“A video that
Angus Givens made is getting tons of shares online, hailed as an example of how
young kids need to be raised….
…[a] boy and
his uncle engage in a rapid fire call-and-response session on strength,
respect, hard work, and self-love, messages that many feel aren’t given to
young black kids.
Givens asks his nephew, ‘What are you?’
‘What you gon’
be?’
‘What you
always do?’
‘What you never
do?’
‘Who you
represent?’
‘Why is school important?’
‘How you treat
people?’
‘What are we?’
‘Who the best?’
Watch the whole video below, memorize it, and say it to yourself
in the mirror every morning.” Tracy Clayton,
BuzzFeed
Apparently, this photo of actor Michael B. Jordan and director Ryan Coogler from a Vanity Fair shoot is disturbing a number of people because it portrays an intimacy between men–between black men–that the rules of patriarchal masculinity, queerantagonism, cisheterosexism, ashiness, and the Male Gaze disallow.
The quest is to assure everyone, and themselves, that neither man is queer or feminine; that affection between men, platonic or not, is a sign of weakness and vulnerability, and it doesn’t matter than the very state of humanity is one of weakness and vulnerability and the fear of facing this existential fact is precisely why we’re always on the precipice of self-destruction.
Whether Jordan and Coogler are “just boys” or something more: It shouldn’t matter. Love between black people should always be celebrated given how much violence between black people is encouraged.
James Baldwin was perceptive when he said in THE PRICE OF THE TICKET:
“I doubt that Americans will ever be able to face the fact that the word ‘homosexual’ is not a noun. The root of this word, as Americans use it — or, as this word uses Americans — simply involves a terror of any human touch, since any human touch can change you.”
[Photo description: Indoors. A black and white photo. On the left, Michael B. Jordan looks at the camera. He is seen from the chest up. He is wearing a suit. He is facing the camera. He has his left hand on the head of Ryan Coogler, who is standing to Michael’s left. Ryan is seen from his profile. He is looking into the camera. Background is gray.]
Just like you, maybe, I saw the Vanity Fair portrait of Michael B. Jordan and Ryan Coogler and I thought it was beautiful. Two straight men showing affection for each other. And just like you, maybe, I followed the online criticism that it sparked. Hundreds of comments poured in that seemed to fall into one of the following categories: (1) That’s gay. Get this out of my face. (2) Why does America need to keep emasculating Black men? (3) Don’t worry, this is brotherly love not the other, bad kind of love. (4) We should celebrate love because all love is beautiful. And just like you - maybe - I was prompted to wrestle, yet again, with the impossibility and absolute necessity of queer men of color on screen. Which is, of course, not to say only queer men of color but all diversity within color so that we avoid the danger of single stories and false paradigms.
This is not about Michael B. Jordan’s and Ryan Coogler’s sexuality; it never was. It’s about what people feel when they see avatars of themselves doing something they’ve been strictly warned against.
In 2014 Nate Parker, the writer-director-star of the Sundance hit The Birth of a Nation (the soon-to-be Best Picture nominee, not the deeply deeply racist 1915 movie), sat down for an interview with BET. He said that to “preserve the black man you will never see [him] play a gay role.” The video has since been taken down but, like an elephant, the internet forgets nothing; an article on Ebony and a now-defunct URL from Bossip have preserved this quote for posterity.
“Preserve the black man.” “Emasculation of black men.” There is a clear parallel between Parker’s promise and the Vanity Fair portrait criticism: maintaining value through preservation of image.
We care about images of ourselves on screens, whether they are our own or similar to our own. Just as we check selfies to make sure we look good in them, or untag pictures of ourselves if they don’t represent who we want to be, we also care about the celebrities and roles that are meant to represent us. Pictures and celebrities are our avatars; they stand for us when we’re not there. They are our proxies in fantasy worlds and historical re-tellings and red carpet photographs. They are meant to be just like us. Maybe.
People of color have far fewer avatars on screen than our white counterparts. And with that comes a protectiveness of how our avatars are presented. I read Nate Parker’s promise to never play a gay character and the comments about the “emasculation of the black man” not as hate, but as terrified preciousness. The fear that one of the limited reflections they see of themselves will be devalued and shattered with the slightest wrong move.
Nate Parker is not the enemy. Nor are the commenters. Though their statements are hurtful, myopic, and couched in femmephobia, their unfortunate words are only symptoms of the problem. The real enemy is the system that has so disproportionately limited the options for The Other that all of us “Others” are left fighting over what it means to be a Good Other. Like Kerry Washington so brilliantly said, “we have been pitted against each other and made to feel like there are limited seats at the table.”
Part of the privilege of whiteness is the diversity of white avatars that appear on screen. There is less preciousness because there are so many options.
Now let’s revisit that selfie analogy. It’s like white people were handed smartphones with unlimited storage and data and told to take selfies of themselves while people of color, all people of color, were thrown one disposable camera with the same instructions. All we can do is take 27 photos and hope - against all odds - that one of them will look just like us. All of us. Maybe.
Parveen Sadiq being interviewed by Assed Baig for Channel 4 News regarding Prime Minister David Cameron’s English language policy. The screenshots are by Buzzfeed.