On Black is King and The Understandings of Personal and Collective Power
“Life is your birthright, they hid that in the fine print.” ~Beyoncé
There, standing on the edge of sand, rock and water, Beyonce awaits us. In the Year of Return, Black is King returns us to the coast- to our ancestors. As Beyonce stands at the break of the waves with her hands extended wide and open, she reminds us that we exist only because of those who have existed before us. The diaspora has invited us home, and Beyonce welcomes communion with all who identify and so much more: whether you live in Ghana, Guyana, Jamaica, Boston, Los Angeles, Louisiana, New York, or London. Black ancestry and the movement of black people around the globe demonstrates, louder than ever, that home is where all of us are, now. Black is King is a healing experience in which Beyonce and her collective reclaim ancestral power and black governance while claiming land and spiritual space for those of the black diaspora. Black is King is the reimagining of a black child’s future. A future unlike those described in the writings of the Nadir and the Harlem Renaissance: this writing establishes her son’s future and nourishes it with affirmations of curiosity, courage, creativity, and strength by employing the life and stories of Moses’ survival in order to plant the roots of resilience in her son’s future.
Why pull from the stories of Moses and The Lion King? The immediate connection, in light on continuous brutalities and protest, is the threat to young black men and black women in America. If you are unfamiliar with the story of Moses, check it:
The Pharaoh of Egypt at the time ordered that all the Hebrew boys be killed because he feared that one day the young Hebrew men would see the end of his kingdom as he knew it. In a rage, the Pharaoh ordered that every boy under the age of two be fed to the crocodiles. After hiding him for three months as a newborn, Moses' mother courageously put him in a wicker basket and sent him down the Nile River. Traveling amongst the vicious nature of the water and its inhabitants, Moses found his way to the Pharaoh's daughter herself and was raised as a part of the family. After running away from his adoptive family to discover his true purpose, Moses returns home to free the slaves and disrupt the Pharaoh’s kingdom.
Interesting right? The image of Beyonce placing her son in the wicker basket down the Nile renders the impression that the legacy he has before him is much larger than the fear he might have at any given moment. Whether they are being fed to the crocodiles in fear of their greatness, or being shot down in fear of their strength, the black boy is often at the mercy of perils. So where does this journey down the Nile take us? It will take us to discover black identities, self-actualization, and personal power. As a child of the diaspora and a woman close to her roots, the black journey for me is a call and response. Who have we been? Who am I in the present? Who will we be in the future? One thing we won’t be is in denial that there is more than “the picture they paint of us.”
Thus, the images present in Black is King function as a reason to stand in the light of hope, as opposed to the shadow. Beyonce and her collective bring to life black humanity by drawing black culture(s) to the center of our universe. Rhythm, oral histories, spiritual practices, and celebrations around the value systems that have survived today: family, loyalty, morality, and community. Thus, Black is King positions itself at the crux of the Black present and black future. As black men and women are continually murdered in the street by law enforcement, Black is King strives to reclaim black dignity, harness personal power, and encourage a full and free black life. Beyonce’s reminder to her son, and all of the children in the world, that they are “a part of something much bigger” is a call for black people to press on in the face of certain victory.
As Beyonce takes the hand of presumably young Simba, she shares that they will go on a journey, and that is exactly what happens. In images and anecdotes, Beyonce redirects the viewer to the ancestors above. Among the stars, the viewer sees images of spirits in masquerades; in my culture, we call them Ekpe. The Ekpe are the protectors of the community. The Ekpe’s are also responsible for maintaining morality and just governance. In the sky there is safety, guidance, and protection. So when in doubt, Beyonce encourages us to “find our way back” by looking to the spirits that guide us. The imaging is so clear in her milky way makeup, sheer smokey fabric and bedazzlement, and sunglasses that she looks to the ancestors grounding spirits and embodies them as well. Set in the desert, where there is nothing but sand hills and horizon, viewers watch the heavens kiss earth while the moon serves as witness. In a brief moment as the Ekpe’s and stars fade, Beyoncé illuminates the slight connection that makes our legacy and heritage real. And yet, with all that Beyonce shows her audience and with all that black people know about their experience and histories, fear is still present. It begs the questions: “Who are you? And, what are you afraid of?”
