Communications Question

Justification for Final Paper:

Describe the media text you have chosen to analyze for your final paper. Be specific about the texts you will use and tell me what theory or theories you are thinking of using in your analysis. Write a justification that explains why the text you have chosen is theoretically significant.(400-600 words)

– you should:

1) Read Stuart Hall’s ((1974) essay, “The Television Discourse; Encoding and Decoding” (PDF attached below) and his (1985) essay “Signification, Representation, ideology: Althusser and the Post-structuralistDebates.”

2) In class we will watch the short video “Semiotics: The Study of Signs”

3) In class we will watch the following three short videos featuring Stuart Hall:

a)“Representation & the Media: Featuring Stuart Hall”

b)”Stuart Hall”

c)”Stuart Hall: Cultural Studies and Marxism”

4) Read the following three articles:

a) Bucciferro, Claudia (2021) “Representations of Gender and Race in Ryan Coogler’s FilmBlack Panther: Disrupting Hollywood Tropes.”

b) Martínez Guillem, & Briziarelli (2012) “We Want Your Success! Hegemony, Materiality, and Latino in America.”

c) King (2017) “Hitching Wagons to Stars: Celebrity, Metonymy, Hegemony, and the Case of Will Smith.”

5) Post two critical questions for each of the articles assigned for presentation.Post on Canvas by Monday at midnight EST.

6) You may have been assigned an article presentation this week, in which case you only need to post questions to the articles you are not presenting.

7) Instead of a reaction paper to the readings, this week you need to write a 400-600 words justification for for your final paper that describes the media text you have chosen to analyze for your final paper.Be specific about the texts you will use and tell me what theory or theories you are thinking of using in your analysis. Write a justification that explains why the text you have chosen is theoretically significant. Post paper in Canvas by Monday at midnight EST

* Although I expect your final project to provide a more in depth analysis than the one provided here, you can get a sense of the kind of presentation you should prepare by watching ”Encoding and Decoding in FOX’s American Idol”

8) Additional readings: You may also be interested in the following article:

Critical Studies in Mass Communication, 5, 1-15

Critical questions for article presentations

Post two critical questions for each of the articles assigned for presentation Post on Canvas by Sunday at midnight EST

1-Bucciferro, Claudia (2021) “Representations of Gender and Race in Ryan Coogler’s Film Black Panther: Disrupting Hollywood Tropes.”Critical Studies in Media Communication, 38 (2), 169-182.

2-Martínez Guillem, Susana and Marco Briziarelli (2012) “We Want Your Success! Hegemony, Materiality, and Latino in America.”Critical Studies in Media Communication, 29(4),292-312

