Читать книгу Black Women's Health - Michele Tracy Berger - Страница 11

Film and television representations of Black women’s and girls’ health, especially in the context of mother (and mother-like figures) and daughter relationships, have had some important and key moments. The translation of the critically acclaimed novel Push by the writer Sapphire into the surprising, commercially successful film Precious marked a new cinematic moment for representing a wide variety of health issues in the African American community. Director Lee Daniels tackles subject matter that is not typical Hollywood fare. Daniels was the first African American male director to win an Oscar for a feature-length film award. The lead actress, Gabourey Sidibe, was nominated for an Oscar for Best Actress, and star Monique, who portrayed Precious’s mother, won the Oscar for Best Supporting Actress. The film examines the legacy of intergenerational sexual trauma, violence of many varieties, and poverty. It follows Precious, the lead character, a dark-skinned, heavy-set young woman with almost no material resources, through a painful and difficult journey of self-discovery. The film raises many issues that are connected to health, including physical abuse, sexual violence, and obesity.

Much of the popular response in the African American community was divided, with some voicing their concerns that it reinforced stereotypes about Black parenting and demonized marginalized urban communities.57 Others thought that it raised issues about color prejudice and structural inequalities in a particularly powerful, compelling, and aesthetically pleasing way.58 I agree with Mia Mask’s assertion that the film and its reception by both viewers and critics warrant a deeper reading beyond ideas of offensive or negative and positive representation.59 The film provides opportunities for critical engagement with multiple facets of Black women’s and girls’ health. Precious’s struggle with eating, sexual abuse, and being HIV-positive is particularly salient.

In the film, Precious faces the consequences of being sexually abused by both of her parents and contracting HIV from her father. Although the film, unlike the novel, tends to focus on the individual experiences of the character that are disconnected from structural conditions, it creates a place for the viewer to question the role of fast-food chain McDonald’s and the ways in which healthy foods are unavailable to Precious and her community. The victimization of Precious and her response to stress by overeating and binging provide a corrective to the more popular notion that eating challenges are solely the domain of white and upper-middle-class women. The film also shifts the terrain away from the dominant discussions of bulimia and anorexia nervosa as the default way of understanding women’s relationship with food and disordered eating and instead turns to “eating problems,” as first identified by sociologist Becky Thompson in her work with a diverse group of women.60 The eating problems that Thompson identifies through qualitative research are located within structures of oppression that the women face, including homophobia, classism, and racism. Investigating eating problems as an outcome of intersectional and complex factors gives space for fewer individualized diagnoses and greater community concern. As psychologist Susan Albers argues, “Precious’s excessive weight and eating plays a central role in the movie. Aspects of the story help illuminate many of the reasons emotional, physical, and particularly sexual abuse, are risk factors for eating disorders.”61 In presenting Precious’s struggle, the film challenges the more familiar narrative of control and morality, which are often central to the stigmatization of obesity, and instead shifts inquiry to the effects of intergenerational trauma.

Precious tackles familial sexual abuse and its connection to HIV. Precious is repeatedly raped by her father and sexually abused by her mother, yet she is blamed by her mother for her own victimization. The mother is as much a victim of long-sustained trauma as her daughter is, a portrayal that audiences do not often see. It raises complex issues of sacrifice and surrender. Like her father, Precious contracts HIV. HIV is still a major threat for African American communities, and this representation reignited discussion about the role of incest and sexual violence as a pathway for HIV, especially in lower-resourced African American communities. According to a 2016 study undertaken by Black Women’s Blueprint, close to 70% of their participants had experienced sexual abuse before reaching the age of 18. Sexual violence in the home can be a pathway to HIV transmission. So, Precious represents a hyper-real cautionary tale about the intertwined legacies of sexual violence, HIV, and poverty.

In the last few years, we find similar tropes across television and film that include frank discussions about incest and sexual violence involving mothers and mother figures that are worth contemplating. Mother and daughter dynamics are at play on the popular TV series, How to Get Away with Murder, starring Viola Davis as Annalise Keating, the talented lawyer who is also an alcoholic and suffers from angry outbursts and possibly Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder. In the second season, it is revealed that Annalise was repeatedly molested by her uncle when she was a child. Her father was often absent because he was out of town and was an alcoholic. Cicely Tyson plays her mother and reveals that she knew that Annalise was being abused, although she did not acknowledge it at the time. As the season unfolds, it is made clear that her mother remedied the situation by setting the house on fire while the uncle was inside, killing him. Annalise is shocked and surprised by this revelation. This becomes part of the larger story and continues to unfold with a hostile confrontation with her father. What is interesting about this revelation is that the mother is unable to understand why Annalise might still be angry and upset, as if that one major act would absolve all of her daughter’s complex emotions.

