Civil Rights as B Plot in 2023 Television

Artwork by Leeann Remiker

Image Description: Seven people holding up a giant version of an Emmy award.

Tread lightly, major spoilers for “Daisy Jones and the Six”, “Fellow Travelers”, and “Lessons in Chemistry” ahead.

As a certified nerd who watches everything nominated for each year’s Emmys, I noticed a trend of tokenized black representation in last season’s Limited Series category. In hit shows like Amazon’s 70’s rock band drama “Daisy Jones and the Six”, Showtime’s queer, McCarthy-era love story “Fellow Travelers”, and Apple TV’s Brie Larson vehicle “Lessons in Chemistry, the principle black characters and their fight for civil rights were relegated to their show’s B-plots. The storied history of television has seen the stereotyping and sidelining of black characters from its inception to the turn of the century, the reclamation and celebration of black television in recent years has yet to find its footing in the rising Limited Series category.

“Daisy Jones” sees Nabiyah Be as Simone star in one key episode, the seventh of the ten-episode run, “Track 7: She’s Gone.” Simone’s central arc throughout the episode is abandoning her focus on the burgeoning 70s disco scene and her relationship with girlfriend Bernie to be the quasi-babysitter for Daisy. Simone, despite having a unique and underexplored perspective on what it meant to be a black, queer woman in music, spends the episode ensuring the white main character Daisy is able to get her career, life, and relationships back on track. “Fellow Travelers” follows Matt Bomer’s Hawkin’s Fuller and Jonathan Bailey’s Tim Laughlin as they fall in and out of love in the height of the 1950’s Lavender Scare, the moral panic surrounding homosexuality in the midst of Red Scare, flanked by the infamous Joseph McCarthy and closeted prosecutor Roy Cohn. Also part of the narrative is Jelani Alladin’s Marcus Hooks, a closeted journalist for the Washington Post. Audiences see Hooks navigate the racism and homophobia of the era’s journalism industry and his relationship with drag queen Frankie, but only in short intervals between the drama of Fuller and Laughlin. “Lessons in Chemistry” follows chemist Elizabeth Zott and her partner Calvin Evans as they form a relationship amidst the cult of domesticity of the 1950s and Zott’s dream to become a celebrated chemist. Her neighbor Harriet, played by “How to Get Away With Murder” alum Aja Naomi King receives minimal screen time as she fights to stop a freeway from being built in her neighborhood.

Despite giving noteworthy and important performances in their respective shows, Be, Alladin, and King were given no For Your Consideration ads for this year’s Emmys, were not depicted in any promotional materials or posters, and their arcs are sewn up haphazardly in order to get back to the main white character’s stories. Despite this year’s Emmys being celebrated for a “massive jump from previous years in terms of Emmy nominations for POC performers”, wherein 33% of this year’s nominees were of color, it seems there are still massive strides to be made in the rising Limited Series categories.

The failure of the Limited Series category to nominate and award black actors is symptomatic of a long-running theme in the history of television only recognizing African-American creators when their roles are comedic, inoffensive, and limited to short form content. As limited series continue to be pumped out by a machine-like television industry, and their production quality is becoming on par with the prestige television dramas that ruled the 2000’s, the Television Academy must reckon with the stereotypes, silencing, and sidelining of black characters in the realm of so-called “high-brow” entertainment.

The history of American television is stained with black stereotypes. These stereotypes, such as the mammy character, the comedic relief, and the “magical Negro” represent the sidelining of black side characters as they make room for or supplement the white A plot. This disregard has had demonstrably poor effects on both black and white audiences in their conception of race, self-esteem, and black pride.

American television has had a profound impact on the perceptions and identities of black youth. Historically, lack of representation and stereotypes have often served to reinforce secondary feelings among Black youth, as they have seen themselves relegated to hollow, one-dimensional figures devoid of true depth or interiority on television. The lack of authentic representation behind the camera, with network heads predominantly white and male, perpetuated these stereotypes and limited opportunities for nuanced portrayal. However, amidst this landscape, shows like Tyler Perry’s “House of Payne” and “Meet the Browns” have emerged as positive influences, challenging stereotypes and fostering black pride, predominantly because Perry spearheads his own projects and allows black characters to be the heroes of their own films and television shows, crafting comedy specifically for the black community. Research revealed a positive correlation between exposure to Black-oriented television and Black identity development. Additionally, iconic shows like the “The Cosby Show” expanded the television portrayal of black experiences, showcasing elements such as Black music, art, and education institutions, thus contributing to a more holistic understanding of black identity. Relatable black characters on TV have been shown to bolster black racial self-esteem, as demonstrated by a 1986 study where black children expressed feelings of happiness, pride, and a sense of fearlessness when seeing characters who looked like them.