CRITICAL STUDIES IN MEDIA COMMUNICATION
2021, VOL. 38, NO. 2, 169–182
https://doi.org/10.1080/15295036.2021.1889012
Representations of gender and race in Ryan Coogler’s ﬁlm
Black Panther: disrupting Hollywood tropes
Claudia Bucciferro
School of Communication, College of Liberal Arts, Rochester Institute of Technology, Rochester, NY, USA
ABSTRACT
Dozens of superhero ﬁlms have been produced to date, yet their
narratives tend to marginalize characters of color and oﬀer
stereotypical representations of masculinity and femininity. Ryan
Coogler’s Black Panther places people of color at the center of its
narrative; this study investigates whether it disrupts
commonplace tropes and oﬀers innovative portrayals of Black
womanhood and manhood. The analysis focuses on the
characterizations and the story lines found in the ﬁlm, particularly
considering how the narrative engages with aspects such as
agency, ideology, choice, allyship, and empowerment. The
analysis uses an interpretive methodology and is informed by
works in critical/cultural studies, communication, ﬁlm, and
feminist scholarship. The ﬁndings suggest that the ﬁlm subverts
stereotypes found in Hollywood movies, presenting characters
that embody complex intersectional identities, yet these
portrayals are carefully negotiated within the context of a
popular franchise.
ARTICLE HISTORY
Received 23 March 2020
Accepted 8 February 2021
KEYWORDS
Gender and media; critical/
cultural studies; race and
ﬁlm; representation;
qualitative research methods
Superheroes are a prominent example of the American imaginary: What other country
has produced as wide a range of ﬁctional caped crusaders, immersed in such rich and
expansive narrative worlds? In an essay still used in undergraduate classrooms, Engle
(2000) argues that Superman—the oldest of comic book superheroes, created in 1936
—is “darn American” because of his attributes and values (p. 677). His story of immigration, rural upbringing, self-discovery, and empowerment touches the core of the
American sentiment. Throughout the years, Superman has appeared in multiple
comics, ﬁlms, and television series. Along with the superpowered heroes that came
after him, he helped position superhero lore within popular culture and the global
media landscape, cementing a particular image of heroic embodiment (Mulder, 2017;
Wanzo, 2009; Wright, 2001).
Three decades after Superman was created, the ﬁrst male Black superhero, Black
Panther, was introduced into Marvel comics. Created by Stan Lee and Jack Kirby and
ﬁrst appearing in Fantastic Four #52 in 1966, Black Panther appeared at a time when
social struggles related to the Civil Rights movement were prominent. It took ﬁfty
years to bring the character to the silver screen, where he appeared ﬁrst in a small role
CONTACT Claudia Bucciferro
cbgpt@rit.edu
School of Communication, College of Liberal Arts, Rochester Institute of Technology, Eastman Hall 3002, 92 Lomb Memorial Drive, Rochester, NY, 14623, USA
© 2021 National Communication Association
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C. BUCCIFERRO
in Captain America: Civil War (2016), then in a homonymous movie released to critical
acclaim in 2018, and in two installments of the successful Avengers franchise: Inﬁnity
War (2018) and Endgame (2019).
The ﬁlm Black Panther1—the only superhero movie to date directed by an African
American ﬁlmmaker, Ryan Coogler—premiered at a time of major social and political
change. The ﬁlm’s concept was developed and produced while Barack Obama was President, but the movie’s release took place weeks after Donald Trump’s inauguration, after
an election year that brought issues of race and gender to the forefront of public discourse
in the United States. While shrouded in an Afrofuturistic aesthetic, the ﬁlm did not
comment on current aﬀairs directly, but symbolically addressed the identities of
people of color, historical legacies of inequality, and geopolitical struggles. Beyond
North America, the movie was important for the pan-African community: it featured
a non-U.S.-born, Black superhero character in a leading role, which is unusual in Hollywood blockbusters. Most of the characters were played by Black actors, including people
from various nationalities. The production team and ﬁlming crew featured African
American people in key roles, from production design to musical score. This was an
achievement (Travers, 2018), as Black creators and performers have been historically
minoritized in Hollywood (Erigha, 2019).
Black Panther was also notable because of its position within the expansive and proﬁtable superhero ﬁlm genre. Superhero movies constitute transmedia narratives associated
with a number of popular culture products (Howard & Jackson, 2013). They mobilize a
fan base that crosses-over demographic boundaries, appealing to large and diverse audiences. The two companies that have created a vast array of superheroes, DC and Marvel
Comics, have shaped the way superhero stories are told across media platforms. Starting
with the original comics and their adaptations for ﬁlm and television, and expanding to
gaming environments, digital media, and “cinematic universes,” superhero narratives
have evolved through multiple re-tellings and creative styles. This matters because
