I was originally going to make this post centered around mothers and mothering, but I just had to share my disbelief over these two situations.
When I told my friends that I needed to watch Hidden Figures (2016) for a class, their responses were "Oh I'm so sorry" and "I wouldn't wish that on anyone" and "Mmm, not for me. Good luck with that." I was shocked. What was so wrong with the movie? When I asked, they answered that it was far too dramatic. I questioned them on why they thought this way to which they didn't really have an answer besides the scene about the bathroom... which isn't a true aspect of the real story-- as I've researched-- but a true thing in many other colored peoples' experiences at the time. They knew of this, but I don't think they actually understood the realities of "Separate but Equal." It was a dramatic scene, but it was no different than another character standing their ground in any other film. How was this the only scene they remembered? How were these black women being reduced to their (completely justifiable) anger?
On a lesser discussed point, I recall several instances while watching Queen Charlotte: A Bridgerton Story (2023) where I needed to explain to my non-black friends what was happening and why I got riled up over certain scenes. Most notably, was the scene where the Queen met Charlotte for the first time. In it, the queen asks to see Charlotte's teeth and hands. My friends were confused about this, asking why she'd do that. I had to explain, albeit from an American perspective the reasoning-- those in servitude didn't have the luxury of having unmarred, perfect hands or good dental hygiene. In America, slaves could potentially be distinguished by these factors and here, it's probably a display of power and to make sure she's not really poor-- that she's truly a proper lady. I felt kind of dismissed when they dryly said they hadn't known about that and asked no further questions or reacted to the new information at all. They just seemed uncomfortable.
Some of these issues are only known about in theory or not really known at all in larger society, it seems. These were stories I've seen and been reminded of countless times growing older alongside instances of women drowning their babies so they wouldn't know the horrors of the slave trade, the separation of families at the drop of a hat, forced sexual encounters, the tensions between in house and field slaves, so on and on. Had I taken my knowledge to be everyone's knowledge? Has anyone really taken the time to watch such movies or know such atrocities? If we can show the despicable nature of the Holocaust-- something America didn't cause-- how come we can't let the horrors of slavery-- and Japanese Internment for that matter-- be known and UNDERSTOOD by the general populace? Facts take on so much more life when you have stories to go along with them.
Plenty of fish in the sea, yet so few for me 🧜🏾♀️✨
Growing up, I used to latch onto any medium to dark colored magical character I saw, whether that was Aisha from Winx Club or Clawdeen Wolf from Monster High. There were so few of them already in animation and live action movies don’t fair any better. In fact, the only mainstream movies or shows with black people taking front and center as magical, mystical beings have been done by Disney. Once in 2005 with Twitches— and later Twitches Too (2007)—and recently in the making of Disney’s Little Mermaid (2023).
Mermaids were my absolute favorite creature growing up. From the moment I saw them— pretty tails, hair flowing in the water, and moving with power and grace— I wanted to be like them. In fact, it was probably depictions of mermaids that partially fed into my discomfort with my identity as a little black girl. I couldn’t swim like them because nobody was able to teach me how. I had kinky curly hair that never would flow the same when I’m in the water. I was too broken down from bullying in school to move with much confidence. I was no mermaid; I was not magical. I tried many times to find a black mermaid in media. I scoured through youtube, searching every few months to see if there were any. I watched several shows and movies— you could have gotten me to watch anything if you told me there were mermaids in it. But I always came up short. In a sea of oceanic beauties, I never found a single precious black pearl. I sought answers to this question of why there were no black beauties, never quite finding answers until I happened upon a forum one year where someone broke my question. There was a single answer that said black women’s skin was too dark in the water so cameras can’t pick it up. That our hair didn’t flow as beautifully. That we’d look more like monsters than something beautiful and kind.
Fast Forward to 2023, Halle Bailey— a black actress with a beautiful voice, supported by Beyonce herself— stars as Ariel in the new Little Mermaid remake, her hair deadlocked and beautiful. I cried when I first got the announcement over this casting decision.
I'd found a black pearl.
There are so few instances where black women are allowed to be magical beings without being shoved to the side. Even here, with the Little Mermaid, we were shoved into a role that was originally for a character who was unmistakably white— this goes for Tinkerbell in the Peter Pan remake as well, Peter Pan & Wendy (2023). Why are we never given our own roles to be magical on our own? Why must we fight for spaces in geeky, nerdy, fantastical, and magical?
I hope to see more stories that have black magical girls— and women—within them on the screen. I would love to see us in high fantasy, urban fantasy, science fiction, and otherwise. I want them to be the protagonist. I want them to experience love and joy as much as they experience hardship. I want the people going forward to be able to see that black girls really can be magical. That my color, my hair, my level of confidence— my race— doesn’t affect my ability to wield the fantastical.
Chewing Gum (2016) and Insecure (2016) are possibly the mark of the rise of the “awkward black girl” in media— a woman who’s trying their best to reach their goals with several bumps in the road towards them and fumbles on her part. Yet, there’s several cracks in the concrete where flowers bloom and the fumbles are able to be set right most of the time.
Two women— Michaela Coel and Issa Rae, respectively— wrote the shows based on their own experiences moving throughout the world in the UK and the US. They also both act as the main leads in the shows, taking on the life of the characters they’ve made the story revolve around. In this way, fiction blends with fact to create an autobiographical collage. They are both encapsulations of these women's’ experiences living in the world. This is, of course not to say that their experiences speak for all. There is no such a perfect depiction that touches all bases.
What strikes me most about these series, though, is the reality that these stories can be anybody's stories just walking down the street. They're different from the silliness of 90s sitcoms or the delulu of Tyler Perry dramas. It feels, to me, closer to an everyday normal... Perhaps there's something to these new autobiographical collage works. Maybe we'll get more in the future
Just because a film or show is different from what’s usually depicted as “the black experience” with struggle and hardship and fight, that doesn’t necessarily make it bad! One doesn’t need a slew of microaggressions and instances of racism in order for the media to be “accurate.” These times-- battles swift and fierce and wars long and drawn out-- do happen. Of course they happen. I look back sometimes on certain instances and think, “Wow, was that because I’m black/female/queer/non-religious/southern? Am I over thinking it?” But that’s not a 24/7 issue for me-- and I recognize my privilege in saying that.
If I exist-- if several of my friends exist-- even in predominantly white upper class academia, is it so wrong to not necessarily want to see these depictions of struggle in every episode or few minutes for the sake of "relatability?" Even if my life is like this, do I not deserve a depiction of a safe space because that's not my "reality?"
It’s OK to have black characters be OK! It’s refreshing to see black people— black women— on screen being OK. They’re not in a situation where they are facing depression, the system that’s against them, a prick in a coffee shop, an unfaithful partner, or other typical depictions. Sometimes, it’s just nice picturing a place free of it all or with little of it to creep in. I would like to see more safe spaces.
...are images portraying the African diasporic experience in new media. These texts create original narratives, drawing from the past, addressing the contemporary, and leaving a legacy for future generations. Several pieces of new media seem to be aiming to do this work, but there's still so much progress to make, so many stories to share, and so much hurt to contend with.
