Questões de Linguagens do ENEM

    Afora espíritos essencialmente satíricos e caricatos como Emílio de Menezes, outros havia, como Lima Barreto, que parece se vingavam das desditas da existência transbordando o fel da maledicência travestido em constantes ataques a tudo e a todos. (...) Raro era o homem de letras e, até mesmo, o homem público que tivesse passado a vida sem experimentar a vivência belicosa da polêmica. Tal era a frequência, que tinha foros de gênero literário que alguém poderia cultivar e no qual fosse, por assim dizer, um especialista. As biografias dos grandes homens da época são, a esse respeito, bastante instrutivas. Não são poucos aqueles cujos biógrafos qualificam de polemista como poderiam qualificar de publicista, romancista ou polígrafo.

    Afora espíritos essencialmente satíricos e caricatos como Emílio de Menezes, outros havia, como Lima Barreto, que parece se vingavam das desditas da existência transbordando o fel da maledicência travestido em constantes ataques a tudo e a todos. (...) Raro era o homem de letras e, até mesmo, o homem público que tivesse passado a vida sem experimentar a vivência belicosa da polêmica. Tal era a frequência, que tinha foros de gênero literário que alguém poderia cultivar e no qual fosse, por assim dizer, um especialista. As biografias dos grandes homens da época são, a esse respeito, bastante instrutivas. Não são poucos aqueles cujos biógrafos qualificam de polemista como poderiam qualificar de publicista, romancista ou polígrafo.

No texto, é possível substituir os termos caricato / foros / polígrafo, sem prejuízo semântico, respectivamente por:

    Aborto, porte de armas e o presidente Donald Trump foram alguns dos assuntos que dominaram a primeira audiência de confirmação do juiz conservador Brett Kavanaugh  para a Suprema Corte dos Estados Unidos, realizada em meio a protestos de ativistas e tentativas de adiamento do processo por parte de democratas.

    Kavanaugh passará por mais dois dias de sabatina, na quarta e na quinta, e testemunhas contra e a favor do juiz devem ser ouvidas na sexta.

(Folha de S.Paulo, 04/09/2018)

Segundo o Dicionário Aurélio (versão digital), a palavra sabatina possui as seguintes acepções:

1. Repetição, no sábado, das lições estudadas durante a semana.

2. Oração do sábado.

3. Tese que os estudantes de filosofia defendiam ao término de seu primeiro ano de curso.

4. Fig. Discussão, debate, questão.

Levando-se em conta que o vocábulo sabatina ganhou o valor semântico de "exame, prova ou questionamento (não necessariamente realizados num sábado) para o exercício de um cargo", pode-se afirmar que nesse caso ocorreu um(a):

    Aborto, porte de armas e o presidente Donald Trump foram alguns dos assuntos que dominaram a primeira audiência de confirmação do juiz conservador Brett Kavanaugh  para a Suprema Corte dos Estados Unidos, realizada em meio a protestos de ativistas e tentativas de adiamento do processo por parte de democratas.

    Kavanaugh passará por mais dois dias de sabatina, na quarta e na quinta, e testemunhas contra e a favor do juiz devem ser ouvidas na sexta.

(Folha de S.Paulo, 04/09/2018)

Assinale a afirmação correta sobre o trecho: “... testemunhas contra e a favor do juiz devem ser ouvidas na sexta...” A frase está:

    Quando se conversa, deve-se evitar as frases feitas que são verdadeiras chapas. Exemplos: em um enterro, dizer “que não se morre senão uma vez”, que “basta estar vivo para morrer”, que “o morto é feliz porque deixou de sofrer”, que “Deus sabe o que faz e escreve certo por linhas tortas” ou que “as grandes dores são mudas”. Quando se visita um doente, não há necessidade de levar no bolso sentenças desse jaez: “a saúde é a maior das fortunas”, “somos nós que pagamos pelos excessos de nossos pais” ou “a ciência, que tudo pode, ainda não encontrou remédio para os pequenos males”. Em todos os setores das atividades sociais, há frases no mesmo estilo e que convém deixar ao cuidado do Conselheiro Acácio que nelas se esmerou.