they all carry ideological undertones that can reproduce or subvert stereotypical representations in contemporary visual culture (Wanzo, 2020; Whaley, 2016).
Over the decades, superhero narratives have tended to fall back on common tropes
regarding representations of gender and race. This has been obvious in their Hollywood
adaptations, where superheroes often display the same characteristics: most leading characters are male, white, young, heterosexual, cisgender, able-bodied, and American.
Mulder (2017) discusses the superhero genre as one that remains “indicatively oriented
toward the anxieties and self-images of white male artists, characters, and fans” (p. 1048).
Although more diverse characters have appeared in comic books in recent years, the
same has not been the case in superhero movies. Black Panther constituted a milestone,
but while the ﬁlm prominently featured Black men and women in its narrative, did it
actually represent them in novel ways? In this study, I oﬀer a close reading of the cinematic text, addressing this core question and explaining how Black Panther disrupts
stereotypical tropes typically appearing in Hollywood ﬁlms.
Contextualizing Black Panther, the movie
Black Panther is among the most successful ﬁlms produced by Marvel Studios: it earned
over 1.3 billion dollars worldwide (IMDb, 2019) and was the ﬁrst superhero ﬁlm to
CRITICAL STUDIES IN MEDIA COMMUNICATION
171
receive a nomination for an Academy Award in the Best Motion Picture of the Year category. The movie received critical acclaim and won Academy Awards for Best Production Design, Best Original Score, and Best Costume Design—all of which involved
Black artists. Drawing from pan-African cultural expressions and presenting a narrative
that appealed to diverse and international audiences, it challenged Hollywood’s tendency
to niche-market movies created by people of color (Hoerl, 2007).
Black Panther premiered in February 2018, during Black History Month, and placed a
ﬁctional nation, Wakanda, at the center of a narrative that re-imagined pan-African
cultural heritages. Drawing from comics old and new—including a series written by
Ta-Nehisi Coates, winner of a National Book Award—the movie employed an Afrofuturistic aesthetic (Karam & Kirby-Hirst, 2019). Months before its release, it acquired a
notable presence on social media, fueled by Marvel fans and carefully designed marketing
strategies. Upon its release, magazines such as TIME, Rolling Stone, Wired, and Vanity
Fair celebrated it as a creative milestone for the Black community. The Black Panther
costume worn by actor Chadwick Boseman was later acquired by the National
Museum of African American History and Culture in Washington, D.C.
The movie came out after critically acclaimed independent ﬁlms featuring Black directors and casts—such as Get Out (2017, directed by Jordan Peele) and Moonlight (2016,
directed by Barry Jenkins)—had garnered attention. The Twitter campaign #OscarsSoWhite was still fresh in people’s minds, and Black Panther was hailed as a turning
point that would increase the visibility of movies made by people of color. Its promotional campaign included references to racial themes, yet tried to negotiate them in
a way that avoided controversy. The connection between issues of race, gender, and
other aspects of identity, and their link to political contingencies, was addressed symbolically. To some, the ﬁlm seemed “paradoxical” (Griﬃn & Rossing, 2020), oﬀering an
apparently progressive narrative that still served corporate interests.
As with other superhero movies, the promotional materials were gender-coded: they
centered on the lead men characters (T’Challa and Erik “Killmonger”) and featured the
likeness (but not the story) of women characters. Upon the movie’s release, positive comments regarding the portrayal of Black men and women appeared in fan forums and published reviews (Travers, 2018). Yet at the time, this did not lead to a larger discussion
regarding the representation of people of color in Hollywood ﬁlms or superhero narratives. This study seeks to engage in that discussion, considering previous scholarship on
the gendered and racialized representations typically appearing in popular movies.
Literature review
The analysis presented here draws from scholarship in critical/cultural studies, communication, ﬁlm, comics, and feminist research. From a cultural studies perspective,
issues of identity and representation are central to our understanding of mediated
texts, the societies that produce them and the social groups they refer to (Barker,
2000; Hall et al., 2013). As a cultural product, a ﬁlm oﬀers not only narrative complexity,
but also symbolic connections to the larger social and political realms (Bucciferro, 2016).
Cinematic representation is never transparent or self-evident, but multi-layered and
underlined by ideological constructs. Inquiry into the kinds of representations that
appear in the media involves an engagement with “the textual generation of meaning”
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(Barker, 2000, p. 8). Meaning, in turn, is articulated through a range of cultural products
and social discourses, including Hollywood movies.
Previous scholarship centering on identity and representation within the superhero
genre has identiﬁed conceptual tensions connected to both race and gender, appearing