Unfortunately, the portrayal of Black Americans on television has long been intertwined with the perpetuation of stereotypes and the reinforcement of white superiority. Throughout the 20th century, media has played a pivotal role in shaping societal perceptions, with television emerging as a powerful tool for disseminating “bourgeois and racist ideology to mass publics” Despite strides towards fair representation, the mass accessibility of television, especially in the South, have magnified the negative portrayal of Black Americans, bolstering stereotypes of criminality, servitude, and entertainment roles, “with 49 percent… playing the roles of fools, maids, funny men, and small time hustlers” and most white writers are “uncomfortable with Black [people] in romantic roles”. This trend has been exacerbated by the belief among television executives that white audiences are most comfortable with Black characters in subservient or comedic roles, rather than as multifaceted individuals. According to authors Robert Staples and Terry Jones, 1980s television cultivated a “black stereotype [that] had won out over multidimensional black humanity”.

Despite these challenges, there have been notable milestones in Black television representation in both the annals of television history and as the 21st century approached. Shows like the short-lived “The Nat King Cole Show”, a musical variety show hosted by the singer, and “I Spy,” featuring since defamed comedian Bill Cosby in a non-stereotypical role as secret agent Alexander “Scotty” Scott, marked significant breakthroughs in television history. However, the landscape remains fraught with challenges, with Black characters often relegated to supporting roles or stripped of their complexity. As the Nixon Administration reigned in the late 60s and early 70s, a disproportionate amount of policemen roles were played by Black actors and the rise in situational black comedies like “The Cosby Show” and to a lesser extent “The Jeffersons” represented a “trend towards [B]lack situation comedies, which trivialized [B]lack oppression”. the Nixon administration, in its pursuit to racialize the War on Drugs, propagated stereotypes of “good” and “criminal” types of Black Americans, which subsequently manifested in television portrayals, contributing to the marginalization of black characters in roles beyond stereotypical depictions Moreover, the Reagan Administration relied on racial scapegoating to achieve its neoliberal economic ideals, with stereotypes that permeated 1980s television such as the welfare queen, crack addict characters, and disproportionate numbers of criminal roles for Black actors.

“Black-ish”, a show which that has been heavily occupying my thoughts since star Anthony Anderson host the 2024 Emmys, and “The Cosby Show” share common ground in their depiction of upper-class Black families, providing a sanitized lens through which white audiences can comfortably engage with Black narratives without confronting the harsher realities of racism and systemic oppression. Both shows, while making strides in Black representation on television, have been critiqued for their depoliticized narratives and efforts to appeal to white market sensibilities, often at the expense of a more nuanced exploration of Black life in America. “The Cosby Show” set a precedent in the 1980s by depicting a successful, loving Black family living in an affluent New York neighborhood, steering clear of stereotypes but also sidestepping the issues affecting the majority of Black Americans at the time. Similarly, “Black-ish”, which premiered in 2014 on ABC, has been praised for its humor and insights into Black culture but criticized for diluting its narrative to accommodate white audiences, as evidenced by the show’s frequent explanatory monologues and cautious approach to political issues. Each “Black-ish” episode maintains a similar structure, wherein “the main character and patriarch of the Johnson family, Andre Johnson (Anthony Anderson)” opens the show by “explaining some aspect of ‘typical’ Black American lifestyle”. According to critic Udoka Nwansi, these monologues seem to be crafted for an “audience… [that is] seemingly non-Black, and more specifically, white” as “they take time to explain aspects of the Black American experience that would otherwise be implied [for Black Americans]”. “Black-ish” and “The Cosby Show” are inhibited by their reliance on diluted Black narratives for the sake of television executives who, in “not wanting to alienate their southern white audiences, tried to avoid programs that cast [B]lack people in too favorable a light”. While shows like “The Cosby Show” and “Black-ish” have provided glimpses of authentic Black experiences, they are often exceptions in an industry that prioritizes white norms and values, black sitcoms often chronicling the misadventures of an upper-middle class black family. The 1980s television landscape made finding “anything approaching a decent portrayal of black life and culture on television” to be “elusive”.

