of the letter “b” in the word Black when Black people are addressed (and conversely whether or not the same ought to be done for the word “white” when white people are meant). This debate stretches both through journalism and academia, with political as well as stylistic considerations (Perlman 2015). In this paper I have chosen to follow Prof. Lori L. Tharps, who argues that Black should always be capitalized, because “Black with a capital B refers to people of the African diaspora. Lowercase black is simply a colour” (Tharps 2014). When citing an author, their choice of spelling is used.
[4] Youtube: Dear White People I Date Announcement [HD] I Netflix. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1LzggK5DRBA, last accessed 11/08/17. Figures from this time of watching.
[5] Blackface is the practice of non-Black persons dressing up as Black. It is widely considered as a racist act due to its roots in the historical representation of Black people in minstrelsy shows and the emulation of racist stereotypes associated with it. In Justin Simien’s book „Dear White People – A guide to inter-racial harmony in ‘Post-Racial’ America“ which he published after the film was released, he summarizes the on-going problem of blackfacing, which he sees to be continued through Reality TV: “So…somehow blackfacing is still a thing. Painting one’s face in charcoal makeup, highlighting it with giant red or white lips, and portraying dangerous and offensive stereotypes for paying audiences was once America’s greatest national pastime. Thanks to reality TV, it still is. Without the charcoal-black makeup, of course. (…) [D]espite being mired in backlash over what is widely perceived as bigotry, white people seem fascinated by trotting out the old tradition. Whether it’s to ‘celebrate’ their favorite television show characters or to ‘honor’ Black history month, every year white people, be they celebrities or misguided college students, get in trouble for wearing blackface and promoting it on their Instagram fees” (Simien 2014, 50).
[6] Don’t touch my hair - Solange. Song: http://bit.ly/2dCyDfN. Lyrics: http://bit.ly/2sHB96C. Last accessed 04/07/2017.
[7] Assata Shakur was a member of the Black panthers and the Black liberation army. In 1977 she was convicted for the alleged murder of a police officer. After escaping from prison, she has lived in political asylum in Cuba since 1984. In 1987 she published her autobiography “Assata” in which she writes of the perils of racist oppression and violence she faced during her upbringing as well as her time in prison. She is currently still on the FBI list of most wanted terrorists (Rohlf 2017). For further reading see also: Shakur, Assata (1987): Assata: an autobiography. Westport, Hill.
[8] Black- Innanet James. Song: http://bit.ly/2qMvaBk. Lyrics: http://bit.ly/2soZPSt. Last accessed 03/06/2017.
[9] According to Urban Dictionary, “Rosa Sparks” describes the state of consuming too much marihuana and consequently being unable to move or get up (Urban Dictionary 2011: “man kevin was so baked last night he pulled a rosa sparks [sic]”). It is likely that Coco is using the term mockingly in this instance to draw a connection between Sam’s activism and Coco’s depreciation of it in reference to Rosa Parks.
[10] Walker is credited for first giving the phenomenon of skin colour discrimination a name in her 1983 book “In search of our mother’s garden” in which she defined it as “the prejudicial or preferential treatment of same-race people based solely on their color” (Tharps 2016). Walker is also the author of the acclaimed novel “The Color Purple”, for which she won the Pulitzer Price for Fiction.
[11] Harriet Tubman (c. 1820-1913) was a former slave who managed to escape to freedom and subsequently became a helper on the Underground Railroad, a secret passageway from the southern states that supported other slaves to get to freedom in the north. In addition to this, Tubman is also cited to have served as “a spy, a guerrilla soldier and a nurse (…) during the Civil War”, as well as being considered to be the “first African American woman to serve in the military” (Michals 2015).
[12] It is interesting to note that the question asked in DWP is unlike the one asked in Spike Lee’s iconic film „Do the Right Thing“ from 1989. While Spike Lee leaves the viewer to ponder whether violence (Malcolm X) or non-violence (Martin Luther King) are more valid means to fight racial oppression, Simien shifts his question to a different perspective. His question is less about violence and more about the modes of personal engagement in resistance. The radio host from Spike Lee’s film, Mister Senor Love Daddy, is also featured in DWP, so Simien did want to draw a connection to this work. The comparison of Simien and Lee’s work would have warranted its own paper. However, I wonder whether the shift in this foundational question that is asked is generational or down to gender or down to class.
-
Zitiervorschlag: Alm, Friederike (2017): 'Woke or not? The Complexity of Negotiating Blackness. An Analysis of Dear White People’s characters Sam and Coco, online unter: http://beyonce-seminar.blogspot.de/2017/10/woke-or-not-complexity-of-negotiating.html
Unknown student 1: If cops in the real world aren’t held accountable, how can we expect a Winchester cop to suffer anything but a slap on the wrist?
