A feminist call to black male entertainers in a post-Obama era
Just like that, he emerged on the national scene — the one who offered hope to millions worldwide, changed what we thought was possible, and became the undeniable “Commander-in-Cool.” Although his term as president has ended, President Barack Obama’s legacy can live on through other black men who have similarly been gifted with power, prestige and the almighty platform.
These men, whether actors, comedians, DJs, or athletes, have the opportunity to use their platforms to challenge the status quo that tries to keep people of color and women, particularly black women, marginalized.
Like Obama, black male entertainers can declare that they, too, are feminists. Like Obama, they can uplift people who are different from them. And like Obama, they can demand that the world see and respect black women, who can’t seem to get no R-E-S-P-E-C-T, despite being one of the most educated groups in the US.
Recently, comedian Steve Harvey squelched one such opportunity. During an episode of The Steve Harvey Show, he insulted Asian-American men by joking that they were unattractive and un-dateable. Right there on national daytime television, a black man — born into a black body that this country simultaneously awes and fears — made sweeping, untrue, racist statements about an entire group of people.
It’s doubtful that he wouldn’t have been enraged if a white comedian had targeted either black men or black women with such a dehumanizing joke. But for some reason, Harvey felt emboldened enough to a-sexualize Asian men. Let’s not forget that this is the same man who regularly jokes about his virility as the host of Family Feud. On the show, he gleefully plays into the hyper-sexualized stereotypes about black men, accepting those that make him “look good” while propagating the one that makes Asian American men look bad.
I say this not to shame him but to highlight the power that he and other black male entertainers like him have — to either challenge stereotypes or perpetuate them. Like it or not, they wield an inordinate amount of power, considering the work they actually do, which is entertainment. Their livelihoods dominate news headlines, and their advocacy lends credibility (not to mention TV cameras) to causes both obscure and known. In other words: when they speak, we listen. When they act, we watch. When they oppress, we feel it. Black male entertainers, who benefit from being born male, are often afforded platforms more readily than their equally-deserving female peers.
With this privileged power comes even greater responsibility.
We have seen this power misused. We have seen one of our most beloved comedic actors, Bill Cosby, joke about drugging women and admit to drugging women in court documents. We have seen rappers insist that black is beautiful yet create casting calls for “multi-racial women only.” Let’s be honest — this is what oppression looks like.
When black male entertainers joke about and perpetuate misogyny, they are messaging oppression. When they bask in their virility while denying others theirs, they are messaging oppression. When they perpetuate the seemingly harmless “model minority” stereotype — falsely elevating one group while suggesting that some groups aren’t the model — they message oppression. And when they say that black women need to be more entrepreneurial and develop platforms to enact change, they are clearly messaging oppression (or ignorance). I say all of this not to bash but to point out that the lies of the oppressor are everywhere, oftentimes even inside the minds of those who experience oppression.
That’s why these men must steward their platforms carefully. That’s why they must listen when fans go beyond singing their praises to questioning their choices. Each one must choose how he will respond — either to clap back with a proud heart or to man up with an open one.
Harry Belafonte and Muhammad Ali (who was as much an entertainer as he was a boxer) used their platforms to fight for black liberation. Similarly, today, Jesse Williams advocates off-screen while Denzel Washington advocates onscreen. These men have used their platforms to promote more than their bank accounts.
As a new president attempts to step into President Obama’s shoes, the need for more black male entertainers to continue Obama’s legacy in their own professions is paramount. It’s not just a legacy they should continue; it’s a legacy they are privileged to continue. And with privilege comes responsibility.
Chanté Griffin is a Los Angeles-based writer and performer. When she’s not blogging at Beneath the Surface, she’s producing her YouTube sketch series, 14 Days of Funny. Tweet with her @yougochante.
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