A little while ago, I was attacked on a facegroup group that celebrated black arts and black culture in Australia. One of the moderators of that page, made a comment about my ‘phoney’ accent and how she thought I was one of those ‘types’ of artist that was great at ‘pleasing white audiences, to help them feel more cultured about themselves’. That my Fade to White video objectified African bodies. Another member commented on why I was even invited to the group, as I’m not African or of African descent. At first I was stunned. Now, I’m in a place of reflection and inspiration to use this incident as platform for open discussion. It happened when I introduced myself to the group(another friend had invited me) and shared my ‘Fade to White’ video. To me, that video was about my journey of unraveling my own conditioning. All the BS I had grew up with in Asia..that whites were superior, that fairer was more beautiful, that branded items is what we should strive for… It’s also about finally seeing the bestiality of the consumer-culture, in perpetuating neurosis and insecurities and realizing that I no longer needed to conform to external standards of beauty. 2 of my good friends were available for the shoot. They happened to be African. (If my Indian homegirls had been free on that day, we wouldn’t be having this conversation). They believed in the message, used their agency, came on their own free will and shared their time and energy, to create art with me. That video was deemed ‘problematic’(is anyone else noticing how this word is being thrown around a lot these days in talking about race?) and it ‘objectified’ my African sisters. I didnt agree with her, but all the same, respected her point of view. Instead of joining me in a healthy discussion, she made the comments that I mentioned earlier and proceeded to block me out of that page. This incident made me ask the deeper questions on race and racial identity, on belonging, on community, on the oppressive history and its unremitting negative affects on many communities, many generations later. What does it mean to be a woman of colour living in Australia? Do I, as an Indian, do not belong in spaces that curated black culture? Do I have a role in addressing transgressions or educating people who are already educated but selective in how they perceive certain issues? Do I actively participate in addressing the ‘brown police’, gatekeepers who decide who is black or brown enough to be included in these dialogues? I don’t know. It seems like it would be a battle of ideologies and maybe it will just be counter-productive. And that I should focus on what I believe in. I do however, understand why certain groups feel the need to self-organize and create platforms to draw strength from sharing identity-focus stories. Australia is racist country and so many don’t realize the extent of the racism that permeates the everyday life of everyday people. So I get it. I’m easy target. I’m a poster-child for diversity( some even call this a bad word). I am connected to black culture, to alternative culture, to holistic arts movement, to my roots, to the Motherland. I am an anomaly for those who want to makes sense of my facebook photos, my smiles -to categorise me into socially-ascribed boxes. I have a white boyfriend, who was the first lover who made me colourblind and helped me to decode the true language of the soul. In my teens, me and many like me, fantasized about marrying ‘the white man’. Through my evolution(the dizzying process of decolonizing my mind, unfettering the path of an exotified Indian goddess and humbling myself to the struggles of the world), I only wanted to be with a person of colour, someone who could understand this intricate journey of ‘being and belonging’ . But love has no colour. Love is a plant that grows with communication, intimate sharing, understanding and a shared vision of the future. Life taught me that love is the only thing that can heal and this truth is eternal, no matter how many self-help, new-age books/gurus comes along to cliché-fy and diminish its power. First love, next- the act of loving. I wrote this spoken-word piece to that African sister, to share with her my thoughts, even though our conversation ended prematurely on facebook that day. Her actions have ultimately inspired me to write to this- to share with her and to all of you. Hope you all have a beautiful and peaceful day today. With love, Ee’da youtu.be/iRIAc8brs-8
Posted on: Thu, 15 Jan 2015 04:11:27 +0000
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