On Creating Space to Unpack Colorism: An Interview with TK Saccoh
Photo of TK Saccoh. Courtesy of TK Saccoh.
By Houreidja Tall
Through The Darkest Hue, Tigidankay “TK” Saccoh is creating a dynamic social space to tackle and faciliate conversations on colorism.
Tigidankay, or TK, Saccoh is a recent Columbia University graduate and the creator of The Darkest Hue, an Instagram page that facilitates conversations around colorism. The page tackles timely topics, such as darker-skinned rappers are expected to put more effort into fame and connects it to longstanding societal patterns. As a dark-skinned woman and Black feminist, I am acutely aware of colorism. I was drawn to The Darkest Hue because it was quite powerful to see someone who is able to articulate so many of the experiences I had when I was younger and contextualize it with research to help me understand that what I was experiencing was not simply in my imagination.
I spoke with TK about what experiences compelled her to start The Darkest Hue, how she protects herself online, the power of acknowledging lived experiences and fortifying them with research, and what she envisions for the future of anti-colorism advocacy.
This interview took place in June 2023.
Houreidja Tall (HT): So I have a number of experiences and memories, you know, particularly in grade school, where I experienced unfair treatment that I knew was a result of being darker than my peers, but I didn't have the words to describe why I felt it was that way or like my concerns were dismissed. And, in hindsight, I understand that colorism was the culprit, and The Darkest Hue is the sort of platform that I wish had existed when I was younger. So I'm just curious about what led you to create The Darkest Hue?
TK Saccoh (TKS): Before I even learned about colorism or had the language to articulate it, I always innately felt like I was being treated differently compared to my lighter-skinned peers. I noticed this when I began attending a predominantly Black middle school, because before then I lived in Washington state and the school I attended was mostly white. So the demon there was racism. When I started attending a predominantly Black school, I noticed that there was still this hierarchy. We were all Black, but there was still this hierarchy where lighter-skinned children, lighter-skinned girls, were not only preferred by the boys or made to feel prettier or more beautiful, the teachers also seemed to tend to them more. Their needs were met and catered to more often than myself and my darker-skinned peers and that was something glaringly obvious to me.
I started the Darkest Hue [in] March 2020. The year 2020 was a huge year for anti-racism efforts. Racial consciousness was exploding across the country and people were trying to really interrogate their biases and become a part of this larger societal shift away from racism. Something I noticed was that while Black women were the ones leading these efforts, we were still erased and being forgotten. Then, I began to reflect on my experiences of, where had I felt that feeling of being forgotten and being erased, and I traced it back to childhood and my middle school experience with very overt colorism.
And so I started thinking about what kind of space would I have needed when I was in middle school? What kind of community would I have needed when I was in middle school? What kind of resources would I have needed when I was in middle school to really help me navigate such a colorist world? And I think the thing about colorism is that it's so isolating when you're going through it. You might think you're the only person in the world that has ever experienced colorism, and that's just not true. Because I noticed that a lot of people are dealing with colorism very privately, internally, and feel like they have to pick up the broken pieces of themselves and put it back together without a community or without some type of support network, I first started The Darkest Hue, to be a hub where I could publish people's stories about their experience with colorism and misogyny. With my Spotlight series, that's what I did. First, I went to my friends and asked them if they had stories they felt comfortable sharing. Then as I gained a larger following, other people who I didn't immediately know started sharing their stories. It was so heartening to see girls as young as 14, 15 being so vulnerable and so honest in that digital space. I started noticing there were so many common threads. Every one's story was unique, but there were a lot of shared elements and themes. It just felt like a huge weight lifting off of my shoulders because I knew that finally it felt like everything I experienced wasn't in vain.
I experienced colorism for a reason and I was made to make and cultivate this space with others. I was made to make a space where people who are not affirmed anywhere–not in schools, not within their families, not at work, not in public––that they could come to this small space and finally be affirmed and connect with other people. That they could come to this space and really anchor their experiences. I think another thing about colorism is sometimes you think you're just making it up and, and you might end up gaslighting yourself or thinking you're delusional or you're reading into certain situations too much. So, when your testimony, which I think is so powerful, is supplemented by facts and history and information, you learn to depersonalize it so it becomes less of, “what is wrong with me?” and more, “what is wrong with society?” Why do people have these biases? How did we get here?” All these things led me to create The Darkest Hue.
“What kind of space would I have needed when I was in middle school? What kind of community would I have needed when I was in middle school? What kind of resources would I have needed when I was in middle school to really help me navigate such a colorist world?”
HT: That actually is an excellent segue into my next question. I was thinking about how it's particularly powerful that you use research to demonstrate that the topics you highlight are part of a social phenomenon rather than an isolated experience and it doesn't downplay lived experiences but rather affirms them. So, what is the process like gathering research for your posts?