in comic books and cinematic adaptations: Representations of people of color have
been stereotypical and scarce, with Black men appearing mostly as unidimensional characters in secondary roles (Howard & Jackson, 2013; Kirkpatrick & Scott, 2015; Nama,
2011; Smith, 2016). Representations of women have typically been skewed, with characters being sexually objectiﬁed and disempowered, and with women of color and queer
women being tokenized or symbolically erased (Mafe, 2018; McFarlane, 2015; Meyer,
2020; Stabile, 2009; Whaley, 2016). Feminist scholars (Bucciferro, 2020; Cocca, 2016;
hooks, 2000; Ross, 1996) have been critical of mediated representations that appear as
progressive but ultimately subdue strong women characters, arguing that they serve
the purpose of discursively monitoring women’s and men’s embodiments.
In Hollywood ﬁlms, characters played by women and men of color tend to ﬁt into
commonplace tropes (Alexander, 2019; Wiegman, 2000). African American men are
often cast for roles that connect them to crime, homelessness, drugs, and various
social problems, or as minstrelsy characters oﬀering comic relief. Citing Carby,
Nakayama (2000) mentions narratives that pair-up a white man and a Black man as
leading characters, which positions Black masculinity in a particular place within the
American imaginary. This narrative trope minimizes the presence of the Black community and Black women, who remain marginalized. Even when Black women are protagonists, they are shown through a white gaze that acts as “a cinematic policing agent that
strives to control the signiﬁcation of Blackness” (Griﬃn, 2014). Such perspective is often
cloaked in a post-racial ideology.
In numerous Hollywood movies, female characters with narrative importance are
white and women of color are cast only in secondary roles, sometimes having few (if
any) speaking lines (Cocca, 2016; Mafe, 2018). Black and Brown women tend to
appear in connection with social spheres such as domestic labor, sex work, organized
crime, law enforcement, and the prison complex. They are commonly given roles that
emphasize their sexuality or place them within the domestic sphere, positioning them
as an Other deﬁned in contrast with white women (Moﬃtt, 2019; Ross, 1996; Valdivia,
2000). Roles that ﬁt the “sexy woman” trope visually present them as objects to entice
men’s fantasies, while “mammy” roles domesticate their appearance and place them in
subordinate positions, at the service of others (Griﬃn, 2015). Either way, the narratives
oﬀer a limited glimpse into the women’s subjectivities, scripting their bodies in ways that
reinforce white patriarchal hegemony (Griﬃn, 2014; Moﬃtt, 2019).
This is also true in superhero movies: research suggests that they typically follow prescribed paths (Baker & Raney, 2007; Davis & Westerfelhaus, 2016; Overton et al., 2016;
Stabile, 2009). Femininity tends to be associated with sexual desire and fragility; masculinity is represented in hegemonic ways, with only certain kinds of men (e.g. muscular,
cisgender, heterosexual, white) being shown consistently in positions of power. Issues
regarding diversity and representation have been identiﬁed in connection to comics as
well (Bucciferro, 2020; Kirkpatrick & Scott, 2015; Wanzo, 2009; Whaley, 2016; Wright,
2001).
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173
In terms of narratives and characterizations, the superhero genre draws from science
ﬁction’s cinematic and literary tradition (Bucciferro, 2016; Nama, 2008, 2011; Wright,
2001). Superhero stories include thematic elements such as space travel, time travel,
futuristic cities, technological marvels, and scientiﬁc experimentation. Elsewhere (Bucciferro, 2016) I argue that both science ﬁction and superhero stories feature a symbolic
“novum”—an element that represents diﬀerence and introduces a novel perspective
into what is considered “normal” and “real” (p. 210). Sci-ﬁ and speculative ﬁction can
be a “site of possibility” (Mafe, 2018) for representing gender, race, and class in non-normative ways, yet the opportunity is often missed by popular movies (Alexander, 2019;
Zingsheim, 2016). Oftentimes, characters who could embody diversity end up being
“recuperated into the logic of whiteness and normativity” onscreen (Zingsheim, 2016,
p. 98). People of color are noticeable because of their “structured absence and token presence” within the genre (Nama, 2008, p. 10).
When addressing racial themes, most movies present a “white racial frame” (Smith,
2016, p. 179) that places white men and women at the center of the story. This is
evident in productions seeking to portray the lives and struggles of people of color,
but oﬀering a redeeming narrative that highlights white allies (Griﬃn, 2015; Hoerl,
2007; McFarlane, 2015). Particularly, science ﬁction movies address racial conﬂict in
coded ways, through allegorical allusions that involve encounters between diﬀerent
human (and sometimes alien) groups (Mafe, 2018; Smith, 2016). Black men and
women are often made to symbolize something beyond their individual identities;
actors of color may be cast to play humanoids from other planets, embody the abject,
or represent a physically marked Other (Nama, 2008).
Scholars advocating for perspectives that focus on more than one category of diﬀerence have highlighted the need for research that considers intersections of gender and
