Joe Biden’s Interracial Kiss

Former Vice President Joe Biden, the presumptive Democratic nominee for the 2020 Presidential Election, made history on Tuesday by picking Senator Kamala Harris (D-CA) to be his running mate.  Senator Harris is the first woman of color to hold a spot on a national party ticket; and the Biden Campaign is sending a clear signal that it intends to unite the traditional and progressive wings of the Democratic Party, while simultaneously swinging a symbolic sledgehammer at entrenched institutional racism and sexism.

The Biden-Harris team will throw a much-needed bolt of electricity into a presidential campaign that, like everything else in our current reality, has been severed from its customary moorings and launched into the uncharted  Bay of WTF.  With any luck, an overwhelmed and pandemic-fatigued American public will start to pay attention to the candidates and the issues and – GASP – actually vote in November.

As I reflect upon the Biden-Harris pairing, I am forced to wonder if the former Vice President and his team are cognizant of the enormous debt they owe to the real progressive force in modern American society: Star Trek.  I know what you are thinking: the man behind the Negro curtain has finally flipped his greying afro!  While there may be reasons aplenty to believe this, the above statement is not among them.  In the words of the Declaration of Independence, “To prove this, let Facts be submitted to a candid world.”

Among the several achievements of the original Star Trek series (1966-1969), is the distinction of featuring the first interracial kiss on network television.  The episode, Plato’s Stepchildren (Season 3, Episode 10), aired on 22 November 1968.  That year saw the assassinations of Martin Luther King, Jr. and Robert F. Kennedy, widespread unrest in major American cities, and sustained protest against both racial inequality and the war in Vietnam.  Indeed, it seemed to many at the time that the American Experiment begun in the latter decades of the eighteenth century was about to collapse in flames and frenzy.  And to this roiling cauldron the creative forces behind Star Trek added one final ingredient: a kiss between native Iowan Captain James T. Kirk, the veritable symbol of White male power, and his chief Communications Officer, Lieutenant Nyota Uhura, a Black woman from the “United States of Africa.”

The Kirk-Uhura embrace has been poked, prodded, and dissected by fans and scholars for more than fifty years.  Thus, there is no need for me to do more here than to mention a few major points.  We know that Star Trek’s producers were at least somewhat worried that the episode might cause the loss of viewership in Southern states or even force the cancellation of the series.  We also know that the kiss was not a “voluntary” act because alien beings with psychokinetic powers forced Kirk and Uhura to act against their will.  And finally, the incident could be “dismissed” because it occurred three centuries in the future, far removed from the racial strife that characterized America in the late 1960s.  Contrary to the dire predictions of some, the roughly ninety-second scene did not tip America into the abyss.  It did, however, plant a seed that would slowly take root in the soil of the American psyche: a diverse society that relied upon talent, equal opportunity, and character would eventually overcome one built upon a racial caste system.

Frankly, the thing that to this day bothers me the most about “Plato’s Stepchildren” is not the kiss itself, but the fact that Uhura is portrayed as being afraid of what was happening to her – and that her fear could only be dispelled by her focussing on the strength embodied by a White man, Captain Kirk.  As someone who was raised by two strong, capable, and determined Black women, my mother and grandmother, the idea of a Black woman fearing the circumstances confronting her and having to rely upon a White man for reassurance is even more alien to me than Captain Kirk’s Vulcan First Officer, Mr. Spock.  It pains me to admit this, but even Star Trek can sometimes fall short of our expectations.

Now Senator Harris, like Lieutenant Uhura five decades ago (or three hundred years from now – take your pick), also finds herself in an uncomfortable embrace with a powerful White man.  But unlike Uhura, Harris shows no sign whatsoever of being afraid of what lies ahead.  Indeed, her passion, unique experience, and gravitas are exactly what Biden and the Democrats need to guide Starship America to fulfill its destiny and “boldly go where no [one] has gone before.”

Lieutenant Uhura would be proud. 

Published in: on 12/08/2020 at 17:18  Comments (1)  
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The Gospel According to John

The passing of U.S. Congressman and Civil Rights icon John Lewis last Friday turns the page on an important, painful and, ultimately, redemptive chapter of American history.  As the numerous and well-deserved tributes to Lewis have said, he literally “walked the walk” for racial justice his entire adult life, and most famously across the Edmund Pettus Bridge on “Bloody Sunday,” March 7, 1965.

I never had the privilege of meeting Mr. Lewis; but I was fortunate enough to have heard him speak at Morgan State University in 2011.  Along with several hundred other faculty, staff, and students, I crammed into the auditorium for a glimpse of the living legend.  I admit that I do not recall exactly what John Lewis said that day; but I have never forgotten how his voice rumbled with passion and purpose.  Somehow John Lewis had transported us back to the 1960s during the height of the Civil Rights struggle.  But as was his way, he did not allow us to remain frozen in the black and white images of history.  He reminded us that injustice and inequality are tireless foes, and it was our responsibility to confront them with the same fierce and urgent determination that he and his fellow revolutionaries had shown all those decades ago.

