In his scathing review of Zora Neale Hurston’s Their Eyes Were Watching God, Richard Wright alleged, “The sensory sweep of her novel carries no theme, no message, no thought. In the main, her novel is not addressed to the Negro, but to a white audience whose chauvinistic tastes she knows how to satisfy.” A trained anthropologist, Hurston employed black dialect to craft the story of what Haitian-American author Edwidge Danticat called, “a woman’s search for her authentic self and for real love.” Wright, a leading intellectual and member of the American Communist Party who plied literature and politics, likened her dialogue to minstrelsy and loathed what he saw as a white-indulgent story with no meaning.
Yesterday, Professor Ingrid Monson shared with our class the charges that Diana Ross was seen by many as not black enough and not a true artist. Comparing Ross to Abbey Lincoln, whose name should be spoken in every classroom in America, the queen of the Supremes may seem vapid and tailored to a white audience. Countering this observation, Professor Daphne Brooks noted the Supremes’ “politics of visibility.” While Richard Wright prizes political content, the apolitical performances of black people, especially black women, may go farthest in diminishing white privilege and working toward equalizing the racial imbalance of power.
In her essay “White Privilege: Unpacking The Invisible Knapsack,” Peggy McIntosh credits her colleague Elizabeth Minnich with this formulation on racial norms: “whites are taught to think of their lives as morally neutral, normative, and average, and also ideal, so that when we work to benefit others, this is seen as work which will allow ‘them’ to be more like ’us.’” Much of white privilege stems from the assumption that what whites do is normal. Think about it for a moment: When asked to describe someone who is white and wearing a red shirt, does your first thought include the descriptor “white?” When asked to describe a person who is black and wearing a red shirt, does your first thought include the descriptor “black?” While I’m sure many of you will say, “No, I would refer to the person in the red shirt both times” or “No, I would refer to their race both times,” the vast majority of people would think (and often say), “You know, the guy in the red shirt” and “The black guy over there,” or something to that effect. Sure, there might be some variation, such as saying, “The black guy in the red shirt” because the dual descriptor will allow you to tell yourself that you just have an eye for detail. (Also notice how easy it was to assume this person was a “guy” without any further context.) Alternatively, some of you may argue that it all depends on context. At a black church, a white person may be as notable as a black person at a Daughters of the American Revolution meeting (by the way, black people are in that society too; just because they were brought over here in manacles doesn’t mean they don’t predate the Revolution). The point is this: All things being equal, most people assume those things are white.
When Richard Wright penned Native Son, he poignantly attacked overt and institutionalized racism. But when F. Scott Fitzgerald wrote Great Gatsby, he told a drama about love and class. Some may argue that Great Gatsby is just as inaccessible to nonwhites as Native Son is specific to African Americans. However, in selling 250,000 copies in the book’s first three weeks, Wright was lauded as a successful Negro author, whereas Fitzgerald is seen as a successful author. Until Alice Walker rediscovered her in 1970, Hurston wasn’t even commercially successful. Now, she’s remembered as a great African American female author.
During her performance at a benefit for the Poor People’s Campaign, Diana Ross asked SCLC President Reverend Abernathy what the Supremes can do to be of assistance to the Movement. He replied, “Just continue to be great. Every time the white man sees you on television or in concert and becomes a fan, you are being of assistance.” Through the politics of visibility, Diana Ross has become a great American artist.
-- Charles Rosentel