    Quando se conversa, deve-se evitar as frases feitas que são verdadeiras chapas. Exemplos: em um enterro, dizer “que não se morre senão uma vez”, que “basta estar vivo para morrer”, que “o morto é feliz porque deixou de sofrer”, que “Deus sabe o que faz e escreve certo por linhas tortas” ou que “as grandes dores são mudas”. Quando se visita um doente, não há necessidade de levar no bolso sentenças desse jaez: “a saúde é a maior das fortunas”, “somos nós que pagamos pelos excessos de nossos pais” ou “a ciência, que tudo pode, ainda não encontrou remédio para os pequenos males”. Em todos os setores das atividades sociais, há frases no mesmo estilo e que convém deixar ao cuidado do Conselheiro Acácio que nelas se esmerou.

Personagem da obra O Primo Basílio, a figura fictícia Conselheiro Acácio, citada no texto, tornou-se célebre como:

Considere os textos que seguem.

Assinale a afirmação correta sobre os dois textos:

(...) O mal du siècle, a indefinível doença que alanceia os românticos, que lhes enlanguesce a vontade, entedia a vida e faz desejar a morte, só poderá ser correctamente entendido no contexto da odisseia do eu romântico, pois que exprime o cansaço e a frustração resultantes da impossibilidade de realizar o absoluto. (...)

A partir das considerações sobre o “mal-do-século”, assinale o item cujo texto não apresente as características apontadas.

O trecho que segue é da personagem Olga, de Triste Fim de Policarpo Quaresma, romance de Lima Barreto.

    O que mais a impressionou no passeio foi a miséria geral, a falta de cultivo, a pobreza das casas, o ar triste, abatido da gente pobre. (...) Havendo tanto barro, tanta água, por que as casas não eram de tijolos e não tinham telhas? Era sempre aquele sapê sinistro e aquele “sopapo” que deixava ver a trama de varas, como o esqueleto de um doente. Por que ao redor dessas casas não havia culturas, uma horta, um pomar? (...) Não podia ser preguiça só ou indolência. Para o seu gasto, para uso próprio, o homem tem sempre energia para trabalhar relativamente. (...) Seria a terra? Que seria? E todas essas questões desafiavam a sua curiosidade, o seu desejo de saber, e também a sua piedade e simpatia por aqueles párias, maltrapilhos, mal alojados, talvez com fome, sorumbáticos!...

Assinale o item cuja obra não é passível de ser relacionada com o exposto acima.

O trecho que segue é da personagem Olga, de Triste Fim de Policarpo Quaresma, romance de Lima Barreto.

    O que mais a impressionou no passeio foi a miséria geral, a falta de cultivo, a pobreza das casas, o ar triste, abatido da gente pobre. (...) Havendo tanto barro, tanta água, por que as casas não eram de tijolos e não tinham telhas? Era sempre aquele sapê sinistro e aquele “sopapo” que deixava ver a trama de varas, como o esqueleto de um doente. Por que ao redor dessas casas não havia culturas, uma horta, um pomar? (...) Não podia ser preguiça só ou indolência. Para o seu gasto, para uso próprio, o homem tem sempre energia para trabalhar relativamente. (...) Seria a terra? Que seria? E todas essas questões desafiavam a sua curiosidade, o seu desejo de saber, e também a sua piedade e simpatia por aqueles párias, maltrapilhos, mal alojados, talvez com fome, sorumbáticos!...

Em Lima Barreto, a sequência grande de perguntas ao longo do texto configura o:

A zoomorfização na Literatura, a despeito de qualquer outra característica estilística, sempre esteve presente, no entanto, aparece principalmente nas obras com características realistas que, em contraponto àquelas com aspectos mais românticos, têm o intento de retratar as mazelas da sociedade como espelho. (...)

Fez-se necessário uma Literatura condizente com o real e, para tanto, a zoomorfização de personagens foi utilizada com maior ênfase. Paralelo ao Realismo, o Naturalismo é o momento em que mais se verifica este fenômeno. (Uesla Lima Soares , O Animal Humano: Os paradigmas da zoomorfização social e sua representação literária, Anais do Festival Literário de Paulo Afonso, 2017)

[O zoomorfismo] ocorre quando “o que é próprio do homem se estende ao animal e permite, por simetria, que o que é próprio do animal se estenda ao homem.”

