McWhorter: The Hidden Lesson of ‘American Fiction’

On my watch list:

Cord Jefferson’s film “American Fiction” offers a delightful portrayal of the white fetishization of Black pain — and also, in 2024, at least, one that is more satire than documentary. In the movie, an erudite Black author writes a baldly melodramatic “ghetto” novel titled “My Pafology” in protest of the way white audiences seem to go wild for such material — and to his surprise, nobody gets the joke and white audiences do, in fact, go wild for the book.

America had a conversation of this sort long ago — especially amid the debates over hip-hop in the 1990s and afterward — about treating inner-city violence, sexism and multigenerational poverty as “authentic” and entertaining. I think we can give the non-Black public here in the real world at least some credit. Today they would not embrace nakedly cartoonish tripe like the novel cooked up by the film’s protagonist, Thelonious “Monk” Ellison, or the best seller “We’s Lives in Da Ghetto” by the Black author Sintara Golden that inspired his sarcastic stunt in the first place.

However, such exotification of Blackness has hardly disappeared entirely, and the film perfectly captures facets of the contemporary continuation of it. I was especially struck by a scene in which Monk finds that a bookstore has stocked his earlier novel, an adaptation of Aeschylus’ “The Persians,” in the African American section simply because he is Black.

I had the exact same experience.

Twenty years ago, I wrote a book called “Doing Our Own Thing,” a study of the increasing informality in public language in America since the 1800s. It mentioned race only in passing, yet I twice found it stocked in the Black studies (or some equivalent description) section of a bookstore. Apparently someone — at least twice! — blithely assumed that because I’m Black, the book must be an indignant shout-out on behalf of Black English, an appeal that Black people should be able to “do our own thing” (thang?). To the bookstore employees — and perhaps customers — the paramount aspect of a Black author was his Blackness.

But let’s face it: White people don’t get this view of us only from their own subconscious bias or objectification. Black people play a part in fostering this vision, too, in the ways we present our souls to the public. Not in silly novels like “My Pafology,” but more broadly.
Some of us enthusiastically portray microaggressions as grave harms to our well-being, despite the fact that the literature on microaggressions is mostly of questionable scientific rigor and yields only limited evidence that they injure this deeply, or even that most Black people experience them in this way.

Many of us also insist that there remains something insufficient and inadequately “representative” about the degree to which Blackness is depicted in popular culture. The implication is that Blackness is marginalized, held at least at half an arm’s length. Yet a random list of recent Black-oriented films and television shows — “Black Panther,” “Atlanta,” “Black-ish,” “Dear White People,” “Insecure,” “The Book of Clarence” — demonstrates enough richness and variety to make an old-time Southern segregationist retch. “American Fiction” itself has been widely nominated for major awards and features exquisite performances by Jeffrey Wright, Erika Alexander and Myra Lucretia Taylor in particular. An uninformed observer of Black representation in contemporary American popular culture would be mystified that anyone felt there remained any real deficit at all.

Meanwhile, some believe it is antiracist for Black people to portray ourselves as a people for whom standards must be loosened thanks to the legacies of our past. The SAT, for instance, has been presumed such a racist burden that it should be withdrawn — despite evidence that it has been better at identifying gifted Black students from disadvantaged backgrounds than alternatives.

Is it any wonder that white people listen to these kinds of reasoning and feel compelled to think of us as poster children and stereotypes rather than as whole people? There is a straight line from the positions I outlined above, often thought of as forms of enlightenment, and a well-meaning but Kabuki version of pity that becomes a kind of racism in itself.

Source: The Hidden Lesson of ‘American Fiction’