Makes Me Wanna Holler

What I find most disturbing about the Imus affair is the reaction of black women. Our plentiful public response has been almost entirely angry. My inbox seethes with articles with titles like "No Apologies: Notes from a Nappy Headed Sister." But I find no comfort in this reaction, because I'm not angry. I'm deeply, deeply hurt.

Imus targeted the greatest vulnerability of black women--our non-European looks--with the express purpose of reminding us that we are not, and can never be, beautiful. Feminine. We had to be put back in our place, demoted to sex objects, but we couldn't even do that properly with all those braids and broad noses. So we had to be made into men. Criminals and freaks of nature. Makes me wanna holler.

Imus' words keep repeating in my head, like a violent, midday mugging. One minute, you're putting gas in your tank. The next: BANG! A gun in your face. Your response to being violently blindsided is not anger but a debilitating sense of violation and helplessness. If Imus is fired tomorrow, I won't feel any better. I'll still be wondering who else sees a "jigaboo" in me.

The reality of racism and sexism pulsing behind Imus' words is what matters. Those of us in black public life who try to stay focused on the opportunities rather than the obstacles, those of us who most often proffer intracommunal critique, well, let's just say it'll be a while before I'll be criticizing my own again. Why bother? I'll get over it, but till then ... why bother?

The only upside in all this has been the chivalry with which black men have rushed to defend us. Thank you, brothers. You've made me feel like a lady again.

Dickerson, a columnist for Salon.com is the author of The End of Blackness