I finally watched Selma, the fine 2014 film directed by Ava Duvernay. The film has been rightly praised for its artistry and criticized for the liberties it takes with history, and I don’t have a lot to add on either front.
Yes, Selma fails as history — but history is not the point. Historical fictions are never completely about the time they portray; they are about the time in which they are made. This is a problem with most historical fictions that focus on real historical figures (as opposed to placing a story within a historical backdrop). There often is a need to take “dramatic license” — in this case amping up the contrast between the Rev. Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. and President Lyndon Johnson? LBJ was supportive of voting rights as early as January, two months before Selma march, but wanted to wait. He says so in the film, but his motivations are questioned — and his actions as the film unfolds portray him as being little different than others. Historian David Kaiser, in Time magazine, writes that Johnson opposed the efforts of J. Edgar Hoover to tear down King and that
King himself wrote, in the midst of these events, that while he and Johnson’s approaches to civil rights were far from identical, he had no doubt at all that Johnson was trying to solve the problem of civil rights “with sincerity, realism and, thus far, with wisdom.”
And yet, this lack of historical accuracy does not undercut the film’s credibility. That’s because the history, ultimately, is less important than what the film says about our present moment. It is in some respects an impressionistic approach — I realized this when King (played by David Oleyowo) eulogizes Jimmie Lee Jackson, after Jackson was shot dead by Selma police officers in a black diner. The death and King’s comments are key to understanding the film’s thesis and to my realization that it is very much a film about today’s racial politics.
King’s speech in Selma — which is a rewrite of King’s actual words (DuVernay was prevented from using King’s actual words) — offers film’s thesis and makes it clear that it is only nominally a movie about the Selma march.
“Who murdered Jimmie Lee Jackson? Every white lawman who abuses the law to terrorize. Every white politician who feeds on prejudice and hatred. Every white preacher who preaches the Bible and stays silent before his white congregation. Who murdered Jimmie Lee Jackson? Every Negro man and woman who stands by without joining this fight as their brothers and sisters are brutalized, humiliated, and ripped from this Earth.”
The speech — perhaps not as poetic as King’s own words — is true to his arguments in 1965, but also echoes even borrows from the language of #BlackLivesMatter. It is a contemporary speech, one that could have been delivered at any of the all-too-numerous funerals of unarmed black men killed by police.
Kaiser’s other critiques — that white characters are presented as either evil or weak — may be true. And he may be right that it is an overreaction to so many other films that present white characters as the savior of African Americans. And the white characters are presented mostly as props. But this is not a film about white America or even about America in1965; it is about the desires, the needs, the determination of blacks at a time when, despite a black man being in the White House, they continue to face existential threats and are forced to live in poverty largely because of their skin color. I would have preferred accuracy but, as I said, the film is only nominally concerned with history. It is about where we are today and what needs to happen going forward. This is a film about empowerment and the need for agitation at a time when our focus has been institutional.
Progressive movements, including those for civil rights, have ossified into lobbying actions and a struggle for endorsements. Kaiser accuses the film of “contribut(ing) to a popular but mistaken view of how progress in the United States can occur.”
The civil rights movement won its greatest triumphs in the 1950s and 1960s by working through the system as well as in the streets; by finding allies among white institutions such as labor unions, universities and churches; and by appealing to fundamental American values. Beginning in the late 1960s a very different view began to take hold: that white people were hopelessly infected by racism and that black people could and should depend only on themselves.
This is a rash simplification, which contributes to the failures we have witnessed over the last several decades, summed up by the white backlash movement that remade efforts to redress historical wrongs into a competition between blacks and poor whites. Yes, the Black Power movement came into being at this time, but so did a new black political class. And it wasn’t the Black Power movement that stalled civil rights — it was J. Edgar.Hoover’s FBI, Richard Nixon’s Southern Strategy, the backlash against busing, Ronald Reagan’s coded race language, and so on, culminating with our new president playing footsy with the racist right.
As this backlash continued, civil rights leaders played an institutional game. There continued to be black separatists — like Louis Farrakhan — and a debate over methods (see Do the Right Thing and Randall Kennedy in Harper’s in 2015), but the institutional approach — the Washington lobbying, the focus on working the system from the inside, was winning out.
There have been successes — black and brown people elevated to high offices, including Barack Obama to the presidency; the dismantling of legal segregation — but progress first slowed, then stalled, and, in recent years, was rolled back.
I come to this, obviously, from the outside, as a relatively privileged white man, as a journalist, a writer. But the realities are hard to ignore, including the continued killings of black men (and women) by police, the rolling back of the voting rights act, the higher rates of unemployment and poverty among black and brown Americans — and the ready argument, made by too many whites, that this economic reality is a function of personal character and not systematic.
Selma makes the argument that on-the-ground activism is an integral element to creating real change, that it is as important as the institutional approach, that the creation of tension — King’s word — and moral momentum are necessary to get the public involved and force the political classes to act.
In this way, it can be viewed as an endorsement of the #BlackLivesMatter movement and an indictment of the inside-only efforts of mainstream progressives who were blindsided by the failures of the Hillary Clinton campaign.
African Americans, Latinos, Muslims, women, progressives need political power — I.e., representation in Washington and the state capitals. We need to turn out and vote. But we also need to reclaim the public space, which is what the Southern Christian Leadership Conference and Student Nonviolent Coordinating Committee accomplished in Selma. #BLM’s efforts, Latino marches and work stoppages, Fight for Fifteen rallies, and widespread protests like those that took place Saturday around the nation and the globe will help generate the kind of moral clarity we need and push people to the polls and ultimately change the political climate. I finally watched Selma, the fine 2014 film directed by Ava Duverny. The film has been rightly praised for its artistry and criticized for the liberties it takes with history, and I don’t have a lot to add on either front.
