Hoping in America the Beautiful
One of the few pop culture hills I will die on (aside from the final season of Game of Thrones being utter garbage and that Kanye West’s version of Christianity is just prosperity gospel hidden by slick marketing and faith based buzz words) is that Greenbook utterly robbed Spike Lee and BlacKkKlansman in the 2018 Oscars. Yes, Greenbook’s Mahershala Ali and Viggo Mortenson were brilliant in their depictions of musician Don Shirley and American-Italian driver Tony Lip. I enjoyed watching it and fell into the trap of its well meaning storyline. Yet, as I processed the film, I found that it’s message was all too simple. It was a film about overcoming racism that was all too easy to swallow, and that ultimately made the white man the hero, welcoming the misunderstood and lonely musician into his home, giving him a family, and curing racism through a gruff, masculine love. It felt like a story about racism written for white audiences. BlacKkKlansman, on the other hand, dug deep into the systematic oppression experienced by black communities across the nation. It didn’t shy away from the horrors inflicted on black people. And most unlike Greenbook, it did not pretend that racism was conquered, over, or a thing of the past.
I was living in London when BlacKkKlansman released into theaters. My friends, a group of young, hip Christians and staunch labor party supporters, and I all decided to see it. If you haven’t seen this movie, no better time than the present. The performances by John David Washington and Adam Driver as cops Ron Stallworth and Flip Zimmerman who together infiltrate the KKK were stunning, and Laura Harrier as activist Patrice Dumas was a force of nature. The narrative paired pointed humor with the gutting ugliness that is racism — both personal and systemic. This masterpiece of a film didn’t end with the story of black cop Ron Stallworth. Instead, in the final moments of the film, we flashforward through time, through the ‘70s, ‘80s, ‘90s, all the way to the 2016 election and finally footage from the Charlottesville riots, culminating in footage of the car charging into a group of peaceful marchers. I had read my share of news about the riot. I had seen more than a few photos. But I had refused to watch footage, because I knew how hard it would be to see. As I sat in the stuffy, vintage theater in London’s neighborhood of Stepney Green, with that footage blown up large, right in front of my eyes, I felt sick. I began to shake and tears streamed down my face. Later, I was thankful to learn that several of my friends were also moved to tears. That said, they weren’t weeping for their nation. Yes, they were moved, angry, frustrated. Yet, it wasn’t personal the way it was for me. They weren’t sick with frustration and deep-rooted shame in their country. I was.
For some, that shame may feel unpatriotic. I say otherwise. I’ve come to recognize that shame as the result of seeing this nation for what it could be, and seeing it fall far short. We hold these truths to be self-evident, that all men are created equal, that they are endowed by their Creator with certain unalienable Rights, that among these are Life, Liberty and the pursuit of Happiness. These hallowed words of our constitution defined what this nation ought to be, and in these words we see how we have failed them. We’d like to think that all people here have equal ability to find life, liberty, and happiness. When I look at the reality of our nation, that seems hard to believe. I remember the fate of Breonna Taylor, George Floyd, Ahmaud Arbery, Trayvon Martin, and so, so many others. I know people who work two jobs and still can’t make end meet, who choose not to go to the doctor because they can’t afford their copays. I have friends who regularly get pulled over or whose military IDs get questioned for nothing more than the color of their skin. My shame stems from a desire to see this country be all that in can be, one where all people are free from poverty, fear, injustice, and oppression.
My shame also doesn’t come from feeling like my country has changed before my eyes. It has grown out of a realization that the last four years didn’t change America; instead, they just revealed the dark underbelly we’ve been ignoring. You know the one. The history of the genocide of the indigenous people of this country. The legacy of brutal violence against Black communities and people. This nation is built on the back of oppression. Our society continues to thrive on inequality. Even I, a child of center left parents who spent the ‘80s and ‘90s in progressive downtown Manhattan, have been guilty of forgetting that fact.
This morning, the winner of the 2020 election is still unclear. The tightness of the race proves just how how divided our nation is. Like many of my friends, I fell into the trap of hanging all my hopes for our future on a strong Biden victory. I wanted the country of my childhood back. Yet, this is the country of my childhood. We just aren’t hiding that dark unbelly anymore. Changing this nation, becoming a better version of ourselves, wouldn’t happen with just an election. It takes all of us continuing to show up and speak out, protest and march, campaign and vote, and maybe hope a little.
One of the things that was most striking to me about the BlacKkKlansman were the minutes before the film flashed through time to the present. Briefly, the characters of policemen Ron Stallworth and Flip Zimmerman, a black man and a Jewish man, reveled in their successful infiltration of the KKK. Yet, quickly it became clear to the the characters and to the viewers, that for all their success, their work was far from over. By rushing into the future, Spike Lee reminded me that this work is still not over. Even if Biden wins the election, our work will be far from done. The fight for the soul of America may have only just begun. That said, for all our failings as a nation, there is a lot of beauty here. Even though we fall hopelessly short of them, this country is founded on the highest ideals, that all people were created equally. Those are ideals worth believing in, worth fighting for.
Earlier this year my father held a service for the country - for the victims of police brutality, for those suffering of COVID19, for those who had died of both. He chose to play jazz musician Ray Charles’ rendition of America the Beautiful at the service. The melody is familiar, but the words are rearranged. Rather than the well known verse about the beauty of the land, Ray Charles opens with this verse:
Each morning the sun rises, so shall we.
Oh beautiful for heroes proved
In liberating strife
Who more than self, their country loved
And mercy more than life
He then goes on to sing
America, America may God thy gold refine
'Til all success be nobleness
And every gain divined
Those words hung with me long after the service, and they’ve become my prayer for this nation. We are a nation of heroes. They march for justice, they campaign for equality. May we be worthy of them. May we love mercy more than life. May our successes be noble. May we come through this time of division and come out refined, better, kinder, and truly live up to our ideals of freedom and equality for all people, regardless of race, gender, religion, sexual orientation, or wealth. It will be a long, hard road, but in the end, may we finally become America, the Beautiful.