race (Collins, 2015; Nakayama, 2000; Nash, 2008). Examining the way these categories
interconnect involves addressing the way they position individuals within social and
symbolic mappings of power (Griﬃn, 2014). Nash (2008) deﬁnes intersectionality as
“the notion that subjectivity is constituted by mutually reinforcing vectors of race,
gender, class, and sexuality” (p. 89). However, the varied nature of the studies that
have employed the term since its introduction by Kimberlee Crenshaw in 1989 indicates
conceptual elasticity. Collins (2015) suggests there is need for further research and conceptual reﬁnement, and this study ﬁts within one of the categories of inquiry she identiﬁes: intersectionality “as an analytical strategy” (p. 5). In her words: “One important area
of intersectional scholarship rethinks work, family, identity, the media, and similar core
constructs” (p. 11). The research presented here helps advance an academic discussion
regarding representations of men and women of color within popular ﬁlm.
Methodology
The methodology used is interpretive, employing qualitative text analysis (Lindloﬀ &
Taylor, 2011; Tracy, 2013) and oﬀering a close reading of the cinematic text, undertaken
from a cultural studies and media studies perspective (Pickering, 2008). Within this framework, a ﬁlm is understood to be a cultural artifact conceptually related to other media
texts and larger socio-cultural narratives, oﬀering representations that imply political and
ideological references (Storey, 2003).
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The process of inquiry involved an iterative engagement with the cinematic text, its
media coverage, and scholarship on superheroes and ﬁlm. Early stages of this project
involved searching for and archiving media articles published at the time of the ﬁlm’s
release, and collecting notes based on observations made at the theater and during subsequent screenings. These observations were enhanced by my participation in critical discussions regarding the movie, carried out within academic and community contexts. The
aspects that became the focus of this article—gender and race—emerged from early
stages of analysis. While watching and re-watching Black Panther, I revisited other superhero ﬁlms, read published reviews, followed related social media hashtags, and read
comics, thus exploring the title’s transmedia connections.
To maintain the study’s focus, the object of analysis was deﬁned as the representations
found speciﬁcally in the ﬁlm Black Panther, a discrete media artifact with global presence.
The analysis builds on research on representations of women and men of color in media,
oﬀering a perspective informed by feminist scholarship—particularly Black feminist
thought and publications by scholars who identify with minority groups.
T’Challa and Erik “Killmonger”: ideology and choice
Ryan Coogler’s Black Panther is not the ﬁrst Marvel comics adaptation with a Black protagonist, but the ﬁrst to feature a predominantly Black cast and lead character, and
engage thematically with pan-African identities. Previous Marvel adaptations introducing other Black protagonists (such as the Blade trilogy, starring Wesley Snipes, beginning in 1998) address racial themes metaphorically. Black characters have appeared in
other movies within the Marvel Cinematic Universe in secondary roles: James
“Rhodey” Rhodes/War Machine appears in the Iron Man series (starting in 2008,
played by Terrence Howard and Don Cheadle). Sam Wilson/Falcon appeared in
Captain America: The Winter Soldier (2014, played by Anthony Mackie) and Avengers:
Endgame (2019). Nick Fury (played by Samuel L. Jackson) appeared in several movies
and co-starred in Captain Marvel (2019). In the X-Men ﬁlms, produced by twentieth
Century Fox starting in 2000, Ororo Munroe/Storm (played by Halle Berry and Alexandra Shipp) was memorable, but was never the main protagonist. In all these cases, Black
characters were outnumbered by whites and participated in stories that did not engage
with Black communities.
Black Panther’s narrative is unique insofar it centers on a newly anointed African king
living in the ﬁctional and technologically advanced nation of Wakanda. The story takes
place in present times and moves back and forth between Africa and the United States,
addressing themes related to historical struggles. The protagonist is T’Challa (played by
Chadwick Boseman), who inherits the throne and, with it, the abilities and duties of Black
Panther, protector of the land. Through a ritual that involves drinking a potion made
from a magical plant, he is endowed with superpowers. Wakanda’s advanced technology—overseen by T’Challa’s sister, Shuri, played by Letitia Wright—and its reserves of
the metal vibranium provide gadgets and weapons that support Black Panther’s
eﬀorts. Black Panther’s character embodies a powerful representation of an African
man, yet unlike other superheroes, he is not simply a vigilante with a secret identity:
as a king entrusted with aﬀairs of State, he is involved in political and international
issues. His origin story encompasses learning how to be a hero and rule a country, so
CRITICAL STUDIES IN MEDIA COMMUNICATION
175
emphasis is placed on elements that shape his positionality and frame his decisions. The
