BET On Us: The Evolution of Black TV

By: Karizma Greene

As a child, I was very impressionable. My brother used to pick me up, swing me around, and call me “SuperBaby” and I ran with that name. Anything felt possible as SuperBaby, so when That’s So Raven came on every morning, I tried to strengthen my psychic vision. I imagined I was a spy like K.C. Undercover or a math whiz like T.J Henderson from Smart Guy— the list goes on. Black television helped shape me, however, the in uence goes far beyond Disney channel on Saturday mornings. I am still Superbaby.

“You May Be Wondering How I Got Here…”

One of my favorite books is Bad Feminist by Roxanne Gay and in her rst chapter she critisizes this idea of seeing people who “look like you”. There is much to be said about this starting with where it all began. This part of Black history dates back to the 1920s-40s when the on-screen portrayal of Black people shifted from blackface to actual black faces. In other words, the radio show “Sam n Henry,” hosted by two white men suited in blackface, was succeeded by the TV show “Andy n Amos,” starring two black men on the come up in America. Needless to say, the show possessed some inherent schemes of racism and the generalizations were simply unfunny but this should not take away from how revolutionary the show was. My grandmother and her generation were nally able to watch people who looked familiar.

Black. Entertainment. Television.

“The problem is that I see people on BET who look like me, but that’s where the similarities end.” (Gay, 5). I fell in love with this book and, in turn, Gay as an author because they both demand more, never settling. But are you really a good reader if you don’t have some type of rebuttal?

Gay centers this portion of her chapter around BET which is home to so many Black shows we know and love. Good Times, Martin, Fresh Prince, Family, Matters, My Wife & Kids, I’m sure you can keep it going. Watching these shows with family, you could nd them saying something along the lines of “don’t that look like ____” (insert name of family member). Whether it was a joke or not we saw each other in these characters. It wasn’t solely about what meets the eye, but rather what those TV families re ected in ours. Everybody Hates Chris gave me a sense of normalcy because it showed that I wasn’t the only one getting yelled at for not realizing how high bills were at the age of 10. We all argued like they did and we all loved like they did. That’s more than one similarity.

Netflix and Hulu

“I wish BET did more to represent the full spectrum of black experiences in a balanced manner” (Gay, 6). Me too. There’s a lot of representation but it’s embedded in some of the same stories usually about turmoil and hurt. When I think outside of this box the show Blackish comes to mind. In the show, Rainbow (Tracee Elis Ross) is an anesthesiologist and Dre (Anthony Anderson) works at a large advertising rm. It wasn’t until I got to college that I realized how fun and important advertising was. These two navigate a modern world where I would assume parenting has gotten a bit harder. In one episode, they had to navigate the discussion of colorism and in another, the n-word within music, speci cally Kanye’s Gold Digger. I still nd myself censoring the word sometimes and I couldn’t tell you why. Nonetheless, this show, among many of today, does the work of its predecessors in inspiring and relating to the current generations. Shows like Harlem, Insecure, Grown-ish, and Abbott Elementary do an exceptional job with reminding me that I have options for my future. I am still SuperBaby.