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Audre LordeA modern alternative to SparkNotes and CliffsNotes, SuperSummary offers high-quality Study Guides with detailed chapter summaries and analysis of major themes, characters, and more.
In this essay, Lorde responds to Robert Staples’s article, “The Myth of Black Macho: A Response to Angry Black Feminists,” published in a 1979 issue of The Black Scholar. Lorde’s response, published in the following issue of The Black Scholar, argues that Black women addressing Black women’s issues should not be perceived as a threat to Black men, Black solidarity, or Black liberation. Furthermore, attacking Black Feminists in order to open dialogue between Black men and women is “shortsighted and self-defeating” (60) because the entire Black community stands to benefit from the eradication of sexism and misogyny.
Lorde inquires why Black men feel threatened, especially considering the self-evident inequality that exists with Black women remaining the lowest-paid group of all people despite recent economic gains (60). There is no analysis of capitalism that would justify Black men directing their rage towards Black women, particularly when Black women are likewise justifiably enraged yet refrain from violence against Black men—in contrast to how Black men rape, beat, and murder Black women (60-61). While Black men’s grievances and anxieties regarding the capitalist structure merit discussion, it is neither Black women’s nor Black Feminists’ job to articulate or tend to those grievances, especially when these same women bear the brunt of the men’s violent anticapitalist rage.
Drawing parallels between racism and misogyny, Lorde points out that it is not Black Feminism that is white feminism in blackface; rather, it is sexism embodied by Black men that is “a narcotic promise encouraging acceptance of other facets of their own oppression” (61). Imitating the ways of their oppressors is no true sign of success for the Black community (63). Therefore, opening a dialogue between Black men and Black women requires acknowledging the oppressive nature of male privilege, the way it manifests as violence against Black women, how it only serves to reinforce white supremacy, and that it is destructive to Black men, too (63-64). This makes sexism and misogyny central, rather than tangential, to the discourse on Black liberation (64).
Furthermore, while capitalism is a multifaceted structure that involves racism, sexism, and misogyny, such problems exist in socialist countries as well, so eradicating them involves more than abolishing capitalism. Whatever the systemic underpinning for sexism in the Black community, it must be eradicated for the benefit of the entire community, and Black men are invited to join in the endeavor with Black women defining the terms (64-65). Abusing Black women is no longer acceptable in the name of Black solidarity and Black liberation, and the dialogue between Black men and women must begin with this acknowledgment (65).
Lorde writes this letter to Mary Daly after reading Daly’s 1978 book, Gyn/Ecology: The Metaethics of Radical Feminism. After receiving no response for four months, she offered the letter up to the community of women. Despite her reluctance to send the letter, Lorde does so because she wants to open a dialogue and hopes that Daly will be receptive to the feedback regarding differences between Black women and white women (66-67).
Although initially excited about Daly’s vision, Lorde questions why Daly only deals with goddess figures from white, Western, European, Judeo-Christian traditions and only portrays non-European women as competitive victims. Daly’s choices suggest a distortion of the history and mythic background of women of color, and they imply that all women suffer patriarchy in the same way (67). Because women’s knowledge is deep, dark, and ancient, originating with the Black mother, the exclusion of a rounded portrayal of African and other non-European goddesses dismisses the knowledge that connects all women (68-69). In addition, Daly’s use of quotes from Black women feels exploitative, as though these citations only satisfy a “patriarchal western european frame of reference” (68). The erasure and dismissal of women of color serves only to reinforce racism. However, this dismissal of women of color, particularly Black women, is in turn detrimental to radical lesbian feminist theory because the theory would not exist without Black women (69).
Lorde provides some statistics and examples to emphasize that patriarchal oppression affects women differently across races, and she reminds Daly that “beyond sisterhood is still racism” (70). The letter breaks a self-imposed silence and attempts to open a dialogue with Daly to neither distort their differences nor their commonalities.
