It seems to be Reed’s contention that the heart-wrenching portrayal of an African-American woman living in a terrible situation is palatable to white Americans because they already think very little of how African-Americans live. On the other hand, African-Americans whose lives do not in any way resemble that of Precious should be offended for how that story misrepresents them.
And here is where Mr. Reed and – everyone else who feels this way – makes a critical mistake. Like so many others, he treats the example of one individual who happens to be African-American necessarily as a representation of all African-Americans. This kind of presumption is one that bubbles up from the cracks of institutionalized racism. It is an irony and a travesty where African-Americans themselves – like Mr. Reed – are instilled with racist presumptions by way of this institution.
One of the many dimensions of racism is that people of color are seen first for their race and second – if at all – for their individual merits. Along with this also comes the idea that the actions or experiences of one African-American somehow represents all African-Americans. For example, the more salacious behavior of some African-American celebrities – like rappers or athletes – are taken as evidence of some moral depravity inherent to their race.
It is this way of thinking that gives rise to stereotypes. Every stereotype has some basis in reality. But where the actions, thoughts, or experiences of an individual or even a small group of people are taken to represent the larger group to which they belong, it becomes racism.
Where an African-American watches Precious and feels some personal shame or awkwardness, especially where they are in the company of white people, it suggests that they have internalized this idea that every African-American by default represents their entire race. Where a white person watches Precious and somehow feels more “informed” about the black experience or feels some remorse for African-Americans as a whole, only shows just how ill-informed they are for assuming that all African-American experiences are the same.
I cannot pretend as though I am unaffected by this experience. When watching Tyler Perry’s latest movie I Do Bad All By Myself, I was acutely aware of the fact that there were white people in the audience. Part of my anxiety stemmed from the thought that while African-American audiences were laughing “along with” the movie, white audiences were laughing at the movie, in a finger-pointing sort of way. Somewhere in my mind I assumed that white people would walk away from this movie with the idea that they obtained some glimpse into African-American life. And found it hilarious. Which of course, in turn, must mean that they are laughing at me. The pathology of the black experience and institutionalized racism are deeply rooted.
Tyler Perry doesn’t claim to represent all African-Americans in his films. Rather he is crafting stories that represent particular experiences that otherwise would not be shown in predominantly white Hollywood. Because I have had this discussion about representation and institutionalized racism – both internally and with others – I am able to assuage any feelings of anxiety after the fact. But it would seem that this conversation is not taking place nearly enough.
No one watches a movie like 8-Mile and presumes that it represents all young white men, or even all young white men who grew up in Detroit. No one presumes that American History X reveals the typical everyday experience of white people. No one listens to a news story about a white mother murdering her child and assumes that such a thing is commonplace amongst white families. So why should anyone take Precious to be a representation of African-Americans in general, simply because the main character and most of the cast happen to be African-American?
Precious is only one story – an extreme case, yet a case that undoubtedly reflects or touches on the real experiences of particular individuals in this country. At no point did Sapphire – author of the original book, or Lee Daniels – director of the film (both of whom are African-American) – state that Precious was a “black story” or representative of the African-American experience in general.
Looking at the bigger picture, the existence of this paradigm of one-represents-all suggests something even more critical. That “blackness” – in how it purports to categorize and define a large number of diverse people – and “individuality” are mutually exclusive. It highlights the shame inherent to the black experience, instilled by the history and present reality of racism, such that one feels an automatic need to distinguish themselves and their experiences from other African-Americans who are quite unlike them.
It suggests that we – as a nation – are past due for a revolution in our way of thinking, that is one that lies outside of race, yet not without serious consideration for how race has affected and continues to influence our social dynamics.
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Mass Effect 2 is every bit the middle game of a trilogy. It lacks the impact of the first game – the introduction to a galactic-scale conflict, the first look at a thoroughly conceived sci-fi universe, that first unnerving dialogue with Sovereign. And it necessarily reserves all of the big surprises for the finale.
