The loss of Chadwick Boseman shocks me, as I’m sure it does you. First of all, 43 is too young to die. I’m old enough to have been his father, and my heart goes out to his family and those who loved him, who now must cope with their loss.
Like many people, I first became aware of Chadwick Boseman upon the release of Captain America: Civil War in 2016 and his subsequent solo film Black Panther in 2018.
I grew up a stone science fiction fan. The SF and fantasy I consumed in my youth was overwhelmingly white. It was written by white (male) writers for white (male) audiences, and usually assumed a future controlled and directed by white men. I never even noticed. I accepted it, unthinkingly, as the way of the world.
I recall that time now, and I am saddened to think of my Black peers who may not have been able to get into SF the way I did and have their minds and perspectives stretched the way mine were, because they were ground down by the weariness of constantly having to pretend to be white as the price of admission into those imaginative realms.
This is not to say that a reader (or filmgoer or TV viewer) can’t identify with a character of a different race. Of course we can, and we all do. But being asked to set aside one’s own identity, over and over again, in order to adopt the same other identity, over and over again, must wear down even the most committed fan, after a while.
No one should be asked to do such a thing all the time. But everyone should do it some of the time. White audiences are not well served either, when they are constantly offered up only comforting reflections of themselves, even in their fantasies, and never challenged to imagine something (or someone) different. This is why we need diversity in our stories and entertainments.
And this is what made Black Panther so groundbreaking. For white people like me, it gave us Black role models to look up to, Black fantasy figures who were wiser, nobler, and more generous than we were. We were left with a powerful and unfamiliar mix of emotions. For many of us, it was a first-time experience and a breath of fresh air. And it wasn’t even our movie.
A whole other rush of emotions then came over us as we watched the reactions of our Black neighbors. I still remember all those smiling faces, Wakanda salutes, and people lining up to take selfies in front of cardboard cutouts of the film’s characters in the movie theater lobbies. You would have to have a heart of stone to see such overflowing joy and not feel moved.
Black Panther was embraced by African Americans, and while they surely played a large role in its success, I am certain it was not Black audiences and Black ticket sales alone that made it the highest-grossing solo superhero film of all time.
It was Ryan Coogler’s vision and a spectacular cast that made Black Panther work so well, but at the center of it all stands the performance of Chadwick Boseman. The dignity and gravity of his performance as T’Challa (along with Michael B. Jordan’s as Killmonger) is the foundation that supports the film and turns a fantasy into a statement.
And now we all feel a whole new rush of emotion upon learning that Chadwick Boseman did all this while privately, secretly, battling stage IV colon cancer. What a generous gift he gave us all, at a time when anyone would have forgiven him for focusing on his own well being.
Rest in power, Chadwick Boseman. We will not forget.