Questões de Inglês

Beyonce, colorism, and why all of this needs to end

by Ernest Owens

 

  Yes, the Super Bowl was on fire. As one who is very critical of halftime show performances, I cannot deny that Beyoncé brought the energy and attention. All of this led to her releasing her tour dates for the Mrs. Carter Show. As excited as I was to actually buy these tickets, something turned me off. The poster.

  If you haven’t seen the photographs for Beyonce’s new world tour, you probably wouldn’t even recognize her. You will see an image of what looks like a Victorian white woman in the Elizabethan era. Her (prosthetic) blonde hair puffed and extended to reveal a face that is almost as white as snow. Lips red and her skin powdered. This is not the same bronze Beyonce that I saw rocking the stage in an all female band with her darker Destiny’s Child counterparts. I was only left with memories of previous patterns that the multi-Grammy award winning artist had done in previous years in regards to her skin. And I asked myself the question: why, Bey?

  Let’s not act like this is something new. Over the years, it seems as though Beyonce has gotten lighter as she has gotten older. No, this is not genetics and let’s not pretend her skin color in her first Destiny’s Child album cover matches that of her latest album. Whether it is that highly controversial Revlon advertisement or her own album cover art, Beyonce has consistently been called out on alterations done to her pigments.

  What does this say about our society for black women? It tells me that, an independent, confident and successful woman of color still struggles to have the confidence to fully embrace the skin she is in. If one of the most powerful women in entertainment feels she has to lighten her skin for projection, what does that say for the rest of us?

  Believe it or not, colorism, the stigma associated with skin complexion, has been an ill that has not yet been dissolved by the black community. What was first given to us by slave masters in separating the house slaves from the field ones, has now taken place in how we objectify our women and each other.

  This is pretty problematic in many ways. It’s first of all self-loathing and unnecessary for today’s times. The fact that our nation had an African-American first lady with a complexion that isn’t on the lighter side of the spectrum, nor does it try to be, shows a compelling advancement in appreciation for all women of color in many ways.

  Furthermore, the only reason why such stigma in our country continues is contributed to our own behavior that is shaped by the influential people of color around us. It devastated me when I saw that Sammy Sosa had lightened his skin. As successful as he was in a field that was not necessarily fixated on male skin complexion, it saddened me to see him do it. In many ways, it even made me reflect back on the transition of the late great Michael Jackson and what explanations he had for such a more pale white appearance.

  And why does all of this matter? Because I grew up hearing stories of young dark black girls getting their faces scrubbed with skin lightening soaps out of their free will. Tales of young women being abandoned by their mothers because they were too dark.

  If this is the reality that had more implications back in the early 20th century than it does now, please stop it. Stop trying to explain why you are dating the ebony skin girl. Stop making it seem exceptional that a girl of a darker complexion is actually attractive. Celebrities, stop putting extraneous powders and lighteners on your skin: we all know what you used to look like and we still love you. And people of color: let’s not continue to perpetuate an oppressive cycle of self-loathing of our appearance and heritage. If this can be accomplished, then perhaps even in our own race we can truly make our lives not be judged by the color of our skin but by the content of our character.

(adapted from www.huffingtonpost.com, 14/02/2013)

The author of the article criticizes the fact that the producers:

Beyonce, colorism, and why all of this needs to end

by Ernest Owens

 

  Yes, the Super Bowl was on fire. As one who is very critical of halftime show performances, I cannot deny that Beyoncé brought the energy and attention. All of this led to her releasing her tour dates for the Mrs. Carter Show. As excited as I was to actually buy these tickets, something turned me off. The poster.

  If you haven’t seen the photographs for Beyonce’s new world tour, you probably wouldn’t even recognize her. You will see an image of what looks like a Victorian white woman in the Elizabethan era. Her (prosthetic) blonde hair puffed and extended to reveal a face that is almost as white as snow. Lips red and her skin powdered. This is not the same bronze Beyonce that I saw rocking the stage in an all female band with her darker Destiny’s Child counterparts. I was only left with memories of previous patterns that the multi-Grammy award winning artist had done in previous years in regards to her skin. And I asked myself the question: why, Bey?

