As a white male from an almost
comically white background, I’ll necessarily walk on eggshells through some of
this. Understand, though, that this is not a commentary on the intentions of
either comedian or their impact on the black community, which I can’t speak to,
but is rather about their respective impacts on my own demographic growing up. I
believe this is analogous to many questions about cultural communication and
generational shift now pressing on the church.
I draw these two comedians into comparison
because, in two very different ways, they have both either chosen to
participate in or have been enveloped by central roles in the ongoing race
dialogue in this country.
Cosby, who was already known as
one of the most wholesome and successful comedians of the early 80’s, became a
household name with is portrayal of Dr. Huxtable, a family oriented sweater
lover, nearly devoid of a rough edge. As a public figure, he has since been an
outspoken critic of black entertainers, athletes, and even private families for
what he sees as not taking responsibility for the problems facing the African
American community and perpetuating negative stereotypes.
Chappelle, on the other hand, made countless well-to-do, suburban mothers squirm by writing and starring in the cultish,
marijuana film, “Half Baked,” then sent them into apoplexy with one of the most
successful (though shortest lived) sketch comedy shows of all time, “Chappelle
Show,” the vast majority of whose sketches directly concerned the issue of
race.
It’s very unlikely that the two
would ever enjoy a beer together, although I’m aware of one occasion where
Chappelle stood up for Cosby when Cosby was taking heat for his commentaries on
the black community.
Whether or not this was
intentional (again, I can’t comment on the intentions behind the show but only
its effect on my community), for the better part of the eighties and well into the nineties, “The
Cosby Show” brought the very wholesome, very relatable experiences of an upper middle-class,
African American family into the living rooms of white suburbanites. No doubt,
there was very little “gimmick” here, the show was mostly reflective of the
real life, middle-class experience that Cosby spoke of in his earlier stand-up
routines. A lot can be said for the family-friendly warmth of the Huxtables and
the show had every right not to openly approach the issue of racial stereotypes
(I don’t want to be heard as saying that a show featuring a minority family needs necessarily discuss racism), but the result of this silence in my
white-washed suburb was that the show basically posited a family that we could
relate to within our own cultural paradigm without having to confront our uglier, if disavowed, images of the other culture. In other words, the show helped me
relate to the Huxtables alright but actually did very little to distinguish the real cultural differences that exist between African and Euro-Americans from the pop-culture stereotypes that simply exist in that ethereal space called "the society" (no one
every really knows who is responsible for them). To be sure, these stereotypes
weren’t given to me by my family or really anyone in particular, and I knew enough
to disavow them, but their anonymous origin did nothing to hide their presence in the recesses of my subconscious
(and I don’t suspect that I was the only one).
However offended some might be by
the show’s over-the-top disregard for boundaries and political correctness
(and I’m aware that those still shaking their heads in disgust are unlikely to
get this point), I believe that Chappelle did something for me and my
generation of white suburbanites, that the Huxtables could never do: rather
than constructing an example of a
family that is far removed from all the worst racial stereotypes that exist in
our culture, Chappelle deconstructed
those stereotypes head-on, satirically drawing them out into the open and
pushing them to their outlandish conclusion. Whereas the effect of “The Cosby
Show” on the national dialogue on race was indirect
and constructive, providing an
example of a family that didn’t match the stereotypes that the white middle-class
had constructed, the effect of “Chappelle Show” was direct and deconstructive,[1]
working from within the stereotypes themselves.
Ironically, rather than simply constructing
characters that break certain stereotypes, Chappelle used Clayton Bigsby, the
blind, black, white-supremacist and the self-portrayed, Wayne Brady, the black
guy whom white people love (so long as they’re ignorant of his seamy night
life), to reveal the stereotypes for what they were. Stupid. And though it
became a little too common for frat boys everywhere to quote even the worst lines
with presumed impunity, we white kids always sensed (right or wrong) that we
were "in" on the joke and that the joke was on us. The running joke, underlying almost every sketch was that any group would ever be stupid enough to hold, however
intellectually disavowed, such an absurd image of another group.
Clearly, many in the black
community found Chappelle’s humor to be a step backward, not forward, but I
believe the overwhelming result of the show in the white community was to
ever-distance African Americans from the stereotypes portrayed. Such is the
nature of satire (and this is why there have always been those that “don’t get
it”) that the joke is never on the stereotyped but is rather on anyone who
would give those stereotypes credence. The more outlandish Tyrone Biggums or
Leonard Washington, the more the stereotypes were “shown up” for the foolishness
that they were. I obviously can’t speak to whether it was appropriate or inappropriate
for some in the African American community to still find these sketches deeply
hurtful. As is always the case with satire, the healing power of pushing a certain
hurtful experience to the limit of palatability can be quickly lost
with just a step beyond that limit. It’s a risk. One could also argue that,
with racism, we’re speaking of something so stupid that it ought to deconstruct
itself with no need for offensive comedy. But sadly it never does. From
Voltaire to Chappelle, history has shown that silence does not deconstruct
bigotries. What does deconstruct bigotries is voicing them out loud and
bringing them to their absurd conclusion and doing it in such a way that those responsible
for constructing them in the first place are not put on the defensive but can
anonymously “get in on the joke.”
