What the "Dr. Laura" Incident Means to Me

By now, just about everyone who has an Internet or television connection has heard about what radio talk show host Dr. Laura Schlessinger said to the interracially married black woman who called in for advice about what to do when her white husband's friend insist on talking "black" and black issues in her presence. Dr. Laura's N-word rant has provided plenty of blogosphere fodder from every point of view.

As an interracially married black woman, I see this whole issue slightly differently than most. From where I'm standing, Dr. Laura's use of the N-word is barely relevant. After all, she's a talk show host known for being-- and indeed, expected to be--incendiary. In the world of media advice, there are really only two possible responses: controversial and politically correct. Both are geared toward generating the approval of their listeners/viewers. Neither are really in the business of actually offering useful advice--especially not to interracial families. How can they? At bottom, Dr. Laura, Dr. Phil-- and any other radio or TV "dr" currently on air-- are entertainers.

My hope is that the African American woman who called Dr. Laura knew this: and wanted to see what kind of crazy, kooky response the host would give. If that is the case (and some believe that it is) then, Dr. Laura stepped into the trap laid for her, it's all very entertaining, illustrates nothing more than our usual two-faced, black-white dialogue and I really could care less.

But my greater concern is that the caller might have been looking for real advice... and that is where I see a real issue for black and white families-- and indeed interracial families of every mixture. The fact is that, for the woman caller-- and for other mixed families-- these questions, concerns and issues come up frequently. Where can we go for advice in tricky situations involving the comments of family members and friends? Where do we get insight--not from entertainers-- but from other spouses, parents and experts who really understand the special nuances of being in an interracial or intercultural relationships?

I know there are many websites and blogs discussing these issues in one way or the other. Many who follow this blog run those sites--and are doing that work. But even though interracial marriages are on the rise, even though there millions of us, in the mainstream of American culture, we have yet to successfully aggregate our resources in ways that make us fully able to help each other. We haven't found ways to maximize our power. Instead of being able to offer each other support and solutions on the trickier aspects of integrating two (or more cultures) we end up either trying to pretend those issues don't exist, or getting "Dr. Laura-ed" into racially divided camps.

Where do we go to talk to each other candidly and honestly about the problems that confront us within our families? How do we spread the word about the existence of those experts and resources that already exist? How do we organize and disseminate information that enables interracial couples and families to navigate the tricky waters of a society that either reduces racial issues to the "N-word" or would rather pretend that racial tensions don't exist at all?

In my own searches on these questions, it seems that interracial family magazines, blogs and programs often have a short shelf life (unless they are organized around a legal issue like multiracial classification, see www.projectRace.com-- or around dating and mating). I'm not sure why that is. Do we fail to support each other? Are we unaware of each other? Are we stingy with the resources of time and money that can make or break these crucial clearinghouses? Are there still "too few" of us to make it work? Or, on some level, are also a little afraid of a real dialogue on these issues?

Personally, I don't believe that any of the above are true. I think the time is now to explore race and racism WITHIN families, not simply in terms of the family against the wider world. I'm eager to know of other sources, and eager to be involved in ways that we can provide more support to interracial couples and families. I'm eager to contribute what I know-- and to learn from others' experiences. I'm eager to provide real knowledge to other couples and families on exactly what works when friends and family members bring racial tensions-- or when they happen within the home.

If not us--those of us who have been and are "in the trenches"-- who? No one deserves to be "Dr. Laura-ed"--and that's exactly what will continue to happen unless we can find a better platform to share our stories and strength with each other.

Burying the "strong black woman" stereotype

As anyone who's read Don't Bring Home a White Boy knows, I really hate the strong black woman stereotype. In my opinion, this unrealistic image robs black women of their vulnerabilities. It steals from us the ability to ask for help or be cared for. It helps to burn us out and send us to earlier graves.

And so, while at the National Book Club Conference in Atlanta last weekend, I was pleased that so many women step outside of the stereotype and share their experiences, their hurts and their needs.

I know what you're thinking: things got that deep at a gathering of ladies book clubs? Sure why not! Especially when the discussion is led by several powerful women who, instead of turning the spotlight on their many accomplishments, chose to open up about their many struggles.

Terrie Williams and Ntozake Shange were among the speakers around the topic of "Black Pain"-- but in a roomful of black women talking frankly about their lives, it could have just as easily been a eulogy for "the strong black woman." For those who don't know, Terrie Williams runs the eponymous Terrie Williams Agency, one of the largest and most successful minority-owned public relations firms in the country. Her client list includes a raft of famous names in sports, media and corporate America (Eddie Murphy, Sean Combs, Janet Jackson, Coca-Cola and GE to name just a few) but over the weekend, she wore her author hat. Her latest book, Black Pain: It Only Looks Like We're not Hurting delves deep into a topic that most Americans find uncomfortable: depression and mental illness.



Ntozake Shange is the is the author of the 1973 stage play for colored girls who have considered suicide/when the rainbow is enuf. For Colored Girls is a series of monologues performed by seven different women, laying bear their most intimate pain. It won the playwright the Obie Award. She won it again in 1981 for Mother Courage and her Children. Carving out her identity as a black feminist at a time when doing so was contrary to the notions of black male and female solidarity, she also created her own name: Ntozake, which means “she who brings her own things” and Shange, which means “who walks with lions.” To list all of her awards would take more space than I have: but it’s sufficient to say that her talent has been recognized with nearly every major award available. Her first novel in 14 years will be released in September; it's called Some Sing, Some Cry.

Obviously, these two "Super Sisters" could have chosen to talk about their paths to success. Instead, however, they chose to talk about their struggles. Ms. Shange allowed her introduction to include a mention of her three attempts at suicide and her ongoing health challenges. Ms. Williams started the session by admitting that she felt overwhelmed and exhausted. "I feel like I might burst into tears at any moment," she confessed while the audience nodded supportively-- because we all knew the feeling.

I found it refreshing to see women of Ms. Williams and Ms. Shange's status opening up the doubts and dark corners of their lives, claiming their sorrow, claiming their vulnerability, claiming the right to cry in public and, yes, claiming weakness. Doing so may knock them off some people's "strong black woman" pedestal-- but I think it allows them to wear a much nobler crown:

That of simply being human.
Ntozake Shange and Terrie Williams, National Book Club Conference 2010. Photo by Sid Tutani/GoLiveFoto

Obviously, revealing our weaknesses isn't appropriate for every circumstance or gathering, but I sometimes think that many black women wear their shields to high, too much of the time. In an attempt to avoid pain, we attempt to seem impervious to it. Nothing gets to us. We are cool, unflappable. We are strong black women. It works: we seem capable, but others are often afraid of us. We don't get assistance-- even when we desperately need it-- because our mask of resilience suggests that this "strong black woman" has it under control. Instead of expressing sadness, fatigue or fear, we only release anger... and turn into SBW's evil younger sister, ABW--the angry black woman, and is used as yet another stereotype to dehumanize our feelings.

What women like Ms. Williams and Ms. Shange are doing in sessions like the one I attend this weekend is encouraging all of us to rip aside the masks and be willing to let our true feelings out. In doing so, they're leading the way toward some new definitions of black womanhood, definitions that allow us to be strong,weak and everything in between-- just like women of every other culture.