Writing a Black Biography

Writing an acceptance speech as a person of color (POC) usually goes something like this:

You accept an award and or write a bio. You introduce yourself as the first person in your family to go to college; how honorable and hardworking your people are (whoever that may be), and how you will honor the legacy of your ancestors, long marred and scarred from the pain of generations of oppression. You bow to the feverous clapping of funders, feeling slightly cheapened and silly when you do.

This isn’t completely wrong … but there is a lot wrong with this. 

This has long been a narrative preached to academics and creators of color when they are accepted by large entities – 

The same narrative. First one into college started from the bottom in the hood, had to study by candlelight in Mammy’s cottage… but after my experience with LOTS of jobs, lots of award ceremonies and personal speeches, and lots of acceptance awards, I’m slightly tired of selling my blackness for the stale handclap of the audience. 

They have heard this story before, so much so they believe every black or brown person has the same narrative of struggle.

These things may be true – but what is it worth when every person of color’s biography sounds the same way?

Tips in order to write a biography, acceptance speech, or any introduction to yourself that doesn’t sound like you are selling the story of POC struggle …

• Start with an anecdote …

1. It’s okay to say that you grew up in the hood and that you worked your entire life in order to get the point you are at, but do the people you are writing to or who are listening to you really care or understand? Watch this: “I grew up in Brownsville in a ghetto neighborhood, and reading was my only escape…” vs. “There was no AC in our building in Brownsville, so when my grandmother took my brothers and me to the library, it wasn’t only to cool down – but to get lost in the world of a book.” Which one is more interesting? Which one have you not heard a thousand times before?

•  Don’t shuck and jive. 

1. Leave. Slang. Out. Of. Your. Bio. Unless it’s pertinent to the story. Code-switching is an art and you don’t have to whiten yourself in order to be professional – you can still write as soulfully and passionately as you please, but slang is what is expected out of you when you are a POC. Unless you can spin it in an artful, important way, avoid. Also, remember that slang has a different meaning in and out of context. You don’t know who will be reading or misunderstanding your work without a full scope of context. I’m a full believer in the fact that there’s no such thing as “proper” English, but there’s such thing as professional English. Write for your audience. Now if you are accepting an award for a black institution, or somewhere where slang is fine and code-switching isn’t a survival tactic – do you. 

• No one cares where you were born.

1. 1. I call this the “slave narrative introduction” – I was born in Mississippi to a mother with 2 sons in the year of 1990. I had a blissful childhood …

• Quote wisely. 

1. 1. I once heard a speech were a black writer was accepting an award for a piece by first quoting Nat Turner – the slave leader who killed his master and several other white people in a revolt in 1831. Was it surprising? Yes. Were people uncomfortable? Yes. Did he get my attention? Duh. 
   2. We have all heard that Einstein or the Virginia Woolf quote. If you are going to quote, choose someone who can speak to your experience. I kind of wonder why when black folks are chosen for an award, they don’t take that time to give visibility to another black person who inspired them. You have so many amazing writers, artists, poets, and thinkers to think from – but please, let’s give the Martin Luther King quotes a rest. 

• Sensory writing is your friend.

1. 1. You are a pianist? How does it feel when your fingers touch the keys and you play a chord? You are a culinary student? What meal changed your life? What did it taste like? You are a writer? What does a library smell like to you? What was the phrase that set everything ablaze? Do you play sports? What does that feel like when you put the ball in the hoop? (I don’t know anything about sports, let me live).

• Lastly, give an objective.

1. 1. Do you want this job? What will you do with it? Did you win this award? Great, what’s the next step? Another treat for the audience is feeling like they are in the presence of someone great with huge plans… what are you planning to do? What is your goal? It can be simple: I am looking to be a doctor and provide healthcare to underprivileged areas.
   2. I hope to create software that creates more accessibility to people like me.

You are worth more than your pain. Your resume is amazing, your skills have proved themselves, you won that award and you deserve it. Imposter syndrome, the feeling that we don’t deserve the accomplishments we get. This is partly because when you are a person of color, your self-worth is gnawed down to the point where accomplishments don’t feel like they are meant for you (you feel like they are meant for your pain like you got something only because I’m black). The fact is, you don’t have to sell your pain. Your pain doesn’t make you who you are.

• We don’t want to wipe clean the narratives of black folks into the void of blank whiteness, but we want to create narratives that give strength to our blackness instead of weakness. When we paint our story to be one of victory and success (which is what we deserve), we recreate the picture with our black and brown faces on it.

*Featured Photo from CREATEHERSTOCK