depth and complexity given to this character are notable, considering Hollywood’s track
record of marginalizing, stereotyping, and erasing characters of color (Erigha, 2019).
The movie is also distinctive because it introduces two antagonists—a white man
(Ulysses Klaue, played by Andy Serkis) and a Black man (Erik “Killmonger,” played
by Michael B. Jordan), each embracing diﬀerent ideologies regarding race and colonialism. It features a white man who becomes an ally (Everett Ross, played by Martin
Freeman), referencing contemporary conversations regarding allyship and struggles
for equality. Unlike what happens in other movies that address themes of racial
conﬂict, the white men portrayed in Black Panther help develop the narrative and
invite white identiﬁcation, but do not upstage the Black protagonists. The Afrofuturistic
seal of the story places the characters within an imaginative realm, allowing for creative
characterizations.
The two antagonists are symbolically important, as they allow the narrative to sidestep
a facile “white vs. Black” dichotomy. Ulysses Klaue, a white man, represents colonialism
and white supremacy; Erik “Killmonger,” a Black man of Wakandan ancestry but born
and raised in America, embodies an identity shaped by trauma, violence, and underprivilege. As these characters enter into conﬂict, they face ethical dilemmas that require
them to make choices and ascertain their agency. Klaue and Erik are introduced
working together on the robbery of traditional African objects displayed at a Western
museum—a scene that references the legacy of colonialism. Klaue is an international
criminal who represents a history of European imperialism and entitlement, as he feels
he has the right to steal African artifacts and obtain access to natural resources (such
as vibranium) for personal gain. As T’Challa tries to protect Wakanda, the antagonism
between him and Klaue is predictable. Yet when Klaue is killed halfway through the
movie, Erik emerges as a more formidable opponent. When his identity is revealed,
the narrative acquires Shakespearean connotations: Erik is the son of a Wakandan
prince who was killed by his own brother (T’Challa’s father, T’Chaka), while working
undercover in the United States. He was abandoned as a child and grew up in
poverty, and later built a career within the U.S. military before going rogue and
getting involved in international crime. His plan is to seize Wakanda’s throne and use
the country’s resources to fund and lead a pan-African liberation movement—a vision
that echoes revolutionary ideas dating back to the 1960s, when the Black Panther
Party was active.
The tension between T’Challa and Erik (Black Panther and Killmonger) is underscored by diﬀerences in worldview referencing deep ﬁssures that override racial solidarity
and familial kinship. Nationalism and class status play a role: T’Challa is royalty and grew
up in Wakanda’s hidden paradise, protected by a loving family and a nation that chose to
separate itself from neighboring countries, even disguising its material wealth to remain
undisturbed. Erik grew up disenfranchised in Oakland, California, in a poor neighborhood that lacked basic infrastructure, where kids played basketball with hollowed-out
plastic crates attached to a fence. T’Challa’s views are informed by his privileged upbringing in Africa; Erik’s views are informed by the social ills (as he explains: drugs, police brutality, incarceration) that he saw while growing up in America. Yet Erik is T’Challa’s
cousin, so the characters exist within a network of relationships that link them to each
other and to various places, histories, and social realities.
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Furthermore, Erik and T’Challa embody diﬀerent versions of Black masculinity,
though they share physical features such as muscularity and strength. Erik is more
prone to violence and less interested in building interpersonal relationships, having
been hardened by harsh experiences—in a dreamy scene where he meets his dead
father, the father asks “No tears for me?” but the child remains composed. T’Challa
appears more sensitive and thoughtful, as he mourns his father’s death and seeks
council from his ancestors. Each character’s portrayal brings up abstract issues of
empowerment, social responsibility, and personal choice, in connection to representations of Black masculinity. T’Challa’s personal story is one of gaining insight and
self-assurance; Erik’s story is anchored in rage. T’Challa’s ethical dilemma requires
coming to terms with his father’s decision to kill his own brother and abandon an innocent child to protect Wakanda’s secrets. Re-claiming his heritage involves re-assessing his
father’s legacy and diﬀerentiating from him, while seeking to re-position Wakanda in the
world. Meanwhile, Erik is trying to compensate for the abandonment he suﬀered,
attempting to avenge his father and re-claim his heritage by occupying Wakanda’s
throne. Yet he knows that the African diaspora was prompted by historical instances
of abuse and colonialism, which Wakandans were able to avoid. In the end, when
fatally injured, he turns down T’Challa’s oﬀer to heal him, saying he would rather die
like his “ancestors who jumped from the ships,” identifying with the victims of the
trans-Atlantic slave trade.