Now for what I’m actually
qualified to speak on. I believe that the church is in need of a similarly
deconstructive dialogue when dealing with Gen X and Millenials (far and away
the most underrepresented demographics). There is a reason that Chappelle Show
won an audience with 16-30 year olds but was essentially lost on their parents.
Irony, sarcasm and satire are primary language forms in this generational
culture. If you’re unsure of what I mean, do a quick survey of the Facebook
memes posted by all your friends in this demographic.
I believe this is not unrelated
to the fact that this age group is having to adapt to a pluralistic world in a way
that their parents did not. Many of the latter spent their formative years in
either a culturally homogeneous small town or a self-contained urban/suburban
environment. Sure, they had all heard rumors and stories about these people
called Buddhists and Muslims in some far off land, but so long as they were
still far off, because beliefs are always communally constructed, we could
learn about their different worldviews but still be fairly confident that “ours”
was the “official one.” The situation is very different for later generations for whom
Muslims and Buddhists are flesh and blood human beings sitting next to them in
the lecture hall. Being face to face with someone forces us to grapple with
their innate dignity as human persons in a way we never have to so long as
their existence is primarily mythological. Similarly, not so long ago, “we,”
the heterosexual majority, had heard rumors and stories that there were gays and lesbians somewhere out there, but so long as those in “our” neighborhoods
and households remained in the closet, “we” could all be satisfied that “our”
sexuality was the “official one.” Anything else was a lifestyle choice of
sheer deviance. It’s a different story for the generations of the heterosexual
majority who know many out-of-the-closet gay and lesbian people whom they have
to grapple with as real persons.
Earnest speech can only come from
within the cultural paradigm that I earnestly occupy. What the language forms
of sarcasm, irony, and satire do for us, which earnest speech never can, is
they allow us to distance ourselves from those cultural paradigms, themselves,
and critique them.
My point is that, where whole
generations have left the church because they could find no resonance in its
theological paradigms, the church cannot simply posit new paradigms without
having an honest discussion about what was inadequate with the former ones. Here
is what this looks like in practice. When I’m having a conversation over coffee
with a Millenial who has left his or her Southern Baptist upbringing, it’s one thing
for me to construct a picture of a nonviolent God who is present in Jesus on
the cross, in solidarity with the suffering world, rather than a “divine child
abuser” who put him there in the first place to vicariously punish some human sinfulness. But where I’m really going to earn a hearing with this
Millenial is where I explicitly call out the divine child abuser for what he is rather than trying to skirt around
him like he never existed. To win a hearing with someone deeply scarred by that
pseudo-theology, I actually need to say, out loud, “You can’t worship a divine
child abuser? I can’t worship a divine child abuser either.” If I don’t satirize
that pseudo-god, and only posit other positive images of God, how can this
person ever be sure that the tyrant of their youth isn’t still lurking
somewhere in the background? Even accepting my new content for the word, “God,”
they’ll be forever waiting for the other theological boot to drop. And what’s
true of our need for strictly theological deconstruction is perhaps even more
true of our need for socio-political deconstruction. “You can’t worship the
Jesus of corporate capitalism? Neither can I. And here’s why.”
Albert Einstein once told a group of secondary school math students “Don’t worry about your difficulties in mathematics. I assure you mine are still greater.” In the same way, I often tell those on the fringes or completely outside the church, “Don’t worry about your critiques of the Christian Church. I assure you mine are still greater.” Deconstruction is essentially a truth-telling event. The old testament prophets could not paint a picture of a better future on God’s holy mountain without first deconstructing the idolatries in the valley of the present (See Micah 3-4 or Isaiah 1-2). From the perspective of the idolater, idol-busting is nothing other than confession. Only when we in the church can openly confess all the idolatries of which we are guilty, can we introduce others to the real God of Jesus Christ.
[1]
‘Deconstructive’, in this philosophical sense, means a good and necessary
process by which any hierarchy that is less than ideal (anything that has no permanent
value) that would pose as the ideal (something that has permanent value) is called
out and stripped away for being an imposter. In this sense, abolition and women’s
suffrage were essentially deconstructive events. This term should not be
confused with “destruction,” which in popular usage is always a bad thing.
