4 Black Girl Rising
We saw Black Girl Rising on our first night and it had a profound impact on me. I thought about it for many hours after and was still thinking about it when I woke up.
I’m a little unsure of where to start this morning. Last night's show rattled me.
After the show I needed some space to walk and think and unrattle myself. It made me think of my little girl. My own little Zorro: strong willed, caring, inquisitive, and constantly on the go. Who only stops for the occasional Disney movie, Vegemite sandwich, or to get a fresh bandaid. It made me think of all the things I cannot control or protect her from.
Linnea, writer and performer of Black Girl Rising, shares her story so openly and honestly. It was sometimes so raw that she cried and stalled and her audience cried with her. She is strong and professional and, so obviously, she persevered. Her reflections of being a young girl and having the world’s hang ups about skin colour slowly seep into her life hurt to listen to. At every stage, I thought about my little people and what they might say to someone one day.
Will my little girl pick up language that hurts others? Will she use her flowering confidence to crush someone else's?
They live in a predominantly white town. We only have a few friends of colour, at least in our town. In the city we do, that is different, but we don’t live there.
I hope that the examples of my wife and I, our families, and our friend's lead will be enough. Will they be enough to give her the strength to support and uplift others? Will they be enough to go against the crowd if the crowd shows itself to be foul? These are the questions I can’t answer. All I can do is to remain open and aware and teach her what I know. Linnea spoke of her parents with great love and respect.
Her parents clearly instilled strong values in her at a young age. Giving her a strength that helped her through her hardest times. Teenage years are hard on most, but the isolation Linnea described would have been harrowing. Yet, she pushed through. Which was a common theme of her story. Again and again she experience racism, direct and indirect, and she continued to push on.
I cried the most at the end.
The screen at the back showed a photo of Linnea dressed as Zorro. Earlier, she had described her toddler self as a fierce protector. Donning the mask and rallying her friends into a frenzy toward those that had wronged them. But now she sat in front of us crying. Wondering how that little girl might be different if they had not had to endure what she had.
Who might any of us be without the experiences we have?
A disarming question.
An unanswerable one. One leads to a nebulous tangle of possibility.
I saw, sitting in front of me, a strong and true performer who was willing to share painful realities. If my children grow up to have a fraction of their honesty and perseverance I will have done something right.
I saw a strong woman sitting in front of me and she wouldn’t need a Zorro mask anymore.