TKS: I have ADHD, so the way I create my posts––there isn't quite a method to the madness. Sometimes, I am randomly inspired. The way I go about gathering research is basically the way I went about gathering research when I was in college. I recently graduated from undergrad and because I started The Darkest Hue while I was in college, it was fun using the research skills I was learning in my classes and applying it to the work I was doing over in The Darkest Hue. First, I would decide on what topic I really wanted to hit on. Then, I go through the surface level stuff, like, ostensibly what is happening, when you just look at it for what is, what is going on, but then challenge myself and the beliefs I have and hold and look for something deeper. There's always a way you can push the conversation forward. There's always a way you can complicate the mainstream conversations that are happening on colorism. I also approach my research with the knowledge that colorism, in many ways, is gendered. While everyone is experiencing colorism, all dark-skinned people in the world, Black or whatever color of racialized peoples, women's and gender expansive people’s experiences with colorism can look very different than people who are cishet men. I also approach it from that lens.
There's not a ton of research on how colorism really impacts Black women within gun violence and within topics that are heavily masculinized. For example, when people hear police brutality, they think men––they think Black men. But then you also have to think about if you have this societal idea that masculinity equals darkness and femininity equals lightness, where could that show up for Black women? It could be showing up at schools with little Black girls getting suspended at higher rates than other races of girls; it’s showing up at the workplace with workplace discrimination. It's showing up in the media of course, which I think is a super obvious example, and I love to hone in on pop cultural references. Tt’s something that is specific and accessible to people. And then, I widen it out and explain how this one incident has greater implications. That's really how I approach deciding on a topic and approach researching.
“I was made to make a space where people who are not affirmed anywhere–not in schools, not within their families, not at work, not in public–that they could come to this small space and finally be affirmed and connect with other people.”
HT: What drew you to use Instagram as the main medium to write your posts? Because, I know that now you also do more in-person things, but this was something that originally was born on Instagram. Why was that?
TKS: I decided on Instagram because when the pandemic started. I, like many other people, turned to online spaces and digital forums to lessen the feeling of isolation and disconnectedness. I was on Instagram a lot and I was observing the discourse that would be happening every time someone said or did something colorist. I quickly noticed there was so much space on Instagram to be violent towards Black women. Whether it was done jokingly, whether it was serious, there was just a spectrum of violence towards Black women, and in many ways it was social capital. You say something about Black women, you get clicks, you get engagement, you get all types of attention. You get clout. So, I chose Instagram because I felt like there was such an abundance of what I didn't want to see.
What I knew was harmful, what I knew was radicalizing people for the worst is to be hateful towards dark-skinned Black women. I wanted to combat that. I thought if I couldn't get rid of that content, I could create content that could maybe drown it out. I could make content that challenges that content. Content that refuses to normalize that type of content. I recognized that at a time where people were radicalizing themselves for better or for worse, I wanted to do my part to push back on some more harmful ideas that were floating around the internet about Black women, about how Black women behave, what we deserve, our intentions.
There were just so many groups and a lot of the discourse that was being peddled within Black spaces by other Black people. I thought it was especially urgent to create a space that Black people felt comfortable in, but that also challenged Black people to interrogate whatever biases they were bringing to the table, such as stereotypes they didn’t realize about themselves or others and really point a mirror at themselves and unlearn. Because we love to do the kumbaya and say things like, “the only devil is the White man,” but sometimes we have to look internally within our own communities [and] how we are treating each other.
“What I knew was harmful, what I knew was radicalizing people for the worst is to be hateful towards dark-skinned Black women.”
HT: So following up on that, I imagine, especially because it can be hard to tell people about themselves, or force them to look in the mirror; I imagine it can be difficult when people try to invalidate the work you do, whether it's rude comments on your posts or violent messages maybe. So what steps do you take to protect yourself and avoid burnout?
TKS: Long breaks are a must. I love a good hiatus. I have to take a break. I can't afford to burn out because not a lot of people are doing this work because it's not really sustainable work when you think about how many people are resistant to confronting colorism and confronting whatever biases they hold. So, I take a lot of breaks.
Also, my relationship [to] blocking people has changed. At first, I used to feel really guilty because I used to feel like, “Oh, I'm not allowing discussion. I'm suppressing thoughts,” but now I have more discernment and I'm able to discern when someone is and intentionally trying to troll and is being nefarious versus when someone is trying to learn or is confused about something or asking a clarifying question. That discernment has been very helpful because it allows me to really cultivate the kind of space I want. I'm thinking about my self-care and what I need to do to protect my mental health because I'm the creator of the content. I've seen all the iterations of hateful comments. I've seen it all, but I'm worried about young Black girls coming on my page and seeing hateful comments that make them feel bad about themselves. That's why I’m so particular about how I censor and how I use the ‘block’ function, and how I use the ‘hide comments’ function.
