FEATURES
The New Era of Blackface
/ Louis Chude-Sokei
12.17.09
It should be clear by now that we are at the cusp of a new era of classic, no-holds-barred, in-your-face minstrelsy. Just this year alone blackface "incidents" have flared up in cultural zones ranging from America's Next Top Model to critics’ darling Mad Men, from YouTube and Facebook to this years' edgiest of Halloween costumes. French Vogue's recent photo-spread of a model in blackface was therefore less an act of racism than a calculated statement of the zeitgeist. That it so quickly followed on the heels of a now notorious blackface Jackson Five impersonation broadcast on Australian television was telling: the skit immediately went viral just as blackface did the moment it appeared in nineteenth century America.
But what distinguishes this new era of classic blackface? It's not so much those old habits of racism that commentators exult in pointing out but that blackface despite its known capacity to offend is now being used to confirm that the person underneath the mask and behind the stereotype is not racist. They are so convinced of this that they feel comfortable flaunting this taboo whether anyone is offended or not. Some of these resurgent examples of minstrelsy go so far as to suggest that blackface is the ultimate statement of anti-racism in that it emerges from a desire to criticize and mock racism itself. This certainly motivated the writers of Mad Men, America's Next Top Model and tends to be a fallback position for too many drunken revelers. Call it "meta-anti-racism" if you dare call it anything at all. Like it or not this new confidence in "blacking up" does grow out of an aggressive refusal to be denied the pleasures and perils of racial parody, of taking things to the sharpest edge. And though it may be heresy to say, it is also a full-throttled attack on racial sanctimony and on the toxic notion that any one group has the last word on what is or isn't offensive.
Perhaps the most aggressive sign of minstrelsy's return to the media mainstream was the film Tropic Thunder. It was bold not only in its use of blackface, but in its daring to use it to not be about blacks at all. The film was probably most offensive to those for whom the very fact of blackface will always be about blacks and has always been categorically racist. This is not historically true, especially since blackface is fundamental to African-American popular culture even today. What the hostility to the film and its attempted mainstreaming of blackface suggests is something quite else: that the issue is not minstrelsy per se, but the white attempt to employ it. If this weren't the issue then Tyler Perry would still be broke and most rappers would have stayed in school.
But what really marks this return of classic blackface is its globalization and emergence outside the control of American racial sensitivity: places such France, Australia, Turkey to name just a few; England, Mexico, Japan and the continent of Africa to name a few more. One example of American response to this phenomenon was in 2005 when Mexico was asked to withdraw a blackface postage stamp based on a beloved cartoon character Memin Penguin created in 1943. Jesse Jackson, Al Sharpton, then-President George W. Bush and an array of activist groups complained, leading Walmart to pull the comics from its shelves. The enthusiastic declaration of racism then prompted a defensive reaction among many Mexicans and Mexican immigrants that singled out the cultural insensitivity of Americans. Americans were being too quick to judge while knowing little of Mexico's motives, racial histories or profound affection for the character. Arguably, it was that character's beloved-ness that enabled a conversation about race in a country less willing, if not less equipped, than America to do so.
And just a few months ago a Turkish news anchor blackened his face in response to President Obama's address to the Turkish Parliament. The American response to this was predictable though wrong-headed, since in Turkey blackening the face does not necessarily connote racial offense. In this case it was a half-comical sign of embarrassment, of shame, of having to prostrate oneself to American power in order to gain support for a number of Turkey's most pressing national issues. So once again it was America's judgment that was offensive. The accusation of "racism" was yet another example of bad foreign policy. Now the Australians may have shared the Turks' befuddlement in America's response, but in admitting they would never have performed the skit in the United States their "gee shucks" insincerity only bolstered the suggestion of actual racism.
For these countries the controversy ultimately had less to do with racism than with another old ism at the core of this new age of blackface: cultural imperialism. Lest we forget, for much of the world America is now officially a white country represented by a black face. The return of blackface as parody or homage was clearly inevitable. A black president may not be the sign of a "post-racial" America but for many across the planet he may be the sign of an America where blacks are perceived to be empowered enough to take a joke. Whether this is true or not is what partly motivates many of these global turns to minstrelsy. As in classic blackface there was always the assumption that blacks were the most potent symbol of America even amidst psychopathic racial hostility. To understand this, one need only hum a few bars of Dixie. In today's hyper-mediatized world, blackface will continue to empower those who know that America's dirty secrets are fair game and that its own internal contradictions make for great entertainment.
