As promised here are my reflections from the “Searching for Kim Jones” workshop that I ran with Francesca in 2007. I am planning to replicate a similar process this Fall with more of a focus on the criminalization of black girls. I purposely chose this photo of Lil’ Kim to accompany this post because it underscores her complicated role in the culture and our own complicated responses to her.

January 21, 2008

In the fall of 2007, thirteen of us spent seven weeks together sharing what it means to be a Black woman in the 21st century. We were of varied ages from 11 to 40. We were from New York City, Chicago, Nigeria and Haiti. We were in middle and high school, college and graduate school. Initially the only thing that we had in common was our brown skin and the fact that we were women. Ultimately we became students and teachers all of us. We taught each other to share honestly and learned even more as a result. We bonded and became a small community of empowered women and girls.

Over the weeks, we shared personal reflections about our struggles with learning to love our looks in a culture that is hostile to us and sometimes makes us feel invisible. We articulated our desire to be perceived for who we really were rather than as caricatures – finger snapping, head rolling, loud, bad attitude women.

We read poetry together, watched documentaries, deconstructed music videos. We wrote about ourselves – our feelings about what the mirror said about us, what it is like to be a black girl for those who aren’t, we spoke of ourselves affirmatively to say “I AM…”

Our time together was short and we asked a lot of questions of each other and of ourselves. We asked about how Black women are perceived in society and whether this view coincides with our own definitions. We found that society’s view of us in fact does NOT accurately portray our lived experiences. Society’s image doesn’t leave room for us to be vulnerable as Black women, to cry and show emotions besides anger. It confines us like some kind of prison of expectations where we are forced to wear masks and heavy armor or risk being destroyed.

In spite of the historical and societal assaults on our persons, we found that we still maintained our sense of integrity and confidence. Some of us felt comfortable with our bodies. Others not so much. Some of us consistently mentioned our beauty – on the inside and out. Others struggled with feeling unattractive. Some of us were proud of our brown skin. Others embraced our hair in dreadlocks, braids, or straight. Some of us declared boldly that we are NOT our hair. One thing was consistent though — We are NOT what society portrays. The words that we used to describe ourselves included nice, funny, pretty, kind, …

We conjured the spirit of Sara Baartman. We elevated her from the grave of history and shone a light. Through Sara’s story, we discussed how it feels to be on “display.” It is a contradiction – our bodies put out for all to see and yet Black women simultaneously invisible. We called out to the Sara Baartmans of today, the young Black women who make their living dancing in music videos. Young women who seem so plastic, unreal and yet we know they are us too. We puzzled over the thread that connects Sara Baartman and Karin Steffans who calls herself a Video Vixen. What would Sara say if she could speak to Karin from the grave? Would she judge her or be proud? Would she be loving or mean? We believe that she would choose love.

We talked about Lil’ Kim. After all, the title of our workshop is Searching for Kim Jones, Finding Ourselves. One of our members made the point that while we used Lil’ Kim as a way for us to come together to talk, we in fact ended up talking very little about her life and image. We spent more time in self-discovery and self-excavation. Lil’ Kim provided us with a mirror to better see ourselves. Yet, we were conflicted about Kim’s significance to our lives as Black women. Some of us saw her as primarily “nasty” and others acknowledged our fascination with her as an icon of American culture. We felt sadness and confusion. We were hurt and sometimes empowered. We are seeking understanding. Who is Lil’ Kim? Who are we?

Ultimately this time together allowed us to reflect on womanhood, our personal and family histories, our bodies, our appearances, and more. In our second week together, we collaborated to develop a poem called “Woman.” Each of us contributed a line to the final product. We expressed in this collective poem what ended up being at the core of our workshop.

Woman is the basic life giver to me.
Woman is powerful.
Woman is dynamic.
Woman is distinct.
Woman is a catalyst for newfound beginnings.
Woman is brave.
Woman is a strong person.
Woman is a force of nature.
Woman is a loving soul who physically and emotionally cares for others.
Woman is all beautiful, all sense, and strong.
Woman is a gap-toothed smile, a belly laugh and all things generous.
Woman is the creator/the originator/the dominator.
Woman is the essence of everything!!

A wonderful poet named Jessica Care Moore has written a book titled “the words don’t fit in my mouth.” That is a powerful and overwhelming image. So often we as Black women, young and old, find ourselves with so much to say but with no place to say it. Our voices are so often silenced. Sometimes we try to pierce the silence with a loud, booming voice. We have so much to say and to borrow from Jessica, “the words simply don’t fit in our mouths.” We want to speak. We will speak.

This is just the beginning of our project together. We will reconvene in the spring and incorporate the voices of more young Black women and girls in our conversation. This is an ongoing dialogue; One that we hope to continue with others across Chicago, the U.S., and even the world. We will go out and collect the stories of other young Black women and then we will speak to fill the silence. We will speak…. We MUST speak so that the words will fit in all Black women’s mouths.