The portrayal of Black masculinity includes physicality, evident in two instances of
ritualistic hand-to-hand combat. These are presented in connection to political issues
but serve to ascertain the dominance of one character over another. First, the crowning
of a new King entails an opportunity to challenge his leadership, which is what M’Baku
(played by Winston Duke), the leader of the Jabari, does. The issue is settled within a
ritual space: M’Baku and T’Challa engage in a ﬁght that constitutes a rite of passage
for the man who will be the new Black Panther. T’Challa eventually wins, not without
diﬃculty, and M’Baku honorably surrenders. Later in the story, Erik challenges
T’Challa to a ritual ﬁght, claiming his birthright. This time, the outcome is diﬀerent:
faced with a trained soldier and unable to use his superpowers, T’Challa falters and
Erik throws him over a waterfall, into the river below. He is presumably dead, so Erik
takes the throne. T’Challa’s eventual comeback is made possible by allies who step-in
on his behalf despite former disagreements: Jabari people retrieve his body from the
river, M’Baku shelters him while he is in a coma, and the women of Wakanda
perform the ritual that saves his life. This suggests an element of inter-dependence
that makes allyship a source of strength and re-inserts Black masculinity within a
network of positive social relationships.
Shuri, Okoye, Nakia, and Queen Ramonda: agency and sisterhood
Black Panther oﬀers an origin story that mobilizes familiar tropes: a man learns how to
use his superpowers, overcomes challenges, and seeks a heteronormative romantic
relationship. This story is typically centered on a masculine hero; women tend to
appear in roles that aﬀord them little agency, but convey their vulnerability and heighten
their sensuality (Baker & Raney, 2007; Bucciferro, 2020; Stabile, 2009). As problematic as
the normalization of these narrative tropes is, they are ubiquitous (Overton et al., 2016;
CRITICAL STUDIES IN MEDIA COMMUNICATION
177
Zingsheim, 2016). Women’s representation is so limited within superhero movies that
most do not pass the simple “Bechdel test” (Cocca, 2016). In many cases, there is only
one named female character; when there are two or more, they rarely talk to each
other. When inquiring about representations of women of color in superhero movies,
the results are perplexing: they are mostly absent, symbolically erased. Against this backdrop, Black Panther stands as the only superhero ﬁlm to date featuring several women of
color and aﬀording them a prominent place within the narrative. These characters reference progressive ideas regarding gender equality and disrupt stereotypes commonly
found in popular movies, emphasizing key concepts such as agency and sisterhood.
In the ﬁctional African nation that is Wakanda, women fully participate in the technological, military, political, and intelligence ﬁelds. Wakanda’s world is shaped by the
actions of women: Its technological progress is overseen by a young scientist (Shuri),
in a role typically reserved for men. Its national security is monitored by the leader of
an all-female military corps (Okoye, played by Danai Gurira). The stability of its government is mediated by the presence of the Queen Mother (Ramonda, played by Angela
Bassett). Finally, Wakanda’s intelligence depends on female operatives (Nakia, played
by Lupita Nyong’o). Far from being helpless victims in need of rescuing, these women
defend themselves, ﬁght for their homeland, and establish strategic alliances. They do
not compete with each other but stand together in solidarity, and their voices and
actions shape how the story unfolds. This disrupts trends regarding the representation
of women of color in Hollywood productions.
Coogler’s ﬁlm and the newer Black Panther comic books address gender stereotypes
evident in older Marvel stories, where the portrayal of women was ambivalent
(Peppard, 2017). Early comics suggested that the Dora Milaje were potential consorts
for the King, but they were later re-conceptualized as an elite military corps protecting
the crown. It is suggested that Black Panther need not be a man: In the ﬁlm, after T’Challa’s fall, Queen Ramonda tells Nakia to take the potion conferring superpowers; in a
recent comic series, Shuri takes-on the Black Panther mantle. Nevertheless, the movie
upholds heteronormativity and heteropatriarchy (Griﬃn & Rossing, 2020), which are
challenged in some comics. Queer characters such as Ayo (a member of the Dora
Milaje) are minimally present onscreen, and their sexual orientation is not revealed
(Meyer, 2020). Although a comparison of the Black Panther comics and ﬁlm is
beyond the scope of this study, there are points of departure between both narrative
formats.
The movie draws part of its aesthetics and portrayal of women characters from a
speciﬁc ﬁlm tradition: Blaxploitation cinema from the 1970s, which provided an opportunity for African American creators and actors to produce narratives challenging Hollywood canons (Alexander, 2019). Catering to African American audiences, these movies
reached an under-represented and under-served population, oﬀering stories that
addressed themes pertaining to Black communities (Nama, 2011). As Bogle (2019)
