Black Spartanburg: Reclaiming our Culture

Growing up in the small town of Estill, located in the Low Country of South Carolina, Spartanburg seemed like New York City! I was only about 200 miles away from home, but I knew that Spartanburg had something special installed for me and I was excited about my future as a journalist. There was only this small problem: I didn’t seem to fit in…anywhere. I was outnumbered and thrown back a little. Not only did I see a great deal of white people, but I also saw black people in roles that were unfamiliar to me. I found myself working alongside white people doing the same job as I did (i.e. working in a deli, cleaning etc…). There were black people in positions I thought were only held by white people. I was in a classroom filled with white girls I only saw in magazines and black girls that did not talk or look like me. I will never forget the look on my classmate’s face when she saw my hair slicked down with gel in a tight small pony tail as black lip liner and Vaseline plastered my lips. For the very first time, I was embarrassed to be black. I wasn’t just black, I was country black. I was lower class black. I was ignorant black. I was the black girl that got teased for saying “ball eggs” instead of ‘boiled eggs.” I was being the only black I knew. My grandmother was not the president of the local chapter of NAACP. My grandmother sat on the front porch and snapped peas that were grown in my granddaddy’s field across the road. My parents were not lawyers or high profile city council members. My parents were blue collar hard working people who provided very well for my 3 siblings and me. I was not only racially challenged, but I was also economically challenged as well. So I quit school and I hid in one mediocre job to the next for about 5 years. My life was going absolutely nowhere and the only person that could change that is me. In the fall of 2009, I fried my last piece of chicken and I realized that I will do what I came to Spartanburg to do! I graduated from college and I wrote my very first article in 2013!

                     I’m telling my story because during this journey, I have met some of the most supportive and influential people right here in Spartanburg  I wanted to educate myself, recreate myself, and place myself in positions to succeed. I realized that there was no greater motivation than to see people who look like me succeed. I am truly blessed to have come across so many successful black people. However, the truth of the matter is, not everyone is as fortunate.

                        We are living in a world where our latest black generation seems to not care about anything but “gettin’ money” and “ratchet” behavior. Today, cops are killing our black men and all of the women are trying to be the next “bad bitch.” What are we going to do about this behavior? How do we bring positivity back into the spotlight? How do we reclaim our culture? What a lot of folks don’t understand is that being black isn’t just the color of our skin; it’s our culture and our way of life. We live differently, we talk differently, we dress differently, and our traditions are different from our white counterparts. No one understands our culture the way we do. No one appreciates our culture the way we do. When I felt lost, there were people who looked like me that were willing and able to direct me on my path. I wish there were more people like that helping others like myself on directing their paths. Now, I find myself looking under every rock in every corner. I find myself searching every office, every educational institution, and every church looking for that positive light. Where are my positive black people who could serve as role models to steer our youth just as they did me? Where are my people who will help to reclaim our culture? They are here. They are in the offices, educational institutions, and churches. They are right here in Spartanburg. It was Langston Hughes, one of my favorite poets, who wrote, “What happens to a dream deferred? Does it dry up like a raisin in the sun” (Harlem)? Being black is not just the pigmentation of our skin. Being black is how we dream about taking on the world. It’s about how a single mother living on the Southside dreams about going back to school and bettering herself for her children. It’s about how a little boy, who’s being raise by his grandparents, dreams about becoming a doctor someday so he could heel his sick grandpa with diabetes. I cannot just sit back and watch our youth’s dreams dry up like a raisin in the sun because he or she view it as impossible. This is our community, our culture, and we have to reclaim it. If we don’t care, why would anyone else?