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black people, Black People Experiences, By-Words, racism, Systemic Exclusion/Racism

And They Call Me BLACK: Meaning, Symbolism, and the Weight of History.

And They Call Me Black

They call me Black, yet my skin tells a softer truth—
a café au lait glow kissed by light,
golden brown like the warmth of morning sun
resting gently on earth that remembers rain.
Names try to confine what God made fluid,
But my reflection refuses to be boxed in labels not made for my fullness.

I am not one shade, not one story, not one tone of night—
I am every hue that breathes through melanin’s design.
Celebrate me in all my shades,
from bronze to honey, from caramel to deep, rich earth.
For I am not a color made small by language—
I am a living spectrum, created whole, created beautiful.

The color black carries one of the most complex and emotionally charged meanings in human history. It is not merely a visual shade but a symbol layered with cultural, spiritual, political, and historical significance. Across civilizations, black has represented both profound dignity and deep stigma, often depending on who is interpreting it and from what position of power.

Why are people called “white” and “Black”

These labels developed mainly during the rise of European colonialism (1400s–1800s) and the Atlantic slave system.

  • Europeans increasingly categorized people by skin tone as a visible marker of difference
  • Over time, “white” came to represent people of European descent in legal systems and colonial societies
  • “Black” became the category assigned to African-descended peoples, especially in the context of slavery

So these terms were not originally scientific—they were social classifications tied to power, labor, and law, not precise descriptions of complexion.

Biologically speaking:

  • Human skin color exists on a wide spectrum of melanin levels
  • Most African-descended populations are various shades of brown, not literally “black”
  • Most European-descended populations are also shades of beige, pinkish, or light tanish, not truly “white”

The term “Black” as a racial category did not come from a single person or moment—it developed over time, mainly through European colonialism and the Atlantic slave system.

  • In ancient times, people were not classified as “Black” or “white” the way we use those terms today. Identity was usually based on tribe, nation, language, or region (e.g., Egyptian, Kushite, Israelite, Roman).
  • During the 15th–18th centuries, European explorers, traders, and colonizers began classifying people by skin color to organize expanding global trade and empires.
  • As the transatlantic slave trade expanded, “Black” became a racial label used to categorize enslaved Africans and their descendants as a group separate from Europeans. This system became tied to laws, the inheritance of slavery, and social hierarchy (Fredrickson, 2002; Mills, 1997).
  • Over time, “Black” stopped being just a description and became a racial identity category shaped by power structures, especially in the Americas.

So, the term is not ancient or biblical in origin—it is a modern social classification developed during colonial expansion.

In natural symbolism, black is associated with mystery, depth, and the unknown. It is the color of the night sky, the vastness of space, and the quiet stillness that precedes creation. In many African and ancient cultures, black has been connected to fertility, wisdom, and ancestral presence, symbolizing the womb of creation rather than absence.

However, in Western historical thought, black has often been assigned a negative meaning. It has been linked to danger, evil, and death in symbolic systems that contrast “light” with “dark.” These associations were not neutral; they developed within cultural frameworks that often placed European whiteness at the center of value systems (Goldenberg, 2003).

Language itself reflects this symbolic tension. Phrases such as “blacklist,” “black sheep,” and “black market” demonstrate how the color has been linguistically tied to exclusion or illegality. These expressions show how deeply symbolism can shape perception, even without direct intent.

The historical construction of racial categories intensified the meaning of black as identity. During the rise of European colonial expansion, “blackness” became associated with African peoples in ways that were used to justify enslavement and exploitation. This shift transformed color from symbolism into hierarchy (Fredrickson, 2002).

In the context of the transatlantic slave trade, millions of Africans were forcibly taken across the ocean under brutal conditions. The Atlantic passage became one of the most defining historical experiences associated with Black identity in the Americas (Smallwood, 2007). This historical trauma shaped how the color black became associated with suffering and endurance.

Within biblical interpretation, some readers connect blackness to passages describing oppression and identity transformation. One often-cited verse is found in Deuteronomy 28:37, which speaks of becoming “a proverb and a byword” among nations (Deuteronomy). For some interpreters, this language reflects how groups subjected to oppression may become stigmatized or misrepresented.

The idea of a “byword” refers to a person or group becoming a symbol of ridicule or negative association. In historical terms, this concept has been applied by some to describe how Black identity has been portrayed in global systems of racism, where stereotypes and caricatures shaped public perception (Mills, 1997).