In an earlier blogpost I wrote about my devotion to the Fourth of July and my deep love of the Declaration of Independence (“You, Me, and Freddie D”).  Those words are sacred to me; but they meant even more to John Lewis.  First as an activist and later as a servant-leader in Congress, he held America accountable to the bold principles espoused in its Founding Document.  That, my friends, is genuine love of country.  John Lewis saw our shining potential as a nation; but he also understood that only the intense heat of sustained protest against discrimination would unleash that potential.

It is often said in the African American community that “we are our ancestors’ wildest dreams.”  If this is true, then surely John Lewis absolutely exceeded anything that the Founders would have dared imagine even in their darkest nightmares.  

To the end of his life, John Lewis continued to invite all Americans to stand up and commit ourselves to the fundamental promise embedded in the Declaration: “…with a firm reliance on the protection of Divine Providence, we mutually pledge to each other our Lives, our Fortunes, and our sacred Honor.”  

We have our marching orders; and there are still bridges to cross.  See you on the other side, Mr. Lewis.             

Published in: on 21/07/2020 at 05:02  Comments (1)  
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Morehouse Man In The Mirror

Now, if you’re blue
And you don’t know where to go to
Why don’t you go where fashion sits
Puttin’ on the Ritz
Different types who wear a daycoat
Pants with stripes and cutaway coat
Perfect fits
Puttin’ on the Ritz

Dressed up like a million dollar trooper
Trying hard to look like Gary Cooper
Super-duper

Come, let’s mix where Rockefellers
Walk with sticks or umberellas
In their mitts
Puttin’ on the Ritz

      — Irving Berlin, “Puttin’ On The Ritz”

Morehouse College, one of the flagship HBCUs in the country and the alma mater of generations of prominent African-American males, including Martin Luther King, recently conjured up some controversy by establishing a dress code on campus.  The new policy prohibits do-rags, hats, sunglasses, hoods or offensive clothing in class.   It also bans such items as “decorative orthodontic appliances” (A white female friend who is much more “Black” than I am tells me that these things are known, in the vernacular, as “grillz.”), pajamas, sagging pants, and bare feet.

However, the part of the policy that has drawn the most attention from the media — including a certain Philadelphia Negro — states “No wearing of clothing associated with women’s garb (dresses, tops, tunics, purses, pumps, etc.) on the Morehouse campus or at College-sponsored events.”

Some believe, and I think that they are correct, that this policy is a not-so-subtle attempt by the College administration to control homosexuality and transgender identification on campus.  Homosexuality is one of the most sensitive issues in the so-called Black community; and it is an open secret that Morehouse has a large population of gay men.  For the record, I do not believe that Morehouse is atypical in this regard.  College is (or should be) a place of experimentation and exploring boundaries.  If we expect intellectual awakenings on a college campus, why should we be surprised that sexual awakenings occur there, as well?  Given the generally conservative orientation of Black society, the freedom of expression generally associated with the college campus can be even more powerful for young Black men who do not define themselves — openly or otherwise — as heterosexual. 

By choosing to implement a dress code that at least appears to target a specific population of the College community, Morehouse is treading on difficult ground: the fault line between individual expression expected in an academic setting and the culture of conformity — including the “rules” of what it means to be a Black man.   Though I have certainly ranted against the extreme informality of undergraduate dress and — in my angrier moods — have even advocated a dress code, I find that ultimately, I cannot support this kind of regulation.   While being a “Morehouse man” does carry a certain mystique — in more ways than some would care to admit — attending Morehouse is not, or should not be, like joining the military.   The latter needs to engender conformity in order to prepare its members to undertake the serious business of killing people.   (The armed services can talk all they wish about education and training opportunities; but the bottom line is that they train people to inflict harm upon our enemies as quickly and efficiently as possible.)   Like other institutions of higher learning, Morehouse should encourage the creativity and diversity of its students — even if it means that a few of them look rather stunning in a nice frock.    

Each day I am more conscious of the fact that I am from a different time than the one I share with my students.  I wear button-downs and khakis, and whistle Mozart and Cole Porter.  I voted for Ronald Reagan.  The Establishment works for me.  I like it.   Would I prefer more “conservative” apparel on campus?   Yes.   But fighting for this is a waste of powder.   Morehouse would be wise to invest its resources in the development of young men of character and not the regulation of cravats.    

Ultimately, the late Bart Giamatti said it best when he chose to call his book about the purpose of the university Free and Ordered Spaces.   He believed that on a college campus (and everywhere else), freedom should not be subordinate to intolerance disguised as discipline.   He was right.

Published in: on 21/10/2009 at 13:28  Comments (2)  
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