Sam: Exactly. We need to make an example out of that glorified security guard.
Unknown Student 2: Yo, I want to know who called the cops. Bring that fool to me right now.
Gabe: What the fuck were these guys doing with guns in the first place?
Unknown student 3: Brother Reggie, just know that our thoughts and prayers are with you.
Unknown Student 2: Thoughts and prayers don’t stop bullets, Pastor Kordell. We need to run up on that campus pig and handle this ourselves.
Coco: Listen to yourselves. Running up on a cop? Calling them pigs? As soon as you double down on your Blackness, they will double down on their bullshit. They pull guns on us. They shoot us. They kill us. That has not changed in 200 years. We need to manage our blackness in situations like these.
Lionel: You’re talking about assimilation?
Coco: No, I am talking about self-preservation. Quote me correctly. I grew up on the South Side of Chicago. I’ve actually seen friends and family members shot. And every time it happens I wish they had done something, anything to prevent it. Some of y’all in here with your liberal purity wasting time deciding who is Black enough. Who cares if you’re woke or not, if you’re dead.
Chapter IX
(Mins 13.52- 15.00)
Sam: Dear White People of Pastiche. Which is redundant. Redacted Pages? That’s what you call satire these days? You think you can scare me off with that nonsense? That’s just as ridiculous as the administration holding a town hall, thinking they can placate us. The more you try to silence us, mock us, discredit us, the more resolved we are to change things. This shit is fuel.
Coco: Hey Sam, have a minute?
Sam: What’s up with your hair? I mean I love it, but do you need money? Are you high?
Coco: Not since your peace offering. No, it’s been a while since you and I sat around and talked.
Sam: Yeah. We used to talk some shit.
Coco: I got to hand it to you, at least your shit-talking is changing the world. What’s going on?
Sam: Nothing.
Coco: Don’t “nothing” me. I know you. Whenever you hit the kitchen like this, something is wrong. What’s going on with you and white bae?
Sam: I really fucked things up. I don’t want to talk about it.
Coco: Ok, we could talk about something else.
Sam: Maybe I’m not supposed to have a personal life. Maybe all of this is a sign that I’m just supposed to focus on the important things.
Coco: Like your protest? Sam, you don’t have to be a slave to the cause, you know.
Sam: It’s bigger than me, Co.
Coco: If you really want to change things, don’t protest the town hall.
Sam: What are you talking about?
Coco: There are some very influential people who want to integrate A-P. This protest could send them over the edge.
Sam: Integrate A-P? I don’t know who these people are or what edge they are on but they can jump the fuck off.
Coco: Sam, they’ve pledged ten million dollars to the university. That could go towards recruiting students of color-
Sam: Troy’s got you drinking his Kool-Aid – or rather his daddy’s Kool-Aid. So you came to give me a taste, but guess what? I ain’t thirsty girl.
Coco: Troy doesn’t even know I’m here.
Sam: Really?
Troy: Coco, what are you doing here?
Sam: She’s trying to convince me to stop the protest. Which you put her up to, so don’t act all surprised.
Troy: Why would you do that?
Coco: After last night I figured you weren’t going to do it.
Troy: You’re right, I wasn’t.
Sam: Thank you. So, why are you here now?
Troy: To ask you not to protest.
(Sam laughs)
Sam: Wow. You two are the fucking worst. Next time coordinate your Uncle-Tom-foolery before you come up in here.
Troy: Sam, you are always trying to improve the black experience at Winchester. How are you going to feel when A-P is gone and it’s your fault?
Sam: Troy. People have tried that before. It didn’t happen then and it won’t happen now. And I will not be bought.
Troy: Fine. But I’m going to fight you on this.
Sam: Bring it.
-
[1] All dialogue from Dear White People quoted in this paper was transcribed by the author FA. Before writing, all scenes in which Coco and Sam interact were transcribed. The corpus of all dialogue that fits this criterion, including the used quotes, has been added at the end of this paper, following the bibliography.
[2] Merriam-Webster traces the etymological origin of the word “woke” to the African-American Vernacular, where it has long been used as an alternative to the more common word “awake”. The meaning has evolved in recent years to “woke” describing a state of social awareness. Merriam-Webster writes: “Stay woke became a watch word in parts of the black community for those who were self-aware, questioning the dominant paradigm and striving for something better. But stay woke became part of a wider discussion in 2014, immediately following the shooing of Michael Brown in Fergusion, Missouri. The word woke be became entwined with the Black Lives Matter movement; instead of just being a word that signalled awareness of injustice or racial tension, it became a word of action. Activists were woke and called on others to stay woke. (Merriam Webster 2017)
[3] There is an on-going debate over the capitalization of the letter “b” in the word Black when Black people are addressed (and conversely whether or not the same ought to be done for the word “white” when white people are meant). This debate stretches both through journalism and academia, with political as well as stylistic considerations (Perlman 2015). In this paper I have chosen to follow Prof. Lori L. Tharps, who argues that Black should always be capitalized, because “Black with a capital B refers to people of the African diaspora. Lowercase black is simply a colour” (Tharps 2014). When citing an author, their choice of spelling is used.