But what distinguishes this new era of classic blackface? It's not so much those old habits of racism that commentators exult in pointing out but that blackface despite its known capacity to offend is now being used to confirm that the person underneath the mask and behind the stereotype is not racist. They are so convinced of this that they feel comfortable flaunting this taboo whether anyone is offended or not. Some of these resurgent examples of minstrelsy go so far as to suggest that blackface is the ultimate statement of anti-racism in that it emerges from a desire to criticize and mock racism itself. This certainly motivated the writers of Mad Men, America's Next Top Model and tends to be a fallback position for too many drunken revelers. Call it "meta-anti-racism" if you dare call it anything at all. Like it or not this new confidence in "blacking up" does grow out of an aggressive refusal to be denied the pleasures and perils of racial parody, of taking things to the sharpest edge. And though it may be heresy to say, it is also a full-throttled attack on racial sanctimony and on the toxic notion that any one group has the last word on what is or isn't offensive.
Perhaps the most aggressive sign of minstrelsy's return to the media mainstream was the film Tropic Thunder. It was bold not only in its use of blackface, but in its daring to use it to not be about blacks at all. The film was probably most offensive to those for whom the very fact of blackface will always be about blacks and has always been categorically racist. This is not historically true, especially since blackface is fundamental to African-American popular culture even today. What the hostility to the film and its attempted mainstreaming of blackface suggests is something quite else: that the issue is not minstrelsy per se, but the white attempt to employ it. If this weren't the issue then Tyler Perry would still be broke and most rappers would have stayed in school.
But what really marks this return of classic blackface is its globalization and emergence outside the control of American racial sensitivity: places such France, Australia, Turkey to name just a few; England, Mexico, Japan and the continent of Africa to name a few more. One example of American response to this phenomenon was in 2005 when Mexico was asked to withdraw a blackface postage stamp based on a beloved cartoon character Memin Penguin created in 1943. Jesse Jackson, Al Sharpton, then-President George W. Bush and an array of activist groups complained, leading Walmart to pull the comics from its shelves. The enthusiastic declaration of racism then prompted a defensive reaction among many Mexicans and Mexican immigrants that singled out the cultural insensitivity of Americans. Americans were being too quick to judge while knowing little of Mexico's motives, racial histories or profound affection for the character. Arguably, it was that character's beloved-ness that enabled a conversation about race in a country less willing, if not less equipped, than America to do so.
And just a few months ago a Turkish news anchor blackened his face in response to President Obama's address to the Turkish Parliament. The American response to this was predictable though wrong-headed, since in Turkey blackening the face does not necessarily connote racial offense. In this case it was a half-comical sign of embarrassment, of shame, of having to prostrate oneself to American power in order to gain support for a number of Turkey's most pressing national issues. So once again it was America's judgment that was offensive. The accusation of "racism" was yet another example of bad foreign policy. Now the Australians may have shared the Turks' befuddlement in America's response, but in admitting they would never have performed the skit in the United States their "gee shucks" insincerity only bolstered the suggestion of actual racism.
For these countries the controversy ultimately had less to do with racism than with another old ism at the core of this new age of blackface: cultural imperialism. Lest we forget, for much of the world America is now officially a white country represented by a black face. The return of blackface as parody or homage was clearly inevitable. A black president may not be the sign of a "post-racial" America but for many across the planet he may be the sign of an America where blacks are perceived to be empowered enough to take a joke. Whether this is true or not is what partly motivates many of these global turns to minstrelsy. As in classic blackface there was always the assumption that blacks were the most potent symbol of America even amidst psychopathic racial hostility. To understand this, one need only hum a few bars of Dixie. In today's hyper-mediatized world, blackface will continue to empower those who know that America's dirty secrets are fair game and that its own internal contradictions make for great entertainment.
