“It was the Lord who knew of the impossibility every parent in that room faced: how to prepare the child for the day when the child would be despised and how to create in the child—by what means?—a stronger antidote to this poison than one had found for oneself. (...) Perhaps poison should be fought with poison.” —James Baldwin, Notes of a Native Son
We all have superpowers. But we all also have corresponding weaknesses—aspects of ourselves that sometimes hinder our ability to recognize our capabilities. There’s much to be said about the strength of the Black community in this country. Strength that has only increased over four centuries when now-forgotten warriors endured a traumatic initiation in the holds of ships. This endurance has kept our story a story of superheroes, not tragic figures. We endure through our language, our art, our music, our food, and through our heroes historical and fictional: our Crispus Attuckses, our Harriet Jacobses, our Mamie Tills, our Malcolms, our Martins, our Angela Davises, our Nina Simones, our Lorraine Hansberrys, our August Wilsons, our Luke Cages, our Storms, our T’challas. We know these names because of the power in their voices to scream out the resilience of Black souls. A resilience that assures us and the world that if we fall down, we get back up again. Even as we watch our brothers and sisters shot down. For every Black child, there’s an epiphany. A moment when they realize they must work twice as hard to earn half as much. They learn they must behave a certain way in public
because no matter what, someone is always waiting to label them as “angry,” “hostile,” or “violent.” After the murder of George Floyd in 2020, of course, there was rage and a desire in people to go out and tear down the entire system. Some may have thought no one person could change the word. However, Floyd’s daughter Ginna, only six years old then, said proudly, “Daddy changed the world.” But as a consequence, she was a fatherless child. Despite what others may believe, grief does not define this community. Floyd’s death was the epitome of a 21stcentury lynching. But Ginna’s smile in the most horrendous circumstance is the biggest weapon against racial injustice. Black joy is magic, and this magic is real. Real as any of the stories in the media about the injustice and violence our community faces daily.
HELLYOUTALMBOUT
So, yes, our play is about superheroes. It is also a call to action. And through that call, we also hope there is some celebration here. And the next time someone questions whether being Black is a superpower, ask them, “HELLYOUTALMBOUT?” —Austin Riffelmacher, Production Dramaturg
LANGSTON HUGHES FESTIVAL OF NEW WORK | 2023–24 SEASON