by Hooks, Bell
Significantly, the similarities between the two films go unnoticed by those critics who rave about The Crying Game and who either trash or ignore The Bodyguard. Yet somehow it seems fitting that The Bodyguard would be critically rejected in white supremacist capitalist patriarchy. For despite its conventional plot, the representation of blackness in general, and black femaleness in particular, are far more radical than any image in The Crying Game. The conventional Hollywood placement of black females in the role of servants is disrupted. In fact, Rachel Marron is wealthy, and Frank Farmer is hired to serve her. However utopian this inversion, it does challenge stereotypical assumptions about race, class, and gender hierarchies. When Frank Farmer acts to fully protect the life of Marron (how many films do we see in the United States where black female life is deemed valuable, worth protecting?) he takes her home to his white father who embraces her with patriarchal care. Again, this representation is a radical break with stereotypical racist norms. It cannot be mere coincidence that a film that makes significant breaks with racist and sexist norms via its representation of black womanhood should be trashed by critics even as another film which reinscribes racist and sexist representations should be extolled as more meaningful. Even though The Bodyguard conservatively suggests that interracial relationships are doomed, it remains a film that offers concrete meaningful interventions in the area of race and representation.
People who flocked to see The Bodyguard, some of whom saw it many times, cannot simply assume that all the individuals writing reviews were unaware of these interventions. Given the way black life and black womanhood are devalued, the critics may simply have felt that the radical moments in this film should be ignored lest they signal that Hollywood can change—that individuals can create important interventions. The mega-economic success of The Bodyguard called attention to the reality that producers, directors, and stars can use their power to make progressive changes in the area of representation, even if, as in the case of Costner, they do not acknowledge the value of these changes.
Despite flaws, both The Crying Game and The Bodyguard are daring works that evoke much about issues of race and gender, about difference and identity. Unfortunately, both films resolve the tensions of difference, of shifting roles and identity, by affirming the status quo. Both suggest that otherness can be the place where white folks—in both cases white men—work through their troubled identity, their longings for transcendence. In this way they perpetuate white cultural imperialism and colonialism. Though compelling in those moments when they celebrate the possibility of accepting difference, learning from and growing through shifting locations, perspectives, and identities, these films ultimately seduce and betray.
5
CENSORSHIP FROM LEFT AND RIGHT
Recently, the Canadian government refused to allow my book Black Looks: Race and Representation into Canada. Copies were being shipped to a radical bookstore. They were held as “hate” literature. It seemed ironic that this book, which opens with a chapter urging everyone to learn to “love blackness,” would be accused of encouraging racial hatred. I doubt that anyone at the Canadian border read this book: the target for repression and censorship was the radical bookstore, not me. After a barrage of protests, the government released the books suggesting that they were held simply because there had been a misunderstanding about their content. Despite the fact that the books were released, it was another message sent to remind radical bookstores—particularly those that sell feminist, lesbian, and/or overtly sexual literature— that the state is watching them and ready to censor.
Canadian readers of all races and ethnicities were horrified by the seizure of Black Looks. Politically, censorship has been a major location where those with radical politics are attacked both in Canada and the United States. All around the United States books by African American authors have been among those selected for censorship in grade schools and public libraries. These cases often go unnoticed by a larger public and by African Americans in general. To many folks, they seem like isolated incidents instigated by the Far Right.
More than the censoring of books, the issue of whether the work of individual African American rap musicians should be censored has been the catalyst compelling many black folks to consider issues of censorship. Conservatives in black communities are as motivated to censor as are their counterparts in other communities. Support for censorship in black communities is rarely noticed when mass media highlights this issue. The lack of coverage does not mean that support for censorship is not growing among black people. Yet few, if any, black leaders call attention to the dangers to progressive political work when censorship is condoned.
Black academics and intellectuals have not made many public statements about censorship, with the exception of the testimony of Professor Henry Louis Gates, Jr., in the court case involving the black male musicians 2 Live Crew. His support of their right to free speech was viewed by many black folks less as a radical stance on the issue of censorship and more as a case of patriarchal black male bonding. This was a pity, since the uproar over this case presented an opportunity for diverse black communities to engage in public debate about censorship.