Considere as seguintes afirmações:

I. A zoomorfização se opôs frontalmente às idealizações românticas, sendo uma característica exclusiva do Naturalismo.

II. Segundo Antonio Candido, não é possível haver distinção entre ser humano e animal, no sentido de que um cede característica ao outro e vice-versa.

III. A definição de Antonio Candido sobre zoomorfismo é construída por meio de um processo chamado quiasmo.

A respeito de tais afirmações, deve-se dizer que:

A partir da leitura do poema e da observação da imagem, assinale a afirmação correta.

Os dois últimos versos trazem a forma verbal no Imperativo Afirmativo, na segunda pessoa do singular (tu). Se estivessem na segunda pessoa do plural (vós), teríamos:

O comentário acima, sobre a história de Macabéa, pertence ao narrador Rodrigo S.M. Assinale a afirmação correta. O narrador:

   In the gym at Paul Junior High School in Washington, D.C., in the spring of 1968, not that long before the assassination of the Rev. Dr. Martin Luther King Jr., I asked a buddy whether he was interested in a certain girl. He told me that he was not because she was too dark.

   

   He and I were African-American. (Then we would have called ourselves Negro.) So was she. All of us supported the Civil Rights Movement and idolized Dr. King, yet I did not hold my friend’s colorstruck judgment against him. And he did not state his opinion with embarrassment. We had both internalized our society’s derogation of blackness.

    Indeed, we luxuriated in the denigration, spending hours trading silly, recycled but revealing insults: “Yo mama so black, she blend in with the chalkboard.” “Yeah, well, yo mama so black, she sweats chocolate.”

   It was precisely because of widespread colorism that James Brown’s anthem “Say It Loud, I’m Black and I’m Proud” posed a challenge, felt so exhilarating, and resonated so powerfully. It still does. Much has changed over the past half century. But, alas, the need to defend blackness against derision continues.

    Various musicians in the 1960s tapped into yearnings for black assertiveness, autonomy and solidarity. Curtis Mayfield and the Impressions sang “We’re a Winner.” Sly and the Family Stone offered “Stand.” Sam Cooke (and Aretha Franklin and Otis Redding) performed “A Change is Gonna Come.” But no entertainer equaled Brown’s vocalization of African-Americans’ newly triumphal sense of self-acceptance.

   That Brown created the song most popularly associated with the Black is Beautiful movement is ironic. He generally stayed away from protest, endorsed the presidential re-election of Richard Nixon, lavishly praised Ronald Reagan, and consistently lauded Strom Thurmond.

   His infrequent sallies into politics usually sounded in patriotic, lift-yourselfup-ism. In the song “America is My Home,” he proclaimed without embarrassment that the United States “is still the best country / And that’s without a doubt.” Alluding to his own trajectory, he challenged dissenters to name any other country in which a person could start out as a poor shoeshine boy but end up as a wealthy celebrity shaking hands with the president.

   At the very time that in “Say It Loud,” Brown seemed to be affirming Negritude, he also sported a “conk” — a distinctive hairdo that involved chemically removing kinkiness on the way to creating a bouffant of straightened hair. Many AfricanAmerican political activists, especially those with a black nationalist orientation, decried the conk as an illustration of racial self-hatred. For a brief period, Brown abandoned the conk and adopted an Afro, but that was only temporary. The conk was part of the characteristic look of “The Godfather of Soul.”

   Even though by 1968 uprisings against white supremacism had been erupting for a decade with great intensity and success — the Montgomery Bus Boycott, the Children’s’ Crusade in Birmingham, the protest against disenfranchisement in Selma — prejudice against blackness remained prevalent, including among African-Americans.

