Brave New World
“Behind every great man is a woman.”
That adage used to apply, but now in a time where the rules have changed and women have kicked open the door, it hardly applies. Outdated, this quote refers to a world that I read of in books, a world that I believe existed but have no context to comprehend. I have no context of it because I grew up in a different world. No, the world wasn’t as mystic and dreamy as Atlantis. But in Atlanta, it is a world where women call the shots. A world where the gatekeepers resemble my sister and female friends more than white men. A world where beside every great black man is a black woman whose given more credit than he. It’s a brave new world, but I don’t feel brave in it. Most see it as of little consequence.
Centuries of inequity and oppression suggest that the progress has been too little too late. Women still face major hurdles to equality from wage discrepancies to healthcare. With all the obstacles they face, it makes sense for women to receive their just due. For black women, their ascent into every sphere of influence from the government to media is poetic justice. It is the start of reckoning for years of abuse and neglect. Malcolm X said it best years back when he said that,”The most disrespected person in America is the Black woman, the most unprotected person in America is the Black woman, the most neglected person in America is the Black woman.”
Why then do I feel a way about how black men’s success is weighed? For every successful black man, the sentiment that follows is what about his mate? Why does the thought of mentioning her accomplishments make my blood curdle? I think that is because I know the truth. The truth that is unsaid and unaddressed, but is key. The truth that some will scoff at, but think about in their sleep at nights. That truth is that the very existence of the black race in America is due primarily to the efforts of black women. That behind every story of compassion and luck lies a black woman or a woman who helped. The truth that we made no major movements or decisions in the black community without the direct efforts and agitation of black women.
I know this. I feel as if my mother, sister, and female friends do as well. Why then must they insist on parading in front of me? Can’t they feel my shame? Can’t they feel my pain at knowing that I can do little without them? Alas I think my pain is real, but misguided. Some would say that I am putting my pain before others whose pain is deeper and more justified. I’d say to them, how would you feel knowing that even when you get to the top, your accomplishments can only be viewed through the lens of another? You’d say that is and has been the plight of women for ages. You’d be right. But you’d be missing another fact and that is the world you speak of no longer exists.
