Black women find their creative voices

After swiping my debit card, Kamilah Richardson of Rich and Riot asked twice if I wanted a receipt. We were outside of Show & Tell, a boutique on Broadway, on Plaid Friday, Oakland’s take on Black Friday. I was so enthralled with my new, blanket-soft hoodie that I didn’t hear her. It’s gray with a smiling black skull wearing a gold crown, an immediate wardrobe staple. “Princess Punk” is written underneath the skull and cartoonish crossbones. As I stuffed the hoodie into my bag, Richardson told me she was a member of Just Be, a collective of black female entrepreneurs.

I gave her my card, and a few weeks later I was invited to the Noire Holiday Pop Up at Era Art Bar on Grand Avenue. There I saw colorful and imaginative art prints, necklaces, caps, T-shirts, housewares and various textiles and accessories — all created by black women.

Along with Richardson, Just Be includes Marisol Catchings (Azteca Negra), Kimberly Turner (Elizabeth in Pearls), Hope Lehman (Fresh to Def Collective), Juliette Acker (Furious Flower Designs), print maker Yolanda Cotton-Turner, Mercedes Martin (Tres Mercedes), and Candice Cox (CanDid Art Accessories).

This is part of the black pride movement, an example of the diversity in being black.

We are not a monolith.

At some point in their lives, all women of color have to navigate racism and sexism. Black women must dodge stereotypes of being hypersexualized and too loud, flashy and angry.

Just Be, which was formed less than a year ago, is space where the women don’t have to suppress their blackness, where finger-wagging and eye-rolling is part of someone’s personality and not a caricature. They can be vulnerable, unburdened from carrying the weight of the strong black woman role.

“There’s so many negative stereotypes of black women,” Acker, 42, said. “It can be overwhelming. At some point you have to say, ‘I know who I am.’ ”

“I feel like I walk around with a lot of rage, because I do understand the historical context, the big picture,” Lehman added. “Entrepreneurship was an opportunity to explicitly put social justice in my mission.”

Through entrepreneurship, they hope to write a new narrative for black women. For our wide-ranging discussion frequently interrupted by laughter, we met at Qulture Collective on Franklin Street, a coffee shop and gallery. It’s run by Alyah Baker, who also owns Show & Tell. She is another black female entrepreneur forging her own path.

This really wasn’t an interview. I was getting schooled. Now I’ve got some catching up to do. And I better hurry, because these black women aren’t waiting — or stopping — for anyone.

“Out of my frustration, I built my business,” said Catchings, a former analyst for an economics and public policy publication. “I will never go back.”

“I think that’s the one thing that, very quickly, we found out that we had in common was that we all got very frustrated at our jobs,” Richardson, 34, added. “And that was kind of the tipping point. We became entrepreneurs.”

“There is something to be said about going as far and as fast as you want to go and not having to ask permission of anyone,” Acker said. “Whatever happens, it’s on me.”

For Turner, 40, it just feels good to make her own decisions, and the sacrifice is worth the freedom.

“It’s really hard being an entrepreneur,” she said.

“You work harder,” Richardson said.

“You work harder for you,” Turner responded.

“My parents, I’m pretty sure they are still mortified that I don’t have a job,” Richardson said. “Because my parents come from the generation where you go to college, you get a good job. In my parents’ case, you get a county job with good benefits and stay there and retire.”

Acker feels like this is the second coming of the black pride movement. The first, which prominently featured the Black Panthers, focused on self-reliance.

“Black people have carried white people’s stuff for too long. They’ve got to carry it themselves,” she said. “And we’ve got to carry our own stuff. And we have to look into our community. How do we change our minds about ourselves?”

“Asking someone who’s oppressing you, for you to teach them ...” Richardson began.

“... to believe that I have enough value and worth. No,” Acker continued. “No more asking permission of anyone anymore. Changing people’s mind about their own racism and misguided views is asking permission for them to accept you.”

“We have to value ourselves and each other in order to kind of create something where we have an economic system to ourselves,” Catching, 28, said.

“There is something happening,” Acker said. “I love my people. I love who I am, and I want to support that. And if you as a white person, or someone from another culture are interested in that, that is great. But I’m not going to try to convince you to be interested in it.”

For Lehman, 30, social justice is not just basic human rights. It’s an equitable society where all people prosper.

“It’s also the right to thrive. That’s what entrepreneurship is about for me,” she says. “The how, of course, is the messy part. That’s what we need to figure out.” Catchings had an idea. “You have to tear it all down. It was built from the ground up to dehumanize us,” she said. “This is not something that we can spring off of and fix, because there are so many terrible ideals embedded.”

Is the president-elect the catalyst we need?

“Maybe he’s the bomb,” Catchings said. “But I don’t feel like that’s going to be fun or nice at all.”

But as artists, they are expected to create a response.

“People feel art, and it’s a form of communication,” said CottonTurner, 47, a print maker. “When you’re true to that ... you touch people. No matter what language they speak, no matter what philosophy they carry.”