   Champions of African-American uplift in the 1960s sought to liberate blackness from the layers of contempt, fear, and hatred with which it had been smeared for centuries. Brown’s anthem poignantly reflected the psychic problem it sought to address. People secure in their status don’t feel compelled to trumpet their pride. At the same time “Say it Loud!” was a rousing instance of a reclamation that took many forms. Instead of celebrating light skin, thin lips, and “good” (i.e., straight) hair, increasing numbers of African-Americans began valorizing dark skin, thick lips and “bad” (i.e., kinky) hair.

    The reclamation of blackness in the sixties made tremendous headway quickly. By 1970 my friend would not have dared to repeat out loud what he had told me unapologetically two years before. Here, as elsewhere, however, changes wrought by the black liberation movement, though impressive, were only partial. Nearly four decades after the release of “Say It Loud,” Professors Jennifer Hochschild and Vesla Weaver, having synthesized the pertinent academic literature, declared authoritatively that compared to their lighter-skinned counterparts, dark-skinned blacks continue to be burdened by lower levels of education, income, and job status. They receive longer prison sentences and are less likely to own homes or to marry. Filmmakers, advertisers, modeling agencies, dating websites and other key gatekeepers demonstrate repeatedly the ongoing pertinence of the old saw: If you’re black get back. If you’re brown, stick around. If you’re white you’re alright.

      Intraracial colorism in Black America is often seen as a topic that should, if possible, be avoided, especially in “mixed company.” That sense of embarrassment three decades ago prompted officials at Morehouse College to demand that Spike Lee cease filming on campus once they learned that his movie was exposing, among other things, black collegiate colorism. The impulse toward avoidance remains strong.

    With racial prejudice against all African-Americans still a potent force, many would just as soon ditch the discussion of “black on black” complexional bias. Colorism, however, remains a baleful reality.

   Half a century after James Brown’s proclamation, it remains imperative to assert what should have been assumed and uncontroversial all along: that black is beautiful and as worthy of pride and care and consideration as any other hue.

An important idea brought by the text is that James Brown’s song “Say It Loud, I’m Black and I’m Proud” was a milestone in the defense of:

   In the gym at Paul Junior High School in Washington, D.C., in the spring of 1968, not that long before the assassination of the Rev. Dr. Martin Luther King Jr., I asked a buddy whether he was interested in a certain girl. He told me that he was not because she was too dark.

   

   He and I were African-American. (Then we would have called ourselves Negro.) So was she. All of us supported the Civil Rights Movement and idolized Dr. King, yet I did not hold my friend’s colorstruck judgment against him. And he did not state his opinion with embarrassment. We had both internalized our society’s derogation of blackness.

    Indeed, we luxuriated in the denigration, spending hours trading silly, recycled but revealing insults: “Yo mama so black, she blend in with the chalkboard.” “Yeah, well, yo mama so black, she sweats chocolate.”

   It was precisely because of widespread colorism that James Brown’s anthem “Say It Loud, I’m Black and I’m Proud” posed a challenge, felt so exhilarating, and resonated so powerfully. It still does. Much has changed over the past half century. But, alas, the need to defend blackness against derision continues.

    Various musicians in the 1960s tapped into yearnings for black assertiveness, autonomy and solidarity. Curtis Mayfield and the Impressions sang “We’re a Winner.” Sly and the Family Stone offered “Stand.” Sam Cooke (and Aretha Franklin and Otis Redding) performed “A Change is Gonna Come.” But no entertainer equaled Brown’s vocalization of African-Americans’ newly triumphal sense of self-acceptance.

   That Brown created the song most popularly associated with the Black is Beautiful movement is ironic. He generally stayed away from protest, endorsed the presidential re-election of Richard Nixon, lavishly praised Ronald Reagan, and consistently lauded Strom Thurmond.

   His infrequent sallies into politics usually sounded in patriotic, lift-yourselfup-ism. In the song “America is My Home,” he proclaimed without embarrassment that the United States “is still the best country / And that’s without a doubt.” Alluding to his own trajectory, he challenged dissenters to name any other country in which a person could start out as a poor shoeshine boy but end up as a wealthy celebrity shaking hands with the president.

