"It's not racist! My mother says it!" objected an acquaintance when I suggested she not continue to use the phrase "that's white of you"*
Why is it that people assume things associated with childhood or their own loved ones are magically not racist simply by virtue of that association? When I saw Little Black Sambo on the banned book list, I winced. Because there's more than a small part of me that would like to see such minstrel-esque images of Black people erased from the culture. (And before someone dismisses this by telling me that he is Indian, "Sambo" and his ilk migrated to America and came to be representative of the enslaved and formerly enslaved population here, too.) Maybe the world wouldn't be any worse off without Aunt Jemima, Uncle Ben, all those mammy-figurines made into salt and pepper shakers, pickaninny dolls, the film Birth of a Nation...
Two parts of me are at war when I see these things: one part cultural theorist with a specialty in black and white race relations in the United States and one part white Mama Bear to two beautiful Black daughters. Seeing "them" (all Black children reflect my daughters to me now) portrayed with caricature thick-lipped grins, rolling white eyes in an unnaturally black face--unnuanced by the shades of gold and mahogany that make my babies so take-your-breath-away gorgeous--doesn't just turn my stomach; it makes tears spring to my eyes. I want to slay the dragon of racism for my girls. I want to make the history go away. I want never to have to explain slavery, Jim Crow, minstrelsy and blackface, lynching, disproportionate Black poverty, and perhaps least of all the sexual vulnerability of Black women throughout American history from the first woman whose baby was ruled to "follow her condition" of slavery, rather than his slave-master father's.
And yet, it is these very forces that have brought my children to me. It is surely the fallout of centuries of racism that hammered their mothers into circumstances requiring them to place their babies for adoption. To deny this history is to deny my children's very existence--not just as my children, but as the progeny of generations of women who have struggled under the burden of racism and made life beautiful anyway; who have taught their daughters the true value of their minds, hearts and souls, however unappreciated by the world outside their skin. To hide the seemingly insurmountable obstacles these women (and men of course) have lived with and through is to hide the power of their spirits and the sacrifices of their heroes both famous and obscure. It is to take something away from their individual dignity and their collective glory.
Little Black Sambo was a fixture in my own childhood. The kind daycare workers at the church preschool I attended from ages three to five read it regularly to my all-white class. I loved it. I was intrigued by the mechanism by which tigers could churn themselves into butter. I was still too young to know that couldn't really happen. For all I knew, I would turn into butter if I ran in fast enough circles.
But just because I remember enjoying the story as an "innocent" child doesn't mean it wasn't/isn't racist. And just because I don't think it should be banned, doesn't mean I will be reading it to my own three-year old. But I think it is vitally important that these representations of blackness be acknowledged, remembered, taught, explained, critiqued, and understood. I will have to teach my daughters the shameful history of racism in this country, perhaps most of all because that history continues to unfold within our lifetimes. We should no more ban books like Little Black Sambo than we should pretend to be "colorblind." Acknowledgement of the real meaning of race in real people's daily lives and in the history of our country is necessary honesty required to fight against racism's continued power.
* For the lucky ones of you who haven't heard this, it's a fairly common southern expression meaning roughly, "you're a mensch!"
More from Banned Books Week here at Babble:
Banned Books Week: Shel Silverstein
Banned Books Week: Kama Sutra for Kids
Banned Books Week: Little Women
Banned Books Week: In the Night Kitchen
Banned Books Week: Sarah Palin
Banned Books Week: "And Tango Makes Three"