Lorde shares her experience as a Black lesbian raising a male child. She comes with questions and the willingness to scrutinize herself and her son, Jonathan, as her willingness to introspect—and to be honest with her children about what she finds through that introspection—is how she can give them strength (72). Jonathan’s growing sexuality and coming of age means that he must fashion his own definition of self as a man outside of patriarchal norms. There are also ways in which his coming of age prompts her to consider and/or redefine what it means to act like a man (73-74). It is important to Lorde that she teaches him love, survival, and letting go, which mean self-definition and ability to feel deeply and recognize those feelings (74).
Openness and transparency, then, are required in their household, so Lorde and her partner, Frances, have been clear about their lesbian relationship and teaching the children to recognize the many forms of oppression that exist (75). Despite their efforts, Lorde still found herself conveying distorted understandings of power, strength, and bravery to her son. Considering the impact of these distortions, she decides to share with Jonathan personal stories about her own experience of fear; she wants the two of them to relate in new ways so that he might reassess “power as something other than might, age, privilege, or the lack of fear” (76). What she wants Jonathan to learn is how to be himself and how to move through the world with his inner voice of power as his guidance” (77).
She expresses her gratitude for having a male child because it helps her to stay honest about the fact that there are no easy solutions when it comes to creating spaces of solidarity. She considers how she has needed safe spaces away from men and white people, and she wants both of her children, Jonathan and Beth, to understand what they can and cannot share. At the same time, she wants the family, including herself and Frances, to know that difference is not necessarily a threat (78). Child-rearing will happen in many different family models, but she acknowledges the value that having lesbian parents has added to Jonathan’s life, particularly in terms of questioning patriarchal models of power, as well as the way that Lorde and Frances have modeled relationships and relating. When she discusses the essay with Jonathan, he confirms that his family model benefits his understanding (79-80).
These three essays emphasize Lorde’s unique position of being a Black lesbian and mother. She highlights how the acknowledgment of all these identities and roles affords her the perspective needed for responding to her peers’ oversights, in addition to speaking honestly and openly about her own necessary self-work and introspection. The responses to Robert Staples and Mary Daly reflect the position that Black women are in as they come up against Black men and white women who reduce oppression to a single issue, leaving Black women’s intersectional concerns (i.e., their concerns regarding intersecting identities, such as being both Black and women) wholly unaddressed. It is the wisdom, clarity, and foresight that comes from this unique (although difficult) position that allows Lorde to raise a male child who understands that oppression takes many forms and that he must find self-definition outside of those oppressive structures’ norms.
In her responses to Staples and Daly, Lorde clarifies that Black women’s liberation is integral to the liberation of both Black men and white women, and they must recognize that dismissing and violating Black women through sexist and racist tactics, respectively, is to ensure their own demise. She asks them both questions that should stimulate some self-reflection on how (if at all) such tactics can be justified. For Staples, she asks, “What correct analysis of this capitalist dragon within which we live can legitimate the rape of Black women by Black men?” (60). To Daly, she poses,
Do you ever really read the work of Black women? Did you ever read my words, or did you merely finger through them for quotations which you thought might valuably support an already conceived idea concerning some old and distorted connection between us? (68).
Although Lorde explains Staples’s and Daly’s oversights to them, she poses these questions to encourage them to think for themselves, and this hints at a point that Lorde makes several times throughout Sister Outsider: Black women are tired of stretching. It is an oppressor’s tactic to expect those whom they oppress to expend energy educating the oppressor and addressing the oppressor’s concerns; the oppressed thus never have the energy to address their own concerns. She says to Staples, “We have too often been expected to be all things to all people and speak everyone else’s position but our very own” (62). In addition, she warns Daly, “Yet I feel that since you have so completely un-recognized me, perhaps I have been in error concerning you and no longer recognize you” (70). That is, for both Black men and white women, Black women have been integral to their gains against oppressive structures—yet Black men and white women’s willingness to adopt the tactics of those same oppressive structures for some modicum of privilege over Black women communicates that they do not have the same concern for Black women’s liberation as Black women have had for theirs.