[4] Youtube: Dear White People I Date Announcement [HD] I Netflix. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1LzggK5DRBA, last accessed 11/08/17. Figures from this time of watching.
[5] Blackface is the practice of non-Black persons dressing up as Black. It is widely considered as a racist act due to its roots in the historical representation of Black people in minstrelsy shows and the emulation of racist stereotypes associated with it. In Justin Simien’s book „Dear White People – A guide to inter-racial harmony in ‘Post-Racial’ America“ which he published after the film was released, he summarizes the on-going problem of blackfacing, which he sees to be continued through Reality TV: “So…somehow blackfacing is still a thing. Painting one’s face in charcoal makeup, highlighting it with giant red or white lips, and portraying dangerous and offensive stereotypes for paying audiences was once America’s greatest national pastime. Thanks to reality TV, it still is. Without the charcoal-black makeup, of course. (…) [D]espite being mired in backlash over what is widely perceived as bigotry, white people seem fascinated by trotting out the old tradition. Whether it’s to ‘celebrate’ their favorite television show characters or to ‘honor’ Black history month, every year white people, be they celebrities or misguided college students, get in trouble for wearing blackface and promoting it on their Instagram fees” (Simien 2014, 50).
[6] Don’t touch my hair - Solange. Song: http://bit.ly/2dCyDfN. Lyrics: http://bit.ly/2sHB96C. Last accessed 04/07/2017.
[7] Assata Shakur was a member of the Black panthers and the Black liberation army. In 1977 she was convicted for the alleged murder of a police officer. After escaping from prison, she has lived in political asylum in Cuba since 1984. In 1987 she published her autobiography “Assata” in which she writes of the perils of racist oppression and violence she faced during her upbringing as well as her time in prison. She is currently still on the FBI list of most wanted terrorists (Rohlf 2017). For further reading see also: Shakur, Assata (1987): Assata: an autobiography. Westport, Hill.
[8] Black- Innanet James. Song: http://bit.ly/2qMvaBk. Lyrics: http://bit.ly/2soZPSt. Last accessed 03/06/2017.
[9] According to Urban Dictionary, “Rosa Sparks” describes the state of consuming too much marihuana and consequently being unable to move or get up (Urban Dictionary 2011: “man kevin was so baked last night he pulled a rosa sparks [sic]”). It is likely that Coco is using the term mockingly in this instance to draw a connection between Sam’s activism and Coco’s depreciation of it in reference to Rosa Parks.
[10] Walker is credited for first giving the phenomenon of skin colour discrimination a name in her 1983 book “In search of our mother’s garden” in which she defined it as “the prejudicial or preferential treatment of same-race people based solely on their color” (Tharps 2016). Walker is also the author of the acclaimed novel “The Color Purple”, for which she won the Pulitzer Price for Fiction.
[11] Harriet Tubman (c. 1820-1913) was a former slave who managed to escape to freedom and subsequently became a helper on the Underground Railroad, a secret passageway from the southern states that supported other slaves to get to freedom in the north. In addition to this, Tubman is also cited to have served as “a spy, a guerrilla soldier and a nurse (…) during the Civil War”, as well as being considered to be the “first African American woman to serve in the military” (Michals 2015).
[12] It is interesting to note that the question asked in DWP is unlike the one asked in Spike Lee’s iconic film „Do the Right Thing“ from 1989. While Spike Lee leaves the viewer to ponder whether violence (Malcolm X) or non-violence (Martin Luther King) are more valid means to fight racial oppression, Simien shifts his question to a different perspective. His question is less about violence and more about the modes of personal engagement in resistance. The radio host from Spike Lee’s film, Mister Senor Love Daddy, is also featured in DWP, so Simien did want to draw a connection to this work. The comparison of Simien and Lee’s work would have warranted its own paper. However, I wonder whether the shift in this foundational question that is asked is generational or down to gender or down to class.
-
Zitiervorschlag: Alm, Friederike (2017): 'Woke or not? The Complexity of Negotiating Blackness. An Analysis of Dear White People’s characters Sam and Coco, online unter: http://beyonce-seminar.blogspot.de/2017/10/woke-or-not-complexity-of-negotiating.html
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