Yes, Selma fails as history — but history is not the point. Historical fictions are never completely about the time they portray; they are about the time in which they are made. This is a problem with most historical fictions that focus on real historical figures (as opposed to placing a story within a historical backdrop). There often is a need to take “dramatic license” — in this case amping up the contrast between the Rev. Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. and President Lyndon Johnson? LBJ was supportive of voting rights as early as January, two months before Selma march, but wanted to wait. He says so in the film, but his motivations are questioned — and his actions as the film unfolds portray him as being little different than others. Historian David Kaiser, in Time magazine, writes that Johnson opposed the efforts of J. Edgar Hoover to tear down King and that
King himself wrote, in the midst of these events, that while he and Johnson’s approaches to civil rights were far from identical, he had no doubt at all that Johnson was trying to solve the problem of civil rights “with sincerity, realism and, thus far, with wisdom.
And yet, this lack of historical accuracy does not undercut the film’s credibility. That’s because the history, ultimately, is less important than what the film says about our present moment. It is in some respects an impressionistic approach — I realized this when King (played by David Oleyowo) eulogizes Jimmie Lee Jackson, after Jackson was shot dead by Selma police officers in a black diner. The death and King’s comments are key to understanding the film’s thesis and to my realization that it is very much a film about today’s racial politics.
King’s speech in Selma — which is a rewrite of King’s actual words (DuVernay was prevented from using King’s actual words) — offers film’s thesis and makes it clear that it is only nominally a movie about the Selma march.
Who murdered Jimmie Lee Jackson? Every white lawman who abuses the law to terrorize. Every white politician who feeds on prejudice and hatred. Every white preacher who preaches the Bible and stays silent before his white congregation. Who murdered Jimmie Lee Jackson? Every Negro man and woman who stands by without joining this fight as their brothers and sisters are brutalized, humiliated, and ripped from this Earth.”
The speech — perhaps not as poetic as King’s own words — is true to his arguments in 1965, but also echoes even borrows from the language of #BlackLivesMatter. It is a contemporary speech, one that could have been delivered at any of the all-too-numerous funerals of unarmed black men killed by police.
Kaiser’s other critiques — that white characters are presented as either evil or weak — may be true. And he may be right that it is an overreaction to so many other films that present white characters as the savior of African Americans. And the white characters are presented mostly as props. But this is not a film about white America or even about America in1965; it is about the desires, the needs, the determination of blacks at a time when, despite a black man being in the White House, they continue to face existential threats and are forced to live in poverty largely because of their skin color. I would have preferred accuracy but, as I said, the film is only nominally concerned with history. It is about where we are today and what needs to happen going forward. This is a film about empowerment and the need for agitation at a time when our focus has been institutional.
Progressive movements, including those for civil rights, have ossified into lobbying actions and a struggle for endorsements. Kaiser accuses the film of “contribut(ing) to a popular but mistaken view of how progress in the United States can occur.”
The civil rights movement won its greatest triumphs in the 1950s and 1960s by working through the system as well as in the streets; by finding allies among white institutions such as labor unions, universities and churches; and by appealing to fundamental American values. Beginning in the late 1960s a very different view began to take hold: that white people were hopelessly infected by racism and that black people could and should depend only on themselves.
This is a rash simplification, which contributes to the failures we have witnessed over the last several decades, summed up by the white backlash movement that remade efforts to redress historical wrongs into a competition between blacks and poor whites. Yes, the Black Power movement came into being at this time, but so did a new black political class. And it wasn’t the Black Power movement that stalled civil rights — it was J. Edgar.Hoover’s FBI, Richard Nixon’s Southern Strategy, the backlash against busing, Ronald Reagan’s coded race language, and so on, culminating with our new president playing footsy with the racist right.
As this backlash continued, civil rights leaders played an institutional game. There continued to be black separatists — like Louis Farrakhan — and a debate over methods (see Do the Right Thing and Randall Kennedy in Harper’s in 2015), but the institutional approach — the Washington lobbying, the focus on working the system from the inside, was winning out.
There have been successes — black and brown people elevated to high offices, including Barack Obama to the presidency; the dismantling of legal segregation — but progress first slowed, then stalled, and, in recent years, was rolled back.
I come to this, obviously, from the outside, as a relatively privileged white man, as a journalist, a writer. But the realities are hard to ignore, including the continued killings of black men (and women) by police, the rolling back of the voting rights act, the higher rates of unemployment and poverty among black and brown Americans — and the ready argument, made by too many whites, that this economic reality is a function of personal character and not systematic.
Selma makes the argument that on-the-ground activism is an integral element to creating real change, that it is as important as the institutional approach, that the creation of tension — King’s word — and moral momentum are necessary to get the public involved and force the political classes to act.
In this way, it can be viewed as an endorsement of the #BlackLivesMatter movement and an indictment of the inside-only efforts of mainstream progressives who were blindsided by the failures of the Hillary Clinton campaign.
African Americans, Latinos, Muslims, women, progressives need political power — I.e., representation in Washington and the state capitals. We need to turn out and vote. But we also need to reclaim the public space, which is what the Southern Christian Leadership Conference and Student Nonviolent Coordinating Committee accomplished in Selma. #BLM’s efforts, Latino marches and work stoppages, Fight for Fifteen rallies, and widespread protests like those that took place Saturday around the nation and the globe will help generate the kind of moral clarity we need and push people to the polls and ultimately change the political climate.
Send me an e-mail.
Hank Kalet 