This perpetuation of stereotypes not only affects Black children’s perceptions of themselves but also perpetuates a societal hierarchy that glorifies whiteness and marginalizes Blackness. In navigating the complex terrain of television representation, the industry must reckon with its role in perpetuating systemic inequalities and work towards authentic and diverse portrayals that reflect the true breadth of Black experiences.

The Limited Series and TV Movie category at the Emmys was introduced in 1974, following the success of television shows in the format such as “Columbo NBC Sunday Mystery Movie” and William Holden’s“The Blue Knight”. The categories early years saw nominations for the trailblazing miniseries “Roots”, based on Alex Haley’s 1976 novel Roots: The Saga of an American Family, which garnered a record-breaking twenty-one major nominations (a total of thirty-seven when including the Creative Arts nominations), winning nine including Limited Series, Supporting Actress, Supporting Actor, and Directing. “Roots”, which chronicles a family from their origins in West Africa through the slave trade and the Civil War, demonstrates both the marginal success black artists were able to achieve in television before the turn of the century, and also the troubling history of prestige black television surrounding black trauma, torture, and enslavement.

Long-form black led political thrillers such as “Scandal” and “How to Get Away with Murder” built upon the legacy of “Roots” with black creators and actors paving the way towards leading roles in multi-season dramas that received prime air times on ABC. Led by Oscar and Emmy favorites Kerry Washington and Viola Davis, both series are thrillers embroiled in the legal, judicial world and are led by fierce female leads, contributing immensely to the validation and representation of multi-layered black women on screen. Both programs were smash hits, Washington and Davis both taking home multiple Emmys for their work. A decade prior, “The Wire” hit HBO with force and prescience, and while one side of the series is focused on the institution of policing and corruption in Baltimore, it also sports powerful, complex, and memorable black characters embroiled in the world of drugs, most memorably Idris Elba’s Stringer Bell. While “The Wire” does employ the stereotypes of drug addiction and crime amongst the black community, the prestige level filmmaking and cinematic funding from HBO helped to propel Stinger Bell into the pantheon of television anti-heroes usually reserved for white actors, such as Bryan Cranston’s infamous Walter White and James Gandolfini’s charismatic Tony Soprano. Stunningly, “The Wire ” never won an Emmy during its six-year run, and was nominated for only two Drama Writing awards.

As streamers like Netlflix, Max, Amazon Prime Video, and Apple TV+ began to take over television output, Limited Series have come to rule the market. A short, seven to ten hour commitment for busy viewers (with the quality of the approximately 70-hour prestige dramas that ruled the last twenty-years), Limited Series fit the binge model perfectly. Streamers deduced that Limited Series meant a cheaper option to producing prestige dramas, and prestige short-form dramas meant binging, and binging meant profit, and with the promise of profit also comes the negotiation over the actors, stories, writers, and directors who are most able to keep eyes on screens.

“Daisy Jones and the Six” is adapted from the smash-hit best-selling novel by Taylor Jenkins Reid of the same name. The book cover sports the portrait of a white woman with a Stevie Nicks-esque mane of hair. All eyes were on who would play the titular role, and the series chose Riley Keough, granddaughter of rock legend (and cultural appropriator) Elvis Presley and a successful actress in her own right. Upon the show’s release, praise was swift and nearly unescapable. Not only was the marketing ubiquitous, the FYC campaign billboards all over Hollywood, but Amazon Prime implemented a system where viewers could purchase the clothing worn by the characters using the Prime Video sidebar. Needless to say, Amazon knew they had a money-making hit on their hands.

