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I write a surprising amount of columns about pop culture considering I don’t even own a TV. Though, I’ll tell you who does own a TV—my parents. A big one. With lots of channels. And HD. This is a considerable problem.
On the rare weekend when I can claw my way out from under a mountain of homework and actually visit my hometown, it takes about 30 whole seconds from me walking in the door until I’m upstairs glued to the television, clicking ravenously through their 800+ channels so that I can catch up on The Bad Girls Club. Pathetic, I know. What’s even more pathetic is how television is seeping into every facet of my subconscious. (If you need proof, I refer you back to my Dec. 3, 2009 column about Advent. In it, I, a practicing Catholic, misspelled the name of our pope. And by “misspelled” I mean I got it completely wrong. Pope Benedict’s surname is Ratzinger. Ratzenburger, the name that went to print, is the last name of the actor who played Cliff on Cheers.)
As a result of my obsession, I noticed something curious, for the five glorious weeks I spent at home over Christmas break, parked in front of the television. And I noticed it more right after I watched the movie Avatar. While stunningly beautiful, Avatar relied on a lot of stereotypical and slightly offensive Hollywood tropes: Technology is destructive. Mother Nature is good. Indigenous peoples are one with the universe. Blah, blah, blah. For those of you who haven’t seen Avatar, spoiler alert — a white guy invades a planet full of N’avi, becomes a N’avi and becomes their leader against oppressive, white invaders. It’s like Dances with Wolves. Except the indigenous peoples are blue.
Op-ed columnist for the New York Times David Brooks refers to this as the White Messiah myth. And as columnist Annalee Newitz puts it, movies like Avatar are about white guilt more than they are black triumph. According to Newitz, “it’s not just a wish to join the side of moral justice in battle. It’s a wish to lead people of color from the inside rather than from the (oppressive, white) outside.” And I couldn’t agree more.
So a few days after I watch Avatar I’m back on the couch, flipping through the 800+ channels, trying to find something to watch. And after a while, the programs all started to bleed together:
The Wronged Man — A Lifetime movie about a heroic white woman who helps a wrongly-convicted black man sitting on death row.
Amistad — The slave ship Amistad is mutinied en route to America, and enslaved African Cinque is sentenced to death for his role in the uprising. Although the film gives detailed attention to Cinque’s life before his capture, not surprisingly, white lawyer John Quincy Adams acts as Cinque’s eloquent mouthpiece against the wrongs of slavery.
Freedom Writers — A movie about a white woman inspiring a class of high-school aged black children, using phrases like “What are ya, trippin?” (No, seriously.)
Notice a pattern? Of course you do. The majority of popular media has determined that a black story is only worth telling through the narrative lens of a white Savior — the benevolent white man or woman who steps in and saves the day, decrying white people and meanie-mean racists while still retaining white privilege and power.
Every now and then I hear grumblings about Black History Month — about how it’s old and outdated, or even that racism has been surpassed in this country and so there’s really no need for something like Black History Month. I have nothing to say except this: Until film ceases to use black Americans as an excuse for white Americans to insist how awesome and unprejudiced they are, Black History Month isn’t just important — it’s necessary.
Sarah Watts is the Discourse Editor
swatts@luc.edu
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