The Birth of a Nation & Misogynoir
Who has the Privilege of Separating Art from Artist?
There’s no doubt that every three years or so, Hollywood decides to open its doors and allow spaces for films of slavery to tug at our consciences, and give us the slight comfort we need to believe that racism is a long history behind us (except it’s not).
We were given Django Unchained by Quentin Tarantino in 2012 and 12 Years A Slave by British director Steve McQueen in 2013, which went on to receive an Academy Award for Best Picture.
Huge right?
Except these films seem to miss the mark somewhere; although a black individual is casted to play a black historical figure, by the end the of the film you find that their liberation comes from guidance and empowerment of a white figure looming in the background. As long as these films are done the right way to appeal to the white masses, not too zealous to cause white tears or discomfort, movies on slavery only provide glimpses into the past that continues to haunt America over and over again.
But here we are in 2016 and the new film on the Hollywood scene hailed to most likely take the sledgehammer to #Oscarssowhite, is The Birth of Nation, written, directed by and starring Nate Parker. The film is based on the historical and successful slave revolt led by Nat Turner, who was a literate slave influenced by the Bible. Alas, we see the narrative of a black historical figure depicted as intelligent and strategic but also not a subject of whitewashing.
There is no denying the importance of this movie, given its magnitude in changing the narrative of slavery on mainstream screens. Yet this film hasn’t garnered this type of attention that Nate Parker could have hoped for. In presenting history to world, he’s had to deal with his own history of rape accusations stemming from his time as a student at Penn State University in 1999. He and his roommate Jean Celestin, who also co-wrote the film, were tried for allegedly raping an unconscious woman in his Penn State dorm room. Parker was acquitted of all charges, and Celestin was found guilty of sexual assault but appealed and had the verdict overturned. In August, when these allegations made headlines, it was discovered that the victim committed suicide in 2012. Parker released this Facebook post expressing his thoughts:
For some, the post was the clarity needed to approach the movie without allowing anything to taint or deflect from this very important film. For others, especially black women including myself, separating the art from the artist is not that easy. We do not have the privilege to choose between blackness and womanhood, and through which lenses we should view this film.
Historically, rape has been a violent aspect of slavery. For black women, this dealing with misogynoir, the intersectionality of both racism and sexism, makes the film challenging emotionally for black women to accept. Then to add to that, the possibilities for black female audiences to engage critically in mainstream films has always been suppressed in some way.
Movies that you’d think attempt to shed light on the unwavering strength and resilience of black women in a movie like The Help, actually do the opposite. We need the sympathetic image of the white woman by the side of the black woman, so the triumphs of black women can be validated and accepted by audiences. Or like in Precious, (although this was not a movie on slavery), we get to see how hard it is to be a black woman, placing black women in an oppressive bind of being characterized by “struggle”. Black women remain a constant spectacle, either comically “ghetto”, or victims of circumstance.
“Since anti-racist individuals did not control mass media, the media became the primary tool that would be used and is still used to convince black viewers, and everyone else, of black inferiority”- bell hooks
Yet this comes as no surprise to us because in the history and the male gaze, the narratives of women on screen have passed through the direction and vision of man. Specifically, the narratives and bodies of black women on screen are selected, assigned and negotiated, yet invisible in some way.
But Gabrielle Union, who herself is a victim of rape, stars in this film and is believed to be the intersectionality of being both black and female is expected to be the sort of middle ground in the controversy surrounding the movie. In a op-ed piece she wrote published in the Los Angeles Times, she mentions the importance for discussions on consent and male privilege, and how she has come to terms with the revelations of Nate’s past.
“I took this role because I related to the experience. I also wanted to give a voice to my character, who remains silent throughout the film. In her silence, she represents countless black women who have been and continue to be violated. Women without a voice, without power. Women in general. But black women in particular.”- Gabrielle Union
Yet something still doesn’t sit well with me. Given all that has been revealed about Nate’s past, you’d think that an image like Gabrielle Union could provide the comfort that black women need in order to see this film. If Gabrielle Union believes that we can have both conversations about consent and male privilege and still engage with the importance of the film then, why not? I think it actually makes this a hell of a lot more complicated. It makes blackness patriarchal and gives black women the responsibility to unpack it, which puts Gabrielle Union in this very precarious position.
I was particularly vexed to read that Gabrielle Union is believed to change the face of this film. In what way? Is her presence as a cast member only meant to make the film more marketable? Is that what her experience is? To contain the tainted image of Nate Parker? This seems like a tall order for her given that she has a total of zero dialogue and is in the film for about 12 minutes.
Gabrielle Union shouldn’t even be expected to soften the blow. That’s the language of rape culture at its very best. Placing the burden on victims to make sense of rape for society is oppressive, and believing that women, especially black women, have the choice to switch off the possibility of rape that has been primed in our minds since birth, is oppressive. Then to hope that victims can make things a little more palatable is just a whole other level of oppressive. So shaming black women for choosing not to see this film, due to the difficulty to negotiate the identity of being both black and female (as if both are mutually exclusive) is, yes you guessed it, oppressive.
I was taken aback after learning that the film itself includes a rape scene, which is the fictional catalyst for the slave rebellion led by Nat Turner.
What makes the reality of rape any different off screen than on screen as a narrative tool? Where’s Jean Celestin in all of this? Why hasn’t he commented? In an ironic twist on the art vs. the artist debate, we see the artist caught up in his own art. And this has clearly had an impact on audiences who are yet to watch this film because we still don’t know how to answer some very crucial questions: Should we boycott The Birth of A Nation? Is this film simply too important to be rejected, or condemned?
We still don’t know whether Nate had consent or not. What we do know is that rape culture has taught us that when a man is accused of rape, the woman should be shamed for speaking out against her rapist. She is vilified for attempting to ruin his promising career and the endless chances he has at life.
I still see the vilification of the victim who isn’t here to speak and defend herself through our debate on whether we can separate the art from the artist.
We question if the existence of rape is a valid reason to not see this film that has been hailed to change the narrative of slavery on screen.
Like the climate surrounding this film, rape culture works behind the scenes. We see this in how the argument of art vs. the artist forgets those who unravel the art with specific set of experiences and lens. Call it a bias, call it what you want. We watch movies to escape, we watch movies and see ourselves in the stories of characters, and this is a privilege that many black women do not have since the emergence of this film and the writer’s allegations of rape.
So for all you who are toying with whether you should see this movie or not, it’s entirely your prerogative. But if you do let’s clear it up a bit: boycotting this movie isn’t about rejecting the message it portrays.
History has been recreated through the minds and ideas of many, and how we view history will continue to pierce through the narratives of many. Yes, this film is groundbreaking and revolutionary. It always will be.
But revolutionary for who?
