And yes I know it is only a movie out of thousands, but still it does me well to acknowledge what I saw in the film about noble heroic us….
I saw black city streets. With black born skyscrapers towering over black run cafes. And everywhere black people royal in their bearing as they went about their business asking nothing from everybody they greeted on equal footings in their own country on their own continent. I saw a star who dressed in Benin robes and wore his clothes according to the fit of his African form and not according to the fit of some flighty Parisienne designer more accustomed to dressing wire hangers than actual full figured African bodies. I saw a theater scene where the best seats in the house were occupied by Black doctors, engineers, lawyers, journalists, physicists, artists and where they all sat back and enjoyed a dance performance of Nubian ballerinas in a Congo ballet with a tinge of Harlem poetics in every rhythmic step. I saw a villain in this movie whose evil was in his heart and not the color of his skin, who the hero, a darkshadesofpurrpleblueblack hero, beat down with his words… never once lifting a gun or chucking a spear or pulling out a switchblade, never once saying nigger this or nigger that, never once smoking a joint or stabbing a needle into his veins… but rather, a well educated hero who could write his brilliance into eternity with the tap of his fingers against the keyboards of humanity who was just as much at home in London as he was in Lagos…
And it made me feel good to see us at last, this once, in superhero form, on the channels of their television sets and in the many signals of their countless stars.
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