  Let’s not act like this is something new. Over the years, it seems as though Beyonce has gotten lighter as she has gotten older. No, this is not genetics and let’s not pretend her skin color in her first Destiny’s Child album cover matches that of her latest album. Whether it is that highly controversial Revlon advertisement or her own album cover art, Beyonce has consistently been called out on alterations done to her pigments.

  What does this say about our society for black women? It tells me that, an independent, confident and successful woman of color still struggles to have the confidence to fully embrace the skin she is in. If one of the most powerful women in entertainment feels she has to lighten her skin for projection, what does that say for the rest of us?

  Believe it or not, colorism, the stigma associated with skin complexion, has been an ill that has not yet been dissolved by the black community. What was first given to us by slave masters in separating the house slaves from the field ones, has now taken place in how we objectify our women and each other.

  This is pretty problematic in many ways. It’s first of all self-loathing and unnecessary for today’s times. The fact that our nation had an African-American first lady with a complexion that isn’t on the lighter side of the spectrum, nor does it try to be, shows a compelling advancement in appreciation for all women of color in many ways.

  Furthermore, the only reason why such stigma in our country continues is contributed to our own behavior that is shaped by the influential people of color around us. It devastated me when I saw that Sammy Sosa had lightened his skin. As successful as he was in a field that was not necessarily fixated on male skin complexion, it saddened me to see him do it. In many ways, it even made me reflect back on the transition of the late great Michael Jackson and what explanations he had for such a more pale white appearance.

  And why does all of this matter? Because I grew up hearing stories of young dark black girls getting their faces scrubbed with skin lightening soaps out of their free will. Tales of young women being abandoned by their mothers because they were too dark.

  If this is the reality that had more implications back in the early 20th century than it does now, please stop it. Stop trying to explain why you are dating the ebony skin girl. Stop making it seem exceptional that a girl of a darker complexion is actually attractive. Celebrities, stop putting extraneous powders and lighteners on your skin: we all know what you used to look like and we still love you. And people of color: let’s not continue to perpetuate an oppressive cycle of self-loathing of our appearance and heritage. If this can be accomplished, then perhaps even in our own race we can truly make our lives not be judged by the color of our skin but by the content of our character.

(adapted from www.huffingtonpost.com, 14/02/2013)

The author of the article:

How James Brown Made Black Pride a Hit

 

It’s been 50 years since he wrote “Say It Loud, I’m Black and I’m Proud,” a song that is still necessary.

By Randall Kennedy

 

  In the gym at Paul Junior High School in Washington, D.C., in the spring of 1968, not that long before the assassination of the Rev. Dr. Martin Luther King Jr., I asked a buddy whether he was interested in a certain girl. He told me that he was not because she was too dark.

  He and I were African-American. (Then we would have called ourselves Negro.) So was she. All of us supported the Civil Rights Movement and idolized Dr. King, yet I did not hold my friend’s colorstruck judgment against him. And he did not state his opinion with embarrassment. We had both internalized our society’s derogation of blackness.

  Indeed, we luxuriated in the denigration, spending hours trading silly, recycled but revealing insults: “Yo mama so black, she blend in with the chalkboard.” “Yeah, well, yo mama so black, she sweats chocolate.”

  It was precisely because of widespread colorism that James Brown’s anthem “Say It Loud, I’m Black and I’m Proud” posed a challenge, felt so exhilarating, and resonated so powerfully. It still does. Much has changed over the past half century. But, alas, the need to defend blackness against derision continues.

  Various musicians in the 1960s tapped into yearnings for black assertiveness, autonomy and solidarity. Curtis Mayfield and the Impressions sang “We’re a Winner.” Sly and the Family Stone offered “Stand.” Sam Cooke (and Aretha Franklin and Otis Redding) performed “A Change is Gonna Come.” But no entertainer equaled Brown’s vocalization of African-Americans’ newly triumphal sense of self-acceptance.

