Earlier this month, I had the privilege of meeting with a student to discuss the possibility of her studying abroad. A part of my role as an IES Abroad Ambassador includes that I'm available to meet with students interested in studying abroad and advise them on what programs or locations may be their best fit. Fortunately, I was able to advise a student on the very program that I attended in my past Spring 2016 semester of IES Abroad Granada, Spain. The beauty of our interaction, which lasted longer than planned in the loveliest way, and the reason I've chosen to write this post is to speak on the power and importance of representation. As a black woman, or as a woman of color period, it is difficult to find spaces within literature, film, media, etc. that provide a decent amount of representation of people like myself existing in these spaces. Alongside this thought, it can be difficult to feel like one has a place in this space because there has never been any real representation of that specific existence. Simultaneously, no one wants to have to hold the weight of being "that one black person," but ironically our roles as the black person who did (insert thing here) can then catalyze further representation. In other words, had I not chosen to be an IES Abroad Ambassador and a resource to students to try to give back what was given to me through my program, that representation would have been lacking. That would have been one less person present.
In understanding representation, we could also look at the word itself. To represent or to "re-present" is also a form of recreating a space to reconstruct what that space looks like. In this way, re-presenting the way black people or other POC are and are perceived, serves as a reformative act to an injustice done to a specific group – when done correctly, of course.
(Basically, I just used words that start with "re" a lot but you get where I'm going with this.)
This is why POC deserve to not only see themselves represented in things other than their brief screen-time in horror flicks or in the rap scene but also in the political scene, in commercials, in plays, on Broadway, on television, amongst the LGBTQ+ community, in interracial relations, in music and media and more. And even in this scenario, on a study abroad website.
When the student I met with told me that she knew and felt she could go abroad because she saw me on the IES Abroad website, my heart and soul were filled with the utmost joy and completion.
I could not believe that I actually was representation for someone. Even though being representative was in the back of my mind when deciding to be an ambassador, it was nice to see that come to fruition.
Let's look at this on a more pop culture scale though, and think about accessibility and representation with Netflix releasing its series on Marvel Comics’ character Luke Cage.
Luke Cage, played by actor Mike Colter, is a dark-skinned, African-American, male superhero whose superpowers include being bulletproof with impenetrable skin and having superhuman strength, and who dons (in the Netflix series) a costume of a dark hoodie ladened with bullet holes. But really, let’s just point out a few obvious facts. Dude is a bulletproof black man in 2016 America… social commentary anyone?
Luke Cage’s costume in the series has been used as a signifier for black power and unity (see Season 1, Episode 12) and also referred to as a tribute to Trayvon Martin and other victims of police brutality. Examining Luke Cage on a macro and micro scale can help show little black boys who don’t typically see themselves as bulletproof, a strong superhero with that representation (I mean, he is essentially Superman without the cape, heat vision, and super breath…basically). So a black man with superpowers, who is Superman but is not exactly Superman… that’s pretty powerful (no pun intended). Also, this series is available on Netflix, which makes it more affordable and more accessible to the masses. Accessibility in relation to representation is a key component; without it, those who are being represented in films, plays, etc. don't even have the privilege of witnessing their representation.
Moving further, Lupita Nyong’o (Queen/Majesty/Blessing from the Universe) serves as representation for darker complexioned black girls (and/or boys or those who don’t choose a gender) in the realm of Academy Award winning, Broadway acting.
Nyong’o cites Whoopi Goldberg and Oprah Winfrey as her inspirations for acting ("The Color Purple," 1985). And Whoopi Goldberg attributes her own inspiration to Nichelle Nichols as Lieutenant Uhura ("Star Trek," 1966-1969).
Nichols was one of the first African-American female actresses on television not fulfilling the role of the mammy or other servant. In retrospect, representation on re-presentation, on representation on representation. Here, it’s reflective and progressive, as good art mediums should be.
When we look at art, whether looking at the way a film is made, who was on the cast, who was on the production team or the way a building is constructed and whose time went into constructing it, it is important to acknowledge each and every individual and the role they had in creating the collective or the end product. This is why representation matters, from moments to when black boys can see themselves as superheroes in a world that would rather victimize them for merely existing, to moments when students find the courage to explore and make their mark in the very world that oppresses them. A constant acknowledgement of the self, a constant proclamation of: I was here. I am here.
Be easy.
- Ashley Mae