"No true king ever dies. Our ancestors hold us from within our own bodies, guiding us through our reflections, light refracted. - Beyonce- “Nile”
Even with all of this written praise, there are still inconsistent aspects of liberation at the intersections of innate black royalty and excellence that is found in black bodies and the messages of capitalism and its inherent qualities. Taken aback by the embellished costuming in my first viewing, it was unclear whether or not the choices made on the visual were an artistic choice or commercial statement as it represents a tone-deaf affluence that ignores the realities of black impoverishment across the globe and made me reconsider the purposes of Beyoncé’s art and her messages in Black is King. Consider this passage from Langston Hughes’ “The Negro Artist and the Racial Mountain:”
But then there are the low-down folks, the so-called common element, and they are the majority—may the Lord be praised! The people who have their nip of gin on Saturday nights and are not too important to themselves or the community, or too well fed, or too learned to watch the lazy world go round. They live on Seventh Street in Washington or State Street in Chicago and they do not particularly care whether they are like white folks or anybody else. Their joy runs, bang! into ecstasy. Their religion soars to a shout. Work maybe a little today, rest a little tomorrow. Play awhile. Sing awhile. O, let’s dance! These common people are not afraid of spirituals, as for a long time their more intellectual brethren were, and jazz is their child. They furnish a wealth of colorful, distinctive material for any artist because they still hold their own individuality in the face of American standardizations. And perhaps these common people will give to the world its truly great Negro artist, the one who is not afraid to be himself. Whereas the better-class Negro would tell the artist what to do, the people at least let him alone when he does appear. And they are not ashamed of him—if they know he exists at all. And they accept what beauty is their own without question.
As mentioned in Hughes’ excerpt, Black and African art plays its strength off of native pride, stories, color, textures, and materials. The power of the art comes from those who embody it unapologetically, who revel in the traditions of their cultures in sound and movement. To be an individual is to exist authentically and not in relation to anyone else. Beyonce’s excessive use of wealth representations often narrows the vision of attaining copious wealth and distracts the audience from her greater message of black dignity. In doing so, Beyonce misses a solid opportunity to interrogate aspects of acceptable wealth in respectability politics and class within black communities. She also misses the chance to revel in the abundant laughter and warmth found in black artists through black art. While it is true that not every black person has access to extreme wealth, and yet not every black person is poor, the use of wealth symbolism to communicate a message of black belonging suggests that blackness is dignified only when it is luxury.
Imagine, the Black American classic like Coming to America has it the year 2020. As shown in the opening visual of “Mood 4 Eva,” Young Simba is on his way to paradise to escape the realities of his responsibility and the fear of his potential ineptitude as a leader. However, unlike everyone’s favorite Prince of Zumunda who journeyed across the Atlantic to America, Simba retreats farther into the paradise of a remote forest, a hidden oasis. As Beyonce and Simba share interchangeable positioning in the music videos, the stratifying nature of black people present in the video represents that power is not shared by all. “Mood 4 Eva” zooms in on Beyonce sleeping as she is surrounded by her personal alarm clock like a violinist, and man at the foot of her bed, and many other people positioned in her room to aid her in the process of getting out of bed. However, as beautiful as it may seem to see black bodies presented on the magnificent clay compound, it begs the question: what purpose do these bodies serve?
At first glance, one could suggest that the imagery of black bodies in luxurious wear and in decadent homes is symbolic of black power, unity, and excellence. It may even be considered true due to the presence of white butlers in the video. Except, there seem to be two very visual conflicts. Firstly, the notion of white people as butlers and maids for black folk is not as surprising as one may think. A point of contention in America has always been the neglect that many working-class and impoverished white people feel when it comes to the country's role in ensuring the birthright of life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness for all of its citizens. Rather than simply swapping places with the social conditions and capitalist standards of a perceived black life in America, the revolutionary vision would be to reimagine what purpose the white body in any form can serve for the restorative justice work needed to uplift and revitalize black communities.
The second conflict I see is with the multitude of black bodies. Although Beyonce and Jay-Z surround themselves with black people in “Mood 4 Eva,” there is still a notion that the bodies present in that home were meant to serve the owner of that home, similarly to our protagonist in Coming to America. This can be seen in the perpetual chess game that Jay-Z plays throughout the video, and Beyonce’s get up at the Good Chess Queen suggests that the subjects on her chess board are there to protect and serve Beyonce and her family. In other images, this concept is seen as the drone journeys over the water pavilion of the house and toward the synchronized swimmers, and the audience sees rows of men in and women in lines leading up to Beyonce as the centerpiece. Similar to Simba and Prince Akeem, Beyonce and the young black king exist in that space simply to be served. The displays of power and unity are all in support of one vision and in the maintenance of one's family's role in the musical world, in social entrepreneurship, and in leadership. In her lyrics Beyonce states,
“I'm so unbothered, I'm so unbothered
Y'all be so pressed while I'm raisin' daughters
Sons of empires, y'all make me chuckle
Stay in your struggle, crystal blue water.”
