As someone who has experience in the world of media, I understand that editors have to consider the needs and interests of their audience. I also understand that different outlets have different styles and specialties. However, I’m both offended and disturbed by what I see as somewhat of a trend among media when it comes to underestimating the intellect and concerns of black audiences.

First, as an editor, it is condescending and dangerously presumptuous to generalize about and insult the intelligence level of a group of people you’ve never met. It is bad enough that many of us have probably heard the insult that if you want to keep something from a black person, put it in a book, so why are we being purposefully limited by entertainment and information sources that were supposedly designed to serve our interests? My friend did not pitch an article on quantum physics (not that African Americans aren’t interested in quantum physics). It was not even a book review. Still, apparently the editor felt it was too complex a topic for the black women who frequent the site.

Although we were appalled by the editor’s statement, as young and educated black female writers, we were forced to admit the pressure we sometimes feel to write about the topics that seem to be the most prevalent and popular. Yet, the real question that not enough people seem to be asking is, “Who says black people (women in particular) only care about relationships, fashion, fitness, hair care, and celebrities?” Who says that even people who are interested in those topics cannot be “intellectual?”

Again, because I understand media, I understand that in many ways it can be one part content and two parts marketing. Particularly in today’s economy, fraught with stories about the difficulties brought about by the changing media model, people are going to publish what sells. By extension, in the page-view and “likes” driven online world, people are going to publish what they believe will generate the most traffic to their sites. This fact is not just one that applies to black media outlets and audiences, but to the public in general. It’s why Tom and Katie’s impending divorce was treated as a lead news story on every platform from local news to “AC 360.”

Are people more likely to read “7 Ways to Get the Relationship You Want” than they are to read about the European debt crisis? Unfortunately, many of them may be, but what ever happened to balance? As with many other issues, while it may be affecting the general population as well, the “dumbing down” of content can have an especially adverse affect in African-American communities.

For non-majority African-American readers, for every issue of the National Enquirer they may read, there is an issue of The Nation (or The National Review, whatever your preference), but there is already a lack of African-American media outlets covering the stories, topics, and issues our communities need to read, especially at the level at which they need to be covered. We cannot afford to have our own outlets selling us short, too, based on the assumption that we are not smart enough or interested enough to care about real issues.

If we think about media as a form of education and media creators as educators, we cannot simply continue to accept the myth that black readers are just anti-intellectual. Teachers do not (or at least should not) just feed students what they think they want to hear. They expose them to new information and, if necessary, help them to understand how and why the subject does relate to them. Readers, like students, may not initially know about or be interested in a topic. Unfortunately, they may never know if it is not presented to them.

The post Dumb It Down: Black Media’s Perpetuation of the Myth of the Anti-Intellectual Black Reader appeared first on Clutch Magazine.

She went on to explain her concern that as the summertime approached and school ended, young black boys like the ones who had walked past her car—although she had not specifically identified them as black when she first expressed alarm—would be roaming the streets looking for trouble.

I was so taken aback by her reaction that I did not respond, but in light of the ongoing Trayvon Martin case, her response made me think about the many ways in which people of color negatively profile the members of our own communities.

Yes, many parents and politicians alike acknowledge the need for youth, especially youth of color and those in more underserved communities, to have constructive and affordable summer opportunities to keep them safe and occupied, but since when does having a group of young black boys walk past your car merit needing to reach for a weapon? Granted, this relative and I do not live in the same region of the country, so I cannot comment on the specific issues and circumstances of where she lives, but even so, I could not help but notice the Zimmerman-esque nature of her response.

Apparently, a group of young black boys who walk by wearing sagging pants are equally as “suspicious” as a black teenage boy wearing a hoodie–and not just to an overzealous neighborhood watchman, but to a black woman, and a mother to a son, someone who has expressed outrage about the circumstances surrounding the Trayvon Martin case and the plight of young black men. Ironically, she didn’t even seem to grasp the problem with her own behavior.

This observation is not to say that the actions of Zimmerman or anyone else who engages in racial profiling are somehow merited or justifiable. In fact, it basically demonstrates that people of color can indeed harbor prejudice and engage in racial and other sorts of profiling, even against one another. It also forced me to think about the ways in which many people of color aid in the process of stereotyping and criminalizing our own–especially our men–even as we shake our heads and fists at society for doing so.

The post Facing the ‘Zimmermans’ in Our Own Communities appeared first on Clutch Magazine.

First, let me begin by saying that I would never endorse a woman chasing a man. In my opinion, to chase someone is to pursue someone or something that is deliberately moving away from you or attempting to avoid capture. For example, a cat chases a mouse that is running for its life because it does not want to be eaten. By the same token, I don’t endorse a man chasing a woman either. No, a woman should not just melt into the arms of any and every man who shows interest in her (for all of you who enjoy a good round of playing “hard to get”), but no man should chase a woman who has blatantly shown or expressed her disinterest. That’s called harassment, either way you look at it.

