Black trauma: the porno.

Why I’m so disturbed by the obsession with black trauma as a genre.

This week, I had the typical “what are you watching on Netflix” conversation with my friends, and while everyone talked of the critically acclaimed mini-series When They See Us, I made the decision to steer clear of it. No matter how amazing it may be, I won’t be able to unsee the traumatic story or keep it from affecting me mentally. When did black people’s trauma become so entertaining? I’ve seen black characters constantly be aligned with fates of violence, injustice or death and I’m sick of it.

Look, I get it. Suffering is a big part of our history. Sure, the stories are traumatic, but they’re based on real life experiences. It’s important to shine light on crucial events that allow many black people the freedom they have now. People, regardless of race, need to know what we’ve gone through for educational and triggering purposes. People need to feel something — be it rage or sympathy — in order to prompt change. I don’t want to ever forget how far we’ve come, but in the same instance, I’d love to see how far we can go. I’d love to see more rom-coms like The Photograph, fantasy/sci-fi films like Sorry to Bother You and superhero films like Black Panther. We can’t run away from our past, and we shouldn’t. But we can produce films that marry themes like romance and comedy with the reality of the black experience without a Negro Spiritual being right around the corner — and that’s something I’d love to see more of.

Between watching films like Roots, 12 Years a Slave, Netflix’s American Son and others (because I really could go on forever), I ask myself, what am I supposed to feel after watching something like this? How do I feel after watching women that look like me be raped, beaten and violated for approximately 100 minutes? What am I supposed to do with all this rage? Am I supposed to be reminded of how I constantly fear for my baby brother’s life because he’s 6’2, black and carefree? What’s the take-away from it all?

I ask my friends these questions during debates (very heated arguments), and the common answers use keywords like ‘informative’, ‘educational’, ‘engaging’ or ‘triggering’. Frankly, none of these translate to anything significantly beneficial to the black experience or black art as a whole.

James Baldwin once said “to be a Negro in this country and to be relatively conscious is to be in a rage almost all the time”. He didn’t tell a single lie. I feel what you’re supposed to feel when you watch these horrifying films. I feel the anger, the frustration, the powerlessness — but more than anything, I’m so exhausted. I’m always so tired of seeing a reflection of me in a helpless, destroyed position.

And if that’s how I feel, I wonder how non-black people watching it feel. What’s their take-away?

I remember heading into work after Get Out’s premiere weekend and I asked my white colleagues how they found the film. I got mixed reviews varying from “I don’t get it” to “I thought it was supposed to be scary, it wasn’t in the slightest”. It was to me. It was terrifying to know that when stripping away the supernatural parts, the protagonist could’ve been someone in my family. The racial undertones left me emotionally drained before the film could even climax, while my white colleagues were just waiting for the scary scene that’d make their £7 cinema ticket count for something. ­

It’s moments like those that make me wonder what and who this is all for. What good is it doing if those we intend to trigger miss the punchline? If it’s not sparking change, then what is it actually doing? I understand that finding the beauty in art is what makes it valuable, but I’m conscious that the only art black people can curate and be involved in is centred around black trauma. That worries me.

In the last five years, countless black people have been murdered due to police brutality. Some of those killings were caught on video and circulated worldwide. At first, I’m sure it was to raise awareness and spread news, like any other ‘hot topic’. But then, after a while you start to become desensitised to what you see. Clips of black people, young and old, being put down like dogs in the street start to become a side-order with your 9am coffee. Over time, some of us care less, some of us become enraged and bitter: but it’ll always change the way we see the entire race.

The power of media is heavily uncredited regarding the way our minds work. After a short while of constantly seeing the same group of people getting killed one way or another, it’s very easy to start justifying the unjust — because it’s easier to conclude it internally. It’s easy to start subconsciously viewing black people negatively, because being shot down in the street on the news or playing an aggressor, criminal or slave on TV might be the only visibility we get.

I guess the media’s answer to the traumatic stuff we ACTUALLY go through is black trauma: but make it drama. Don’t get it twisted, I understand! Major city deals with a terrorist attack? Olympus Has Fallen. Natural disaster hits and kills thousands? San Andreas. Horrific things that happen to black people aren’t immune from being reflected in film. I just want to know that dead black boys won’t be the only thing I’m going to see on-screen, especially when there’s a world of other stories to tell.

I’ll be watching Queen and Slim at the end of this month. My hope is that it tackles the reality of the black experience while telling the story of two black lovers outside of the stereotypical box we’re so used to them being in. I hope to watch a love story that doesn’t synonymise the black experience with death or a lifetime of distress. I’m tired of being made to believe that violence is a rite of passage for us — and until black films can make me see otherwise, I’m bowing out.