   At the very time that in “Say It Loud,” Brown seemed to be affirming Negritude, he also sported a “conk” — a distinctive hairdo that involved chemically removing kinkiness on the way to creating a bouffant of straightened hair. Many AfricanAmerican political activists, especially those with a black nationalist orientation, decried the conk as an illustration of racial self-hatred. For a brief period, Brown abandoned the conk and adopted an Afro, but that was only temporary. The conk was part of the characteristic look of “The Godfather of Soul.”

   Even though by 1968 uprisings against white supremacism had been erupting for a decade with great intensity and success — the Montgomery Bus Boycott, the Children’s’ Crusade in Birmingham, the protest against disenfranchisement in Selma — prejudice against blackness remained prevalent, including among African-Americans.

   Champions of African-American uplift in the 1960s sought to liberate blackness from the layers of contempt, fear, and hatred with which it had been smeared for centuries. Brown’s anthem poignantly reflected the psychic problem it sought to address. People secure in their status don’t feel compelled to trumpet their pride. At the same time “Say it Loud!” was a rousing instance of a reclamation that took many forms. Instead of celebrating light skin, thin lips, and “good” (i.e., straight) hair, increasing numbers of African-Americans began valorizing dark skin, thick lips and “bad” (i.e., kinky) hair.

    The reclamation of blackness in the sixties made tremendous headway quickly. By 1970 my friend would not have dared to repeat out loud what he had told me unapologetically two years before. Here, as elsewhere, however, changes wrought by the black liberation movement, though impressive, were only partial. Nearly four decades after the release of “Say It Loud,” Professors Jennifer Hochschild and Vesla Weaver, having synthesized the pertinent academic literature, declared authoritatively that compared to their lighter-skinned counterparts, dark-skinned blacks continue to be burdened by lower levels of education, income, and job status. They receive longer prison sentences and are less likely to own homes or to marry. Filmmakers, advertisers, modeling agencies, dating websites and other key gatekeepers demonstrate repeatedly the ongoing pertinence of the old saw: If you’re black get back. If you’re brown, stick around. If you’re white you’re alright.

      Intraracial colorism in Black America is often seen as a topic that should, if possible, be avoided, especially in “mixed company.” That sense of embarrassment three decades ago prompted officials at Morehouse College to demand that Spike Lee cease filming on campus once they learned that his movie was exposing, among other things, black collegiate colorism. The impulse toward avoidance remains strong.

    With racial prejudice against all African-Americans still a potent force, many would just as soon ditch the discussion of “black on black” complexional bias. Colorism, however, remains a baleful reality.

   Half a century after James Brown’s proclamation, it remains imperative to assert what should have been assumed and uncontroversial all along: that black is beautiful and as worthy of pride and care and consideration as any other hue.

In the second paragraph, the boldfaced sentence: “We had both internalized our society’s derogation of blackness.” means that:

   In the gym at Paul Junior High School in Washington, D.C., in the spring of 1968, not that long before the assassination of the Rev. Dr. Martin Luther King Jr., I asked a buddy whether he was interested in a certain girl. He told me that he was not because she was too dark.

   

   He and I were African-American. (Then we would have called ourselves Negro.) So was she. All of us supported the Civil Rights Movement and idolized Dr. King, yet I did not hold my friend’s colorstruck judgment against him. And he did not state his opinion with embarrassment. We had both internalized our society’s derogation of blackness.

    Indeed, we luxuriated in the denigration, spending hours trading silly, recycled but revealing insults: “Yo mama so black, she blend in with the chalkboard.” “Yeah, well, yo mama so black, she sweats chocolate.”

   It was precisely because of widespread colorism that James Brown’s anthem “Say It Loud, I’m Black and I’m Proud” posed a challenge, felt so exhilarating, and resonated so powerfully. It still does. Much has changed over the past half century. But, alas, the need to defend blackness against derision continues.

    Various musicians in the 1960s tapped into yearnings for black assertiveness, autonomy and solidarity. Curtis Mayfield and the Impressions sang “We’re a Winner.” Sly and the Family Stone offered “Stand.” Sam Cooke (and Aretha Franklin and Otis Redding) performed “A Change is Gonna Come.” But no entertainer equaled Brown’s vocalization of African-Americans’ newly triumphal sense of self-acceptance.