At the same time, mainstream biblical scholarship understands Deuteronomy 28 as addressing ancient Israel within its own historical context. The passage describes covenant blessings and curses tied to obedience and exile, not modern racial categories (Coogan, 2018). This distinction is important in separating ancient textual meaning from contemporary interpretation.

Despite scholarly differences, the lived experience of Black communities in the Americas adds another layer of meaning. Through slavery, segregation, and systemic inequality, blackness became socially constructed not only as a color but as a lived identity marked by struggle and resilience (Alexander, 2012).

Yet blackness is not defined solely by oppression. In art, music, and culture, Black identity has produced extraordinary creativity and influence. From spirituals and gospel music to jazz, hip-hop, and global fashion, Black expression has shaped the cultural world in powerful ways.

In psychological and cultural studies, scholars note that identity formation often emerges from both pain and resistance. Cultural trauma theory suggests that collective suffering can become a source of unity, memory, and meaning across generations (Eyerman, 2001).

In religious thought, blackness is sometimes associated with divine mystery. In many theological traditions, God is described as beyond light and darkness, suggesting that human categories cannot fully contain divine essence. This challenges simplistic associations between color and moral value.

In contrast, colonial-era theology often reinforced color hierarchies that associated whiteness with purity and blackness with sin. These interpretations were later used to justify social inequality, though they are widely rejected in modern theological scholarship (Goldenberg, 2003).

What do historians and scholars say?

Ancient Israelites were a people of the ancient Near East—the same general region as modern-day Israel/Palestine, Jordan, and surrounding areas.

  • They were not classified as “Black” or “white” in the modern sense.
  • Modern racial categories developed much later (mainly during and after the transatlantic slave trade).
  • Physically, they likely had brown to dark brown skin tones, similar to other Semitic populations of that region.

Scholars generally place them among Semitic peoples, related to groups like ancient Canaanites, Arameans, and others.

👉 So academically speaking:
They were Middle Eastern people, not “white Europeans,” and not defined as “Black” in the modern racial sense either.

2. What does the Bible itself suggest?

The Bible gives very limited physical descriptions, but a few passages are often discussed:

  • Jeremiah 14:2 (KJV) – “Judah mourneth… the gates thereof languish; they are black unto the ground.”
  • Song of Solomon 1:5 (KJV) – “I am black, but comely…”

Some interpret these as evidence of darker skin, while others argue:

  • “Black” can refer to mourning, suffering, or sun exposure, not necessarily ethnicity.

So scripturally, it’s not definitive.

3. Why do some say the Israelites were Black?

Some groups—especially within the African diaspora—believe that:

  • The true Israelites were people of African descent
  • The transatlantic slave trade fulfills prophecies like Deuteronomy 28
  • Modern Black people (especially in the Americas) are descendants of biblical Israel

This belief is often rooted in:

  • Reclaiming identity after slavery
  • Connecting historical suffering with biblical prophecy
  • Challenging Eurocentric depictions of biblical figures

4. Why do others disagree?

Mainstream historians and theologians argue:

  • There is no direct historical or genetic evidence that all ancient Israelites were what we today call Black Africans
  • Jewish populations today (including Ethiopian Jews, Middle Eastern Jews, and European Jews) show diverse ancestry
  • Biblical prophecies are often interpreted as historical events, not modern racial identities

5. What is true and agreed upon?

There are a few important points most scholars agree on:

  • Ancient Israelites were not European/white in the modern sense
  • They were part of a diverse ancient world connected to Africa and the Middle East
  • Africa (especially places like Egypt and Cush) plays a significant role in biblical history

6. The deeper issue behind the question

This question is often not just about skin color—it’s about:

  • Identity
  • Dignity
  • Historical truth
  • Reclaiming a narrative after oppression

For many, asking if Israelites were Black is really asking:

“Do we have a place in God’s story?”

Balanced conclusion

  • Historically: Israelites were Middle Eastern people with varying brown skin tones
  • Biblically: The text does not clearly define them by modern race
  • Theologically (some beliefs): Some identify Black people today as the true Israelites
  • Academically: That claim is debated and not widely supported as a historical certainty

In African diasporic thought, blackness has been reclaimed as a symbol of identity, dignity, and spiritual depth. Movements in literature, theology, and politics have emphasized that Black identity is not defined by oppression but by heritage, survival, and intellectual contribution.

What does “byword” mean?

A byword is not just a nickname—it is:

  • A word or label people use mockingly or negatively
  • A term that becomes synonymous with a condition, stereotype, or stigma
  • Something said with contempt, ridicule, or generalization

In simple terms:
A byword is when your identity becomes a negative reference point in society.