  That Brown created the song most popularly associated with the Black is Beautiful movement is ironic. He generally stayed away from protest, endorsed the presidential re-election of Richard Nixon, lavishly praised Ronald Reagan, and consistently lauded Strom Thurmond.

  His infrequent sallies into politics usually sounded in patriotic, lift-yourselfup-ism. In the song “America is My Home,” he proclaimed without embarrassment that the United States “is still the best country / And that’s without a doubt.” Alluding to his own trajectory, he challenged dissenters to name any other country in which a person could start out as a poor shoeshine boy but end up as a wealthy celebrity shaking hands with the president.

  At the very time that in “Say It Loud,” Brown seemed to be affirming Negritude, he also sported a “conk” — a distinctive hairdo that involved chemically removing kinkiness on the way to creating a bouffant of straightened hair. Many AfricanAmerican political activists, especially those with a black nationalist orientation, decried the conk as an illustration of racial self-hatred. For a brief period, Brown abandoned the conk and adopted an Afro, but that was only temporary. The conk was part of the characteristic look of “The Godfather of Soul.”

  Even though by 1968 uprisings against white supremacism had been erupting for a decade with great intensity and success — the Montgomery Bus Boycott, the Children’s’ Crusade in Birmingham, the protest against disenfranchisement in Selma — prejudice against blackness remained prevalent, including among African-Americans.

  Champions of African-American uplift in the 1960s sought to liberate blackness from the layers of contempt, fear, and hatred with which it had been smeared for centuries. Brown’s anthem poignantly reflected the psychic problem it sought to address. People secure in their status don’t feel compelled to trumpet their pride. At the same time “Say it Loud!” was a rousing instance of a reclamation that took many forms. Instead of celebrating light skin, thin lips, and “good” (i.e., straight) hair, increasing numbers of African-Americans began valorizing dark skin, thick lips and “bad” (i.e., kinky) hair.

  The reclamation of blackness in the sixties made tremendous headway quickly. By 1970 my friend would not have dared to repeat out loud what he had told me unapologetically two years before. Here, as elsewhere, however, changes wrought by the black liberation movement, though impressive, were only partial. Nearly four decades after the release of “Say It Loud,” Professors Jennifer Hochschild and Vesla Weaver, having synthesized the pertinent academic literature, declared authoritatively that compared to their lighter-skinned counterparts, dark-skinned blacks continue to be burdened by lower levels of education, income, and job status. They receive longer prison sentences and are less likely to own homes or to marry. Filmmakers, advertisers, modeling agencies, dating websites and other key gatekeepers demonstrate repeatedly the ongoing pertinence of the old saw: If you’re black get back. If you’re brown, stick around. If you’re white you’re alright.

  Intraracial colorism in Black America is often seen as a topic that should, if possible, be avoided, especially in “mixed company.” That sense of embarrassment three decades ago prompted officials at Morehouse College to demand that Spike Lee cease filming on campus once they learned that his movie was exposing, among other things, black collegiate colorism. The impulse toward avoidance remains strong

  With racial prejudice against all African-Americans still a potent force, many would just as soon ditch the discussion of “black on black” complexional bias. Colorism, however, remains a baleful reality

  Half a century after James Brown’s proclamation, it remains imperative to assert what should have been assumed and uncontroversial all along: that black is beautiful and as worthy of pride and care and consideration as any other hue.

(Adapted from: www.nytimes.com, 20/07/2018)

As of late 1960s, after the release of “Say It Loud, I’m Black and I’m Proud”:

How James Brown Made Black Pride a Hit

 

It’s been 50 years since he wrote “Say It Loud, I’m Black and I’m Proud,” a song that is still necessary.

By Randall Kennedy

 

  In the gym at Paul Junior High School in Washington, D.C., in the spring of 1968, not that long before the assassination of the Rev. Dr. Martin Luther King Jr., I asked a buddy whether he was interested in a certain girl. He told me that he was not because she was too dark.