As I watched the show, I was disappointed by Nabiyah Be’s character Simone. The character had a promising arc, a young lesbian Black singer embroiled in the rising disco scene of 1970s Los Angeles. In terms of representation, the book is even worse, relegating Simone to a largely “peripheral character”, almost a fairy-godmother figure to the unstable Daisy, appearing only in times of need for her white friend. While the series garnered praise for its deeper look into Simone, giving her more airtime and show-stopping singing scenes to make her a more memorable character, I found the representation lackluster and half-baked. An entire miniseries could have been dedicated to Simone, her relationship with Bernie, and her battle to go from backup singer to leading lady. “Track 7: She’s Gone” encapsulates the faults of black representation in Limited Series output: the padded run-time gives freedom to writers and money-hungry executives to cram in faulty black representation for the sake of increased viewership and diversity points. Simone, a strong-willed and fascinating character, is relegated to the wise, reliable friend of Daisy, teaching her the life lessons necessary for Daisy to succeed and flourish in the industry they both operate in, with little reciprocity from Daisy. Be gives a stunning and memorable performance in this episode, and the six other episodes she appears in, yet received no media attention, industry discussion, or awards consideration for the insight her character provides into the intersection of blackness, queerness, and womanhood in the music industry. Eerily representational, Suki Waterhouse embroiled herself in scandal when she posted a photo of the series’ three leading ladies, having cropped out Be from the photograph entirely. Moreover, Be was shockingly absent from the Variety cover story shoot Camila Morrone, Waterhouse, and Keough graced.

Be’s treatment from her costars and the industry at large is representative of the way Simone was treated by her show’s narrative. Despite her compelling storyline and masterful acting from Be, Simone and her actress are treated as supplemental, forgettable, and lesser than her white counterparts. Simone, like Be, deserved her own narrative, not the B-Plot of a largely white band. Simone did not receive the help, attention, and care that she gave to Daisy in her times of need, just as Be did not get the opportunities or popularity of her costars as they navigated the awards circuit and press tour. Be should be included in the same sentence as Waterhouse, Morrone, and Keough for her contributions to the show, but the legacy of problematic, half-baked black representation in prestige television sidelined her, just as it sidelined her peers Jelani Alladin and Aja Naomi King.

Just as “Daisy Jones and the Six” sidelined a fascinating black character, “Fellow Travelers” gives fractional screen time to the compelling world of 1950s black journalism during the Red Scare, represented by Jelani Alladin’s character Marcus Hooks. Similar to “Daisy Jones”, the marketing for “Fellow Travelers” was viral. A mere one line of dialogue is given to Hooks in the official Paramount+ trailer for the series, despite his third-billing in the cast list and his pivotal role in the show’s thematic content and narrative. The marketing campaign banked on the sex appeal of white leads Bomer and Bailey, a welcome change to the heteronormative output of modern television marketing. However, Hooks, who is pivotal to the key journalism aspect of the Red Scare, speaks one line of dialogue in the trailer. He is given less lines than recognizable cultural figure and vile homophobe Roy Cohn, in a show which markets him as its prime secondary character.

We see Hooks suffer and succeed under a system and a time that invalidates both his journalistic perspective and his sexual orientation. Hooks’ press pass is questioned when he attempts to enter the Red Scare hearings, he is fired from his job after a dispute with Cohn, we witness Hooks and Frankie endure a racist attack from a bouncer, and he suffers with the rest of the community through the murder of Harvey Milk and inadequate sentencing of Dan White. Moreover, Marcus’ character is often forced to choose between key parts of his identity: his desire to become a successful Black writer and to stay true to his queer identity. This plotline, like Simone’s in “Daisy Jones” receives fractional air time to his white counterparts, including villainous real-life figures like Cohn and McCarthy. Hooks’ fascinating and underrepresented arc is sidelined as Laughlin begins to struggle with AIDS, and Hooks is relegated to a near footnote or background character in hospital scenes in the 1980s plot line despite is centrality in the 1950s plotline. As a show that succeeds in its positive and loving depictions of Fuller and Laughlin’s relationship, especially in the intimate depictions of their sex life, Hooks receives sparse but memorable moments of success, and sex, in the series. While we see him grapple with and find peace in his attraction to feminine partner Frankie and even adopt a son, just as Black characters before the 20th century were robbed of sexuality or romance, Hooks’ character was treated the same.