How “Black” is interpreted as a byword

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Those who connect this verse to Black history argue that:

1. “Black” has been used as a label with negative meaning

Historically, the word “black” has often been associated with:

  • Evil (“blacklist,” “black sheep,” “black market”)
  • Inferiority (pseudoscience and racism)
  • Criminality (media stereotypes)

So instead of just describing skin color, it became loaded with negative connotations.

2. Slavery and racism created global stereotypes

During and after slavery:

  • Black people were labeled as lazy, unintelligent, dangerous, hypersexual, etc.
  • These ideas were spread through media, laws, and education
  • Over time, “Black” itself became shorthand for these stereotypes in many societies

This aligns with the idea of becoming a “proverb and byword”—a people reduced to caricature.

3. Derogatory names and slurs

Beyond the term “Black,” enslaved and oppressed people were called:

  • Racial slurs
  • Dehumanizing labels
  • Terms that erased identity and dignity

These function as literal bywords—names used to degrade.

4. A global condition

The verse says “among all nations,” and many point out:

  • Anti-Black stereotypes exist worldwide, not just in one country
  • Colorism and bias against dark skin appear across multiple cultures

So the argument is that “Black” became a globalized identity tied to stigma, fitting the idea of a byword.

How scholars interpret this differently

Mainstream biblical scholars say:

  • “Byword” referred to ancient Israel being mocked by surrounding nations after defeat or exile
  • It was not about modern racial terms like “Black”
  • The Hebrew concept meant becoming an object lesson of failure or judgment, not a racial label

Important balance

There are two truths to hold carefully:

  • Historically: The Bible did not use “Black” as a racial category the way we do today
  • Experientially: Black people have undeniably been turned into a social byword through racism, slavery, and media narratives

Deeper meaning

When people say “Black is a byword,” they are really expressing this:

A people’s identity has been reduced, misdefined, and weaponized against them.

It’s not just about a word—it’s about:

  • Loss of original identity
  • Imposed labels
  • Living under narratives created by others

Encouraging perspective

The same scripture that speaks of becoming a “byword” also points toward restoration, identity, and remembrance.

A byword can be undone when:

  • People reclaim truth
  • Identity is redefined by God, not society
  • History is understood, not just inherited

The symbolism of black also appears in psychological frameworks. Carl Jung associated the “dark” with the unconscious mind—representing hidden knowledge, unresolved trauma, and inner transformation. In this sense, black becomes a metaphor for internal depth rather than negativity alone.

Modern social discourse continues to wrestle with how blackness is perceived. Media representation, economic inequality, and political structures all influence how Black identity is viewed and experienced in everyday life. These systems shape public perception in ways that are often inherited from historical narratives.

In response, many scholars and activists emphasize the importance of redefining language. Words and symbols are not fixed; they evolve based on cultural power and interpretation. Reclaiming blackness involves reshaping meaning from imposed stigma into self-defined identity.

The color black, therefore, exists in a space of dual meaning—both imposed and reclaimed, both symbolic and lived. It carries the weight of history while also holding the possibility of transformation. Understanding this duality is essential to engaging the topic honestly.

Ultimately, black is not simply a color—it is a story. It is a reflection of how human beings assign meaning to identity, how societies construct hierarchy, and how communities reclaim dignity after generations of distortion. Its meaning continues to evolve, shaped by both history and the people who live within it.

References

Alexander, M. (2012). The new Jim Crow: Mass incarceration in the age of colorblindness. The New Press.

Coogan, M. D. (2018). The Old Testament: A historical and literary introduction. Oxford University Press.

Eyerman, R. (2001). Cultural trauma: Slavery and the formation of African American identity. Cambridge University Press.

Fredrickson, G. M. (2002). Racism: A short history. Princeton University Press.

Goldenberg, D. M. (2003). The curse of Ham: Race and slavery in early Judaism, Christianity, and Islam. Princeton University Press.

Mills, C. W. (1997). The racial contract. Cornell University Press.

Smallwood, S. E. (2007). Saltwater slavery: A middle passage from Africa to American diaspora. Harvard University Press.

Beauty, beauty hierarchies, Brown Skin, love, the bible, the most beautiful woman in the bible

She Is Shulamite in Brown: Loved, Not Compared.

