Society will never be completely colorblind. The Bluest Eye by Toni Morrison epitomizes the daily internal challenges black Americans, or people of color in general have to face. As a whole, we have not evolved much from black codes and institutionalized racism. We haven’t developed much or made many significant milestones past the social hierarchy of skin tones, where fairness doesn’t equate to justness. America’s evolution towards social justice is a lethargic, stubborn, dogged movement that’s gained very little ground when put into perspective. Despite gaining a black president, we still seem to be moving in reverse at times - back to the set time frame of the novel in extreme cases. This introspective novella depicts the severity of the backlash that can come from our often dismissive and exclusive culture, specifically how the effects can trickle down to infect the minds of children.
Americans today still feel the effects of the damage done to older generations. Our mindsets have only evolved marginally, in both whites and nonwhites. We still stigmatize ourselves and classify ourselves into groups, whether we are conscious of doing so or not. Implicit racial associations still plague this country, even after fifteen decades of being “free”. Although one can never speak for an entire group of people, I still believe that we are stunted as a people. The Bluest Eye portrays exactly why our growth in the black community is limited, and it’s due to how we perceive ourselves early on. I can attest to that, growing up as a black female. Although my encounters have not been racially driven with animosity, like Pecola, it has been evident in my experiences that the color of my skin is an indicator for how I am perceived.
The color of my skin is the reason that people of different races raise their eyebrows at my intellect and eloquence through my writing - still, in 2016. It is the source of surprise when they see my face after hearing my voice and the way I speak. My pigmentation is why my test scores are more impressive than that of another race, apparently. Institutionalized racism lives in everyone, although no one is willing to acknowledge it in those terms. It is why I’ve been accused of “acting white” when I present myself properly; respectfully. All of these preconceived racial notions lead to new revelations for those who expected differently. This aspect is strongly embodied in Geraldine, who deeply resents her blackness - as I once did.
I have been a Geraldine. Personally, I have resented both myself and my people for a number of years. Much like her, I have been guilty of “the enunciation a little too round … And worry, worry, [worrying] about the edges of [my] hair” (83), all in vain attempts to propel myself into higher perceptions of people that didn’t matter - and of those that didn’t care. I’ve been a victim of wanting so desperately to be everything that I simply wasn’t, just so I wouldn’t be mistaken for one of them. Albeit, unlike her, I have grown. It still burns me to see my intelligent brothers and sisters fulfilling and encouraging their stereotypes. I’m seething when I witness them wearing their insults proudly, seeming to revel in their “ratchetness” and “ghettoness”. I still hate to see them making mockeries of themselves, just as Geraldine despised their “funkiness” (83). In short, she belittled everything that made her black counterparts black, down to that single word. I relate to this character because we have both made desperate endeavors to estrange ourselves from our black community for the sake of conformity, despite the fact that there was no place for us on the other side.
Black Lives Matter activists challenge inherently racist individuals like Mr. Yacobowski, whom Pecola encountered. They force our recognition, because we are here - and we have always been here. They demand them to dismiss the previous “total absence of human recognition” (48) when they face us. Several injustices have prompted us into action, and we no longer accept this blatant discrimination that Pecola meekly submitted to. This is the revolutionary age for people of color with so many activists assuming roles of leadership towards equality. The Black Lives Matter movement is in motion at full force to prevent the shame Mr. Yacobowski plagued Pecola with as she was trying to buy those Mary Janes, and to spark a change that is long overdue.
“It had occurred to Pecola some time ago that if her eyes … different, that is to say, beautiful, she herself would be different,” (46) essentially captures my own mindset as a young girl. Growing up surrounded by eurocentric beauty in movies, music, television shows, and magazines that catered to people that differed from my skin color made me wonder why they weren’t showing people that looked like me. Perhaps there was something wrong with brown skin, strong features, wide hips, and kinky, coarse hair. Due to a lack of positive representation in the media, my confidence and self-esteem suffered significantly - as Pecola’s did. Throughout my journey of self-discovery, I came to the realization that the Thing to fear was the Thing that made [them] beautiful, and not [me] (74). The Thing to fear is white supremacy and their ability to dominate our societies. In light of the many years since the release of The Bluest Eye and even my own childhood, I’m still aware of the same institutions in different aspects. In order to get a job interview, a black woman is advised to straighten her hair - at the risk of being unprofessional with her natural hair.
Despite this daunting norm and a multitude of others, many women of color are starting to embrace themselves fully. Our confidence as a people has been slowly evolving over the years, and its gone years without being nurtured or validated in any way. Now, in spite of a history of being ignored and unaddressed, we are bringing ourselves to the forefront - and we are beautiful. Claudia personifies this shift in our reserved sector of society. She serves as a role model for young girls and for myself as well, having not been able to see what she could clearly comprehend at such a young age in my own upbringing.
The simplistic mind of a child can rarely grasp the deeply ingrained sentiment that comes with racism. Much like Claudia’s experience with Mrs. MacTeer in regard to the dolls and her perceived ungratefulness for it, I endured the same consequences with my own mother. For a woman that had been previously surrounded by only white dolls in her time, having her child long for a white baby doll was infuriating. Of course, at the tender age of eight, I hardly understood the significance of the race of the thing at all. In my eyes, I just wanted a new kind of doll - having only had dolls of color throughout my lifetime. It was curiosity that inspired Claudia’s destruction of the white doll, and it was the same sensation within myself that made me desire one of my own. “All the world had agreed that … was what every girl child treasured” (20) is a considerable notion to be made when I reflect on that decision of mine. My maturation clarified my mother’s intentions, although mine differed from both hers and Claudia’s. My mother undoubtedly sided with Mrs. MacTeer.
American society has evolved from the collectively learned, hierarchical mindset of Pecola to a community of confident, self-validating, healthily coexisting individuals. We are slowly approaching the mentality of Claudia. People of color are taking our stance against the world and making our mark. Millennials “[feel] comfortable in our skins … And [cannot] comprehend this unworthiness” (74). All people can be considered as such. It's a long, unwavering journey that we've decided to tackle, but it's one worth fighting for. The Bluest Eye shows how essential it is to reach that point together in our own day, but more importantly, for generations to come. It starts in the home. If we raise our children with the maturity Claudia possessed early on and accurate perceptions of the people in our nation, our future can be prosperous. We can avoid the habit of breeding internally lost children like Pecola.
Morrison, Toni. The Bluest Eye. New York: Alfred A. Knopf, 1970. Print.