Black men and white women must also acknowledge that their oppressive techniques against Black women harm themselves as well because racism and sexism are inseparable in American society. Although Staples claims that Black feminism is white feminism in blackface, Lorde argues it is Black men’s adoption of sexist tactics that is a blackface performance, hence the title of the response, “Sexism: An American Disease in Blackface.” Lorde tells Staples that “freedom and future for Blacks does not mean absorbing the dominant white male disease of sexism” (63), and “ignoring these acts of Black male oppression within our communities can only serve our destroyers” (63). Similarly, she articulates to Daly that racism against Black women is destructive to feminism and only perpetuates a racist patriarchy. For Lorde, Daly’s dismissal of Black women and other women of color “does not essentially differ from the specialized devaluations that make Black women prey, for instance, to the murders even now happening in your own city” (69).
Lorde essentially asks Staples and Daly to undertake the introspection required to see the tools of oppression that they, as oppressed people, have internalized and then perpetuated. This is a major theme throughout the book: When the oppressed elevate themselves by grasping for privilege within a racist, sexist model of power, they forget that they are simply perpetuating that oppressive model and ultimately harming themselves in the process. To demonstrate that she, too, must do this internal work, she provides a transparent reflection of the challenges she faces as a lesbian mother of a male child in “Man Child: A Black Lesbian Feminist’s Response.”
In the essay about her relationship with her son, Jonathan, Lorde acknowledges her desire to raise a male child who “will not be destroyed by, nor settle for, those corruptions called power by the white fathers who mean his destruction as surely as they mean mine” (74). This contrasts with Staples’s view that Black women loving and speaking up for themselves threatens Black masculinity and identity (62) and that Black men can justify leaving their families in “protest against female decision making in the home” (63). In her response to Staples, Lorde even acknowledges that Jonathan, who is only 14 years old at the time, knows that “Black men themselves must examine and articulate their own desires and positions and stand by the conclusions thereof” (62). She here suggests that Black men who feel threatened by Black feminism cannot articulate their own position or sense of identity because what they have adopted as a sense of self and power is not even their own. Their idea of manhood comes from the very white fathers who have corrupted the meaning of power.
Thus, in Lorde’s relationship with her son, they both have the task of examining and re-defining masculinity, power, and relating, and this requires introspection and honesty. Lorde is aware of the ways that she has responded to Jonathan’s suffering, as well as her own, by beginning to pass on “that first lesson in the corruption of power, that might makes right” (76), or “the age-old distortion about what strength and bravery are” (76). Therefore, when she approaches her son to correct that distortion and model new ways of power and relating, she encourages the “reassessment of power as something other than might, age, privilege, or the lack of fear” (76). Again, this directly contrasts with what Staples espouses in his article.
Furthermore, Lorde’s reflection on her relationship with her son demonstrates that, unlike both Staples and Daly, she understands that survival requires recognizing that “oppression comes in many different forms” (75). This is one of the many places where Lorde demonstrates that her outsider position—as a Black lesbian—affords her the insight that oppressions are interconnected and so must be dealt with together, not as single issues. She knows that having lesbian parents gives Jonathan advantages because not only did he learn early on that oppression is multifaceted (75), but he also demonstrates unusual clarity and understanding for someone his age (80).
Where Staples and Daly act out their externally-defined identities and models of power, Lorde is committed to teaching her son that he must define himself—for himself, and from within himself—rather than receive external definition:
The strongest lesson I can teach my son is the same lesson that I teach my daughter: how to be who he wishes to be for himself. And the best way I can do this is to be who I am and hope that he will learn from this not how to be me, which is not possible, but how to be himself. And this means how to move to that voice from within himself, rather than to those raucous, persuasive, or threatening voices from outside pressuring him to be what the world wants him to be (77).
Thus, when these three essays are examined together, they reveal the insight and foresight available to Lorde who, because of the intersection of her identities—lesbian, Black, woman—faces oppression on multiple fronts. She hasn’t the privilege of overlooking sexism as does Staples, or racism as Daly, or anti-gay bias and heterosexism, either. Because she hasn’t those privileges, she can illuminate for Staples and Daly specifically, and for Black men and white women generally, how and where they have acted against their own self-interests by violating and oppressing Black women. Nevertheless, it is up to them to grow and introspect, which is the major lesson that Lorde passes on to her son, Jonathan.
By Audre Lorde
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