“Little Avery gasps and becomes completely entranced by the trailer. She puts her hand over her heart and says, “I think she’s brown.” Absolutely beaming, the young girl declares, “Brown Ariel is cute.”[1]
In September 2022, Disney released the trailer for the much-anticipated remake of The Little Mermaid. Immediately, social media was flooded with heartwarming videos of young black girls joyfully realizing that the new Ariel, played by Halle Bailey, resembled them. Now, this release had its detractors. In her article for the New York Post, Adriana Diaz reports the following: “Detractors’ comments have been tainted with racism, expressing their disapproval of Bailey’s casting, noting that the original 1989 animated movie “The Little Mermaid” portrays Ariel as being” white.”
What does this response to fantasy suggest when the story’s hero does not conform to the dominant culture? Does it reveal our reality concerning the normativity of privilege and the abuse of power associated with skin color or gender in determining who qualifies as a legitimate hero?
I have a real-life story that challenged and shaped my idea of who a hero is or should look like.
Have you ever experienced a day that profoundly impacted who you are and how you view the world? Everyone does, whether they recognize it or not. I came home after school with some friends, and we all sat at the kitchen table. And like most middle school-aged boys, we didn’t pause as we stuffed our mouths with snacks.
Unbeknownst to me, my father had entered the kitchen behind me, and that day he would not be treated as the hero I had come to love. The person sitting across from me had a clear view of my dad. With his mouth full of cookies, he said, “See, Fraser, I knew you were rich.” I tilted my head and asked, “What are you talking about?” “See, I knew you were rich because you have a butler!” “I have a what?” I said. He gestured for me to look behind me, and I turned around. My father was listening to the whole conversation. Quickly, I turned back to my friend and said, “Butler! That’s my father!”
I still can’t fully explain the look on my dad’s face, but it was a pain I had never seen from him before. It was a lifetime and generational pain of growing up Black in America. It was more painful than other pain I witnessed him experience – a broken limb, open heart surgery, fighting cancer, or losing a loved one. I will never forget that look. It profoundly shaped my understanding of how the dominant culture saw my father, not as a hero based on the color of his skin.
Code-switching is a linguistic phenomenon describing how dual-language speakers switch back and forth between their native language and the one spoken by the majority. However, code-switching has grown to encompass a set of behaviors beyond multilingualism. Code-switching can describe how a member of an underrepresented group (consciously or unconsciously) adjusts their language, behavior, and appearance to fit into the dominant culture. Rah asserts that if our immediate cultural context exclusively shapes our perspective, we fail to understand the background of individuals from different cultures and may inadvertently denigrate their culture. And the challenge is how often both our female and BIPOC leaders have to compensate for this misunderstanding.
I don’t recall what my dad exactly said as he exited the room, but it was a well-rehearsed code-switch superpower to navigate moments like this. A response that the dominant culture consciously and unconsciously forces persons of color to make when the hero of the story does not look like them. A response my father made throughout his childhood, his profession, his marriage to a white woman, and almost every day of his life.
That day changed my life. It’s difficult when you face the kryptonite of racism that your hero struggled against daily. It’s painful to hear a child’s bias, racism, or ignorance because we realize these attitudes are not something they are born with but instead born into. Sadly, we acknowledge that childhood behavior often evolves into adult ideology. In many ways, individuals have been shaped by their culture and family, developing both conscious and unconscious biases of privilege, resulting in the heroes of the story reflecting only those who look like them.
I mean, just think about how historically in almost every comic book, tv show, novel, textbook, and movie, the color of my hero is not represented. The dominant culture has shaped an image of normativity in a culture that shapes and perpetuates us to think of who a hero should represent, look like, and behave like.
So, please return to the kitchen table with me and reflect on the following idea: My father’s apparent material success and achievement didn’t matter at that moment because, across that table, privilege, and prejudice could not see my hero as a father but as a butler, not as a homeowner but as a house servant, not as an entrepreneur but as an employee.
As a child, it wasn’t easy to understand what confronting this would mean with my friends. Yet, it was a moment that deepened and changed my understanding of the gift of who I am as a biracial child and now an adult. It was a gift built into me to learn how to be an advocate, ally, and sometimes shield while being the patient model of resilience.
As a nation and people, we must be reminded of the admonishment in 1 Corinthians 13:11, “When I was a child, I spoke like a child, I thought like a child, I reasoned like a child. When I became an adult, I put an end to childish ways.”
I hope for a better future when our childish ways give space for all of God’s people, regardless of color, to be heroes recognized and celebrated.
Little Avery’s prophetic outburst of her Arial, “She looks like me!” echoes Jesus’s heart in celebrating the diversity of His children as heroes in His Kingdom story.
[1] Adriana Diaz, “Little girls’ reactions go viral amid 1.5M dislikes on ‘Little Mermaid’ trailer.” New York Post, September 14th 2022. https://nypost.com/2022/09/14/girls-reactions-go-viral-amid-hate-on-little-mermaid-trailer/