  He and I were African-American. (Then we would have called ourselves Negro.) So was she. All of us supported the Civil Rights Movement and idolized Dr. King, yet I did not hold my friend’s colorstruck judgment against him. And he did not state his opinion with embarrassment. We had both internalized our society’s derogation of blackness.

  Indeed, we luxuriated in the denigration, spending hours trading silly, recycled but revealing insults: “Yo mama so black, she blend in with the chalkboard.” “Yeah, well, yo mama so black, she sweats chocolate.”

  It was precisely because of widespread colorism that James Brown’s anthem “Say It Loud, I’m Black and I’m Proud” posed a challenge, felt so exhilarating, and resonated so powerfully. It still does. Much has changed over the past half century. But, alas, the need to defend blackness against derision continues.

  Various musicians in the 1960s tapped into yearnings for black assertiveness, autonomy and solidarity. Curtis Mayfield and the Impressions sang “We’re a Winner.” Sly and the Family Stone offered “Stand.” Sam Cooke (and Aretha Franklin and Otis Redding) performed “A Change is Gonna Come.” But no entertainer equaled Brown’s vocalization of African-Americans’ newly triumphal sense of self-acceptance.

  That Brown created the song most popularly associated with the Black is Beautiful movement is ironic. He generally stayed away from protest, endorsed the presidential re-election of Richard Nixon, lavishly praised Ronald Reagan, and consistently lauded Strom Thurmond.

  His infrequent sallies into politics usually sounded in patriotic, lift-yourselfup-ism. In the song “America is My Home,” he proclaimed without embarrassment that the United States “is still the best country / And that’s without a doubt.” Alluding to his own trajectory, he challenged dissenters to name any other country in which a person could start out as a poor shoeshine boy but end up as a wealthy celebrity shaking hands with the president.

  At the very time that in “Say It Loud,” Brown seemed to be affirming Negritude, he also sported a “conk” — a distinctive hairdo that involved chemically removing kinkiness on the way to creating a bouffant of straightened hair. Many AfricanAmerican political activists, especially those with a black nationalist orientation, decried the conk as an illustration of racial self-hatred. For a brief period, Brown abandoned the conk and adopted an Afro, but that was only temporary. The conk was part of the characteristic look of “The Godfather of Soul.”

  Even though by 1968 uprisings against white supremacism had been erupting for a decade with great intensity and success — the Montgomery Bus Boycott, the Children’s’ Crusade in Birmingham, the protest against disenfranchisement in Selma — prejudice against blackness remained prevalent, including among African-Americans.

  Champions of African-American uplift in the 1960s sought to liberate blackness from the layers of contempt, fear, and hatred with which it had been smeared for centuries. Brown’s anthem poignantly reflected the psychic problem it sought to address. People secure in their status don’t feel compelled to trumpet their pride. At the same time “Say it Loud!” was a rousing instance of a reclamation that took many forms. Instead of celebrating light skin, thin lips, and “good” (i.e., straight) hair, increasing numbers of African-Americans began valorizing dark skin, thick lips and “bad” (i.e., kinky) hair.

  The reclamation of blackness in the sixties made tremendous headway quickly. By 1970 my friend would not have dared to repeat out loud what he had told me unapologetically two years before. Here, as elsewhere, however, changes wrought by the black liberation movement, though impressive, were only partial. Nearly four decades after the release of “Say It Loud,” Professors Jennifer Hochschild and Vesla Weaver, having synthesized the pertinent academic literature, declared authoritatively that compared to their lighter-skinned counterparts, dark-skinned blacks continue to be burdened by lower levels of education, income, and job status. They receive longer prison sentences and are less likely to own homes or to marry. Filmmakers, advertisers, modeling agencies, dating websites and other key gatekeepers demonstrate repeatedly the ongoing pertinence of the old saw: If you’re black get back. If you’re brown, stick around. If you’re white you’re alright.

