WASHINGTON — News flash to Jesse Jackson and Al Sharpton:
We are not that wounded.
You’d think that African Americans — who as a group have survived slavery, Jim Crow and racism both hidden and shimmeringly obvious — were Earth’s most fragile people. You’d think we were made of crystal.
Why else would some of us holler murder at the slightest poke? Why would we behave like the kid on every playground who screams as loudly after an innocent bump as he would after a compound fracture?
What’s fractured here is the logic that tells Jackson and Sharpton that jokes in the movie "Barbershop" merit public complaint and censure. All because the No. 1 comedy, which celebrates an inner-city barbershop, does what black, white, brown and yellow Americans do in real life every day:
Poke fun at folks whom we admire.
In "Barbershop," a veteran barber — Cedric the Entertainer — spouts numerous controversial opinions. He suggests that Rosa Parks wasn’t special, "just tired." He insists that the Martin Luther King Jr. holiday should be celebrated by having sex because of the civil rights leader’s dalliances.
"The filmmakers crossed the line between what’s sacred and serious and what’s funny," said Jackson.
"Dr. King is dead, and Ms. Parks is an invalid," Jackson continued. "There are some heroes who are sacred to a people, and these comments poisoned an otherwise funny movie. Why put cyanide in the Kool-Aid?"
Certainly, people speaking irreverently about admired civil rights icons causes some folks discomfort.
Good comedy often makes us shift in our seats — even as we’re laughing.
Jackson and Sharpton must know that. As star Ice Cube pointed out, the barber’s quips are instantly refuted by everyone in the film.
No matter. Sharpton threatened a boycott. Jackson, not content with an apologetic explanation from "Barbershop" producers, wants the jokes cut from the movie’s DVD and video releases.
Hearing about this non-issue, I asked a friend, "Why would Jesse waste time on this?"
The friend just looked at me. "Because it’s his job," he said.
Well, it’s my job to point out that in America, nobody’s exempt from ridicule.
President Bush’s intellect is routinely derided; on "Saturday Night Live," a man portrays Janet Reno. Saintly Mother Teresa inspires jokes.
No patriot was more idolized than Thomas Jefferson. No icon took a harder hit than Jefferson did after DNA testing verified that he most likely fathered slave Sally Hemmings’ children.
Jefferson’s failings may have betrayed his highest ideals. But they didn’t lessen his genius any more than King’s vision and courage were compromised by behavior that was between him, his wife and his God.
Jackson’s complaints might make sense if lesser-known activists — say, Fannie Lou Hammer or journalist Ida B. Wells — were made fun of. He might have protested when a 1997 movie sullied a man who saved at least 19 black residents when Rosewood, Fla., was wiped out by racists.
"Rosewood" depicts John Wright — a married white grocer — having furtive sex with a young black employee and exploiting black residents. Former Rosewood resident Wilson Hall, then 82, insisted that Wright wasn’t a womanizer or user—just a hero who directed him and other blacks to where they could escape the mob.
Wright wasn’t famous. King and Parks are — but I suspect each would object to being held as "sacred."
What’s sacred, they might say, is the spirit King represented — whose tenets get dissed, ignored and flouted daily in American media, including on some black radio and videos.
What’s sacred is truth, which can hurt. Jackson and Sharpton can’t deny King’s unfaithfulness. And in truth, Parks wasn’t as unique as many think — a 1998 Washington Post story highlighted nine black women who refused to relinquish their seats on Montgomery buses but who didn’t spark a movement or become famous.
In her 1994 book, "Quiet Strength," Parks says she was tired that day in Montgomery — "tired of giving in." Somehow, she said, "I knew that I had the strength of my ancestors with me."
African Americans still have that strength. They need it for issues far more pressing than jokes in a well-meaning movie.
Donna Britt can be reached at The Washington Post Writers Group, 1150 15th St. NW, Washington, DC 20071-9200.
Talk to us
> Give us your news tips.
> Send us a letter to the editor.
> More Herald contact information.
