Former President Donald Trump ignited a firestorm when he questioned the fluid use of racial identity by Vice President Kamala Harris. In the media brouhaha that followed, however, few pundits explored who has the standing to decide the question, or the role of colorism in the selection of Black political leadership throughout history.
It is, of course, up to the Black community to define standards of group identity. Our historical experience suggests a collective memory of shared heritage and a strong belief in a common destiny; furthermore, loyalty to the core community, bonds of extended family and friendship ties, and appreciation for the spiritual resistance to slavery and Jim Crow, among others.
However, with the recent advent of mixed families and increased immigration from Africa and the Caribbean, the standards must be flexible to adapt new trends in the diasporic experience.
The topic of racial identity is important in a social context where the Black community has little influence over how it is represented in the media. History has shown the need to safeguard the integrity of the Black image since the days of the blackface minstrel stage. And shadows of the 19th-century manipulation of blackness crop up in contemporary entertainment as well, such as the non-Black actor Fred Armisen wearing brown makeup to portray President Barack Obama on “Saturday Night Live.”
There have also been episodes of non-Black activists assuming a Black identity for political influence. In 2015, one of the more eye-catching racial appropriations was the story of Rachel Dolezal, an NAACP leader in Spokane, Wash., who was white but outed for pretending to be an authentic Black woman in civic affairs.
The topic is also important given the history of colorism practices in the selection of national leadership for the Black community. The effects were researched in studies like “The Superiority of the Mulatto,” written by sociologist Edward Reuter in 1917, which documented social advantages of a light complexion. In the 1930s, for instance, the NAACP was led by the renowned president Walter White, a self-described “negro by choice.” He was so fair-skinned that he was once able to infiltrate a KKK meeting undetected.
These early leaders made enduring contributions to the cause. However, the process of selection also nurtured a sense of colorism entitlement that sparked songs of dissent, like “Black, Brown, White” by Chicago bluesman Big Bill Broonzy. His refrain, “If you’re white, you’re alright; if you’re brown, stick around; but if you’re black, get back,” became a popular grievance of the Black community in the 1930s.
For much of modern Black political history, the assumption of leadership by light-skinned politicos and white authorities made it challenging for dark-skinned Blacks of talent to find a place. One barrier breaker was the 1930s educator Mary McLeod Bethune, president of the Bethune-Cookman School for girls in Daytona Beach, Fla., who was tapped by President Franklin D. Roosevelt to direct a program for Black youth recovery during the Great Depression.
Later examples of emergent dark-skinned power brokers were figures like the Rev. Martin Luther King Jr. and John Lewis, an Alabama sharecropper and Georgia congressman. They were part of a vanguard civil rights generation with the consciousness to demand its own leaders and agenda. It was an era when authentic community leaders made strides in the representation of the folk in national politics. It was to be a short-lived showcasing, however.
The emergence of the biracial Barack Obama as a symbol of national representation was a pivotal moment in Black political culture. Obama was largely an outsider to the traditional formation of the Black identity. The son of an immigrant Kenyan father and white American mother, his upbringing was atypical for Blacks of his generation. However, the model proved successful in wrangling Black and non-Black voters and would play into the Democratic Party’s later considerations in elevating Kamala Harris.
In 2020, when Biden selected Harris as vice president, he bypassed several equally qualified Black women with enduring ties to the community. Harris, however, had a profile like that of the Obama model and a series of “firsts” in professional barrier breakthroughs on the basis of race, gender and ethnicity.
Her story, however, is more akin to that of the children of striving immigrants that arrive in America with cultural capital. While atypical for her generation of Black community, it appears to resonate with the diversity experience of the younger generation.
The Black community, however, still needs to be vigilant about the manipulation of its leadership, lest the party revert back to the old ways of colorism. While Harris’s profile serves the immediate needs of the Democratic Party, Black voters must avoid confusing the party agenda with their own agenda.
To what extent Harris truly identifies with the identity and concerns of the larger Black community remains to be seen. Supporters are quick to note her enrollment at Howard University and acceptance by a historic sorority. Many Black Democratic women see in her elevation a validation of their contributions to the party.
Detractors point to problematic indicators such as the colorism culture in her parents’ native Jamaica and India; her law enforcement career involving the incarceration of Black men; and her marriage to a wealthy white corporate lawyer. Only time will tell which experience is more revealing of her inner sense of identification.
For this critical election, however, there is no real alternative. What is most important is not whether Harris proclaims a Black identity or Trump questions it. What is important is whether she will use the powers of the office to benefit the core needs of the community, and show a genuine concern for neglected working-class Black men. To defeat Trumpism, and to govern effectively, she will need to include them all and more.
Roger House is professor emeritus of American Studies at Emerson College and the author of “Blue Smoke: The Recorded Journey of Big Bill Broonzy” and “South End Shout: Boston’s Forgotten Music Scene in the Jazz Age.” His forthcoming book is “Five Hundred Years of Black Self Governance.”