“Black is King” and The Global Party
It’s 12:01 am and I just finished another run-through of what has been many times dancing, singing, crying while watching“Black is King” by Beyonce, her second visual album that aired on Disney+ on July 31st, 2020.
Although, I would totally count Homecoming as a visual album because WOW. But, I digress.
For, well, forever, but more so recently for some people, blackness, the absence of it, the abuse of it, the neglect of it, the tokenism of it, has been on display in our newsrooms, chatrooms, social media feeds, and dinner tables (hopefully). But what watching this beautiful masterpiece showed me is that the topic of blackness has always only been discussed as it pertains to the absence of it, the abuse of it, the neglect of it, the tokenism of it. In watching “Black is King”, I realized that I am more versed in the painful realities my skin prompts than the legacy it holds. Why when I speak about blackness does oppression become the topic rather than the beauty of it?
I had a theory pop in my head a couple years ago about this when it came to worship music in churches. It’s like when you go to an evangelical church (i.e. predominantly white, moderately wealthy, usually in a “safe” part of town (if you don’t know if a part of town is safe, ask yourself if you could walk with headphones in through that area after sundown. If the answer is no, then you think it’s unsafe).
In these churches, you hear songs that are more what I would call “celebration” or “love” songs. They talk about how much God loves us and how much we love him. Very much about the personal, individual relationship. You rarely read in the lyrics any plural pronouns. \
And then there’s black church (you know what I’m talking about). In every black church service I have been privileged to attend (and it hasn’t been nearly as many as I wish it was), it’s a different kind of worship music. It’s filled with the soul of generations that have raised up the person singing on stage. It’s like you can hear the choir of legacy in every note. The stories that are told through the music talk about revolution, forgiveness. That acute awareness of sin that makes the depth of forgiveness and love more than what one personal relationship with Jesus could ever hold. It must and does spill out from generation to generation.
Now, I say all this to bring up the fact that watching the visual album was a reminder of that fact. Throughout the film, conversations on what kingship means, the responsibility, the identity it possesses, was over and over again affirmed in every person, scenery, story line, and vocalist. Specifically for me, “MOOD 4 EVA” and “BROWN SKIN GIRL” was the epitome of it. It was a celebration of black joy and black beauty to the highest level. It exhibited multiple generations dancing, living, and breathing the excellence that is blackness. One line stood out to me the most and is the reason why I wrote this: “we were beautiful, before they knew what beauty was.”
In engaging the conversations on race, you must remember something: as a BIPOC, your existence is not being validated by white attention. It is merely being discovered. You existed before this. Your beauty existed before this and it will after this spotlight moment (i.e. when the movement isn’t sexy anymore). And it is not just for you. It is for the generations that will come before and after you. It is honor and it is building legacy.
For white people engaging conversations around race: remember that you are merely engaging something that has been there all along. Therefore, you are late to the party. And that’s fine. It is what it is. But act accordingly. Now that you have arrived, don’t try to act like the party has just begun or worse, that you are the host of the party. You are merely joining in the global party that has been going on for centuries.
You are not the host. You are an invited guest. Come as you are, and let the party be what it is. And allow it to change you and let yourself have some fun. Allow yourself to be impacted.