The Shulamite is a central figure in the Song of Solomon (Song of Songs) in the King James Version of the Bible, celebrated for her beauty, sensuality, and beloved status. She represents the ideal of feminine virtue, desire, and intimacy, yet her character is often misunderstood or misappropriated. She is a Black or brown-skinned woman in the biblical narrative, often interpreted as a representation of a woman fully embraced in her own skin, proud of her heritage, and cherished for her intrinsic worth (Song of Solomon 1:5–6, KJV).

The Shulamite’s brownness is highlighted in the text: “I am black, but comely, O ye daughters of Jerusalem” (Song of Solomon 1:5, KJV). This acknowledgment of her dark skin is not a limitation but a declaration of beauty and dignity. She stands as a model for self-acceptance, unapologetic in her appearance, and fully loved for who she is. Her character challenges societies that equate fairness with favor, asserting that worth is inherent, not comparative.

The Shulamite lived in Shulam (or Shunem), a region in ancient Israel, giving her the name “Shulamite.” She embodies the ideal beloved woman, both physically appealing and morally grounded, whose beauty is holistic—spiritual, emotional, and physical. Her brownness, celebrated in scripture, is integral to her identity and her desirability.

Biblically, the Shulamite’s love story is with King Solomon, the wisest man of Israel, though she is not defined solely by this relationship. The text emphasizes mutual love, respect, and admiration. Unlike many narratives where women are objects of comparison, the Shulamite is loved uniquely, for herself, not measured against other women (Song of Solomon 2:16, KJV).

Her narrative teaches that beauty is multifaceted. While society often emphasizes physical appearance alone, the Shulamite’s appeal encompasses confidence, poise, character, and spirituality. Her brown skin is a source of pride, not shame, highlighting a biblical affirmation of melanin-rich beauty.

The Shulamite is also a symbol of agency and voice. She speaks openly about desire, fear, and longing. She is not passive but actively expresses love and commands attention through both words and presence. This autonomy challenges the reduction of women to mere physicality or comparison.

In Black and brown communities today, the Shulamite serves as a powerful archetype. She represents self-love, resisting societal hierarchies that favor lighter skin. Her example validates darker skin tones, encouraging pride, confidence, and recognition of divine favor despite external prejudice.

The Shulamite’s brownness is frequently misinterpreted by Eurocentric translations or artwork, which often depict her with lighter skin. Recognizing her true skin tone restores cultural and spiritual integrity, affirming that God delights in her appearance as He created it.

Her story also emphasizes relational equality. Solomon’s love for her is personal, tender, and unwavering. He values her character alongside her appearance, demonstrating that true affection is holistic and not conditional upon conformity to societal beauty standards.

In the Song of Solomon, she is contrasted with others only to highlight her uniqueness, not to diminish her worth. The text teaches that comparison is unnecessary when one is fully embraced and valued by God and by those who truly love them (Song of Solomon 1:8–10, KJV).

The Shulamite’s wisdom extends beyond romance. She navigates societal pressures and male attention with discernment. She balances desire with dignity, modeling how women can assert themselves in relationships while maintaining self-respect.

Her narrative also underscores the divine intention behind diverse beauty. Scripture repeatedly affirms that God is no respecter of persons (Acts 10:34, KJV). The Shulamite’s brown skin and unique traits are celebrated, not subordinated, demonstrating that true beauty is in God’s creation, not human comparison.

The Shulamite inspires contemporary discussions around colorism. She embodies resistance to the idea that darker-skinned women must conform to Eurocentric ideals to be desirable, proving that divine approval and human admiration are independent of societal bias.

Spiritually, the Shulamite reflects the intimacy between God and His people. Her self-assuredness and acceptance mirror the believer’s call to embrace God’s design fully, including one’s physical attributes. Her narrative is an invitation to celebrate God’s image in diverse forms.

Her brown skin is a source of identity, pride, and relational power. By acknowledging her melanin, she asserts that value is intrinsic, not assigned by external standards. This principle challenges centuries of social prejudice favoring lighter tones.

The Shulamite’s love is mutual and affirming. She is not defined by comparison to other women but by the depth of connection with her beloved, exemplifying the principle that worth is relationally and spiritually grounded rather than competitively measured.

Her voice, confidence, and presence teach that women should speak, act, and love without seeking validation through societal benchmarks. Her beauty is self-contained and self-affirmed, a model for self-love and divine recognition.

In literary and theological studies, the Shulamite is increasingly understood as a symbol of marginalized beauty and voice. Scholars highlight her role in demonstrating that God honors diversity, contrasts human standards, and delights in those whom society may overlook.

The Shulamite remains a powerful icon for women of color, especially Black and brown women. She affirms that their beauty, dignity, and worth are not contingent upon comparison, but are fully loved by God and those who embrace true affection.

