Why I Cannot Watch the Real Housewives of Atlanta
By Ronald Yates
In fairness, I have not watched any of the Real Housewives series, regardless of their geographical location. While all of them seem to have a common thread that runs through the series, the Housewives” of Atlanta seems to take on another dimension. In the Golden Age of Hollywood roles for black men and women were few and far between, the roles they were cast, or more precisely type-casted for, were roles that fed into Hollywood’s racist, bigoted portrayal of black life. Actors regardless of their training or experience were required to bug out their eyes or speak as if they were still the docile slave on Massa’s plantation. For Black women in particular the roles were even more limited, for them the only role available was that of the faithful servants who wholly devoted themselves to the rearing of Massa’s children. During that time Hollywood only seemed to express interest in the “Big, Black, Aunt Jemima. Perhaps Europeans could identify with her, it was at her breast that they fed, it was her who came when they cried out and needed comforting. For these women they were expected to remain silent and dutiful when the Missus had guests; but outside of the presence of other Caucasians, she spoke in the stereotypical loud and aggressive manner. The Master was never threatened by her speech, they apparently found it amusing.
For generations, the image of a black woman was shaped by what was splashed across the big screen or on television. What slavery did not accomplish the media stepped in to put on the finishing touches. Images of black people were carried across the globe as the faithful slave that would do anything to please Massa or the violent runaway who was paying back Massa’s generosity by attacking innocent Europeans. Then of course there was the “Big Mamma,” who was loud and boisterous but never with Massa, but rather just in the presence of her own kind. Being loud with Massa was a cardinal sin that could not be tolerated. In 21st century America, the decision to take on stereotypical roles is a matter of choice.
We now have our own studios, can produce movies that can show us in our true light, that honors us, pays homage to our ancestors. But what complicates the decision-making process is the Good Ole American Dollar.” As it relates to the Real Housewives of Atlanta, when I tell people that I have never watched a full episode, the answer I usually get is ” They’re getting paid, stop hating on them;” but is it really that simple? Money is something that we all require, but I have had sisters tell me that “All money ain’t good money.” That is something we once understood.
Our ancestors left a legacy of hard work, not just on the plantation. Prior to the Trans-Atlantic Slave trade, we built civilizations that rivaled anything in Europe or Asia. In fact, it is widely known that many of the structures erected in Europe were built by the Moors. When the Europeans were looking for labor that could handle the rigors of the plantation, they looked no farther than Africa. While they tried others, none were found to be capable, until us. That effort and strength carried over after the Emancipation Proclamation, we built vibrant, thriving communities like the “Black Wall Street” in Tulsa Oklahoma. Because of the “Jim Crow laws, that prevented us from utilizing the same facilities as our Caucasian counterparts, we had our own businesses we, ourselves, supported. That was our legacy, that was our heritage, but somewhere along the way, we got sidetracked. Our value system changed and the old ways died off with our departed ancestors. No longer is grandma or grandpa there to teach us the history of the proud people from which we descend. At some point, it has all become about “Getting Money.” How we got it became less important; and we looked the other way while our communities became overrun with drug dealers, pimps, and prostitutes.
For the ladies of the RHOA, the roles are simple enough, you don’t need to meet a man in some back alley, nor are you selling Crack Cocaine, Heroin, Meth, or any illegal substance. What they are selling is just a small piece of themselves. After all, playing the stereotypical role of the loud, aggressive black woman isn’t so bad is it? It’s okay to allow ourselves to be portrayed as backstabbers, who are constantly scheming and plotting against one another. I guess the answer is how you feel when the make-up comes off. It is just you and the images in the mirror. I say images because it is never just you in that mirror, it is also the images of all those that have come and gone before you. It is the voices that you hear when the lights go out when you hear the lessons you were taught, all of your life, played over and over in your head. Deep down there is still a connection to even the most distant ancestor… they are us and we are them. If what we chose to do is pleasing to them, if it honors them and their sacrifices then I would say keep doing it. But if what you’re doing is for self-aggrandizement, that glorifies only you, then it may be time to reassess who we are… as well as what and who we represent.
