Genius: MLK/X
Thank you, but no thank you
I started trying to watch Genius: MLK/X and got 10 minutes into what appears to be a beautiful series. National Geographic does an excellent job of depicting historical events through series. A Small Light, the biographical series about Miep Gies helping to hide the Frank family during WWII, was incredible. It was a familiar story, yet complex in how it developed its characters and told their heartbreaking stories. I’m sure for many, that series was too painful to watch. It depicted a time in their and our history that conjures up a painful past. While watching A Small Light, I wept with those who had suffered so much, and though I already knew the outcome, I still found myself devastated watching it unfold on screen.
Fast forward to last Saturday morning and my attempt to watch Genius: MLK/X. I could already tell that this would be another beautiful series depicting the intertwined stories of these two leaders. The problem? I know too much about the experiences that shaped them into the men they became. These men suffered; the suffering was different, but it was real and present all the same. The origin of this suffering was rooted in America’s racial hatred of Black men and women who fought for a land of freedom and opportunity. People who sought to cast off the oppressive weight of Jim Crow and racial hatred that was weaved into the fabric of this nation and rooted into its foundation. They sought to either escape this land or fully it to be recognized as home, with all the rights and privileges therein.
So, 10 minutes in, we are introduced to Malcolm X’s (still Malcolm Little at the time) mother and father. His father is a fiery preacher who preaches the good news of black liberation, dignity, and self-respect. His mother, a beautiful West Indies woman, is teaching her children the joy and depth of learning. I’ve read The Autobiography of Malcolm X, and reading what happened to this beautiful family broke my heart; I don’t want to watch it depicted on television. Some do, but I don’t.
For so long, Black people have sought to make a life here in this nation, and for too many, this nation has risen up against them to put them back “into their place.” Malcolm X’s life is miraculous in probably every meaning of the word. Most people who endure such vile acts against their families and themselves crumble, and for a while, he did, but few men have ever been so possessed by something that it radically transforms not only their lives but the lives of all they encounter. I celebrate his life and the life of Dr. King and those who sacrificed and suffered on their behalf, but I’m not in the mood to watch them suffer on TV.
I know it’s history. I’m grateful for the stories that are being told. I’m thankful for the quality in which others are seeking to tell these stories, but the heart can only take so much. I love people too much. I hate what this nation has done to people of Color. Don’t get it twisted; many people suffered great evil to get us where we are today, and I’m grateful in every way for their sacrifice. My life is the fruit of the vine of countless others who came before me and lived as faithfully as they knew how to see America fully realize its promises to all its citizens. My ancestors continue to teach me that we’ve come a mighty long way. But we still have a long way to go, and I would rather not be reminded of what our mothers and fathers had to suffer just because they sought a place of belonging for their families and were deemed unworthy of life and dignity because of the Color of their skin.
Thank you, Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. and Malcolm X. No thank you, America. I’m not in the mood.