Hobbits Are (White) People Too

I was avoiding my midterm the other day, absently reading over the boyfriend's shoulder as he avoided his final, when we came across the following headline: Race row erupts over 'Hobbit' casting. I made him back up and let me re-read the article, and there truly was a row, or fight as we say here in the Colonies, over the race of hobbits.  Apparently, a (former, cuz that bitch was sacked) casting director turned a Pakistani-heritage actor away at the door, telling her that she was too dark-skinned to be a Hobbit extra.

Yes, you read that right. Too dark-skinned. To play a hobbit.  Which, yes I know, is a creature that does not exist.

Did J.R.R. Tolkien wax poetic about the creamy complexion every hobbit has in common? Even if he did (he didn't), is that really integral to the story that Peter Jackson is trying to tell? Somehow I highly doubt it. Somehow I think Peter Jackson is more concerned with slow motion 360-degree pans than with creating a sea of miniature, furry Aryans.

This is just another situation in a long, long list of situations in which a person associated "neutral" or "regular" or "without a message" with "white." I could have said white person, but I think the social brainwashing goes deeper and has a farther reach even than that.  Even my generation, twenty-somethings born in the 1980s, grew up coloring with light tan crayons called "flesh." When I type the word nude right now, you think of a color, and it is not dark.

The film industry is notorious for perpetuating this stereotype.  Granted, we do not live in a color-blind world, and for some reality-based films to reflect anything otherwise could be a great disservice to the viewing public, and the characters whose stories do revolve around race.  But that is not always, or even often, the case.  And let's be honest; The Hobbit is not going to be a reality-based film.  The Hobbit does not even take place on Earth as we know it.  So why does it matter what color skin these creatures have? It's all in how this casting director, and many, many other people, see the world.  Hobbits are white. Why? Because they are. Because they always have been. They're just white; white is what they look like.

The casting director said it herself, in her own so-called defense, "We are looking for light-skinned people. I'm not trying to be- whatever. It's just the brief. You've got to look like a hobbit."

I'm not trying to be... whatever.  Just because you don't say it loud doesn't mean you aren't.  Racist. 

Sent a shiver up your spine, didn't it? That word; scary word. True word.  Be aware of the world around you, lady, how small it is or isn't, and why that might be.  That's the first step. The second step is don't put your foot in your mouth like a doofus.  The third step is don't get fired from Peter Jackson's The Hobbit because you are that unaware of your own ignorance.

Depués de Raza

Awhile ago, AZWiner wrote an upbeat post criticizing the pervasive claim that America has progressed past race as a concept. He disagreed with the assertion that after the Obama administration had been elected to office America officially became "post-race." Of course, he's correct - the suggestion that hundreds of years of othering and oppression imposed by the erroneous concept of "race" has suddenly been resolved simply because America has voted in our first African-American president is absurd.

In fact, it's practically insulting, certainly infuriating - even if you hail from not-necessarily-pasty, white, middleclass-dom (as this Gentleman admits he does, not that there's anything wrong with that). Was Obama's indoctrination a big moment? Absolutely and without a doubt - whether you supported him through the election or not (I didn't - deal with it, hipster fan base). Was it THE big moment? Not just yet, Gentle Readers. Although, I must say that I have no actual clue what the representative moment will be. But, I think I've decided we'll be getting close when society stops using the phrases "latino" or "hispanic" to apply to all representative persons with origins below the Mexico/Texas border (and surrounding areas).

There isn't, nor has there ever been, a latino race. What the term covers instead is a group of people from over 20 countries with different cultures, histories, and anthropological backgrounds. Even in the harsh, cold, badlands we call science there probably exists far more genetic variation than one could traditionally expect between most races - latinos included. This, of course, is probably thanks to a concept we call "traveling." You may have heard of it - it's the notion where someone or something moves from point A to point B for a given distance, regardless of motive or cause. Except, here someone moves from point A to point B, looks along the way and says, "Well, hello gorgeous. Fine weather we're having, isn't it? What do you people do for fun around here?" Then, after a mandatory waiting period, they discover the one thing human beings have been doing for fun since before we could stand upright, an act with consequences momentarily forgotten (or not, in many circumstances), which leads to the discussed "racial blurriness." Had fellow Gentleman Matt Lindeboom ignored his tarot reading, thereby dating and impregnating a Thai woman during his travels, we would have a living example in the flesh, so to speak.

What's perhaps more important than genetic identifiers is our penchant for making race a cultural determinant. We build assumptions about backgrounds and upbringing based on external characteristics out of a need to differentiate the "other" and to have some form of "racial consistency." We create an "us-them" dynamic and then we like to think our assumptions about "those" people are correct. The best representative example that I can think of, at this point, is the claim that rap/hip-hop music is indicative of black culture or that rock is white. Or that all latinos are catholic and speak Spanish at home. The media and Hollywood build on these stereotypes and steadily reinforce them through television, movies, and music. Think about all the spanish-speaking persons you see in film. How are they portrayed?

