Beyonce & The Uses of Anger

At long last, it happened—Beyoncé, rightfully, won a Grammy for Album of the Year for Cowboy Carter. To win for this album in particular, after being denied so many times before, was especially profound. 

As I watched her accept the award, the words that came to mind were from Audre Lorde's essay The Uses of Anger: Women Responding to Racism:

“Women responding to racism means women responding to anger—the anger of exclusion, of unquestioned privilege, of racial distortions, of silence, ill-use, stereotyping, defensiveness, misnaming, betrayal, and co-optation.”

I thought of this because, as I've written before, Cowboy Carter was an act of Sankofa, an act of reclamation, of returning to find what was lost. It was a response to the erasure of Black people from the country music industry, despite being its creators, originators, and cultural propagators.

Beyoncé experienced this exclusion publicly in 2016 when she performed at the Country Music Awards, only to be rejected and dismissed. While a wholly creative work, Cowboy Carter is, in part, a response to this rejection and, in my opinion, a good old-fashioned revenge album. The album is a statement, a taking up of space and bringing other Black artists along whether the establishment likes it or not.

Paradoxically, while I was celebrating Beyonce's win, I was also horrified by the aftermath of Donald Trump's second inauguration as President of the United States. In the (only!) two and a half weeks since he took office, there has been a flurry of executive orders dismantling diversity, equity, and inclusion initiatives; a cyber coup, where unelected officials have taken over key government infrastructure; and people around the globe have experienced devastating ripple effects, in no small part because of the abrupt cessation of critical USAID funding.

It did not have to be this way, yet here we are. Many, including me, are angry.

Anger can be uncomfortable for some women to acknowledge because, from an early age, we are taught that anger is a bad thing and that we should suppress it—we should be demure, charming, and, above all, palatable. As Black women, our relationship to anger can be especially fraught. Despite having so very much to be pissed off about, we typically must navigate our anger with a graciousness the world does not deserve to avoid being stereotyped as the angry Black woman. Because once that moniker is bestowed, our anger—righteous or not—is used to nullify the truth we speak and the talent we bring, personally, professionally, and politically.

It's because of this dynamic that anger is often framed as destructive, but as Audre Lorde reminds us:

“Anger expressed and translated into action in the service of our vision and our future is a liberating and strengthening act of clarification.”

Acknowledging our anger does not mean expressing it in any singular way. It means listening to it. Because anger, like any other emotion, is information. It tells us when a boundary has been crossed, when a violation has occurred, and when restitution is required.

If we are to move forward in this current climate with purpose and clarity, we cannot ignore what we feel. We must let our anger illuminate the harm, sharpen our focus, and propel us into action—not out of destruction, but in service of our vision.

And while your vision may not result in a Grammy, it is no less worthy of recognition.

PS If you would like support to clarify your vision, consider coaching, book a discovery call today.