She ends with,” I promise this is my mood 4eva.” Yes, a mega icon like Beyonce is bound to have haters or people who discredit their work; as a protective shield artists often postulate the image: that they are impenetrable from the negative energy that is thrown at them due to their most deserved success. However, the ways in which Beyonce strives to self-actualize her blackness, identity, and power are volatile and dangerous as it often comes at the expense of other black people who have not been afforded the same opportunities in accepted black beauty, talents, and wealth.
However, the vision of one does not always support the vision of the collective, thus highlighting where “Mood 4 Eva” falls short. Unfortunately, this commentary can also be applied to whether or not Jay-Z and Beyonce’s role in black activism and civil rights in their partnerships with the NFL and Black Lives Matter often fails to dig deeper into action that directly supports black communities as opposed to the simple showmanship of an exceptional performer. Similar views have also been shared about the couple’s continuous support of high-end fashion brands that are perpetrators of cultural appropriation, discrimination, and othering of the same beauty that Beyonce strives so diligently to highlight. Thus, the army of strong men and women that are present behind Beyonce’s synchronous water dancing is similar to the images of Princess Imani Izzi in her entrance to present herself to Prince Akeem for the first time. Decked in gold from head to toe, her community of people all dance synchronously and lively adorned in shimmery colors for one purpose: to make their princess look good so that she could achieve her goals and the goals her family has set forth for their country. It then poses the question, can one be truly liberated without a community perspective and collective action? Ms. Audre Lorde would have to disagree.
Could it be, perhaps, that Beyonce is highlighting the excellence that is ingrained in our souls? Could she be normalizing luxury clothing on black bodies? Whatever it is, “Mood 4 Eva” makes one consider whether or not clothes, money, and jewelry should even be considered as assessments of black life and success. Beyonce’s vision for Black is King highlights that outside of the frameworks of materialism and capitalism, black life is jubilant and rich, and it has a right to live and exist abundantly. Ultimately, through the movements of her stunningly trained dancers, Beyonce describes a message of health and wealth naming our bodies our most prized possession. Culture, dance, movement, and storytelling are just some methods the artist uses to portray messages of power and beauty in “Mood 4 Eva.”
So yes, Beyonce, in my opinion, can be both imaginative and limited in her expressions of black excellence and black life, and it doesn’t always stop her from killing the show, always.
Beyonce continues Black is King with gorgeous images of lace textiles, water, and dance. She brings her project home with the call to action: “it is time already, shine already.” her visual albums flood us with the images of collectives emphasizing unity and strength. Whether it is the grouping of men with strong jawlines and melanated skin, or the daughters of our community in “Water” & “Brown Skin Girl,” Beyonce highlights all aspects of black beauty. From hair, skin, and fabric to affirmations, comfort, and joy. The drums supplement the movement naturally in the hips and flow of the women of the countries of Africa. In the song “Water” the image of the women with water dancing was similar to that of the Ekombi dance of Efik women in Nigeria: “Ekombi is a traditional dance amongst the Efik people in Calabar, Cross-River State, Nigeria. The movements are derived from the motion of the oceans. It is a graceful dance with incredible footwork. It is a dance of peace and happiness.” Her hips and body move, yet her neck remains regal and propped to emphasize her natural beauty and flow of movement. In “Brown Skin Girl” she highlights women of all shades and various ethnicities highlighting the very beauty that many of us have been told makes us ugly. All in all, it's clear, that Beyonce knows the power of the visual. She creates exactly what black women need, an unapologetic acknowledgment of their intense and unmatched beauty, joy, and sisterhood. In just a few songs, she exposes the power of family and generational connections, simultaneously creating a feeling of peace and grounding in tradition and culture that is celebratory and joyous.
I mean, let’s be real, Beyonce does a fantastic job of highlighting affectionately, what we already know: storytelling is the way of transferring knowledge and values through affirmations of self-identity formation. We are capable of rewriting and bringing truth to our image(s), identity, and histories through political and artistic movement, dreams, and hope in the ultimate shadows of doubt and victory, for substantive empowerment comes through family, support systems, and the collective. What a blessing it is to write our own stories of defeat and conquer, of black dignity, and of overcoming. What a blessing it is that we document the preservation and celebration of black excellence and black kinship across the diaspora.
As Beyonce commands, say thank you to the ancestors, for they are the reason you are here now. For those who may love blackness fleetingly, remember that " black is synonymous with glory" and that there will always be a home for you within. We are part of something way bigger because we act for more than ourselves, as agents of collective freedom. Black is King is the rewriting of her son's future. He revolutionizes the legacy of black art and storytelling in the Nadir, Harlem Renaissance, and Civil Rights Writing by demanding a fuller life not only for her son but for all of our children alike.
Gratitude to my Editor Krystal Egbuchulam
