I didn’t have a black friend in Charlotte, so I went out and made one
By Karin Lukas-Cox
Protesters stand at Marshall Park in Charlotte, NC giving individual remarks on Saturday, August 22, 2015. Protesters marched on Friday evening and Saturday protesting that after four days of deliberations, a mistrial was declared when the jury was unable to resolve a deadlock in the case of Randall "Wes" Kerrick. Kerrick, a Charlotte-Mecklenburg Police officer accused of killing an unarmed man, Jonathan Ferrell, in a struggle two years ago.
It’s “Jheri Curl”, not “Gerrell Curl.” I had scribbled down extensive notes while Thea Rhinehardt explained to me the history of tending to her black hair over the four decades of her life in Charlotte. My spelling was all wrong and my facts were all mixed up.
As a wash-n-go girl, with the same brown ponytail since as long as I can remember, I get claustrophobic just getting a hair trim once a year.
So, talking for three hours with Thea about Jheri curls, bobs, perms, micro-braids, weaves, wigs or hair extensions was more complicated than any class I had taken in engineering school. I got a headache.
But Thea did not let me off the hook. She made sure I listened to every detail of the consequence of every hair style or product on her hair, her scalp, and her emotions. I have etched into my brain that she has fine but voluminous nappy hair which makes it utterly unworkable. Not all black hair is the same.
I immigrated here from Austria. I thought I had read what I needed on education, transportation, city planning, health care and policing to know where and why the gaps along racial lines were made. It was back when I was processing articles about Jonathan Ferrell’s court case that I realized I, a middle class white person, didn’t know the depth of the racial lines in Charlotte. I had no black friends.
Then I met Thea through mutual friends. Thea was not surprised that I had no black friends. She was just pleasantly surprised that I was reaching out.
Then, she told me everything her hair meant.
Working for hours on her hair, often enduring burns and pain, was not about hygiene or vanity, it was about ensuring the respectability of herself, her family and her black community to the world.
Thea was patient and brilliant. She got wash-n-go-girl to understand that racism affects you from the tip of your Afro to the roots in your scalp.
Thea told me she suffered for decades — starting when her mother combed her hair so hard that she pulled it off — this internalized racism and racial self-loathing. She told me how, finally, she taught herself to dismiss the social norm that Euro-centric beauty is superior to black beauty. Both of us are middle-aged professional women. And it took meeting her to teach me about this universal pursuit of respect we’re all involved in.
