-Mukisa Mujulizi
The linear progression of time, while beautiful, often obfuscates one desperately wretched reality; that there is no going back. Like a wave, every moment will come and go, with its own unique make-up, its own pace, and its own timing. The same wave that retreats into the ocean will never be the same wave crashing again. It is one of life’s greatest treasures as it forces us to acknowledge our mortality. But it’s a poignant beauty, one that enables me to celebrate something as inconsequential as the taste of a truly wonderful pineapple or as consequential as the writings of an activist begging humanity for a modicum of respect and dignity.
I deliberately used the word poignant, because there is a sadness to the reality that there is a version of me, somewhere in the past, that didn’t get to heal. The ten-year-old me was quick to anger and judgment. The teenager who sought approval from peers and would try desperately to hide his sources of joy and pleasure. The twenty-year-old me fell in love for the first time but was unable to fully express that love. These are the ghosts of my past, quietly co-existing within me, and while I can give forgiveness to some, there are others lying dormant, awaiting their moment in the light. These versions can emerge and be healed through your relationships, art, music, and stories that remind you of who you once were. Moonlight was one such story for me.
Directed by Barry Jenkins, Moonlight is the tale of a boy who is struggling to exist in the world. This is displayed in three key phases of his life, as ‘Little’, ‘Chiron’, and finally, ‘Black’. I wish to draw your attention to ‘Little’, where we are introduced to a young boy who exists in a world that is chaotic and difficult to transcribe. Beautifully visualized by the shaky camera work and overwhelming noise both the audience and Little are subjected to early in the film. He is not only dealing with external forces, such as his abusive, drug-addicted mother Paula, and the bullies around his neighborhood who seem to know more about Little than Little himself. He is also dealing with internal questions around his identity and his sexuality. It is here where we meet his only friend, Kevin, who has seemingly figured out how to exist in this world. Something the movie implies Little is as equally fond of as he is envious. We are also introduced to Juan, Mahershala Ali’s character, with smooth tracking shots and charismatic navigation of his drug dealing, we learn quite quickly that he is extremely self-assured and well placed as a paternal figure. Ali brings a heart and soul to Juan, as we see him tenderly caring for Little. Bringing him to his home to meet his wife, Teresa.
Here, they feed Little, encourage him to speak, and generally create an environment that is ‘quieter’ and safer than the one he is used to out in the world. This safety allows Little to ask Juan and Teresa about sexuality, more specifically, his own. Here, they tell him that it’s okay to like boys, and it’s okay to be confused about his feelings. It is in this moment that Little realizes for the first time, that there are people and places in this world that will allow him to exist. That will allow him to experience pleasure, safety, and joy where he otherwise would not.
Little is also a very interesting character in that he is functionally aware of who he is and his sexuality. The chaos exists in his inability to marry who he is with who the world wants him to be. It is the battle between the private and the public self. Where some can find solace in the private and struggle in the public, Little is denied these options. It is stripped away from him, and he is never quite able to retrieve it. While this is an all too familiar trope, Jenkins offers a story that critiques on an intersectional level. It is not just that ‘Little’ is queer, it is that he is also Black, and a Black man at that. He is required to follow a very specific Black male, idealized identity.
This identity requires a stoic, hardened performance. One is demanded to walk a certain way, talk a certain way, and emote a certain way. Just as misogyny polices women into a particularly harmful patriarchal femininity, masculinity polices boys and men into harmful versions of maleness. Patriarchy comes for us all, and for men, as Bell Hooks points out, masculinity requires an emotional shutdown. For Little, this reality was beaten into him socially and through his own personal relationships. He also lacked a genuine male model for emotionality once Juan was no longer in his life. Donald Dutton argues “men in particular seem incapable of grieving and mourning on an individual basis. Trapped by a world that tells them boys should not express feelings, teenage males have nowhere to go where grief is accepted”. It is in these moments, the lack of role models, emotional support, and the unstable home that Little forces his truest self into a cave and becomes ‘Black’.
The reason this film will forever remain close to my heart is because I could finally see myself reflected in Little. There was something that felt eerily familiar about us that I could never shake off, nor do I want to. Because despite the seemingly tragic story unfolding in Moonlight, it does offer up some solace. Solace that led me to forgiving my teenage self. You see, while it wasn’t necessarily sexuality I was struggling with, it was still the struggle of my identity. In my performance as a Black man, in an admittedly violently white and masculine space. I, alongside my peers, was asked to exist as something I never wholly identified with. I struggled, like Little, to marry the private and the public, something I’m certain most men would begrudgingly admit to. And Moonlight offered a space to feel the anguish of that reality. It not only legitimized it, it called it out and demanded more, it demanded better. I was finally allowed to grieve. That grief allowed patience and growth, and it allowed me to forgive myself for hiding all those years ago.
At the film’s conclusion, after I wipe away my tears and reflect on what the movie made me feel, I am reminded of what Bell Hooks argued, “To truly protect and honor the emotional lives of boys we must challenge patriarchal culture. […]. To love boys rightly we must value their inner lives enough to construct worlds, both private and public, where their right to wholeness can be consistently celebrated and affirmed, where their need to love and be loved can be fulfilled.”
“In the Moonlight, Black boys look blue”. That blue light represents who we truly are when we’re allowed to be. I beg you to join me in the Moonlight. I can call you Blue.
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