What's more interesting is that not only do we want consistency, but we seem to only allow people to have a single cultural identifier - particularly if that identifier isn't white or, at the very least, is just less typical. When discussing your cultural background, you could rattle off a slew of ethnicities, but people are going to remember the exotic one and assume that the most prevalent. It probably has its roots in the "one drop" rule - a rule of thumb dictating that if you're only part white, you're generally considered that other part - particularly if you look the part, however slight. And from there, we build associations and reaffirm our own expectations. We apply these expectations to culture, thereby increasing "otherness" and creating this concept we've called "race" for the past however many years.

With that said, there's nothing wrong with personally identifying with a particular culture or keeping in contact with your roots - far from it, in fact. If America is to be the big melting pot it is supposed to be, an element of that is not just necessary, but preferred. Diversity and unity can be celebrated simultaneously - mutual understanding between all peoples can't occur otherwise.

I suppose what I talked about here could have just as easily applied to most other "races." Do you agree? As always, Gentle Readers, post your questions, comments, and concerns below.

What Do You SAY to That?

Sometimes kids expose you to things you wish they hadn’t. I’m relatively certain that my mom wishes she’d never seen “Jizz in my Pants,” but I showed her anyway. And when I was in college, I spent one spring weekend babysitting for a family while their parents were on a trip. Unfortunately, it happened to be about six weeks after the original High School Musical came out. The Disney Channel repeated it multiple times that weekend, and those kids watched it (or at least had it on in the background) Every. Single. Time.

I wish I could say that was the worst thing I heard and saw that weekend.

Now please understand, I like this family. The kids are a little spoiled, but for the most part, they’re nice.  There are four of them, but the older three were mostly able to take care of themselves, and I just had to make sure nothing catastrophic happened. My job was essentially to take care of and entertain the youngest girl (9) and her cousin (11).

NOTE: For the sake of anonymity (and for the amusement of any UMD Theatre kids), any names in this story have been changed. Let’s call the youngest member of the family Little Sally and her cousin Young Jane.

Little Sally’s parents left me some money to take the kids out and do something fun, so on Friday night I suggested we go see a movie.  The three of us piled into my car and headed out to the Hunt Valley shopping-complex-extravaganza to see She’s the Man. (I’m not going to lie, I might have pushed a bit to influence that decision. I neither regret it, nor am I ashamed to share that fact here.) Things started to go downhill as soon as we pulled in the parking lot and started looking for a spot. The girls looked toward the entrance of the movie theater, and upon seeing people hanging around outside (because that, after all, is what the entrance to movie theaters are for – loitering), I suddenly heard from the backseat:

“Ew! Black people! They always ruin EVERYTHING.”

Excuse me? WHAT. Do I SAY to that?! I think I stammered out something like, “They have as much right to be here as we do,” but truly, I was far too flabbergasted to make any kind of response at all, because I had no idea how to react to this situation. I was offended and horrified, but it wasn’t my job to educate/chastise/punish these kids! So I ignored it and we went inside.

While standing in line for snacks, I told them that we were only going to wait once, so get everything they wanted. They had fair warning, but they still decided not to get drinks. When, 20 minutes later, they wanted soda, I reminded them that I was not getting back in line, and suggested they take a drink from the water fountain that was five feet away. (We had already spent, in one hour, half of the money for the entire weekend at this point anyway, which was my primary reason for avoiding over-priced Sprites.)

You would have thought I had suggested they drink out of the dirty toilets. “Ewwww, you are so disgusting! Other people’s mouths have been on that! I’m not touching that dirty thing!”

Seriously? News flash, you stuck-up brats: long before companies started bottling water from the fresh, clear springs of Deer Park, kids drank water from fountains.  I am neither dead, nor a freak of nature for having done so, as you are so strongly implying right now.

After the movie I took them to Cheeburger Cheeburger for dinner. I was fasting on Fridays during that particular Lent (something unfortunately probably tied more to body image than to Jesus, but I digress), and they couldn’t figure me out. Young Jane kept trying to force french fries into my face. “Just eat one.” I took this as an opportunity to explain a bit about how meaningful Lent can be. Their response?

     Young Jane: Oh yeah, that’s right, you work at Beachmont. (A local Christian day camp where I          was a junior counselor and then a swim instructor for a number of years.)

     Little Sally: Oh my gosh, like, EVERYONE goes to Beachmont.

     Young Jane: Yeah, OH, but except they don’t let Jews in.

Oh. My goodness. I calmly explained that yes, they accept campers of any race or religion. Everyone is welcome there, they just TEACH Christianity.

And in my head I slumped in defeat as I realized that these girls were, at such a young age, learning to polarize themselves from culturally divergent groups. A nine year old and an eleven year old spent the evening being racist, rude, offensive, and elitist. Where were they learning this behavior? Probably from their parents. Welcome to your post-race America.

Should I have said more? Years later it bothers me that yes, I probably should have. It just didn’t seem like my place.

And what, oh WHAT, do you SAY to that?