Censorship is a troubled issue for black folks. Bourgeois class values often shape overall public opinion across class in black life, so that almost everyone is taught to value discretion and secret-keeping. When those values are coupled with diverse expressions of religious conservatism, a cultural environment that embraces censorship can thrive. Black support of censorship seems strongest when the issue is public exposure of flaws, wrongdoing, or mistakes by black political figures. Ralph Abernathy’s choice to offer information about Martin Luther King that might have altered public perception of King’s life, information concerning sexuality, was viewed by most black folks across class as a breach of etiquette, an invasion of the private by the public. Ultimately, it was seen solely as an act of aggression and not as useful information that offers a more complex portrait of King’s identity. A similar response greeted Bruce Perry’s biography of Malcolm X. Ironically, the publishers feared that there would be major backlash against the book when in fact, it was disregarded, for the most part not read, seen as another attempt to discredit a powerful black male leader. In both these cases, had many black folks the power to censor these works, to keep them from seeing the light of day, these books would not be in existence.
Active in black liberation struggle and in feminist movement, I am disturbed by the willingness of more conservative thinkers in these two movements to embrace censorship as an acceptable means of social control. The political core of any movement for freedom in the society has to have the political imperative to protect free speech. Time and again, radicals have seen that censorship is used to silence progressive voices rather than those who take the conservative stand that free speech must be suppressed in specific instances. Progressive activists must work politically to protect free speech, to oppose censorship. These issues are most publicly highlighted in black civil rights struggle and feminist movement, in struggles over representations of vulgarity, sexuality, and pornography. Yet some of the reticence on the part of individuals in both groups to the vehement opposition of censorship reflects the deep investment in regulatory silencing that has, dangerously, come to be an accepted aspect of both black liberation struggle and feminist movement. This covert silencing of dissenting voices and opinions undermines free speech and strengthens the forces of censorship within and outside radical movements.
In the early years of contemporary feminist movement, solidarity between women was often equated with the formation of “safe” spaces where groups of presumably like-minded women could come together, sharing ideas and experiences without fear of silencing or rigorous challenges. Groups sometimes disintegrated when the speaking of diverse opinions led to contestation, confrontation, and out-and-out conflict. It was common for individual dissenting voices to be silenced by the collective demand for harmony. Those voices were at times punished
by exclusion and ostracization. Before it became politically acceptable to discuss issues of race and racism within feminist circles, I was one of those “undesirable” dissenting voices. Always a devout advocate of feminist politics, I was, and am, also constantly interrogating, and if need be, harsh in my critique. I learned powerful lessons from hanging in there, continuing to engage in feminist movement even when that involvement was not welcomed. Significantly, I learned that any progressive political movement grows and matures only to the degree that it passionately welcomes and encourages, in theory and practice, diversity of opinion, new ideas, critical exchange, and dissent.
This remains true for feminist movement; it is not less true for black liberation struggle. In the heyday of civil rights struggle, black power movement folks were often “excommunicated” if they did not simply support the party line. This was also the case in white male-dominated “left” political circles. Censorship of dissenting voices in progressive circles often goes unnoticed. Radical groups are often so small that it is easy to punish folks using tactics that may not be apparent to those outside the group. Usually, repression is enforced by powerful members of the group threatening punishment, the most common being some form of ostracization or excommunication. This may take the form of no longer including an individual’s thoughts or writing in relevant discussions, especially publication, or excluding individuals from important meetings and conferences. And in some cases it may take the form of a consistent, behind-the-scenes effort to cast doubt verbally on their credibility.
Marginalized groups often fear that dissent, especially if it is expressed in public critique, will play into the hands of dominating forces and undermine support for progressive causes. Throughout the history of black struggle against racism there has been, and continues to be, major disagreement over whether or not we should rigorously critique one another publicly, especially in racially integrated contexts. Efforts to censor surface whenever marginalized groups are overly concerned with presenting a “positive” image to the dominant group. Most recently, the outcome of the Clarence Thomas hearings and his subsequent appointment to the Supreme Court shows how misguided, narrow notions of racial solidarity that suppress dissent and critique can lead black folks to support individuals who will not protect their rights. As Clarence Thomas uses the power invested in him as a member of the Supreme Court to curtail human rights, to stand in the way of racial justice and the struggle against sexism, those who felt it was more important to support the “brother” because white folks were out to get him, must if they are at all aware see the error of their ways. We will never know what the outcome of the Thomas hearings might have been had powerful black leaders around the United States collectively called for mass support to resist this appointment.
