Detail of “Conversations Till Dawn” by Michael Irabor
text by Naomi Larbi
painting by Micheal Irabor
I would like to set a place at the dinner table and welcome in an often unwelcome guest: the rather difficult conversation. The need for this conversation has been made apparent to me by an argument I have just had with a close, mixed-raced friend.
I want to begin by acknowledging my own potentially unfair bias. I am aware that in discussing a topic, which burns so close to my heart, my judgment may be clouded by the constant pain and brutality that I see daily. That being said, my perspective is just that, a perspective. It is malleable, flexible and open to change given the right discourse — and I look forward to all possible responses that might further expand my young Black mind.
In the wake of recent events, I have seen many friends — Black or otherwise — leap out of the shadows to champion the Black Lives Matter movement. Many brilliant conversations have been had and many perspectives have been shared. Unfortunately, this new, open discourse has exposed some learning curves that need to be addressed and as a community, we are left to heal these growing pains.
After ingesting copious amounts of data yesterday, I could not sleep. I laid wide-eyed in bed, mentally transcribing all of the news articles, Instagram stories, conversations, and protest images I had seen. One conversation, however, would not mesh with the other processed information that sat comfortably at the forefront of my mind.
That afternoon I had received a text message from a friend claiming that a top European designer is a “crazy, racist abuser!”.
I was immediately taken aback. Not because I was or have ever been a huge fan of said designer,, but because as far as I knew from mutual friends in the industry, he is fairly open-minded and agreeable.
“What did he do?” I asked in earnest, genuinely curious to hear what possible atrocities had been committed. The response was the typical-for-Berlin, even-more-typical-for-fashion grievances of delayed/underpayment and lack of equal opportunities. Allegedly, three of his previous Black employees had sued him in recent years and he had even resorted to calling a person of color ugly.
“Well, maybe she was ugly?” I offered, playing devil’s advocate.
Unpopular opinion, but working in fashion opens one up to an entire world of rude commentary on one's physicality, style, and personality that would not normally be open to discussion. Sadly, if you work in fashion your entire existence is open for judgment. With the current debacle of ‘cancel culture,’ an entire career can be ripped to shreds by way of a 280-character (or less!) Twitter post.
In recent weeks, there has been much talk of both fashion designers and brands being called out for their racist antics (Reformation, L’Orèal, Urban Outfitters, etc) and generally, I agreed to boycott these brands to the fullest extent. As a Black, full-time model, I had a pretty long mental list of designers that a) would happily work with POC, b) designers that wouldn’t work with POC, and c) designers that would scramble to book POC at the last minute only to prevent press nightmares.
Working with Louis Vuitton’s Virgil Abloh for Off-Whites SS20 resort collection felt natural and empowering, as did walking for Henrik Vibskov during Paris Fashion Week last season. Sadly, I cannot say the same for the last-minute casting I received (three hours before call time) for the Theory fashion show in New York. I felt like an afterthought — as if someone had noticed that there were hardly any Black models and half-assedly attempted to rectify the situation. Needless to say, I did not book the show.
As far as I knew, being critiqued harshly on your looks wasn’t necessarily racist. Antagonistic? Yes. Rude? Undoubtedly. Textbook-case fashion designer narcissist who took one too many lines? Definitely. But, racist — not necessarily. I went along with my day, wondering at silent intervals why it irked me so much.
As I lay in bed that night, I felt deeply uncomfortable. I didn’t want my friend thinking that I held some affinity for the “crazy, racist” designer in question, or that I didn’t consider him to be potentially a bit dick-ish. I did, however, feel that someone championing the #BLM movement on social media as a self-proclaimed activist should probably focus less on fashion allegations and more on police reform, the abolishment of prison labor, releasing the thousands of Black men in prison for weed-related crimes despite weed having been legalized, or red-lining.
The more I thought about it, the more upset and restless I became. Is it productive to loosely call someone a “crazy, Black abuser” when men who kill Black people still roam the streets? I wondered. My mind brought me back to my encounters with police-brutality as a college student in Manhattan. There was the time I was pushed violently to the hood of a police car, not read my Miranda rights — arm nearly sprained from being twisted behind my back — while my white friend watched, demanding to know what I was being arrested for. In the end, there was no charge, just a point to be made.
My anger grew. Surely, the term ‘crazy, Black abuser,’ belonged to the police officers who got proverbial hard-ons from the detainment of Black and Brown folk? I wondered why I was being burdened with this information, to begin with. I looked at the clock, which read 4:45 a.m. and began to draft a message that unwittingly formed the basis of this very critique.
Perhaps the term ‘Black abuser’ should be reserved for the William Bryan, George Zimmerman and Derek Chauvin’s of the world. During a time when so much media coverage is allotted to the Black Lives Matter movement, I would hate to see people focus on the lesser of two evils. As a POC, it is crucial to understand one's intersections and possess the self-awareness to selflessly champion the cause from the ground up. Organization, vigor, and focus are crucial to bring about the changes we all have been fighting for.
To make distinctions between the two forms of racism currently plaguing Black people I’d like to present the phrases “active” and “passive” racism. The differences between active and passive racism are unmistakable. Active racism is the systemic oppression within communities that acts to purposely derail both the development and growth of the Black community. Whereas active racism is inescapable and embedded in the very foundation of America, passive racism is a secondary bi-product of active racism. To conquer one, we must conquer the other and this begins with fighting active racism, first and foremost.
Many Black people experience active racism with consequences such as rape, lynching, battery, and death without putting themselves in environments that can be potentially toxic.
However, a girl working in the fashion industry being told by a designer that she is ugly is not something I find particularly racist and I find it a disservice to act as if we cannot hold our own in environments that a) require vast amounts of privilege to access and b) are known to hold certain nuances. The ability to make the choice to enter these environments is what makes any racism that may occur within these systems passive. I am not in any way discounting the potential for racism in these areas, or removing the validity of trauma that may occur, but I do find it a disservice to the cause for POC in privileged positions to focus on passive racism before doing their very best to annihilate the systems that have made active racism possible.
In hospitals, those who are more severely wounded are treated with priority. This method is not in any way meant to diminish the suffering and pain of the other patients. Their pain is instantly recognized, but those in the ICU are unmistakably in urgent need of care. All patients are wounded, but some bleed heavier. Some even die on the operating table. My goal is in no way to take away the voice, platform, and pain from my fellow POC who are in positions of privilege, as I too, recognize my privilege in all of its various forms. Please continue to tell your stories, create your allyships, and raise awareness.
It is, however, important that we use our platforms to direct energy and focus attention on the innumerable POC in heavily disenfranchised positions. There are many POC without a voice, and we must give our fellow brothers and sisters that voice.