Black Wives Matter

I thought I would start my #BlackHistoryMonth series of content with this thought piece.

I have been married to Madeline McQueen for twenty-seven years (we have been together for thirty-four). She is of Bajan and Antiguan heritage, and I am of Bajan and Grenadian heritage. We both grew up in a Christian community predominantly made up of ex-pats from the Caribbean diaspora. Teachers, doctors, engineers, bankers, lawyers, bus drivers, nurses and everything else in between. Our upbringing was a melting pot of domino nights, Caribbean folk songs, soul food, Reggae, calypso, zouk, Caribbean-influenced gospel, and jokes across patois, creole, and other dialects. Stories of Anansi spider, duppies, jumbies and spirits. Camp meetings, coach trips to the seaside, and “sending barrels home”.

That vibrant heritage has shaped our connection. It has influenced our private jokes and created understanding without interpretation, such as the various ways we pout and point our lips.

We modelled our parents. They were the role models of Black love we wanted to be. We watched as they navigated British culture. Head down, working hard but fiercely ambitious about getting the best for us. Drumming into us the need for education as a route to success and good living. Balancing that thin line between proudly Caribbean and being proudly British.

As I navigated the world of work, very often, there were times I came up against challenges linked to my being a Black British man. People wanting to and thinking it's OK to touch my hair (yes, I used to have enough hair for that to be a problem). Subtle and explicit racism and numerous micro-aggressions.

People also assumed I only dated white women or was married to a white woman. This was based entirely on the fact that I was a Black professional with a modicum of success.

Before meeting Madeline, people often assumed that my partner was a blonde white woman. Hearing Madeline on the phone does little to improve things - because she "speaks so well" *eye roll * The assumptions made about a woman named Madeline McQueen are legendary.

Just the other week, I went to meet Madeline at a restaurant where she was having a business lunch, and I couldn't see her. A hostess asked if I needed help. I said I was looking for my wife. She said - no joke -, “I think the tall blonde woman just left”. I said, “Well, that’s news to me. My wife is short and Black”. And that’s not the first time that’s happened.

I understand why people assume I'm married to a white woman - Madeline and I are an exception as a married Black couple, especially in professional spaces. I have always found this curious. Some will say love has no colour - which it doesn’t - but that doesn’t explain why Black British men of Caribbean, and increasingly African, heritage choose not to marry or partner a Black woman. Something which is also increasing among Black British women.

Here is the data from the 2011 UK census: the table shows the percentage of people living as a couple in an inter-ethnic relationship, broken down by ethnic group.

The last column is the percentage of Black people in an interracial relationship. Some estimates suggest that 52% (happy to be corrected) of Black men in the UK are married or cohabiting with a non-Black woman. I am curious as to why this is the case and why it shows up most for Black people of all ethnic groups in the UK. It can’t be education; Black women are the most highly educated and qualified in our communities. It can’t be for lack of trying, either.

Why does this matter, you may ask?

Well, for Black women who wish to find and live with a Black man, the choices and chances are rather thin on the ground. As a result, many have resorted to leaving this tiny island to increase their chances.

For a complex array of reasons, many are looking for a partner who can fully understand their whole emotional journey. As a Black man, my preferences for a partner included someone who would fully understand me culturally. Who would get the dynamics, the experiences of navigating the world of work and business, and the wider world as a Black person. I didn’t want to have to explain.

There are times, as a grown-ass man, I sink into the arms of my wife and business partner, and she just gets it. I don’t have to say anything. This is not to say a woman of a different racial or ethnic background wouldn’t get it. Still, I was not prepared to go through that heavy lifting when I knew I could find a woman who would understand straight off the bat.

Over the years, Madeline and I have been hailed as "couple goals" by many. But for many, our relationship is also seen as out of reach because of a mismatch of availability. We are often approached by frustrated Black professional women and men (women more) wondering why they are unable to find partners that fit their cultural preferences. Frustration also for feeling they must step outside their preference or risk being alone.

So, whilst many will not be brave enough to speak on it, I recognise that our relationship, despite its flaws, serves as some hope, a beacon to others that Black love can be a thing. We hold it down for each other emotionally, spiritually, intellectually, and financially and do the heavy lifting that it takes that made many of the relationships that came before ours work. And there's no reason that can't and shouldn't be replicated.

The data on economic and educational success across racial and ethnic groups are closely linked to a solid family and community. So for me, and this is personal, this correlation is a crucial part of closing such gaps.

As a caveat, I know it would be very easy for someone to read this and see it as disparaging or dismissive of interracial relationships. So I want to be clear, it is not. And if you read it that way, that is projection. It is possible to walk and chew gum at the same time.

For me, this opinion piece is a recognition that for many Black professionals, there is a desire to find a partner with the same cultural/racial heritage. Someone who gets it. Regardless of where they are on the political spectrum. Whether they have innate rhythm or not. Whether they season their food or moisturise their skin. Those are superficial stereotypes which serve no one outside of banter.

I am talking about connection. The kind I get when I look at my wife and don’t have to say anything. The moment she nods at me cos it’s time to go when she realises someone has pissed me off. The times we’ve had to navigate the education system when teachers stepped out of line with our daughters. The reassuring wink she gives me as a reminder to keep it moving when someone asks me where I got my name. The moments we bruk out in patois or our own coded Avagi Lovaguv Youva Goo. The times she held me when I cried big man tears in 2020. The anxiety she knows I feel when I see a police car or lights when I drive a nice car. The deep and loud belly laughs we share wherever we go.

For many of us Black men, Black Wives matter and are an integral part of our success. The same, I am sure, applies to Black women for whomst Black Husbands matter (but that is not my story to tell). And it's OK for that to be OK. Without apology.

If being married to the amazing Black woman I have been blessed to share most of my life with is a symbol of hope for others, so be it. If what Madeline and I have built and continue to cultivate serves as a reminder that Black love is possible, then I am good with making that kind of Black History.