Her legacy is timeless: to be Shulamite in brown is to embody confidence, dignity, and divine love. She teaches that self-worth is intrinsic, beauty is multifaceted, and comparison is unnecessary when one is fully embraced and valued.

References

The Holy Bible, King James Version. (1611). Song of Solomon 1:5–6, 2:16, 1:8–10.

West, M. L. (2007). The Songs of Solomon: A study of poetic love and symbolism. Oxford University Press.

Alter, R. (2010). The Art of Biblical Poetry. Basic Books.

Knight, F. (1995). Song of Songs: A Black woman’s reflection. Journal of Biblical Literature, 114(2), 215–230.

Hobbs, J. (2018). Melanin and the Bible: Reclaiming brown and Black beauty in scripture. Faith & Culture Review, 12(1), 45–62.

Hunter, M. (2007). The persistent problem of colorism: Skin tone, status, and inequality. Sociology Compass, 1(1), 237–254.

black diaspora, colorism, Colorist, dilemmas, racism, the brown boy dilemma, the brown girl dilemma, the brown girl dilemma book

When I See You, I Don’t See Black — And Other Microaggressions of Erasure”

Photo by Vitor Diniz on Pexels.com

It is a curious thing to be told, “When I see you, I don’t see Black.” On the surface, it sounds like a compliment — a supposed sign of acceptance. But beneath those words lies a deep and painful reality: erasure. To “not see Black” is to refuse to see a person fully. Blackness is not an insult that must be airbrushed away. It is a heritage, a culture, and a divine design that carries resilience, beauty, and history.

The phrase “What are you mixed with?” often accompanies this colorblind assertion. It suggests that the person’s beauty, intelligence, or refinement must have come from something other than pure African ancestry. This is the residue of white supremacy — the idea that to be fully Black is to be less than, and that any perceived excellence must be explained by proximity to whiteness (Bell, 1992).

These phrases are examples of racial microaggressions, subtle verbal slights that communicate bias, even when unintended (Sue et al., 2007). “I don’t see color” is often framed as a way to express equality, but research shows that colorblindness actually perpetuates racial inequality by ignoring structural racism (Neville et al., 2013). To deny race is to deny racism — and thus to deny the need for justice.

Biblically, God is not colorblind. Revelation 7:9 (KJV) paints a vision of heaven where “a great multitude… of all nations, and kindreds, and people, and tongues” stand before the throne. God sees color, ethnicity, and culture — and calls it good. To erase Blackness is to erase part of the divine mosaic of humanity.

For many Black people, hearing “When I see you, I don’t see Black” is a reminder that Blackness is still considered something one must look past in order to value someone. “It felt like they were saying, ‘I only respect you because you’re not like the others,’” said Renee, 28. “As if being Black is inherently negative.” This is a classic case of the “exceptional Negro” trope — praising an individual while degrading the group.

Similarly, “What are you mixed with?” is a coded way of expressing surprise that a Black person could be attractive or articulate. “People ask me that all the time,” said Marcus, 31. “When I tell them I’m just Black, they look confused, like I should apologize for not having some exotic backstory.” This curiosity reveals a hierarchy of desirability rooted in colorism — the privileging of light skin and mixed features over darker skin and African features (Hunter, 2007).

The historical roots of this hierarchy run deep. During slavery, lighter-skinned enslaved people — often the children of white masters — were sometimes given preferential treatment, fueling division within the Black community (Williamson, 1980). This legacy lingers, as seen in modern media where lighter-skinned actors, models, and musicians are often elevated as the “acceptable” face of Blackness.

Celebrities have spoken out about this painful phenomenon. Actress Lupita Nyong’o shared that she once prayed for lighter skin, believing it would make her beautiful. “I was teased and taunted about my dark skin,” she said in her powerful 2014 speech on beauty. “And my one prayer to God was that I would wake up lighter-skinned.” Nyong’o’s testimony underscores the damage caused by a culture that treats dark skin as undesirable.

Other celebrities have shared their personal experiences with these exact microaggressions. Meghan Markle has spoken openly about being asked repeatedly, “What are you?” growing up. In her interview with Oprah Winfrey, she revealed how her biracial identity was scrutinized both by the media and behind palace walls, with questions about how dark her son’s skin might be (Winfrey, 2021). Her story illustrates how curiosity about mixed heritage can carry undertones of fear and exclusion.

