The White Gaze in Black History: “Please try to remember that what they believe, as well as what they do and cause you to endure, does not testify to your inferiority but to their inhumanity. To be a negro in this country and to be relatively conscious is to be in rage almost all the time.” – James Baldwin
An excerpt from the acclaimed book The Fire Next Time by James Baldwin beautifully pens down the tragedy and anger that have haunted black history for centuries. The prophetic author has questioned wisdom, race, and social justice through the ink of a white quill that has been used for millennia to write about these issues. Later, Baldwin continued his fight in the realms of literature and the civil rights movement, gaining insight into the African American experience. He further sought to educate not only white and black Americans but also individuals on a global scale on what exactly it meant to be black. The results of such white-elevated history stem from years of white-glazed documentation, literary works, and art that have smeared the paint and ink on actual black historical experiences. This is due to a complex mix of both cultural and economic dynamics.
The White Gaze in Black History
To Kill a Mockingbird by Harper Lee is most probably one of the most profound examples of a script that has been both praised and critiqued for its so-called “whiteness”. Centred in the Deep South, the book is hailed as a coming-of-age classic shown through the lens of Scout, the young daughter of a white lawyer who defends a black man for the said rape of a white woman. Its core themes explore race, class, and justice. Although hailed as a classic moral critique of racism and taking a Pulitzer, the criticism came much later and was much more abrasive. The book comes off as historically inaccurate and simplifies a broad framework of racism, with it over romanticising the lawyer (a white liberal) as a moral saviour. While the man at the centre of the trial, Tom Robinson, is brief and passive and suffers an unjust death, the audience is coerced into empathising with white guilt. Moreover, the black community is somewhat backgrounded, and when presented, it is most commonly through the white kaleidoscope; the whirls and swirls block the narrative and completely ignore the black resistance present in what we now know as the Jim Crow Era.
Novels like John Grisham’s A Time to Kill recall similar themes and backdrops. The history of “white guilt” coupled with “white benevolence” is a ship that has sailed once before. The whitewashing of history is rooted in the times of slavery, right up to the civil rights movement, with the act of subtly grounding white counterparts as allies and anchors in certain historical struggles. The urge and persistent need to control historical narratives has always been subtle yet present through academic documentation. With white scholars being the core and central objective authorities in historical recordings, it is now more than ever a need to fight for academic legitimacy and prove historical objectivity with more rigour. Centralisation needs to be placed on uncomfortable narratives. The time for “safe” individual acts of kindness, raunchy linear progress, and soppy “we’re all human” tropes is over. The readers and audience deserve the brutal reality of resistance, structural violence, and black anatomy.
With black authors and artists alike waiting to burst onto the literary and media scene, the issue arises from the hand that controls both the media and publishing companies. The “white dominion” is prevalent in institutions that provide more advantages in funding, publishing, and marketing to white authors. However, with black authors avoiding mainstream themes and expectations and the advancement of black resistance movements, audiences are now interested in work from a more “black perspective”. In turn, the market has produced work of much praise and appreciation. Most notably, Native Son by Richard Wright follows the story of a young black man in Chicago whose life is shaped by the poverty and systematic racism of the age. An honourable mention must be given to the classic narrative of Beloved by Toni Morrison, which tells the haunting story of Sethe, who is traumatised by both her life as a slave and the loss of her child. It is a masterpiece that explores history, fiction, and motherhood all in one frame.
The Help and Green Book
The story has transitioned from the pages to the big screen. “Black projects” seem to take a step back, with production houses more interested in the narrative presented by white producers and directors. Such projects tend to receive higher funds and broader platforms, e.g., The Help and Green Book, crippling the opportunity for the black industry to make its way through. Despite the economic and institutional hurdles, Hollywood has seen a rise in critical and commercial triumphs produced by black artists. Most recently, Sinners, a picture that analyses genre-based storytelling, was used to highlight themes of cultural and historical relevance. The film covers exploitation and cultural appropriation through a white vampire who seeks black music without fully understanding its source of heritage and power. The music, most notably, Blues Music, serves as an act of cultural defiance and spiritual force whose power is rooted in healing, memory, and continuation. Most importantly, the picture challenges spiritual colonialism. The narrative elevates traditional African-rooted spiritualism, passed down from generations. For instance, the Juke Joints, Blues or Devil’s music, and Hoodoo are all labelled as “Sin” by colonial Christianity. The narrative of Sinners seeks to highlight such themes as real and valid forms of survival and resistance. Such explorations in film and media reframe expectations and provide a blueprint for future creators, and produce leverage for success instead of exploitation.
White-authored history is the child of a deeply rooted cultural and economic force. It shapes the stories that are told, the person who tells the story, and the perspective that is much more preferred and valued. Such eccentric forms and manners have long been considered as universal truths, watered through the education system, historical archives, and powerful media platforms. These marginalised platforms and institutions not only narrow history but also allow and sustain a cycle of repetitive perspective and performance. In order to scale the imbalance, there needs to be present efforts to decolonize historical documentation, raise under-represented voices, and structurally examine the quill and parchment that have privileged one version of the story over many others.
