I’ve been surprised by the depth of my sadness and shock at the passing of Chadwick Boseman. Yes, I’ve watched just about everything he’s performed in but I really didn’t think I was at that level of “super fan” to feel this kind of grief. Many people keep referring to the impact he had on Black children but I propose that it was beyond kids. Grown folk like me had the wind knocked out at the news of his passing. I’ve had this lump in my throat that makes it tough to talk about him without a quiver in my voice and a tear well up. In part, it is because it came so unexpectedly to those outside his intimate circle of friends and family. But he also died as Black people were already grieving. The grief is deep and wounding.
Over the last six months, so many Black lives have been taken by the pandemic. Our grief has been compounded by the unjustified killings of unarmed Black people by police officers and vigilantes administering their own form of justice. The despair is overwhelming. Nearly every day, there is someone new to mourn. His death, in a time of crisis, feels like the ray of hope slipping away.
I think of how my girlfriends and I (most of use squarely in our forties), got dressed up in our African outfits, adorned a classic Maasai beaded long necklace – something I wore for the first time that day, even though I’d had it for years. We went to dinner dressed that way, watched the movie and posed for photos in front of the movie poster and floor model. The crossed arms Wakada Forever salute was a bonding shared experience.
Yes, it was a fun Girls Night Out, yet it was so much more. I felt seen and heard. There was also the recognition of what has been stolen, lost and damaged by colonization and westernization. . There was validation! Somehow, Boseman managed to penetrate our lives so deeply over the course of the 2 hours and 15 minutes of the Black Panther movie that we walked away feeling better about ourselves than we did going in.
I loved that he deliberately chose to play those roles because he wanted to uplift the image of African Americans, particularly Black men. He memorialized some American icons, and we left the theater feeling as though we knew them too. In some ways, Black Panther, the first African American superhero in “mainstream comics,” symbolizes the Black man’s inherent ability to rescue his own community from internal and external destruction. Boseman — the man — became Black America’s idol. He personified the best of African American men in a country that throughout history has sought to hold them down.
To be young, gifted and black. He was smart, talented and ambitious. He represented the vision we hold for young Black people — someone who figures out how to overcome incredible odds and pursue their dream, even in an exclusive industry that does not always value their worth. Chadwick Boseman spoke to the fact that so many people of color have the same dreams as other people, they have equal if not more talent at times, but they don’t have the same opportunities. And while his words refer to the movie industry, these resonate so clearly with every industry out there.
The grief I’m feeling is for the loss of everything that Boseman represented – a role model, a real life super hero, royalty personified, social justice advocate who fought for equity and challenged stereotyping of Black characters (got fired for speaking up – he was too much trouble), dignity, excellence alive and lived to the fullest extent – loss of hope. Loss of a living example that you too can make it.
Boseman’s roles and life were like the past, present, and future of Black people, Black dignity and Black excellence. – Life, joy, and hope. We shall miss him. I will miss him.
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