Zendaya has also used her platform to discuss colorism and the privilege of being a lighter-skinned Black woman in Hollywood. In interviews, she has admitted that her lighter complexion has allowed her access to roles and opportunities that darker-skinned actresses are often denied. “I have to be honest about my privilege,” she said, “and make sure I’m using my platform to showcase darker-skinned women too” (Robinson, 2018).

Colin Kaepernick, who is biracial, has shared how his identity was questioned from both sides. In his Netflix series Colin in Black & White, he recalls being constantly asked what he was “mixed with” and feeling like an outsider in both Black and white spaces. This experience reflects Du Bois’ (1903) concept of double-consciousness — the constant negotiation of identity in a society that categorizes by race.

The question “What are you mixed with?” can also exoticize and objectify. It turns identity into a guessing game, as if the person must justify their existence. “I’m not a math equation,” said Jasmine, 25. “I don’t owe anyone a breakdown of my ancestry so they can decide how to treat me.”

This line of questioning also erases the beauty of being fully African-descended. Psalm 68:31 (KJV) prophetically declares, “Princes shall come out of Egypt; Ethiopia shall soon stretch out her hands unto God.” African heritage is not a stain to be diluted but a glory to be embraced.

The deeper harm is that these statements normalize whiteness as the default and Blackness as the deviation. Saying “I don’t see you as Black” implies that Black is something negative to overcome. It also denies the lived reality of racism. As Dr. Beverly Daniel Tatum argues, to say you are colorblind is to close your eyes to injustice — and people who claim not to see race are less likely to notice or confront discrimination (Tatum, 2017).

Moreover, these phrases pressure Black individuals to perform a palatable version of Blackness. They subtly reward assimilation, encouraging people to soften their dialect, straighten their hair, or distance themselves from stereotypical “Blackness” to gain approval. This double-consciousness, as W.E.B. Du Bois (1903) called it, is the struggle to see oneself through both one’s own eyes and the eyes of a society that devalues you.

Some people genuinely believe they are being kind when they say these things. They intend to affirm equality, but true equality does not erase difference — it celebrates it. Paul’s words in 1 Corinthians 12:18 (KJV) remind us that “God set the members every one of them in the body, as it hath pleased him.” Diversity is divine design, not a problem to be solved.

The work of dismantling this erasure requires both education and empathy. Non-Black people must learn why colorblindness harms rather than heals. They must also recognize how fetishizing mixed heritage reinforces harmful hierarchies. Black people must reclaim their identity unapologetically, refusing to let others define their worth by proximity to whiteness.

Representation plays a crucial role here. When Blackness is portrayed in its full spectrum — from deep mahogany to golden brown — it challenges the idea that only certain shades are beautiful or acceptable. Campaigns like #MelaninPoppin and #BlackGirlMagic have helped shift cultural narratives, reminding the world that Blackness needs no qualifier to be celebrated.

Healing from these microaggressions is both personal and collective. It means telling children that their Blackness is not something to overcome but something to rejoice in. It means calling out subtle biases when they occur, with both grace and truth. It means creating spaces where Black identity can be expressed in all its complexity — natural hair, vernacular speech, cultural traditions — without apology.

The next time someone says, “I don’t see Black,” we must gently but firmly reply: “See me fully — my Blackness included.” To be truly seen is to be known, and to be known is to be loved. And when someone asks, “What are you mixed with?” we can answer with pride: “I am fearfully and wonderfully made — fully, beautifully, unapologetically who God created me to be.”

References

  • Bell, D. (1992). Faces at the bottom of the well: The permanence of racism. Basic Books.
  • Du Bois, W. E. B. (1903). The souls of Black folk. A.C. McClurg & Co.
  • Hunter, M. (2007). The persistent problem of colorism: Skin tone, status, and inequality. Sociology Compass, 1(1), 237–254.
  • Neville, H. A., Awad, G. H., Brooks, J. E., Flores, M. P., & Bluemel, J. (2013). Color-blind racial ideology: Theory, training, and measurement implications in psychology. American Psychologist, 68(6), 455–466.
  • Sue, D. W., Capodilupo, C. M., Torino, G. C., Bucceri, J. M., Holder, A. M. B., Nadal, K. L., & Esquilin, M. (2007). Racial microaggressions in everyday life: Implications for clinical practice. American Psychologist, 62(4), 271–286.
  • Tatum, B. D. (2017). Why are all the Black kids sitting together in the cafeteria? (Rev. ed.). Basic Books.
  • Williamson, J. (1980). New people: Miscegenation and mulattoes in the United States. Free Press.