Luke Cage was created in 1972.
Four years earlier, in 1968, Martin Luther King, Jr. was shot and killed.
Five years before that, in 1963, Medgar Evers was shot and killed.
Eight years before that, in 1955, a young Black man named Emmett Till was tortured, then shot and killed.
These events, and numerous others with frightening similarity, happened in a line, and in the early years of the first decade to reap the social benefits of the Civil Rights Movement, Marvel Comics gives the fans (and the world) a Black male superhero whose primary superhuman aspect… is that he’s bulletproof.
Not flight, or super speed, or a power ring.
The superhuman ability of being impervious to bullets.
Superheroes. Action heroes. Fantasy heroes.
Is there any doubt the power fantasy of the Black man in the years following multiple assassinations of his leaders and children by way of the gun would be superhuman resistance to bullets?
In American society, the Black man has come a long way from the terrors of the past handful of centuries, only to crash right into the terrors of the 21st century. Some of those terrors being the same exact ones their grandparents had to face and survive — or not.
There are Black men who are wealthy, powerful, formidable and/or dangerous. They can affect change undreamt of by their parents, and their parents’ parents. Their children will be able to change the world in ways we can intuit and others we can barely begin to try and predict.
But a bullet can rip through their flesh and their future with no effort whatsoever.
And so we look at Luke Cage, a man who gets shot on a regular basis, whose body language is such that he is expecting to be shot at, prepared for the impact — because he knows he can take it.
And maybe, in the subconscious of the uni-mind of Marvel Comics, is the understanding that Luke Cage may unfortunately always be a relevant fantasy idea for the Black man.
2012 – Trayvon Martin is shot and killed.
2013 – Jonathan Ferrell is shot and killed.
2014 – Michael Brown is shot and killed.
2015/2016 – Luke Cage premieres on Netflix.
I look forward to seeing if the Luke Cage of that show will have a true understanding of his power and what he symbolizes.
Reading that was like getting kicked in the gut. And yet it feels like that’s not enough.
I liked the shows I went to; I wish I could go to more. But the thing I remember is the girls. New Jersey Transit runs special trains to the Meadowlands for MetLife shows, and they brought out extra staff to direct girls through the gates to Secaucus. Knots of New Jersey Transit staff in high-visibility vests, treating girls with kindness. ”I know you’re excited, just make sure you go through the gates one at a time,” a middle-aged guy with a mustache said, smiling, stopping girls and then waving them through so the timing stayed right and nobody got stuck in the gates. ”Have a good time!” When the train finally pulled into the station, teenage girls cheered. The men on the platform didn’t laugh, the conductors made sure to stand and answer everybody’s questions — yes, this is the right train, yes, you’ll get there on time. There was no air conditioning on the train, but nobody complained — everybody sat in their seats, and talked to their friends, and every couple of minutes someone would start singing. I remember when we were walking through Penn Station I had said, “Just think, the next train is going to be all One Direction fans.” It was the best train I’ve ever been on. During the show, Harry told us to hug each other, and we did. The lady checking tickets at the stadium, directing people to their seats: “Enjoy! Have a great night!” and the fans thanking her on the way out. Both shows, we kept saying how we had never been in a place where there were so many girls. ”I like the girl-to-guy ratio here,” Jamie said in Philadelphia. MetLife holds 82,566 people: they played Little Mix’s “Salute” and “Wings” to almost 82,566 girls. In the bathroom in Philadelphia, nobody stopped at the mirror to check their makeup; while I was peeing, I heard a little girl walk in singing: She said spread your wings, my little butterfly / Don’t let what they say keep you up at night. At the Meadowlands they turned the men’s rooms into ladies’ rooms, just hung ladies’ room signs over all the men’s room signs. ”Oh my god,” I said, walking in. ”They turned the men’s rooms into ladies’ rooms, because they knew it was going to be all girls.” ”This must be what it’s like to be a guy,” Isabel said. And that’s what I thought, the whole rest of the show, and all of Philadelphia: This must be what it’s like. To be the default. To be treated like what you care about is worthwhile. To not be looked down on, or told what to do. And then I thought, well, it’s because we’re all gathered here, in one place. This is happening. They can’t stop us, so they have to go along with it. In New Jersey, Liam stood on the catwalk talking about how amazing it was that they were playing stadiums, how amazing it was that the fans had done this for them, and then he laughed, like you do when you realized you just hit the heart of something: “I really think if you wanted to, you could take over the world.” I looked away from him, at 82,566 seats filled with girls and thought: You’re right. And you’re the only person telling us that.
Tamika Flynn, winning your fealty through sophisticated comprehension and extremes of beserker violence.
Deadpool: Wait, let me guess. You’re Aaron Applebaum. Aaron Astin. Aaron Atwater!
Spider-Man: Are you just going to keep yelling names from A to Z until you guess?
Deadpool: No. Barry Barrington!
Spider-Man: You’re not well.
Deadpool: I know.
the best part about being in your 20’s is slowly caring less and less about what people think of you and surrounding yourself with good people
the worst is that I’m broke
life hack: u dont have to be a wolf to yell sad noises at the moon
anonymous requested: “would you consider doing a Winter Soldier AU of any Teen Wolf ship or brotp?”Oh, I would. Skittles Winter Solider AU
ok but hear me out- what about a lightning bolt scar that looked like real lightning?
appropriate white culture. dance offbeat at the club. scream at your barista when she doesn’t put enough splenda in your latte. clap at the movie theater when the credits roll. put your child on a leash.
the worst is when you’re reading a really good book that follows multiple characters’ stories and you love it 90% of the time until it periodically switches back to that one character’s story that you just could not care less about and it’s like an entire chapter of internal groaning while waiting for the plot to switch back to a character you actually care about