-
Unit 12
A Case of
Patricia Raybon
1
This is who I am not. I am not a crack
addict. I am not a welfare mother. I am not
illiterate. I am not a prostitute. I
have never been in jail. My children are not in
gangs. My
husband doesn’t beat me.
My home is not a tenement. None of
these things defines who I
am, nor do
they describe the other black people I’ve known
and worked with and loved
and
befriended over these forty years of my life.
2
Nor does it describe most
of black America, period.
3
Yet
in
the
eyes
of
the
American
news
media,
this
is
what
black
America
is:
poor,
criminal,
addicted,
and
dysfunctional.
Indeed,
media
coverage
of
black
America
is
so
one-sided,
so
imbalanced
that
the
most
victimized
and
hurting
segment
of
the
black
community
－
a small segment, at best
－
is presented
not as the exception but as the
norm.
It is an insidious practice, all the uglier for
its blatancy.
4
In
recent
months,
I
have
observed
a
steady
offering
of
media
reports
on
crack
babies,
gang warfare, violent youth, poverty, and
homelessness
－
and in most cases, the
people
featured
in
the
photos
and
stories
were
black.
At
the
same
time,
articles
that
discuss other aspects of American life
－
from home
buying to medicine to technology to
nutrition
－
rarely,
if
ever,
show
blacks
playing
a
positive
role,
or
for
that
matter,
any
role at all.
5
Day
after
day,
week
after
week,
this
message
－
that
black
America
is
dysfunctional and unwhole
－
gets
transmitted across the American landscape. Sadly,
as
a
result,
America
never
learns
the
truth
about
what
is
actually
a
wonderful,
vibrant,
creative community of people.
6
Most
black
Americans
are
not
poor.
Most
black
teenagers
are
not
crack
addicts.
Most black mothers
are not on welfare. Indeed, in sheer numbers, more
white Americans
are
poor
and
on
welfare
than
are
black.
Yet
one
never
would
deduce
that
by
watching
television or reading American
newspapers and magazines.
7
Why do the American media insist on
playing this myopic, inaccurate picture game?
In this game, white America is always
whole and lovely and healthy, while black America
is usually sick and pathetic and
deficient. Rarely, indeed, is black America ever
depicted
in
the
media
as
functional
and
self-sufficient.
The
free
press,
indeed,
as
the
main
interpreter of American
culture and American experience, holds the mirror
on American
reality
－
so much so that
what the media say is
is
,
even if it’s not that way at all. The
media are guilty of a severe bias and
the problem screams out for correction. It is
worse
than simply lazy journalism,
which is bad enough; it is inaccurate journalism.
8
For black Americans like
myself, this isn’t just an issue of vanity
－
of wanting to
be seen in a good light. Nor is it a
matter of closing one’s eyes to the very real
problems of
the
urban
underclass
－
which
undeniably
is
disproportionately
black.
To
be
sure,
problems
besetting
the
black
underclass
deserve
the
utmost
attention
of
the
media,
as
well as the understanding
and concern of the rest of American society.
9
But if their problems
consistently are presented as the only reality for
blacks, any
other experience known in
the black community ceases to have validity, or to
be real. In
this scenario, millions of
blacks are relegated to a sort of twilight zone,
where who we are
and what we are isn’t
based on fact but an image and perception. That’s
what
it feels like
to be a
black American whose lifestyle is outside of the
aberrant behavior that the media
present as the norm.
10
For many of us, life is a curious
series of encounters with white people who want to
know
why
we
are
“different”
from
other
blacks
－
when,
in
fact,
most
of
us
are
only
“different”
from
the
now
common
negative
images
of
black
life.
So
pervasive
are
these
images that they
aren’t just perceived as the norm, they’re
accepted
as the norm.
11
I am reminded, for example,
of the controversial Spike Lee film
Do
the Right Thing
and
the
criticism
by
some
movie
reviewers
that
the
film’s
ghetto
neighborhood
isn’t
populated by addicts and drug pushers
－
and thus is not
a true depiction.
12
In
fact, millions of black Americans live in
neighborhoods where the most common
sights
are
children
playing
and
couples
walking
their
dogs.
In
my
own
inner-city
neighborhood in Denver
－
an area that
the local press consistently describes as “gang
territory”
－
I have yet to see a recognizable “gang”
member or any “gang” activity (drug
dealing or drive-
by
shootings), nor have I been the victim of “gang
violence”.
13
Yet to students
of American culture
－
in the case of Spike Lee’s film, the
movie
reviewers
－
a
black,
inner-
city
neighborhood
can
only
be
one
thing
to
be
real:
drug-infested and
dysfunctioning. Is this my ego talking? In part,
yes. For the millions of
black people
like myself
－
ordinary, hard-working, law-abiding,
tax-paying Americans
－
the media’s blindness to the fact that
we even exist, let
alone to our
contributions to
American society, is a
bitter cup to drink. And as self-reliant as most
black Americans are
－
because
we’ve
had
to
be
self
-reliant
－
even
the
strongest
among
us
still
crave
affirmation.
14
I want that. I want it for
my children. I want it for all the beautiful,
healthy, funny,
smart black Americans I
have known and loved over the years.