  Intraracial colorism in Black America is often seen as a topic that should, if possible, be avoided, especially in “mixed company.” That sense of embarrassment three decades ago prompted officials at Morehouse College to demand that Spike Lee cease filming on campus once they learned that his movie was exposing, among other things, black collegiate colorism. The impulse toward avoidance remains strong

  With racial prejudice against all African-Americans still a potent force, many would just as soon ditch the discussion of “black on black” complexional bias. Colorism, however, remains a baleful reality

  Half a century after James Brown’s proclamation, it remains imperative to assert what should have been assumed and uncontroversial all along: that black is beautiful and as worthy of pride and care and consideration as any other hue.

(Adapted from: www.nytimes.com, 20/07/2018)

The text mentions a certain paradox in Brown’s attitudes. This is because:

How James Brown Made Black Pride a Hit

 

It’s been 50 years since he wrote “Say It Loud, I’m Black and I’m Proud,” a song that is still necessary.

By Randall Kennedy

 

  In the gym at Paul Junior High School in Washington, D.C., in the spring of 1968, not that long before the assassination of the Rev. Dr. Martin Luther King Jr., I asked a buddy whether he was interested in a certain girl. He told me that he was not because she was too dark.

  He and I were African-American. (Then we would have called ourselves Negro.) So was she. All of us supported the Civil Rights Movement and idolized Dr. King, yet I did not hold my friend’s colorstruck judgment against him. And he did not state his opinion with embarrassment. We had both internalized our society’s derogation of blackness.

  Indeed, we luxuriated in the denigration, spending hours trading silly, recycled but revealing insults: “Yo mama so black, she blend in with the chalkboard.” “Yeah, well, yo mama so black, she sweats chocolate.”

  It was precisely because of widespread colorism that James Brown’s anthem “Say It Loud, I’m Black and I’m Proud” posed a challenge, felt so exhilarating, and resonated so powerfully. It still does. Much has changed over the past half century. But, alas, the need to defend blackness against derision continues.

  Various musicians in the 1960s tapped into yearnings for black assertiveness, autonomy and solidarity. Curtis Mayfield and the Impressions sang “We’re a Winner.” Sly and the Family Stone offered “Stand.” Sam Cooke (and Aretha Franklin and Otis Redding) performed “A Change is Gonna Come.” But no entertainer equaled Brown’s vocalization of African-Americans’ newly triumphal sense of self-acceptance.

  That Brown created the song most popularly associated with the Black is Beautiful movement is ironic. He generally stayed away from protest, endorsed the presidential re-election of Richard Nixon, lavishly praised Ronald Reagan, and consistently lauded Strom Thurmond.

  His infrequent sallies into politics usually sounded in patriotic, lift-yourselfup-ism. In the song “America is My Home,” he proclaimed without embarrassment that the United States “is still the best country / And that’s without a doubt.” Alluding to his own trajectory, he challenged dissenters to name any other country in which a person could start out as a poor shoeshine boy but end up as a wealthy celebrity shaking hands with the president.

  At the very time that in “Say It Loud,” Brown seemed to be affirming Negritude, he also sported a “conk” — a distinctive hairdo that involved chemically removing kinkiness on the way to creating a bouffant of straightened hair. Many AfricanAmerican political activists, especially those with a black nationalist orientation, decried the conk as an illustration of racial self-hatred. For a brief period, Brown abandoned the conk and adopted an Afro, but that was only temporary. The conk was part of the characteristic look of “The Godfather of Soul.”

  Even though by 1968 uprisings against white supremacism had been erupting for a decade with great intensity and success — the Montgomery Bus Boycott, the Children’s’ Crusade in Birmingham, the protest against disenfranchisement in Selma — prejudice against blackness remained prevalent, including among African-Americans.

