As I sat in dialysis training earlier last week, my wonderful nurse and I realized we’re the same age range and began reminiscing and sharing memories from our youth. She, from Statesville and a vanilla world, I from the ‘Bury and raised primarily in the chocolate part of the city, laughed at similarities and marveled at how although we had crossed over the six-decade mark in age, we didn’t feel like it at all.
I recall one fond memory as a child walking from my home on West Bank Street, up Fisher Street and to the then Center movie theatre, now better known as the Meroney, nestled in the heart of downtown Salisbury. It was unlike the Capitol theater, which was positioned right beside where the Salisbury Post now rests because as a child of color you didn’t have to sit in the balcony like we did on Saturday mornings watching Black Belt Karate Theatre movies. At the Center back in the, ’70s, you could sit down low where normal people were and enjoy a movie. One crisp Saturday, my siblings and I struck out walking toward the theater to catch the new Disney release, Song of the South, I was unaware of the social and political implications of the movie and simply enjoyed the story of Brer Rabbit as told via the solid wisdom of Uncle Remus. Little did I know there was so much controversy with the sanitized view of the post-Civil War plantation life showing the happy former slaves immune to their plight, outdated stereotypes, insensitive racial tropes and offensive terms like “Tar Baby” that led Disney to eventually pull the film from all viewing platforms moving forward. You’ll have better luck finding Teamsters boss Jimmy Hoffa’s body than a copy of this movie anywhere in the United States.
Like Uncle Ben and Aunt Jemima, Uncle Remus didn’t age well, and gladly he didn’t. Marketing experts put a bow tie on the man on the rice box, gave the lady on the syrup bottle a perm hairdo and called it progress, but did nothing to erase the deep psychological pain those images caused skinfolk for so many years. People that don’t look like me, who have nothing invested in these images beyond their taste buds, were angry and indignant that companies fell victim to so-called “wokeism” by showing decency, humanity and eliminating these stereotypes. These are the same people now who have their fragile sensibilities threatened and are supporting the effort to erase all vestiges of this country’s involvement in the transatlantic slave trade. They eagerly support eliminating anything to do with hate and discrimination against people of color from museums and school curricula, saying that by doing so, it keeps white children from feeling bad about their history, as if that’s the only thing that should matter. White America enjoyed and thrived under 246 years of slavery, 12 years of Reconstruction, 87 years of Jim Crow and 14 years of the Civil Rights era, concurrent with 39 years of Segregation but now find it difficult over the last few years under the misguided MAGA administration to allow Africans in America to enjoy celebrating their history and heritage.
As I delved deeper into the movie I enjoyed as a child, it became sadder to know the back story of the actor who portrayed Uncle Remus. Seventy-eight years ago, James Baskett was awarded an honorary Academy Award for his portrayal of the Uncle Remus character, becoming the first man of color to win an Oscar. The celebration was short-lived, as he was not allowed to attend the movie premiere due to Jim Crow laws in segregated Atlanta, where it was being held. Baskett joined a rare club with a short membership list because in 1939, Hattie McDaniel, who was the first African in America to receive an Oscar, was denied the opportunity to attend the Gone with the Wind premiere in Atlanta due to the same racial segregation laws. A year later, at the 1940 Academy Awards, there was a “No Blacks” policy at the venue where it was being held but she was allowed in only if she sat in the rear and not with her famous co-stars of the movie. Not only did Haskett feel the sting of hate from people who didn’t look like him, but it came from inside the cultural walls of his own house as skinfolk turned on him for his portrayal and the theme of the movie. There were mass boycotts and protests leading Baskett to say, “I believe that certain groups are doing my race more harm in seeking to create dissension than can ever possibly come out of The Song of the South.” I know that sting and have felt it throughout my existence. It’s a painful feeling to be told that you’re too Black for white America and act too white for Black America. Sadly, Baskett died less than four months after receiving his honorary Oscar recognition.
I think back to Baskett and realize what he endured was not that long ago. My father, who is still alive, was a child then and probably still carries some of the same hurt Baskett did. I vividly recall the painful indignity as a child in my first brush with hate as a 10-year-old. That was 1975, so again, it was not that long ago. I don’t think much has changed all these decades later, and under this administration, it seems ok to hate publicly now. Angela Davis, feminist political activist, philosopher, academic, author and social theorist of the 1970s said, “In a racist society, it is not enough to be non-racist, we must be anti-racist.” Please don’t pat yourself on the back just because you don’t say the N-word or say it out loud. You have to do much more than that. If more people don’t subscribe to the latter of her comment, my seven-year-old grandson will be repeating the same words of this article five decades from now.
Kenneth L. (Kenny) Hardin is an alumni member of the National Association of Black Journalists.