   That Brown created the song most popularly associated with the Black is Beautiful movement is ironic. He generally stayed away from protest, endorsed the presidential re-election of Richard Nixon, lavishly praised Ronald Reagan, and consistently lauded Strom Thurmond.

   His infrequent sallies into politics usually sounded in patriotic, lift-yourselfup-ism. In the song “America is My Home,” he proclaimed without embarrassment that the United States “is still the best country / And that’s without a doubt.” Alluding to his own trajectory, he challenged dissenters to name any other country in which a person could start out as a poor shoeshine boy but end up as a wealthy celebrity shaking hands with the president.

   At the very time that in “Say It Loud,” Brown seemed to be affirming Negritude, he also sported a “conk” — a distinctive hairdo that involved chemically removing kinkiness on the way to creating a bouffant of straightened hair. Many AfricanAmerican political activists, especially those with a black nationalist orientation, decried the conk as an illustration of racial self-hatred. For a brief period, Brown abandoned the conk and adopted an Afro, but that was only temporary. The conk was part of the characteristic look of “The Godfather of Soul.”

   Even though by 1968 uprisings against white supremacism had been erupting for a decade with great intensity and success — the Montgomery Bus Boycott, the Children’s’ Crusade in Birmingham, the protest against disenfranchisement in Selma — prejudice against blackness remained prevalent, including among African-Americans.

   Champions of African-American uplift in the 1960s sought to liberate blackness from the layers of contempt, fear, and hatred with which it had been smeared for centuries. Brown’s anthem poignantly reflected the psychic problem it sought to address. People secure in their status don’t feel compelled to trumpet their pride. At the same time “Say it Loud!” was a rousing instance of a reclamation that took many forms. Instead of celebrating light skin, thin lips, and “good” (i.e., straight) hair, increasing numbers of African-Americans began valorizing dark skin, thick lips and “bad” (i.e., kinky) hair.

    The reclamation of blackness in the sixties made tremendous headway quickly. By 1970 my friend would not have dared to repeat out loud what he had told me unapologetically two years before. Here, as elsewhere, however, changes wrought by the black liberation movement, though impressive, were only partial. Nearly four decades after the release of “Say It Loud,” Professors Jennifer Hochschild and Vesla Weaver, having synthesized the pertinent academic literature, declared authoritatively that compared to their lighter-skinned counterparts, dark-skinned blacks continue to be burdened by lower levels of education, income, and job status. They receive longer prison sentences and are less likely to own homes or to marry. Filmmakers, advertisers, modeling agencies, dating websites and other key gatekeepers demonstrate repeatedly the ongoing pertinence of the old saw: If you’re black get back. If you’re brown, stick around. If you’re white you’re alright.

      Intraracial colorism in Black America is often seen as a topic that should, if possible, be avoided, especially in “mixed company.” That sense of embarrassment three decades ago prompted officials at Morehouse College to demand that Spike Lee cease filming on campus once they learned that his movie was exposing, among other things, black collegiate colorism. The impulse toward avoidance remains strong.

    With racial prejudice against all African-Americans still a potent force, many would just as soon ditch the discussion of “black on black” complexional bias. Colorism, however, remains a baleful reality.

   Half a century after James Brown’s proclamation, it remains imperative to assert what should have been assumed and uncontroversial all along: that black is beautiful and as worthy of pride and care and consideration as any other hue.

   In the gym at Paul Junior High School in Washington, D.C., in the spring of 1968, not that long before the assassination of the Rev. Dr. Martin Luther King Jr., I asked a buddy whether he was interested in a certain girl. He told me that he was not because she was too dark.

   

   He and I were African-American. (Then we would have called ourselves Negro.) So was she. All of us supported the Civil Rights Movement and idolized Dr. King, yet I did not hold my friend’s colorstruck judgment against him. And he did not state his opinion with embarrassment. We had both internalized our society’s derogation of blackness.

    Indeed, we luxuriated in the denigration, spending hours trading silly, recycled but revealing insults: “Yo mama so black, she blend in with the chalkboard.” “Yeah, well, yo mama so black, she sweats chocolate.”