In the third season, Annalise had a major reversal of fortune when she was placed in jail on suspicion of murder. She confronts her father while in jail by revealing that his brother molested her. She suggests that she understands the connection between past and current trauma by saying, “You think that has nothing to do with me being here?” He deflects and states, “We are all in pain.” By leveling her comment, it puts the viewer in the role of sympathizing with the father and with the status quo. It minimizes the impact of sexual trauma and reduces it to another kind of pain without recognizing and encouraging a more empathetic view. A more empathetic view does not excuse Annalise from her many misguided (and often criminal) actions but would allow for a nuanced consideration of the costs of living with this secret and the shame it engenders. Such consideration would also highlight how her history of sexual abuse explains the context of her other intimate relationships, like her marriage to a husband who cheated on her and her inability to emotionally connect with lovers. The show does present these as connected, but I would argue it does not fully challenge the more status quo assumption that sexual assault can “just be gotten over with” without a long-term engagement. Early in the season, Annalise does not reveal her experience of sexual violence to anyone outside of her family sphere. At times she recognizes she is a survivor but is unable to consciously act on that knowledge and seek help. Season 3 depicts a reversal of these trends when her father acknowledges her trauma, and although Annalise begins to refer to what has happened to her, still she struggles with shame and self-loathing.

Others have written on the mental health of Annalise and the threads of the “Black Superwoman” stereotype that, despite ongoing trauma “suffered at the hands of her husband, family and even students, she continues to march on,” advancing her career and helping others.62 The character is portrayed as super tough, both by her own naming and the way others see her. Those around Annalise both vilify and exalt her for these traits, which feeds into the trope of the isolated strong Black woman. Nsenga Burton goes on to argue that for some viewers, watching this character can reinforce the very real-world idea “that seeking professional help, attempting radical self-care, or taking time to heal from trauma is of no benefit to Black women.”63 I would agree that in seasons one and two of the series, a struggle exists between representing the view that childhood sexual abuse can and does have a long-term impact on mental and physical health and the view that a survivor’s revelation and disclosure within the family is sufficient.

Despite the show’s inconsistent narrative, I would argue that the viewer comes to recognize that Annalise is increasingly unable to cope and, despite her outward bravado, the challenges of shame, low self-worth, and trauma related to sexual violence threaten to destroy her and cannot be justified as simply being about her personality. Indeed, her journey through season three is one of recovery and redemption. This trend continues in seasons four and five, and offers through backstory the deep challenges of shame, low self-worth, and trauma that define Annalise.

Although it is not uncommon for television shows to portray incest and childhood sexual abuse, it is striking that two very different and popular shows, both featuring Black actresses, have played with this theme in the last few years. In the Netflix production of Luke Cage, politician Mariah Dillard, played by Alfre Woodward, carries resentment toward her aunt who raised both her and her cousin Cornell “Cottonmouth” Stokes, played by Mahershala Ali. As the story evolves, there is notable tension and antagonism between her and Cottonmouth. They were raised in the same household by an aunt and uncle who were involved heavily in crime. Cottonmouth believes that she was favored, but what is revealed to the audience is that she was moved out of the house and sent to boarding school to avoid additional sexual violence by her uncle. Mariah harbors deep resentment because she felt removed from the family and abandoned, forced to adapt to a different community and culture in boarding school. Toward the end of the first season, in a heated encounter and argument between her and Cottonmouth, he says, “You enjoyed it.” This is an odious comment, yet often a common experience that survivors must learn to cope with. She, in a moment of blind rage, strikes him and he loses his balance and is thrown through an office window, falling several stories from the balcony. Mariah, who has accidentally caused his fall, continues to rage as she comes downstairs, and in a spectacular and excessive amount of force, repeatedly strikes him and screams, “I didn’t ask for it.” Others have written about this moment as one that serves to allow the character (and audience) to recognize that she is a killer despite her well-groomed self-image.64 I argue there is something more that resonates with the viewer that is specific to the nature of the offense. Telling the truth breaks something loose that is both ugly and cathartic for the character and the spectator. This strikes me as a powerful moment that replays the larger narrative of women, especially Black women as sexual survivors wanting and inviting their abuse and stands out as a powerful counternarrative.

In surveying this celluloid terrain, what is striking are the less common depictions of the struggles that many women in my focus groups face with their own health challenges, including managing diabetes, chronic heart conditions, the rigors of learning new recipes for a healthier diet, or the concerns they have about keeping their daughters at a healthy weight. We see fewer depictions of everyday health challenges that mark many African American women’s and girls’ experiences of health. We also see few depictions of the racial and gender health disparities that map onto Black women’s experiences accessing medical care, which is also a theme among respondents. While it is notable that important health issues like HIV and sexual violence (and, increasingly, mental health issues)65 are becoming more common in media, there are still several gaps in representation of the mundane and daily health issues faced by many.