In an almost vitriolic twist, the adopted son of Frankie and Hooks, Jerome, is diagnosed with AIDS in the final episode of the series. While Laughlin is given ample time to struggle, make amends, and come to terms with the devastating illness, the rug is ripped out from underneath Marcus and his family in the final moments of the series. The last memory of the black leads is one of suffering and pain, as if aligned with the similarly undertreated and unresolved AIDS crisis which disproportionately affects Black people.. According to the CDC, “Black/African American people account for a higher proportion of new HIV diagnoses and people with HIV, compared to other races and ethnicities”. The permanent memory of the young Jerome, eternally suffering with AIDS after the final credits roll, is reminiscent of the interplay of racism, homophobia, and AIDS stigma that continues to permeate the treatment of gay Black people in media. “Fellow Travelers” fails in its representation of AIDS to fully analyze the unequal treatment of the illness in the white and Black community. While we see Laughlin make amends with his lost lover Fuller, Jerome, and Hooks, never get the chance to do the same, because the narrative prioritizes its white characters.

Jerome, Hooks, and Frankie deserved their own narrative, their own Limited Series independent of the constant edit back to their white counterparts. As expressed by “Daisy Jones” and “Fellow Travelers”, there is still a significant gap in the in-depth representation of Black characters, and the unique structure of the Limited Series medium gives a sinister mechanism to have representation that is underdeveloped and relegated to B-plot. Due to its padded run-time and ability for a larger cast, the Limited Series category is uniquely posed to give a more nuanced, thought out, and longer air-time for its Black characters, yet instead Black characters are written as supplements to their white counterparts, their stories merely a foil for the A plot of the show, their narratives chaotically sewn up with little resolution or care.

“Lessons in Chemistry” sees Brie Larson as Elizabeth Zott, a brilliant chemist forced to fight the patriarchal structure of academia and find her own solution in hosting a live cooking program for women called “Supper at Six”. Zott is a captivating female lead, played brilliantly by the since Emmy-nominated Brie Larson, who is given the empathy from the writers to be frustrated vulnerable, and successful as she navigates her career and single motherhood. Conversely, Zott’s neighbor, Harriet Sloane, played magnificently by Aja Naomi King, fights in the relative background to resist the building of a freeway through her majority black neighborhood.

Harriet’s major arc throughout the miniseries is struggling with her frustration with her white neighbors, Calvin and Elizabeth, as they fail to support her in her endeavor to stop the destruction of her, their, neighborhood. Zott and Evans, both white residents of the targeted neighborhood, feel safe and uninterested in the fight against gentrification. Zott receives a moment to shine, where she is seen at the front of the march to stop the freeway’s construction, while the audience implicitly knows Harriet has been there time and time again, fighting in the streets and in courtrooms to keep their neighborhood safe. This dichotomy goes grossly under analyzed, Harriet relegated to the emotional support of Zott, and we even see her brutalized and arrested by the police at the freeway protest. Similar to the prestige television of the early 2000s, Black characters are only given air time in white narratives when they are suffering, supplementing white plays, or struggling against racist structures. In a frankly devastating twist, the motion to build the freeway passes, yet again showing how Limited Series’ often leave Black characters in tragedy as they tightly and kindly sew up white plotlines.

The penultimate and final episode of “Lessons in Chemistry” encapsulates the problem with half-baked representation and the failure to juggle dual plotlines equitably. Harriet’s arc is finished up in the background, the failure to stop the freeway’s construction becoming a footnote in Zott’s story. Zott receives a celebratory ending, the final scene shows her teaching an Introduction to Chemistry class to a group of interested students as she pursues her PhD. The way a series ends is important, for the final images of a series are immortalized and eternal in the memories of viewers. The audience of “Lessons and Chemistry” is left with the image of a powerful, resilient, and evolved Zott, who had overcome the patriarchal structure of her field. I would be surprised if viewers could even remember the final images of Harriet, and if they did it would be of tragedy and sadness, despite her key role in the lives of our white protagonists.