However, to pursue someone or something is to go after what you want with the understanding that while it might not be in your possession at the moment, it is attainable and it will not necessarily just fall into your lap if you choose to do nothing. With that said, I see nothing wrong with a woman pursuing a man in whom she is interested, in the same way that I see nothing wrong with a man doing the same thing for a woman. So ladies, if there is a brother you’ve been eyeing for a while and he hasn’t approached you, I am not against you making the first move: sparking a conversation, leaving him your number, and even asking him out to lunch–depending on your degree of boldness. That’s called initiative.

It is one thing for a woman to say that making the first move is not her style; it is another thing to critique or minimize a person’s womanhood according to individual, or even societal, standards.

Who says that a woman who expresses her interest in a man is not behaving as a queen should? In fact, we do it all the time in more indirect, socially accepted as feminine, and not always as efficient ways. It’s called flirting. The notion that a queen is a figurehead who just sits on her loins while people fall at her feet and do her bidding is in many ways both limiting and unrealistic.

To be a woman is to handle business, in all of its forms, to not be afraid to express your heart and mind while commanding dignity, awe, and respect at the same time. A queen is a ruler and a conqueror just as much as a king, and obtaining and maintaining her queendom takes effort. A true king is the man who recognizes this and who is willing to rule with her, as she rules with him. It’s not emasculation. It’s collaboration.

Some people may feel that it is not necessary for a woman to make the first move because a man who is truly interested in a woman will always do so. While in many cases, that may be true, and no one is discounting the importance of patience and faith, what about the man who simply hasn’t noticed you? What if no matter how amazing you are or how fly you look every day, you’re one of 300 other women in a lecture hall and he always sits on the opposite side of the room and uses a different exit? Do you leave your meeting up to fate because it’s the “queenly” thing to do? What if he has noticed you and the boss lady fly look that you think you give off actually comes across as snobbish to him and he decides that he does not want to approach you? Better yet, what if he has noticed you, and he is interested, but he is too shy to initiate contact? As shocking as it may seem, there is such a thing as a shy guy, and it does not mean that he is any less of a man.

While queens who wait for kings to appear on their doorsteps may indeed eventually get “chose,” pursuing your interests opens up the possibilities that women may actually get to do the choosing when it comes to getting the partners we truly want. However, if he has clearly expressed his disinterest, keep it moving, because remember—chasing is never acceptable.

If you happen to find the perfect man who materializes in front of you, always gets all of the cues and makes all of the moves, and you’re happy, that’s great. However, whether we’re in a relationship or not, we women have to understand that men are not mind readers, and like everything else in life, the best way to ensure that you get what you want is to pursue it.

The post I’ll Holla: The Pursuit Versus The Chase appeared first on Clutch Magazine.

Med School would not have spent her time trying to prove her toughness, or even worse, her “blackness” to Tasha Mack or sports executives. More importantly than that, Med School was a friend to Kelly Pitts and was like a younger sister or daughter to Tasha Mack. Kelly, Tasha, and Med School partied, exchanged advice, laughed with, cried with, and supported one another through the ups-and-downs of life as the women behind the men in the NFL. Malik, Jason—minus his latest overly stereotypical exploration into his “blackness” and aversion towards black women–and Derwin are hilarious and nice to look at, but I believe that the disintegration of the female identity and the bond between the female characters on the show is contributing to a decline in the quality of its stories.

While I’ve always had a problem with the way that Melanie’s life seemingly unraveled after her initial break up with Derwin, her reaction was relatable, believable, and it served as a cautionary tale for women and young girls not to simply follow a man anywhere without a ring or a plan to provide for herself so that she did not have to be entirely dependent on him, financially and emotionally.  Yet, Mrs. Dr. Melanie Barnett-Davis seems even less secure than “Girl Melanie” gone wild after Derwin cheated. Always plagued by the fact that she was not the mother of his child, she now finds that she cannot have a child of her own because she had an abortion—a link that is not medically solid–so that Derwin might still entertain the possibility of taking her back, all so that she could ultimately watch him raise his child with another woman? She’s making pregnancy decisions based on reconciliation hopes? Seriously? With no baby (Tre Wiggs or Derwin), no career, no financial independence or security, no input in the life of his child or his business, and undoubtedly a rapidly eroding self-esteem as the butt of endless non-doctor jokes and a reputation as the bougie drama queen, exactly how many sacrifices is one woman supposed to make before she becomes nothing more than a fake, fragile shell of a Sunbeam President?

Unfortunately, Melanie cannot even seek the advice of the former Sunbeam President who knows what it is like to sacrifice herself because the character of Kelly Pitts has been MIA—and I’m not even counting her stint as an “ex-baller’s wife” because I don’t know who that was, do you? Even when Kelly was an unappreciated cheerleader during her marriage to Jason, she was never as needy and desperately in search of attention as she was in those few episodes in Season 4. As Melanie moves into the role that Kelly Pitts previously inhabited, the show is missing out on a golden opportunity to show women helping each other through the changing of the guards. Even if Kelly Pitts wanted to wallow in her divorced misery, she could have done so a little more realistically, and perhaps, with the help of Melanie, who again, knows what it is like to lose yourself after a break up. Instead, the show chose to depict an even more extreme example of a woman who comes undone after her relationship ends.

