Black with a Capital ‘B’
Black and white or black and white? Black and White maybe? It depends on who you ask. My professors do not often correct my usage of the capitalized ‘b’ in the word Black. The ones that do ask with a curiosity that is both annoying and sincere: why don’t I capitalize the ‘w’ in white? Shouldn’t the capitalization of adjectives be consistent throughout my writing? Just academic things: assuming that the rules of the English language must be strictly adhered to, that they cannot be stretched, bent, strained, and disregarded how Blackness is; written language, like Black mobility, must remain stagnant and unchanging to avoid white discomfort. But isn’t being a writer about pushing the bounds, about making art with your words?
When I talk about white, I am really talking about whiteness. The category of white does not describe a cultural monolith, nor am I referring to a necessarily easily definable category of people, though we all know whiteness when we see it. I am discussing the reality of whiteness as the default, and what that default has meant, in turn, for Black people and Blackness. Should I be highlighting and emboldening whiteness with a capital letter, professor, or have you seen enough of that already, perhaps most recently during the siege of the Capitol? Or maybe in the hoarding of capital by those riding the coattails of white supremacy and imperialism? Do YOU believe that they represent and solidify all that whiteness is and has bred? That’s up to you.
My choice to capitalize the ‘b’ in Black is not merely an error; it is a conscious, deliberate rhetorical choice that I make in my writing to represent Black as bold, notable, as possessing a sort of royal eminence. To call that choice incorrect is to actively assert white supremacy as a defining feature of the academy and its language of gatekeeping. Maybe it’s time to subvert that ideal.
