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Friday, Jul 10, 2009
A wayward black American princess sees an unnerving reflection of herself in Condi Rice's efficient soldiering for the Bush administration.
Nov 26, 2002 | Condoleezza Rice is a cypher -- for most people. Press profiles portray the tough-minded national security advisor as some sort of preternatural mystery. Writers consistently marvel at her articulateness and speculate about her unflappable demeanor. In a review of "The Lives of the Muses: Nine Women & the Artists They Inspired" in the New York Observer, Benjamin Anastas wrote:
"First, a confession: Sometimes I think that Clio, the muse of history, has come to earth in the human form of Condoleezza Rice. Consider her utter certainty, the eerie, distant quality of her voice, and the strange calm she projects at the margins of White House photographs. And I can think of no other explanation -- save, perhaps, the puppy's eagerness to chew on rawhide -- for the exuberance she inspires in President Bush the Younger, her artist ... Just what exactly did happen behind closed doors during the famous 'education process' that resulted in our nation's foreign policy?"
Overlooking, for now, the racist and sexist undertones in this wide-eyed gushing, I have to say that Rice is no mystery to me. She's a BAP -- a bona fide Black American Princess -- who exhibits all the telltale qualities of the category: a razor-sharp proficiency, cool manner and a good daughter's devotion to carrying out orders. Believe me, I ought to know.
I count myself a wayward black American princess. As the editors of last year's "The BAP Handbook: The Official Guide to the Black American Princess" put it, I have been programmed since birth to "strive for perfection" in everything I do, as well as possess a keen sense of entitlement.
The black American princess is a prim, well-groomed, accomplished and articulate woman. In mainstream business culture, she rarely draws any attention to her ethnic heritage. She's often the sole black woman sitting in workplace meetings, or the hard-working, dedicated accomplisher of miracles for her church or community organization. (Not all black educated professional women are BAPs. Oprah Winfrey? Not a BAP, no matter how hard she may try; she's too spontaneous and relaxed -- and she grew up poor.)
The BAP baffles most people by confounding their expectations. Unless prodded, she exhibits no clear racial consciousness and staunchly defends her individualism. She speaks standard American English, rarely switching to the black English vernacular unless forced to by an overly familiar white colleague trying to establish intimacy. She may speak several languages, has likely traveled extensively, and may excel at antiquated avocations and elitist pursuits, like opera singing, violin or lacrosse.
BAPs are the feminine avatars of the black bourgeoisie, the fairer (if not in skin tone) half of a subculture larger and more complex than that limned by the Eastern Seaboard's patrician black Brahmins portrayed in Stephen L. Carter's bestseller "The Emperor of Ocean Park."
This tribe of upper-middle-class African-Americans prides itself on its heirs' ability to assimilate and integrate. Growing up in white suburbs and attending elite schools and institutions of higher learning, black American prince and princesses are immersed in Anglo (often WASP) culture and emerge with modes of speech, behavior and grooming that brand them as "Oreos," black on the outside and white in the middle.
From an early age, BAP matriarchs teach offspring their duty to present a flawless front in public, affirming the superiority of our forebears in defiance of Jim Crow and other racist institutions. BAP mothers also pass on negro noblesse oblige to their children, especially their daughters, who often lead fundraising efforts to support African-American causes. But they're more likely to raise money via debutant cotillions and other social events than car washes and bake sales.
BAP encoding presumes that internalizing white Western culture is a way to combat the historical stigma associated with being African-American. Since Rice is exactly 10 years older than I am, I believe that our parents shared the same belief in this pre-civil rights era acculturation process. Often fiercely proud of their African-American heritage, our parents were either blind to the fact that BAP conditioning is based on the wholesale acceptance of racist and sexist stereotypes about African-Americans generally, or knowingly encouraged us to internalize these painful stereotypes as a form of inoculation against racist perceptions faced in the larger world. So BAP mothers pinched and prodded us, reminding us to stand up straight, clearly enunciate each letter when speaking and never display public emotion (unlike other, poorer African-Americans).
Observers may categorize BAPs in subsets. Like Rice, I'm the bookish black-girl brainiac type. Many of us attended all-girls schools (Rice and myself included), which only intensified our obsession with propriety. I've dubbed this variety the "black bluestocking." Members of this group are easy to spot. Most of us offset intelligence with an earnestly girlish demeanor that's not threatening. I secretly covet April Cornell clothing and own more than five pairs of Mary Janes.