Of course, no one is a better expert on ending relationships than Tasha Mack. The rifts in her relationships with both Melanie and Kelly Pitts have taken her from the keeping-it-real motherly role to a childish, petty stereotype of an angry black woman who gets schooled by men decades younger than her. I actually enjoy when people force Tasha to think about her ways, but she also used to be more than a dispensary for cliché “ghetto girl” antics and wise cracks. She was a candid source of wisdom for both Melanie and Kelly, and they forced her to evaluate herself just as much as a twenty-something year old explaining her “emasculatory” tendencies.

Changes in these characters and in their relationships with one another were both inevitable and necessary if the show was to continue, but their essences needed to remain the same. Even if the female characters have to temporarily be at odds with one another or in periods of personal crisis, those moments should still be written in a way that acknowledges the importance of their dignity and friendship. As a show that has always been about families, not football, the portrayal of the females who serve as the backbones of those families is especially important. If I wanted to watch desperate females at one another’s throats, I would turn on Basketball Wives. The Game only goes as far as the Sunbeam sisterhood.

The post Time Out: What Ever Happened to the Sunbeam Sisterhood?’ appeared first on Clutch Magazine.

It was in anticipation of this purposeful “alternate reality” that I made the decision to attend an HBCU. Just as scholars have argued that positive images of oneself or one’s group in the media and elsewhere are crucial to the development of an individual’s self-esteem and sense of purpose, as a black woman, I firmly believe that there is no better motivator than the HBCU experience, where suddenly—although indicative of a larger problem among black men—black women are in the majority. However, somewhere in the midst of enjoying this sense of commonality, I began to shoulder the weight of my differences in a whole new way.

As a black woman born with Cerebral Palsy, while I have by no means been oblivious to my differences, I have often said that I don’t think about my disability until I am reminded somehow: a stare, a tone of pity, an insensitive comment, a broken elevator. As a physically challenged person of color, I have seen the discrepancies in the opportunities afforded to many of my peers. Because my family saw them too, I was purposefully usually the only physically challenged person wherever I was: in my schools, on stage, or at an internship. In constant attempts to get others to get past my disability and to respect and acknowledge my humanity, I was never eager to highlight any features that the public may have viewed as detriments. While I was never ashamed of my disability, I understood that it made me who I was, and I’d always had a certain level of suspicion towards people who said that they did not want to be identified by their skin color or that they did not think of themselves as “black first,” attending an HBCU forced me to realize that I feel the same way when it comes to my disability.

While I have no trouble wearing my racial pride on my sleeve, when it comes to being physically challenged, I have a tendency to stress my sameness, to prove or demonstrate my equality, in order to fit in, be granted opportunities, and ultimately, to succeed, and just like there is nothing like a “driving while black” episode to remind some people of who they are, there is nothing like a broken elevator to bring me down to size because “disabled” has not become an accepted minority. Despite the hurdles that African Americans still face, we had a Civil Rights and a Black Power Movement. It is now legally and socially acceptable, even “cool” to be a part of black culture, and although we may not always agree with our portrayals, we see ourselves represented in media and the arts all the time. When black women realized that the issues we faced required specific attention separate from that of both women in general and blacks, we even had our own movement. No such movements have yet to take place for people with special needs, particularly people of color with special needs.

While the legal rights may be in place, the social rights and practices still need work. We live in a society where the Crip walk is less shocking than a crippled one–or no walk at all, where the only blind people we know are ones who play piano, and where American Sign Language is as foreign to many people as Urdu.

Ironically, in my quest to be inspired by the black “alternate reality,” I was smacked in the face by my reality. As I sometimes imagine many black women must have felt during the Civil Rights Movement and Black Liberation Struggles, I realized that my identity consisted of more parts than I had previously allowed myself to admit, and that I had my own issues to consider that were not being addressed. I was not necessarily black or a black woman first anymore because a lack of plans and accessibility problems forced me to acknowledge that while black and black female empowerment oozed from every corner and crevice of campus, I was still in the minority when it came to my disability.

Experience has taught me that it is hard to get most people to understand and respond to situations to which they feel that they cannot relate, but as institutions dedicated to the education and uplift of historically oppressed groups, I believe that HBCUs need to be training grounds that do everything in their power to consider the needs of all minority groups. As places that house people who know the pain of having to explain and defend one’s equal right to exist, not even lack of finances or amenities can make up for effort, awareness, and attitudes. As a function of our continued purpose in an era that questions our relevance, it is our job to misrepresent “the real world” so unconventionally, yet effectively, that we act as a mirror for what it could and should be.

The post Black, Female, and Disabled: The Disintegration and Continuation of Struggle appeared first on Clutch Magazine.