The chokehold of colourism on Bengal’s beauty
Thoughts
Close your eyes and picture a Bangladeshi woman. What do you see?
Is she draped in a beautiful sari? Her hair neatly combed into a bun carrying a kolsi tightly tucked away under her arm – similar to the ones we see in the oil paintings? Or perhaps she is wearing a kameez, with her long black wavy hair falling loosely around her shoulders?
Or is she in comfy clothes, dyed hair, and flawless makeup?
This Bangladeshi woman could be anyone– a loved one, a co-worker, a faceless stranger that you come across daily.
Her attire, her hairdo apart, what other feature embodies her beauty? Close your eyes again. But this time, focus on the skin tone.
An odd feature to pinpoint? Perhaps. But for many, this is the "ding, ding, ding" moment.
Colourism is still alive, regardless of how we conceal it or rebrand it as "brightening".
Suppose you are born into a South Asian community and your skin resembles the colour of chai or any shade darker. In that case, you are probably all too familiar with colourism and its tight grip around the throat of the brown community.
I was rudely made aware of colourism before I even came of age.
"Skin-tone biases are often introduced at home, directly or indirectly, by family, relatives, friends, aunties, and uncles," says the South Asian Mental Health Initiative & Network.
While growing up, the aunties constantly reminded me that I was not fair like my mother and that it was best if I wore darker colours -- it suits me more.
"Her complexion matches her father's more than her mother's, she should go for a darker shade of pink," said a voice that still holds a permanent place in my memory.
Young, naive little me, who had not been fully introduced to the community, never fully understood why lavender - my favourite colour - was not one I should wear.
What started out as subtle snarky comments slowly became an identity.
"It's cute, but if it came in black, it would look better on you," says the voice that once belonged to others but slowly crept its way in and disguised itself as my own.
Sure, it's just the colour of my clothes. "What's the big deal?" says the familiar voice in my head.
But it IS a big deal.
A quick history lesson
For many South Asians, talking about colourism and its effects and consequences can be uncomfortable since lighter brown skin tones are often associated with beauty, status, "goodness", and competence in comparison to darker skin tones, which are often connected to "badness", lower class, lower intelligence, and a lack of beauty.
This form of skin-tone prejudice and the desire to have a lighter complexion often stems from what we know as colourism.
"Skin colour stereotypes in the South Asian community are rooted in a long history of casteism and colonialism," says Maham Shaikh in a research paper titled Struggling to Escape Colorism: Skin Colour Discrimination Experiences of South Asian Americans.
However, Jayati Ghosh, a professor specialising in gender and development, revealed that it "predates colonialism." It dates back to the ruling classes with fairer skin, such as the Mughals, who ruled over large parts of South Asia from the 16th to the 19th centuries.
But there's no doubt, Ghosh continued, that "colonialism added to it because it so happened that your rulers were also then white or pink or grey or whatever," a reference to George Orwell's description of Brits in the book "1984."
Despite the fair-skinned Mughals, it was the onset of colonisation and the British that ingrained the idea that fair-skinned individuals were the ruling class while darker-skinned individuals were to be ruled. They were seen as "superior" and similar to most things that are put on a pedestal, people felt the growing need to imitate them as lighter skin represented higher economic class, beauty, and caste.
Connecting the dots: The past and the present
Mainstream media, literature, and multinational corporations systemically perpetuate these skin colour biases by idealising lighter skin tones, while villainising darker skin tones.
Being policed about avoiding sun exposure, witnessing preferential treatment towards South Asians with lighter brown skin tones and discrimination towards South Asians with darker skin tones when trying to access housing, jobs, marital, economic opportunities, and being encouraged to use skin whitening creams to fit the beauty standards while downplaying the negative health effects are only some of the daily struggles of colourism.
These beauty standards have led to bleaching and other skin-lightening procedures and pills all across the country.
I had friends bleaching their skin in the 8th grade. They were only 14.
"Bleach cream, used to lighten the colour of one's skin, is a multibillion-dollar industry in the Indian subcontinent and procedures often contain toxic ingredients, which can damage skin and trigger life-threatening maladies," says Nandini Gupta, an NYU student in a Medium article.
"They chiefly contain steroids, hydroquinone – a chemical which removes the top layer of skin– and mercury, which can provoke neurological problems, kidney and liver damage, and cancer. Widely available for sale in local pharmacies and grocery stores, anyone, regardless of gender, age, can easily purchase them without realising they're spending money on products that put their health at risk," adds Gupta.
These creams and skin-lightening "treatments" are a testament to the sordid legacy of colourism and the damage the ideology inflicts on those who encounter it long after decolonisation.
Of course, the onus isn't just on others.
There is nothing wrong with wanting radiant glowing skin. But when one feels obligated to change their skin tone altogether without there being any medical emergencies – it calls for an internal reevaluation and intervention.
Like a broken record player
The topic of colourism has been an ongoing one for decades. But the layers behind it continue to need further scrutiny.
"As a psychologist and a South Asian woman, I feel it is important to identify our own internalised colourism and recognise how it impacts our lives and those around us," says Dr. Komal Gupta, a clinical psychologist.
"Our skin-tone biases are developed through a complex interplay of family, community, sociopolitical systems, marketing practices, and popular culture. Colourism can impact many aspects of your life including how you feel about yourself, your identity, your relationships, and access to life opportunities," she continues.
Although articles like this endlessly go on and on like a broken record player, it is still a battle that millions of us are fighting every single day with the hope that amidst the current climate of examining racial and diversity issues, South Asians will consciously defy Eurocentric beauty standards and, by extension, white supremacy.
Today's society would rather have us rub ourselves with cancerous chemicals and burn off our skin with harsh substances than be the colour of our ancestors.
However, Brown women were never told to do anything of these things – not directly, at least. Instead, we were advised to scrub our faces with lemon to rub away the tan. Instead of acknowledging them for what they truly are – cancerous chemicals– we are given the opportunity to bleach our skin to be a few shades lighter.
Should we truly strive to resemble those individuals who captured and tormented our ancestors but not like those who valiantly fought and defended our land with their blood?
On paper, we won. In history, in August of 1947, it is said that colonialism was driven out of the Indian subcontinent.
But every time, a little girl is told to stay inside to prevent tanning, every time a teen goes in to get her skin bleached, every time a woman loses an opportunity due to her dark appearance, every time we let ourselves believe in lighter skin supremacy– a small fragment of our victory is eroded.
In those moments, we are the ones who lose.
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