Most agree that AI will be the defining technology of our time, but our predictions tend to differ wildly. Either AI will become the perfect servant, ushering in a new era of productivity and leisure one weather report at a time (Hi, Alexa), or it’ll master us, consigning humanity to the ash heap of biological history (I see you, Elon).
Dear America, I fold.
In 1941, historian Dixon Wecter wrote about how much Americans love to have heroes. “Hero-worship answers an urgent American need,” he said connecting this idolatry to patriotism. In many ways I think he was right: whether fictional or historical, we love our superheros, our saviors, our patrons who saves us all. In advance of this Martin Luther King Jr. day, I’ve been thinking a lot about the reverend’s status as a hero of the Civil Rights Movement, especially in the context of other social justice movements. While much deserved, it’s important to interrogate the way we remember our leaders—sometimes to the detriment of the movement as a whole.
For far too long black female suffering has been pretty much invisible. Recently though that’s begun to change: In May, there was the video of a pregnant woman being forced on the ground into handcuffs, and then in June, video of a teen being slammed to the ground outside a Texas pool went viral. This week yet another video of violence against black girls is making the rounds—this time against a high school student in Columbia, South Carolina—we’re once again revisiting the topic of excessive force and black women.
Most people want to believe that their place in the world is something they earned, either through hard work, preparation, or both. I understand this sentiment. As a native of a country that reveres Horatio Alger-inspired tales of upward mobility, the idea that our status might be attributed to something we can’t control seems unfathomable.
Hollywood made a lukewarm attempt last night to acknowledge their failures at diversity. This strategy was summed up by Neil Patrick Harris’ early quip, “Tonight, we honor Hollywood’s best and whitest—I mean brightest,” followed by mellow laughter from the audience. Neither the joke nor its content was much of a surprise of course — the Oscars lack of diversity this year has been a topic of near constant debate. But it did seem like an apt metaphor for the general atmosphere: politically correct, without much substance behind the punchline.
There seems to be a new diversity trend happening in Hollywood–all of the major networks are looking to produce shows with people of color for the upcoming pilot season. Deadline calls it the “Empire effect”—networks trying to replicate the success of Empire, Cristela, How to Get Away With Murder. It’s a stunning turnaround for television, better known for ignoring or marginalizing the experiences of people of color in America.
President Obama’s television interviews this week went beyond traditional news outlets to talk about race relations, immigration, and youth in America. Sure, Obama had “different agendas”—as the Chicago Tribune headlined the media blitz—for the appearances on BET, The Colbert Report, and Fusion. But the diversity of said agendas felt so broad that Obama came off less as a unifier-in-chief and more as a leader of very different Americas, an idea he seems determined to shed.
Last week, as I sat and watched the events unfold in Ferguson, Missouri over the death of Michael Brown, I went through a range of emotions: rage, grief, depression. Even without the full details of the case, it was upsetting—horrifying really—to see another unarmed black body slain in the broad daylight for the entire world to see. For days and days, I tried to express the emotions that I was feeling, but my fingers went limp.
Last week, after watching another black man die at the hands of the New York City police, I can’t help but wonder whether there will ever be true equality for African Americans. The number of African Americans that have been victimized, murdered, terrorized, shot, and left for dead seems not just to be a legacy of some bloodstained Jim Crow past, but a part of a present moment that seems just as bleak. While there has been some progress, the narrative of the black experience in America feels remarkably static, as if it’s just shaken up, flipped, and twisted for a new generation.
There are lots of things that black people in the US should be protesting right now. High unemployment. The extreme loss of wealth. The gutting of the Voting Rights Act. Gun violence. The entire state of Florida. Yet one of the main things to dominate the news lately is the hairstyle of a particularly famous 2-year old. It’s one of the few things I don’t think we need to worry about.
The Oscar ceremony is always a bittersweet event in my household, and this year was no exception. I like to think of the Academy Awards as a reflection of the beauty of art and a testament to the power of story telling. Yet by the end of the night, I always end the night angry over Hollywood’s challenges in depicting race and ethnicity. This year was no different, though host Ellen DeGeneres beat me to the punch in the first few minutes of the show: If 12 Years a Slave doesn’t win, she said, “you’re all racists.”
When I was in high school, there were few things that caused panic and anxiety more than my fear of getting into college. I’d write lists of my dream schools, sort through tons of “best of guides,” and endlessly recite SAT words at a neurotic pace until one day, a friend asked what I feared so much. After revealing a litany of teenage prep-schooler woes, he sheepishly replied: “I don’t know why you’re worried. You’re black. You’ll get into any college you want.” I naively protested that I would get into college solely because of my merits, not my race, and walked away.
