Has each new Oscar nomination and win truly been a signpost of progress, with this year’s nominations finally silencing skeptics and marking another milestone for a post-race America?

I threw a party last year, as I do every year, for the annual Academy Awards show.  Ballots were filled. Red carpet critiques leveled. But it was the Best Song category that provided the real highlight of the evening.  When it came time to perform Three 6 Mafia’s nominated song from Hustle & Flow, I sat on the couch with two close friends, mouths agape, as the ‘Black’ film of the telecast was celebrated with an interpretive dance peopled by “pimps” and “hos”. 

"It's hard out here for a pimp."

Adding the moment to my catalogue of race and Oscar history, I decided I’d had enough. My roommate agreed.  She took off her shoe and threw it at the TV. 

But in 2007, I’m told, things have changed; a historic 5 nominations for Black actors is new proof of Black acceptance in popular culture.   Newsweek even reported last week that after decades of secret meetings, the annual “Black Oscars” ceremony is rolling up the red carpet.  According to one of the anonymous organizers, the event has outlived its utility. “This year,” he argued, “the Black Oscars will be at the Kodak."

Academy voters, the story goes, are only seeing one color this year: Gold.  But can it be true?  Has each new Oscar nomination and win truly been a signpost of progress, with this year’s nominations finally silencing skeptics and marking another milestone for a post-race America?

And I Am Telling You, I Don’t Buy It.

Awarding Black actors allows Hollywood a moment to release the nasty burden of criticism surrounding a highly inequitable film industry

It’s true; Oscar night does play an important symbolic role.  Awarding Black actors allows Hollywood a moment to exhale.  A brief period to release the nasty burden of criticism surrounding a highly inequitable film industry while rehearsing popular stereotypes and congratulating roles that comfort anxieties held by the larger society. 

Black people, in turn, look to one of our own receiving the award as a mark of progress; if we are accepted and applauded on the red carpet, why not off? The gleam of Oscar is a welcome distraction from the truth that life for Black folks in Hollywood and beyond is cause for more rage than rejoicing.

On one hand the increase in nominations for people like Forrest Whitaker or Halle Berry seems like doors are opening.  They’re not playing “Mammy” or an “epic slave,” to borrow the language of Hollywood Shuffle.  But instead of an expansion in roles and representations, it seems that Hollywood has simply shifted the box Black performers have been forced into and allowed it to grow more populated.

Halle Berry is the only Black woman to win an Academy Award for leading actress.  Ever.  None have even been nominated since her teary 2001 victory for Monster’s Ball.  But even those who appreciate Halle would be hard pressed to argue that she stands out alongside a long list of Black actresses, both nominated and ignored at the awards, before and since her win.  (I will restrain myself here, but most notably the film Catwoman should be referred to for skeptics of Ms. Berry’s acting chops).

I’ll save you the suspense.  Berry won in the same manner as Hattie McDaniel.  She played a role that drew on subtle (and some not-so subtle) racist stereotypes about Black women.

As a beat down Black woman who finds her sexually charged redemption in forgiving the white racist who killed her Black husband, her performance was mediocre, but the message bold. And Hollywood satisfied critics by giving a Black woman an award in a role that clearly appealed best to white anxieties about racism and sexuality.

Forrest Whittaker, the wise bet for the Best Actor award this year, shows a different side of this all-to Hollywood story.  Whittaker is actually quite good in The Last King of Scotland.  His performance stands out.  But again, his superior talents are confined to another tired Hollywood stereotype, the Angry Black Man.