How Could a Fair and Ivory Skin Save Your Social Status: “Passing” (1929)
The amount of readings and academic work I’m currently overseeing is increasing day by day. These last seven months have been great for my career, both in school and in my entrepreneurial journey. The weeks go by pretty quickly in grad school. I think that is because of the fast-paced nature of the institution I’m in (Lehman College), which perfectly reflects the vibrant and urban reality of New York City, specifically the Bronx and its diverse communities. In addition to all this, the content of each one of the courses I’m enrolled in is in perfect alignment with what I’m seeking for my research and expertise. In the class called “The Arts and Humanities”, we’re analyzing the Modern and Contemporary artistic and cultural movements that shaped American entertainment from the Gilded Age until the first half of the 20th century. My favorite part of this course (and the topic I’m planning to focus my work on) is the section dedicated to the Harlem Renaissance. In this part of the program, among the many materials we shared in class, we came across Nella Larssen’s book, Passing. I watched the movie by Rebecca Hall and read the book. I still can’t help being mesmerized by the practice and presence of “passing”: how could a fair and ivory Black skin find solace and safety in America? Is “passing” still happening today?
Nella Larsen was an African American novelist and activist who lived through the Harlem Renaissance, a fruitful and prosperous cultural movement that promoted Black literacy, art, dance, and music in North America. She was a biracial writer, with Danish and West Indian heritage. She penned Quicksand (1928) and Passing (1929) and her overall work is considered to be a great contribution to American Modernism.
Passing is the story of the adult friendship between two African American women, Irene and Clare. The story is set in a fresh and blossoming Harlem, where the community of Blacks is prospering and comfortable in the city of New York. Clare is married to a White man who despises Black people, but the only reason Clare did that was to have access to a wealthier lifestyle, with more money and materialistic resources. Clare could do that because she could be mistaken as a White person, given her fair skin and biracial background. Irene is similar to Clare, but she didn’t have to go through this process of "passing” because she decided to lead a life with no shame or guilt of being Black. For this reason, Irene is a Black middle-class woman, whereas Clare is richer but much sadder with her body and life.
When I watched the movie, I couldn’t stop staring at the beautiful faces of Ruth Negga and Tessa Thompson. Both soft and tender in their lineage, as well as remarkably stunning in their ancestral features. Black beauty comes in different shapes and forms, but also colors within the darkest palettes. In the book, the faces can be only imagined, but the descriptions tell it all: the metaphors for the papers of the letter, the transparency of the eyes, the ivory texture of the skin, and so much more.
The real game-changer in this story is the struggle that these women bring themselves in expressing their most natural sides. What are the dangers to bleach your skin and change your lifestyle for the mere pursuit of financial and social stability? What are the difficulties of being a Black woman when there’s a majority of people who are against both your race and gender? The fashion with which Clare is comforted, with curated fitted-brim hats and flapper dresses, isn’t enough for her to be happy. The safe-haven Irene and her family reside in, the glamorous Black-populated Harlem isn’t sufficient to seek better opportunities, especially for her kids. Clare can’t be saved by her passing, morally speaking. The way she talks and the way she dresses are temporary, but the emotional wounds last a lifetime. Today Black women in North America go less through physical and visible passing, but they still feel the pressure to change their accents (AAVE vs Standard American English) and their hair appearance (think about the Crown Act) in predominantly White spaces. Have things changed since the 1920a in the way we see and act toward colorism or code-switching among Black people?
One might argue that because of colorism, Clare takes advantage of a better lifestyle. While this is true, it is also correct to affirm that Irene is a much more liberated, free, and independent woman because of the community she lives within, made of members who don’t judge nor harm her. Being Black should be a joy in representing one’s complexion and beautiful self. Irene is resilient in choosing to be herself. How many times do women have to be strong to be themselves, though? Way too many times.
Passing retains the idea that social constructs play a great role in our lives. Having Black or White skin is a natural condition dictated by chemistry, genetics, and biology. History can’t be changed and it should not amaze me to grasp the reality of “passing”, as a practice to jump from another heritage to another in order to find social stability at a high cost, personal damage, and self-esteem. If I would be alive in a hypothetical American Roaring Twenties where I would stand with my heritage? Could I still make people believe that I’m White? Would I be more Black? What kind of expat I would be, enrolled in school and in the creative hub of the Harlem Renaissance?
These are all questions that can’t find a definite answer. The reality is that we’re still in a society that enhances White powers and dynamics, no matter the much more extended and sustained love that many Black people carry on in their lives towards their heritages, relationships, and community. Is today’s “code-switching” a form of “passing”, especially in the way Black people communicate, write, and produce content? We’re in our 21st-century-Roaring Twenties, but have things changed much from the last century?
