Growing up in the Bible belt, I learned very little about the contributions of blacks and even less about strong black women. Yet from the little I was taught, one of my sheroes was Sojourner Truth.
Named Isabella at birth in 1797 in New York, she grew up speaking Dutch, the language of her original slave masters. She was first sold at age nine and learned English the hard way, bearing the lash whenever miscommunications occurred. She labored hard in the fields, agonized as nearly all of her children were sold into slavery and fought for equality before and after she became a free woman. At 29, Isabella changed her name to Sojourner Truth, walked to freedom and preached about the abolition of slavery, women’s rights, the right to vote, temperance, prison reform and ending capital punishment. She helped Abraham Lincoln formulate The Emancipation Proclamation, pioneering the civil rights path when everyone else was still preoccupied with talk of the civil war.
In her most famous speech, Truth asked the fundamental question: Ain’t I a woman? In Truth’s day, white women were put upon pedestals that were planted firmly on the backs of black people. Black women served as beasts of burden in a variety of ways: cook, caregiver, maid, field hand, breeder.
Truth knew in her heart that black women were only different than the women on the pedestal due to their slave status, racism and lack of equal access to resources. Given the prevailing pseudo-science about the mental capacity of blacks and the pseudo-religious belief about blacks not having souls, those untruths justified their continued enslavement and the denial of a proper education.
One of the ways Truth made money was by selling pictures of herself. The caption on each portrait read, “I sell the Shadow to support the Substance.”
I understand Truth’s drive to succeed. Her motivation to hustle. Her trust in God to open windows where others had closed doors. Using the power of her persuasive voice despite her illiteracy. Fighting for more than the stereotypical roles others desperately coerced black women to remain.
I can be the temptress, the tease, the naughty girl next door you salivate to defile. Afterwards, will I be the trollop, the strumpet, the slattern, the meretricious woman and all the other 200+ negative names you call sexually expressive women because you feel guilty or inadequate about your own sexuality? No matter which way your sexual pendulum swings, (sensually) ain’t I a woman?
Oh, I got your joke. Find my feminism funny? As a matter of fact, you’re my favorite punchline. That’s right. While you’re laughing at how little I earn despite my education and experience, which is equal or superior to yours, just remember, for my last joke, I’ll get the last laugh. (laughs) Ain’t I a woman?
All these conflicting messages on womanhood. I’m to be strong for childbirth, but weak for birth control. Creative in the kitchen, but unimaginative in politics. Loud when singing praises for others, but silent when standing up for myself. BUT AIN’T I A WOMAN?
And if ever you succeed in quieting me down, don’t think you’ve won. You should be afraid. ‘Cause I’m plotting something subversive. (whispering creepily) Ain’t I a woman?