  Champions of African-American uplift in the 1960s sought to liberate blackness from the layers of contempt, fear, and hatred with which it had been smeared for centuries. Brown’s anthem poignantly reflected the psychic problem it sought to address. People secure in their status don’t feel compelled to trumpet their pride. At the same time “Say it Loud!” was a rousing instance of a reclamation that took many forms. Instead of celebrating light skin, thin lips, and “good” (i.e., straight) hair, increasing numbers of African-Americans began valorizing dark skin, thick lips and “bad” (i.e., kinky) hair.

  The reclamation of blackness in the sixties made tremendous headway quickly. By 1970 my friend would not have dared to repeat out loud what he had told me unapologetically two years before. Here, as elsewhere, however, changes wrought by the black liberation movement, though impressive, were only partial. Nearly four decades after the release of “Say It Loud,” Professors Jennifer Hochschild and Vesla Weaver, having synthesized the pertinent academic literature, declared authoritatively that compared to their lighter-skinned counterparts, dark-skinned blacks continue to be burdened by lower levels of education, income, and job status. They receive longer prison sentences and are less likely to own homes or to marry. Filmmakers, advertisers, modeling agencies, dating websites and other key gatekeepers demonstrate repeatedly the ongoing pertinence of the old saw: If you’re black get back. If you’re brown, stick around. If you’re white you’re alright.

  Intraracial colorism in Black America is often seen as a topic that should, if possible, be avoided, especially in “mixed company.” That sense of embarrassment three decades ago prompted officials at Morehouse College to demand that Spike Lee cease filming on campus once they learned that his movie was exposing, among other things, black collegiate colorism. The impulse toward avoidance remains strong

  With racial prejudice against all African-Americans still a potent force, many would just as soon ditch the discussion of “black on black” complexional bias. Colorism, however, remains a baleful reality

  Half a century after James Brown’s proclamation, it remains imperative to assert what should have been assumed and uncontroversial all along: that black is beautiful and as worthy of pride and care and consideration as any other hue.

(Adapted from: www.nytimes.com, 20/07/2018)

In the second paragraph, the boldfaced sentence: “We had both internalized our society’s derogation of blackness.” means that:

Why is medicine important

 

Human existence and the strike of diseases go hand in hand, and it has remained so right from the beginning of times. In the primitive civilizations, there existed no notion of symptoms and causes of diseases. An ailment was considered a supernatural and uncontrollable occurring, attributed to the forces of nature and those beyond it. Consequently, the cure of the ailment was also left as a task to nature itself. In rare cases, spontaneous natural interaction would result in a favorable change in health, however, most of the times, this did not happen. As a result, human life was short-lived.

The present age is in utter contrast. Not only are most common diseases curable, there are well established norms of leading life in a certain manner so that these ailments do not trouble a human being. This tremendous achievement is a boon of medical science. A simple fact can throw light on the remarkable importance of medical sciences in the progress of human beings. From a petty 25 years, the age of the average human being has almost tripled itself because of the groundbreaking inventions of medicine. No wonders medicine is considered the most essential branch of all sciences, as its impact on human beings is immediate and indispensible. Linguistically speaking, medicine is a derivative of the Latin words ars medicina, which means the art of healing. Medicine is a specialization in health sciences, with the sole aim of preventing and alleviating the ill effects of a disease. One does not need to look far away to smell the fragrance of medical science.

Commonplace medicines for curing body pain and fever are used in the quantities of millions everyday. Medicine is a vast study that applies its theories to ensure a healthy life for human beings through the use of tablets, drugs, syrups, exercises and other similar means. Medicine has the potential to provide a human being comprehensive immunity from uncontrollable factors of environment. Studies aiming at identifying the agents that cause a certain deficiency or disease, and then experimenting to develop the antidote for the agent make much of the framework within which medical science works. The importance of studying medicine and pursuing further betterments can’t be stressed enough.

It is due to the efforts of scholars of this field that the human race has the norms of a healthy lifestyle laid out clearly in front. The modern day medicinal research attempts at nullifying the side effect of drugs and making our lives even more secure.

Disponível em: <http://www.adorablescience.com/why-is-medicine-important/>. Acesso em 22 de agosto de 2018.

 

According to the text we can conclue that: