As I watched, however, I could not help but notice that the pride I felt was tinged with another, less positive emotion. For virtually all of the icons in the 90-second clip, I also could recount examples of how many of these same heroes were pressured into silence — to not use their wisdom, prominence and sense of justice — and not apply systemic critiques of American society and advocate for equality.
Like the dubious advice once offered to Google’s “most searched athlete” LeBron James — after he criticized President Donald Trump — prominent African Americans should “shut up and dribble.”
I suspect many black Americans will know the feeling — our talents are often appreciated until we apply those same skills toward advocating for social change.
I often remind people around the Martin Luther King Jr. holiday that the Dr. King — a central focus of Google’s “most searched movement” — we remember is a revision of how he was viewed at the time of his assassination.
While we reflect on the image of thousands of peaceful protesters on the National Mall gathered in 1963, we overlook the fact that King was under constant threat of violence and FBI surveillance. His disapproval rating, according to a 1966 Gallup Poll, was in the 60s
— primarily because his message toward the end of his life included stronger demands for racial and economic justice; he openly opposed poverty and the Vietnam War.
Maya Angelou, Google’s “most searched poet,” received savage criticism
for her political beliefs, and Serena Williams has regularly been condemned and policed for her appearance
and her viewpoints
— for example, on how the gender pay gap
affects women of color, while white tennis players are rarely called out in such a manner.
Tommie Smith and John Carlos, the iconic Olympians
who raised their fists in 1968 to protest racial injustice and who are also the focuses of Google’s “most searched movement,” were ostracized from the US sporting establishment.
In the ad, these images are triumphant, courageous, but in real life, they came at considerable cost. In the cases of Dr. King and Malcolm X — the focus of Google’s “most searched autobiography” — it cost them their lives.
In July 2015, Ebony magazine ran an issue with a provocative cover.
It read, “America Loves Black People,” with the word “Culture” superimposed over “People.”
Then Ebony editor-in-chief Kierna Mayo wrote
that “America truly loves what it perceives as Black — from baby oil to butts, collard greens to crunk — but actual Black people? Perhaps not so much.”
If the most preeminent and barrier-breaking black Americans are scrutinized, savaged and silenced when they speak truth to power — how does this manifest in the lives of ordinary, everyday black people?
I’m reminded of the recent policing of young black children, for the length and style
of their natural hair
— even as journalist and creator of The New York Times’ 1619 Project,
Nikole Hannah-Jones, tells us that the
“avant-garde nature of black hairstyles and fashion displays a vibrant reflection of enslaved people’s determination to feel fully human through self-expression,” and we learn that these young people are excellent, engaged students; their ancestors’ wildest dreams.
I’m also reminded of how many black people in professional settings walk on eggshells in their workplaces, fearful that if they call out microaggressive climates, they’ll be ascribed as the “angry black person.”
I reflect on the daily interactions that black people have with law enforcement and the judicial system, where unwarranted traffic stops can escalate to imprisonment and death.
Some reading this are probably already marshaling counterarguments. They will likely accuse me of “playing the race card” with these observations. I ask those readers to consider the words of
legal scholar Michelle Alexander: “Our understanding of racism is therefore shaped by the most extreme expressions of individual bigotry, not by the way in which it functions naturally, almost invisibly (and sometimes with genuinely benign intent), when it is embedded in the structure of a social system.”
The widespread policing of black people’s behavior, when white people are often excused or not even noticed for similar actions, is an example of the embedded discrimination of which Alexander speaks.
Those who demonstrate black excellence often see their accomplishments diminished when they should be celebrated, such as when an Italian gymnast suggested
(and later apologized) in 2013 that Simone Biles’ world championship was awarded because of her skin color.
Black History Month is a moment for celebration, and Google’s impressive campaign should spur national discussion and global admiration. But it should also stir personal reflection.
As Hannah-Jones remarked
in the 1619 Project, “‘mainstream’ society has coveted our style, our slang and our song, seeking to appropriate the one truly American culture as its own.” I would add that another feature of this coveting is erasure.
I can’t look at the video of a Prince guitar solo named “most searched guitar solo” in Google’s ad without recalling his iconic solo for
George Harrison’s “While My Guitar Gently Weeps” when both were inducted into the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame in 2004 (Harrison’s honor was posthumous). Prince seemingly responded to a snub — not being named to Rolling Stone’s list of top 100 guitar players that year — by eclipsing the rock legends on stage, clearly reminding the writers of his deserved place.
We should applaud and praise the iconic moments and achievements of Google’s #TheMostSearched — but as these talented Americans entertain, enlighten, educate, and inspire us as we watch this video, we must embrace their complex fullness and revere their observations of how America remains a work in progress. They are the unflinching mirror to America’s visage, and we as a nation will not fulfill our greatest potential until we can look at all aspects of our history.
Ninety-four years after historian Carter G. Woodson declared Negro History Week (precursor to Black History Month), it is worthwhile to consider his own reflection on black history in 1927:
“We should emphasize not Negro History, but the Negro in history. What we need is not a history of selected races or nations, but the history of the world void of national bias, race hate and religious prejudice.”
We will reach that world only when we respect black critique as a vital and necessary aspect of black excellence.