Even though the Thomas hearings forced the American public to consider issues of race and gender, issues they ignore daily, many blacks (especially men) closed ranks to support Thomas uncritically, just as many feminists (especially white women and black women professionals) closed ranks to support Anita Hill. The essay I wrote on the hearings which suggested that the public needed to look critically at both individuals and their political allegiances led many of my feminist comrades (especially black women) to tell me that the piece should not have been written. A long-time black feminist comrade accused me of having temporarily “lost my mind” as she felt my critique of Hill’s performance was a betrayal of feminist solidarity. Again and again, I have to insist that feminist solidarity rooted in a commitment to progressive politics must include a space for rigorous critique, for dissent, or we are doomed to reproduce in progressive communities the very forms of domination we seek to oppose.
The negative responses I received about the essay on the Thomas hearings (now published in Black Looks) called to mind other incidents where friends and comrades have attempted to censor my viewpoint. A couple of years back, I wrote a critical piece on the work of a major black woman writer. Talking about this piece while it was still in process with prominent black women scholars and comrades, I was taken aback when I was told that it was not a good idea for me to complete it, that the writer would be disappointed and “hurt”. When the piece was published, I received word that the writer was not only hurt but that she no longer considered me an ally. The fact that the piece does not trash her work did not matter. My insistence that criticizing one piece did not mean that I do not admire and appreciate other writing by this same author fell on deaf ears. I was simply told that writing and publishing this piece would be an “act of betrayal.”
These responses compelled me to reevaluate the purpose of my piece—to search my conscience to see if there was any will to harm the writer in question. After this process, I remained convinced that it was an important piece to write. After it was written and published, I suddenly lost contact with a circle of black women with whom I had once considered myself close. I began to hear through gossip that I could not be counted on to “keep confidences.” The evocation of “confidence” has no direct relation to the integrity of one’s word or the pursuit of truth. Revolutionary feminist and black liberation movements have always insisted there be recognition of the way in which the separation between public and private maintains and perpetuates structures of domination. Often the idea of privacy is evoked as a way to suppress dissent by falsely suggesting that there is or should be neutral, protected ground. Agreed upon confidences between individuals—promises—should be honored, and a distinction must be made between those consensual agreements and the sharing of information that is only later, and in the interest of protecting individuals, deemed private. Discussions of ideas, issues that take place in offices, homes, and hallways are certainly less public than lectures and published work, but they do not constitute neutral, protected space.
Fundamentally, many folks evoke keeping confidence as another way of talking about secret-keeping. Suppressing critical comments or making them in private one-on-one settings where there are no witnesses are deemed more appropriate ways to handle dissent. Bourgeois decorum upholds this means of dealing with conflict. Lying is often more acceptable than speaking truth. The equation of truth-telling with betrayal is one of the more powerful ways to promote silence. No one wants to be regarded as a traitor. Issues of regard are invariably linked to the desire to shape and construct images. Many individuals in the public eye want to determine and control their representation. When the notion of solidarity or allegiance is reduced solely to the issue of secret-keeping in the interest of both making and sustaining images, we lose our ability to form communities based on respect and mutual commitment to the free expression of ideas.
Among black intellectuals, critical thinkers, writers, and academics there is clearly an elite group. This group tends not to be appointed by black followers but are accorded status by the degree to which an individual garners the regard and recognition of a powerful white public. Running interference between the black community and mainstream white culture, these folks often assume the role of mediator, or what I euphemistically call the “secret police,” regulating ideas, determining who should speak where and when, what needs to be written when and by whom, and of course meting out rewards and punishment. This group is not all-powerful, but it does seek to censor voices not saying that which is deemed acceptable. The folks at the top of these hierarchies are usually black men. Though they may not choose to repress and censor, they may be feared, and individuals will attempt to please them by not saying what they think these “leaders” do not want to hear. Fear of alienating black thinkers who appear to be power brokers leads to the suppression of black critical thinking.
Black scholar Henry Louis Gates, Jr., a major mover and shaker in intellectual and academic circles, published an essay focusing on “black anti-Semitism” on the Op-Ed pages of the New York Times. I found this essay very problematic. Although it contained a useful and necessary critique of black anti-Semitism, particularly in regard to certain narrow-minded nationalist strains of Afr
ocentric thinking and scholarship, there was no careful attempt in the writing to contextualize the relationship between black folks and white Jews in a manner that would oppose any monolithic construction of black people as anti-Semitic. Disturbed by this piece, I worried that the gaps in this essay would serve to legitimate further silencing of black voices who are in any way critical of white Jews, and that the essay would create further unnecessary divisions and conflicts.