   It was precisely because of widespread colorism that James Brown’s anthem “Say It Loud, I’m Black and I’m Proud” posed a challenge, felt so exhilarating, and resonated so powerfully. It still does. Much has changed over the past half century. But, alas, the need to defend blackness against derision continues.

    Various musicians in the 1960s tapped into yearnings for black assertiveness, autonomy and solidarity. Curtis Mayfield and the Impressions sang “We’re a Winner.” Sly and the Family Stone offered “Stand.” Sam Cooke (and Aretha Franklin and Otis Redding) performed “A Change is Gonna Come.” But no entertainer equaled Brown’s vocalization of African-Americans’ newly triumphal sense of self-acceptance.

   That Brown created the song most popularly associated with the Black is Beautiful movement is ironic. He generally stayed away from protest, endorsed the presidential re-election of Richard Nixon, lavishly praised Ronald Reagan, and consistently lauded Strom Thurmond.

   His infrequent sallies into politics usually sounded in patriotic, lift-yourselfup-ism. In the song “America is My Home,” he proclaimed without embarrassment that the United States “is still the best country / And that’s without a doubt.” Alluding to his own trajectory, he challenged dissenters to name any other country in which a person could start out as a poor shoeshine boy but end up as a wealthy celebrity shaking hands with the president.

   At the very time that in “Say It Loud,” Brown seemed to be affirming Negritude, he also sported a “conk” — a distinctive hairdo that involved chemically removing kinkiness on the way to creating a bouffant of straightened hair. Many AfricanAmerican political activists, especially those with a black nationalist orientation, decried the conk as an illustration of racial self-hatred. For a brief period, Brown abandoned the conk and adopted an Afro, but that was only temporary. The conk was part of the characteristic look of “The Godfather of Soul.”

   Even though by 1968 uprisings against white supremacism had been erupting for a decade with great intensity and success — the Montgomery Bus Boycott, the Children’s’ Crusade in Birmingham, the protest against disenfranchisement in Selma — prejudice against blackness remained prevalent, including among African-Americans.

   Champions of African-American uplift in the 1960s sought to liberate blackness from the layers of contempt, fear, and hatred with which it had been smeared for centuries. Brown’s anthem poignantly reflected the psychic problem it sought to address. People secure in their status don’t feel compelled to trumpet their pride. At the same time “Say it Loud!” was a rousing instance of a reclamation that took many forms. Instead of celebrating light skin, thin lips, and “good” (i.e., straight) hair, increasing numbers of African-Americans began valorizing dark skin, thick lips and “bad” (i.e., kinky) hair.

    The reclamation of blackness in the sixties made tremendous headway quickly. By 1970 my friend would not have dared to repeat out loud what he had told me unapologetically two years before. Here, as elsewhere, however, changes wrought by the black liberation movement, though impressive, were only partial. Nearly four decades after the release of “Say It Loud,” Professors Jennifer Hochschild and Vesla Weaver, having synthesized the pertinent academic literature, declared authoritatively that compared to their lighter-skinned counterparts, dark-skinned blacks continue to be burdened by lower levels of education, income, and job status. They receive longer prison sentences and are less likely to own homes or to marry. Filmmakers, advertisers, modeling agencies, dating websites and other key gatekeepers demonstrate repeatedly the ongoing pertinence of the old saw: If you’re black get back. If you’re brown, stick around. If you’re white you’re alright.

      Intraracial colorism in Black America is often seen as a topic that should, if possible, be avoided, especially in “mixed company.” That sense of embarrassment three decades ago prompted officials at Morehouse College to demand that Spike Lee cease filming on campus once they learned that his movie was exposing, among other things, black collegiate colorism. The impulse toward avoidance remains strong.

    With racial prejudice against all African-Americans still a potent force, many would just as soon ditch the discussion of “black on black” complexional bias. Colorism, however, remains a baleful reality.

   Half a century after James Brown’s proclamation, it remains imperative to assert what should have been assumed and uncontroversial all along: that black is beautiful and as worthy of pride and care and consideration as any other hue.