HT: What made you feel comfortable identifying yourself as the face behind the page?
TKS: It was initially anonymous because I just wanted to make content. I didn't want to deal with the drama. I think the internet can also be very scary for Black women. I've seen people get doxxed.
HT: For sure. It's a constant fear of mine as a journalist when I think about certain things that I write.
TKS: I think also as I've grown and as I've deepened my digital connections, I've become very aware that people have my back. There are people who will go to bat for me, people who feel so strongly about my work, and what I do, and I generally do feel protected now. Now that I am a little less anonymous and I'm putting my face out there more, I also see how that makes people more comfortable, because another reason why people are hesitant sometimes when Black creators are anonymous, is because many times they're not Black people. That's a genuine anxiety and fear that people have and I'm not sure that was an issue with my case. I think people trusted that I was who I was saying I was. But, I definitely respected that anxiety. Now that I am more comfortable showing my face and attaching my persona to my platform, I also see the many opportunities for deeper connection that come out of that. I'm grateful that I feel more comfortable with that now, but it definitely has been a journey.
HT: Speaking of community, who are some activists that you admire?
TKS: I admire Mayowa. I really love their Instagram Page and their YouTube channel. I think it's just amazing. The work they do with colorism is very innovative. It's very thoughtful. They also do a lot of work with texturism and featurism and I just absolutely love their content. I'm always plugging it on my page. I'm also really inspired by Ericka Hart, also [a] very amazing content creator. I've learned a lot about fatphobia through their page. I also really love King of Reads. They're on YouTube and [have] amazing content. I have learned a lot about fatphobia through their content as well. I'm in community with so many dynamic people and they've taught me so much.
That's another thing about cultivating a community––you want to surround yourself with people that are going to help you grow; people who are going to challenge the way you think about the content you're making; challenge the way you're approaching certain issues and even interrogate whatever biases you might hold.
TKS: The future of The Darkest Hue, some tangible future items: I really want to make a website.I really wanna make a website that's super intentional, where people can share their stories, maybe write articles about whatever they're thinking about as it relates to colorism, textism, futurism, anti-Blackness, and misogynoir. I want it to be a hub where I could archive everything because this digital age is very fickle and not super dependable. If one day, God forbid, something happens with Instagram, I want there to be a space online where my work is immortalized and people can continue gaining whatever benefit they've gained from it.
I want the future of anti-colorism activism to sort of look like what we see happening with climate change activism. Not just front-facing activism such as marching and protesting, but people are investing their money to look into solutions for climate change with research and academia. People are trying to tackle climate change through the media, making films about climate change, and demanding that celebrities be less negligent of the climate. When I think about the future of anti-colorism advocacy, I want that same sort of expansion where people stop thinking about colorism, like it's this niche thing that only 10 people in the world care about. It’s an issue that has implications for literally everything, especially how we understand all types of oppression. I also want people to complicate their understanding of oppression, to include intragroup oppression, not just intergroup. I want people to really understand that not every Black person experiences anti-Blackness the same way. I think that's an entry point to think about things like fatphobia, ableism, transphobia, and all the many oppressions that affect Black people. We can talk about racism, anti-Blackness, colorism, featurism, textureism and ableism, and all the -isms that make for distinct experiences, even within the same racial group. I want to see that cultural shift and how we think about oppression.
“That’s another thing about cultivating a community––you want to surround yourself with people that are going to help you grow; people who are going to challenge the way you think about the content you’re making; challenge the way you’re approaching certain issues and even interrogate whatever biases you might hold. ”
I want to see more people researching colorism and researching its effects. Unfortunately, in the society we live in, people sometimes don't feel compelled to move and transform just based on personal testimony. They'd like to see the data and the research and the studies. I think having more scholarship can really move society forward into seriously taking colorism as an oppression that is worthy of discussion, reflection, and imagining solutions. I want our cultural shift of taking colorism more seriously to also impact the legal sector. So, this is what I hope for anti-colorism advocacy. I hope that more people like me keep doing the front-facing work, producing content, and continue to shape and mold the culture and influence public thought. I also hope this seeps into other sectors of society that really dictate material outcomes for dark-skinned people.
Houreidja Tall (she/her) is a New York City-based journalist who explores the stories of people across the African diaspora, highlights communities that are disregarded by traditional media and shows the nuances in their lives. She holds a Master’s degree in Engagement Journalism from the Craig Newmark Graduate School of Journalism and a Bachelor’s degree in Women’s and Gender Studies from Brooklyn College.