Violence, and how we define it, is a bit astounding.
It’s always only the obvious: weapons and war and physical force. Violence is a slap on Hollywood’s most sacred stage.
It is never the ways in which we can tear people down. It is rarely recognized as racism, sexism, xenophobia, classism, ableism, anti-queer, or oppression of any kind.
Violence is only valued in the context of where, when, and who in this nation.
We have sympathy when we see bloodied and brutalized white people in Ukraine, but we overlook the destruction in Haiti, in Mexico.
Over and over, folk will say our generation, our era, has not seen war on our homeland, as if Black neighborhoods have not been ravaged by police and blocks have not been bombed and set aflame by white folk and government alike.
Crack ravaged communities of color and was criminalized in the 1980s. But because the opioid epidemic’s victims are predominately white, the narrative is now about rehabilitation and help? This, too, is violence.
We care about the missing girls when they are white or in proximity to whiteness, but Black girls and women remain invisible before they ever disappear.
So it comes as no shock that we have trouble understanding the harm done to Jada Pinkett Smith by Chris Rock on Sunday night. Will Smith was wrong, and he apologized. Rock also has one to give.
It was easy for a nation to shame Kanye West for interrupting Taylor Swift and hurting her feelings by crudely stealing the mic and her moment and aggressively declaring the truth: Beyoncé had the best video.
It is harder for them to understand a Black woman’s pain. How hard has it been for an actress, a Hollywood beauty, to quietly fight the hurt of losing her hair to alopecia? What does it mean that it took her daughter’s loving nudge and Pinkett Smith nearing her 50th birthday to embrace bald as beautiful last summer? We look away from the harm caused by jokes about her looks in front of an industry that cherishes a certain kind of beauty.
How a Black woman’s hair grows or does not grow out of her head has been a consistent battle in this country. So much so, we’ve had to legislate protection against hair discrimination. The Crown Act passed in the House just over a week ago. It is a specific kind of violence that debases you on the basis of your hair texture and how you wear it while simultaneously celebrating white women for trying on your styles.
It is also complicated for folk to grasp what it felt like for Jada in 2016. She joined the #OscarsSoWhite movement calling for diversity and boycotted the show. Rock hosted. And a Black man, in front of a largely white audience, where every acting nominee was white, called her irrelevant and declared it was a party she wasn’t invited to anyways.
Humiliating a Black woman fighting for equity is not a ha-ha moment. Making fun of a Black woman a week after we watched the ambushing of Ketanji Brown Jackson, coming from the man who produced a documentary, “Good Hair,” examining the ways in which a Black woman sees her hair, is bad humor.
So often, in every space, Black women are expected to smile and take the disrespect in favor of everyone else. Abused, underpaid, and violated while being asked to put democracy on our shoulders.
Beyoncé opened the show from a Compton tennis court surrounded by Black girls in beads and, eventually, her daughter dancing in front of her. She sang “Be Alive” with lines like I got a million miles on me, they want to see how far I’ll go. The path was never paved with gold, we worked and built this on our own. It wasn’t just for Venus and Serena. It was for Black women, for Black lives.