Television is a billion dollar industry which relies largely on the viewership of those at the top of the power structure, white people. Many Black creators and actors have been forced to “sell a fantasy for the mass public that obscures class inequalities”, in order to dissuade viewers from turning off their televisions before the ad break hits. However, older shows like “Roots,” “The Cosby Show,” “How to Get Away With Murder,” have undeniably contributed to the evolution of Black television, paving the way for more recent productions like “Insecure” and “Abbott Elementary,” which highlight the complex dynamics of race, identity, and class with a newfound depth and honesty. These latter shows, marked by their honest depiction of Black women’s lives and created by Black women, signal a hopeful evolution in Black television. Yet, recent successes in Black television, especially on the Emmys stage, have been short form comedies, echoing the success of comedies like “The Cosby Show”, when Black characters and programs were only digestible when lasting for twenty-two minutes. They embrace a more authentic representation, challenging the industry’s traditional boundaries and showcasing the multifaceted nature of Black experiences without overly sanitizing content for white comfort. This evolution reflects a gradual, yet significant, shift towards a television landscape where Black stories are told with the depth and nuance they deserve. However, as Limited Series continue to be greenlit by production companies, creators must ensure that the increased run time is considered equitably for characters of color.

In the Limited Series medium, recent television like Prime Video’s “Swarm”, which sports a hypnotic and sinister lead performance for the young ingénue Dominique Fishback, was thankfully Emmy-nominated in the Limited Series Lead Actress category. “Swarm” would have not come to exist without “Atlanta”, the brain-child of Donald Glover which paved the way for Afro-surrealism on television. Barry Jenkins’ “The Underground Railroad”, Michaela Coel’s “I May Destroy You”, and Netflix’s “When They See Us” are all prime examples of Black-led Limited Series, the latter two titles receiving Emmys attention.

According to Essence, only about thirty-five black women have taken home an Emmy in the award show’s seventy-five year history. With the wins of Quinta Brunson, Ayo Edebiri, and Neicy Nash-Betts this year, that total is now thirty-eight. Brunson and Edebiri took home their gold for their trailblazing comedic roles in Abbott Elementary and The Bear respectively. Brunson’s multifaceted role in the production and creation of Abbott Elementary and Edebiri skyrocketing to fame over the last two years represent black women as the continued pioneers of the television industry, specifically in comedy. Nash-Betts, in her supporting role in “Dahmer: Monster – The Jeffrey Dahmer Story”, acted as the beating heart of the show, representing the black and brown community that was continuously victimized by Dahmer and the justice system during his spree. The unnominated performers discussed above, Nebiyah Be, Jelani Alladin, and Aja Naomi King were not given the opportunities to shine on the Emmys stage, as past winners like Richard Jenkins and Merritt Weaver received yet another spotlight over them. In the Limited Series acting categories, only two nominees were Black. Despite a litany of wonderful supporting performances to choose from, the sidelining of black characters in the narrative and the refusal of the industry to permeate For Your Consideration campaigns or ads for their performances.

The second round of 2024 Emmy’s (caused by the WGA and SAG strikes of 2023) saw similar issues with representation in the Limited Series and Anthology categories. With Baby Reindeer the obvious front-runner, familiar shows like Fellow Travelers were in competition with the likes of the fifth season of anthology series Fargo, Andrew Scott vehicle Ripley, and Ryan Murphy’s Feud: Capote vs. The Swans, and True Detective: Night Country. All of these shows, besides Fargo and (charitably) True Detective, involved almost entirely white casts, based on intellectual property or real life stories surrounding white people, and their marketing and FYC campaigns reflected this. In the Limited Series acting categories, the only person of color to take home a trophy was Lamorne Morris for his supporting role in Fargo. However, diversity across the board in this season’s Limited Series Category was improved, with Lily Gladstone, Aja Naomi King, transgener actress Nava Mau, and two-spirit actor Kali Reis all receiving nods for their work. However, all of these nominations were in the Supporting Actor/Actress category: the only performer of color to be nominated for a leading role in a Limited or Anthology series was Sofía Vergara for her work in Griselda.

The underrepresentation and mistreatment of Black actors, and actors of color in general, in the rising Limited Series’ category remains a glaring issue in the television industry. Despite ongoing challenges, American television has the potential to shape positive narratives of black identity and pride, especially with increased representation and authentic portrayals both on and behind the screen, specifically in the Limited Series medium. It is imperative for creators, producers, and networks to prioritize authentic and nuanced storytelling that elevates Black narratives to the forefront. This will extend beyond casting to encompass diverse writing rooms, production teams, and decision-makers, ensuring that Black stories are not sidelined, tokenized, or relegated to unsatisfactory B-plots. Collective advocacy for a television landscape that embraces the richness and complexity of Black experiences will help pave the way for more inclusive and equitable storytelling in the future.