(The film King, of course, was preceded by Kathryn Bigelow's Detroit in 2017. And if my memory of what happened in LA in 1992 had been hazy, then my knowledge of what happened in Detroit in 1967 had been non-existent.)
And now, while reading Paul Beatty's The White Boy Shuffle, King comes back to haunt me.
I am, right now, a little undecided about what is worse: That discrimination at this systemic level exists in a country, especially in the USA, which is believed to be the land of milk and honey by almost all; or that USA is considered to be the land of milk and honey in the first place, when discrimination at this systemic level exists there. I am yet to make up my mind. And equally aghast at both.
I can only speak for myself, and I know what has informed the picture I have in my mind about the US. Literature, films, music, and the stories of family who lived there while I was growing up. What informs the picture that I now have are very, very different things.
So, which books? Uncle Tom's Cabin, Gone with the Wind, and To Kill a Mocking Bird are perhaps three books that have black characters as a significant part of the story. How they are depicted, of course, is an entirely different issue altogether.
And which films? ...I don't know! For, do films coming out of Hollywood really count? Most of the memorable black characters I can remember were side-kicks to white heroes, or villains. Here, too, depiction is the biggest issue.
And music? (Taking a deep breath here, for there are many!) Harry Belafonte and Louis Armstrong were definitely the first ones I listened to. But did I even know what it meant to sing what they sang, especially Belafonte? No. I listened to Ray Charles and Aretha Franklin, BB Kind and Ella Fitzerald, Whitney Houston, Tina Turner and Michael Jackson. And yet, the colour of their skin, forever, remained a mere detail that was very easy to overlook. In a perfect world, that is perhaps how it should be; but given the world's imperfections, I now find it appalling that that is how it was.
I grew up with the knowledge of black history in the US to the extent that populist, feel-good, money-making books and films allowed, with the portrayal of blacks as all-suffering, loyal and noble creatures. A portrayal that is still very much the essence of films such as Twelve Years a Slave, Django Unchained, Hidden Figures, and The Maid. And, by now, I find it stomach churning. In the same way that I find the portrayal of women as good, understanding, care-giving, forgiving, smiling characters stomach-churning.
The reason for the portrayal of blacks (and women) in this unrealistic light is perhaps the same--that somebody else wrote their story. The somebody else who had little idea of what it really feels like to live a life where you need permission to remain alive.
And, of course, the blacks couldn't write their own story... because it's kind of tough to put pen on paper when your hands are tied behind you, and your face is ground into the mud.
