Black Beauty

What is the color of beauty? Is there such a thing? We all love the way black is slimming or the way black is sleek. So why, when it is a skin tone, do we not see it for the beauty that it is? Perhaps we forget our history lessons and miss the importance of ebony in the rainbow of America. What would Sojourner Truth say if she saw how America remakes beauty in a plastic fashion? We are afraid of color altogether. I decided today to examine this concept through a character of a teenage girl in a U.S. History class. I named her Jayla which means "one who is special." Maybe if she heard Sojourner Truth she would love her ebony skin as much as I do. I am a white woman and I owe my freedom and my struggle for equality in a world dominated by men to many women before me, but today Sojourner Truth spoke to me: 'Aint I a women? 

I'm pleased with how Jayla reminds me of who I want to be on the inside: colorblind and proud of my womanhood. I can hardly wait for you to meet her in the novel: Invisible Wings.

Here is a sneak peak:

"And what is happening matters most. Jayla knew that the woman pushing to the front of the room would bring the other half of the storm. Jayla could see it the eyes of the aged ebony woman in a lacey bonnet and white shawl wrapped tightly around her shoulders as she navigated the eye of the storm to the other side of the hurricane. When she opened her mouth a tidal wave of polished glass, pebbles and sea creatures pounded the shore as had never been seen before. Her words were grains of sand that lodged in everyone’s hair, their teeth and in between their toes.

Wall, chilern, whar dar is so much racket dar must be somethin' out o' kilter. I tink dat 'twixt de niggers of de Souf and de womin at de Norf, all talkin' 'bout rights, de white men will be in a fix pretty soon. But what's all dis here talkin' 'bout? Dat man ober dar say dat womin needs to be helped into carriages, and lifted ober ditches, and to hab de best place everywhar. Nobody eber helps me into carriages, or ober mud-puddles, or gibs me any best place! And ain't I a woman? Look at me! Look at my arm! I have ploughed, and planted, and gathered into barns, and no man could head me! And ain't I a woman? I could work as much and eat as much as a man – when I could get it – and bear de lash as well! And ain't I a woman? I have borne thirteen chilern, and seen 'em mos' all sold off to slavery, and when I cried out with my mother's grief, none but Jesus heard me! And ain't I a woman? Den dey talks 'bout dis ting in de head; what dis dey call it?

Jayla whispered, “Intellect.”

Dat's it, honey. What's dat got to do wid womin's rights or nigger's rights? If my cup won't hold but a pint, and yourn holds a quart, wouldn't ye be mean not to let me have my little half-measure full. Den dat little man in back dar, he say women can't have as much rights as men, 'cause Christ wan't a woman! Whar did your Christ come from? Whar did your Christ come from? From God and a woman! Man had nothin' to do wid Him.

  

As the truth washed over the crowd, some cheered others mumbled, and Jayla stooped down to pick up a perfectly polished piece of red glass. It shone like a ruby in her palm. She held it up to the sun breaking through the storm clouds and saw for the first time the beauty of the dark color of her hand.
You'll have to read the book to find out what happens next!

As a side note, I remember my friend Carol Hanlon who passed away a few years ago. She told me that when I got old enough I would realize there is solidarity among women. When we are no long obsessed with youth and competitive about men or mates, we realize that it is only in the company of other women that we can delve deep into our womanhood. I miss her. She was so wise and beautiful. She was a nudist and a biker and a teacher. She was beautiful in every way that mattered.

Janell Chavez copyright @ 2010