To Infinity and Beyond The Lights (If Our Super Heroes Were Black)

One of the most highly recognizable generic characters is the super hero. And they’re everywhere. Every time I go to see a film a supernatural flick is on the “now playing” list and with good reason. Super heroes are irresistible fantastical figures.

Colorblind casting annoys me. It’s not so much the absence of racial consideration itself, but the idea that this methodology can replace the telling of Black and other minority stories. The word “colorblind” itself says a lot. When casting directors choose “not to see color” does that mean that they’re also choosing not to see the social, cultural components that make up that color? My experiences, like those of all of my brothers and sisters, make up the Technicolor fabric that some are choosing not to see. We’ve had color television since like the early 50’s, right? So I think it’s only fitting that film and television honor that through recognizing the differences that beautify us and the unique struggles that unite us.

“Micah, I thought we were talking about super heroes?” I’m getting there, give me a sentence or so. I have this friend (it’s a real person. I promise.) Our conversations always seem to be geared towards art, especially film. This time, we were talking about Michael B. Jordan’s upcoming performance in Fantastic Four. Lately, this has been a hot topic because Jordan, a Black actor, was cast as traditionally blonde-haired, blue-eyed Johnny Storm. Furthermore, he penned a response to doubting (likely racist) speculators in Entertainment Weekly. 

I personally, thought Jordan’s essay response was strong. It did a good job of speaking to the issues specific to this film. He is breaking down longstanding barriers and being thoughtful and vocal about it. That is absolutely work that needs to be done in mainstream film…and I’m glad that his face is the one doing it. However, I was bothered by the fact that his entire argument was based on colorblindness. Kudos to Michael for the work that he is doing, but I am always more interested in Black people being in their own stories than being inserted into White molds. So, as usual, after an overly enthusiastic but intellectually stimulating conversation, I got to thinking: what if our super heroes were Black?

When I heard that Ava DuVernay will be directing Black Panther, I thought I’d found the answer. My first emotion was pure excitement, because I was thinking Angela Davis, Fred Hampton, Oakland, Free Breakfast, Berets, the whole shebang. Turns out I was wrong. My question of Black superheroes still needed exploration.

First of all, what constitutes a White mold? In this conversation, I first argued that stock characters and clichés that lack cultural specificity are inherently White. This is because White culture has been dominant for so long; no matter how “translucent” a character’s mold, it still would reflect whiteness. Cultural specificity is a means of affirming humanity. Ultimately, I’d like to see clichés and stock characters reflect other cultures, too. My friend countered that by saying that whiteness “won’t [even] escape a Black character because we do not live in objectivity of that culture. As it is birthed on those stock characters [and clichés], it is birthed on specific characters.” Touché.  

So what about superhuman characters birthed from blackness?

It’s hard to say exactly what a Black superhero would look, sound, or act like because Black experiences are varied. We could try to impute certain qualities and values on that hero—those things could definitely be a means of affirming their blackness. However that character could reflect Stokley Carmichael, Beyoncé, or Shongo a Yoruba Orisha god and would be considered heroic by some Black person somewhere. So, I can’t really pick a set of universally honorable or beautiful qualities. Furthermore, I don’t think that there is a single formula for making Black stories.

So, after some thinking, I came to the conclusion that a Black super hero would be more about whom that modern-day knight is saving and what battles they’re fighting. One grand theme that has been present in most of my African-American Studies classes is that the Black freedom struggle is an extremely pressing matter and that all Black resources, especially our diverse minds, should contribute to our collective unshackling. As such, I think that an epic hero with supernatural ability should be primarily geared to this struggle. 

See, struggle is unifying. Although, as I mentioned before, Black people have varied experiences, so much of who we are as a people can be traced back to White supremacy and the resulting tribulations. It transcends shade, location, gender, religion, politics, and socioeconomic status. It often seems as though no earthly force will be able to help us. Black people are in a crisis. It only makes sense that our super hero would be one that would try to fix our problems. Instead of flying in to save a damsel in distress, our hero would swoop down to free the unlawfully and disproportionately imprisoned. Their mega strength or super mind rays could villains could be used to battle on historical segregationist lawmakers or today’s unfortunate education system. 

In keeping our struggles in mind, I don’t think that creativity has to be lost. Our hero should have all of the glamour and mystic of Ironman or Superwoman. We should be able to look up to them and use our childlike imaginations to fantasize about a figure that really could free us from our desperation. Visually stunning movie-magic fluff would only help to take our minds to the place of believability. Langston Hughes argues that skill and artistry is just as important as the message of a piece. I think that applies here too. 

Super heroes allow people to see the strongest parts of themselves and their society projected on screen. A truly Black super hero could be a really effective way of empowering our community. As my friend pointed out, Black stories should not have to be restricted to "slaves and civil rights, sports, or hood dramas.” Those stories are very much a part of us and they matter. But Blackness doesn’t stop there. It can go to infinity and beyond.