explains, they re-imagined Black masculinity and femininity in heroic terms, and introduced “tough, resilient heroines” such as Cleopatra Jones and Foxy Brown, who “could
ﬁght, punch, pound, and kick ass” as much as the men (p. 145). This countered the way
the ﬁlm industry had represented people of color for decades—early movies such as
D. W. Griﬃth’s Birth of a Nation (released in 1915), already demonized Black characters
and reiﬁed white femininity. While mainstream Hollywood sidelined and stereotyped
178
C. BUCCIFERRO
African American creators and performers (Erigha, 2019), Blaxploitation cinema played
a complex socio-cultural role, providing a space for exploring Black identities onscreen.
Coogler’s Black Panther also draws from Afrofuturism, which informs a range of
popular culture products (Bogle, 2019; Brooks, 2018; Griﬃn & Rossing, 2020). Afrofuturistic narratives creatively envision Black heritages while deploying tropes stemming from
science ﬁction and fantasy, addressing the legacy of colonialism and slavery (Karam &
Kirby-Hirst, 2019). Many narratives re-imagine Africa as the motherland and explore
the pan-African experience of diaspora, while constructing a story that points toward
a hopeful future (Brooks, 2018). This is evident in Black Panther, where Wakanda
exists as an African country that escaped European colonization and retained its own
social structure and cultural traditions.
Afrofuturistic ﬁction oﬀers a space where new embodiments of Black womanhood can
be explored. Suggesting that Black is beautiful, Black aesthetics—often marginalized in
Western society—are re-centered and re-imagined. Afrofuturistic aesthetics convey
meaning through visual cues: in Black Panther, costume designs, hairstyles, and props
such as modern weapons help portray Wakandan women as powerful and capable.
These women need not embody the restrictive notions of femininity appearing in Eurocentric stories, nor behave according to the stereotypes of Black womanhood that
pervade American media.
Furthermore, Westernized social structures are not transposed upon the ﬁctional
space of Wakandan society, so new mappings of power are implied. Within this social
landscape, women and men are powerful and work collaboratively: Scenes such as the
ﬁght against human traﬃckers and the ﬁght against Klaue at the casino display
women’s ﬁghting skills, shifting the dynamics away from a lone male savior, toward a
shared space where men and women ﬁght side-by-side. This disrupts a trope found in
numerous movies and comic books where women characters are placed in situations
that heighten their fragility (Bucciferro, 2020; Stabile, 2009). Within Black Panther’s narrative, women are not primarily deﬁned by their romantic involvement with one or more
men. The ﬁlm does not visually objectify women’s bodies and does not rely on a plot featuring a “damsel in distress,” two commonplace characteristics that have been critiqued
before (Davis & Westerfelhaus, 2016; Overton et al., 2016).
Given the paucity of Black women characters within the science ﬁction genre (Mafe,
2018), the introduction of four prominent characters into the ﬁlm is notable. These
women have diﬀerent backgrounds, occupations, and personalities. Some are young,
and some are older—the full participation of Queen Ramonda in the plot matters, as
older women are also sidelined in Hollywood (Bogle, 2019). The women are not portrayed as subaltern to white women, as it happens in other ﬁlm narratives including
women of color (Valdivia, 2000). And they are not tokenized or isolated, but the story
suggests a strong bond between them—a sense of sisterhood that recalls feminist writings
regarding solidarity among women of color (hooks, 2000). Together, the women ﬁght for
themselves and their country, as it happens in the ﬁnal battle scene, when Okoye faces a
charging rhino. They forge strategic alliances in order to restore their nation’s stability, as
when Queen Ramonda reaches out to the Jabari tribe. Using Wakandan technology,
Shuri saves a white man with a spinal injury (Everett), and his indebtedness to
Wakanda helps subvert Killmonger’s plans.
CRITICAL STUDIES IN MEDIA COMMUNICATION
179
The ﬁlm avoids another common representational trap found in movies and comics:
the portrayal of strong women characters as “tough” but also “mean,” or formerly traumatized, bitter, and untrustworthy (Bucciferro, 2020; Cocca, 2016). Of the four women
appearing in Black Panther, none ﬁts this description. Various scenes provide insights
into their subjectivities and values, as they discuss their individual choices. This counters
the tendency to portray women characters superﬁcially, allotting them few speaking lines
and providing little background for their motives. In Hollywood ﬁlms, women of color’s
voices are commonly treated as peculiar or unimportant: even when they are allowed to
talk, what they say may not impact the narrative (Overton et al., 2016; Valdivia, 2000). By
contrast, the words spoken by the women of Wakanda carry authority. Overall, Black
Panther oﬀers progressive representations woven into a story that emphasizes masculinity enough to fend oﬀ anti-feminist pushback. This carefully crafted symbolic negotiation enabled its mainstream success.
Discussion
This study suggests that Black Panther oﬀers complex portrayals of men and women of
color that disrupt commonplace tropes such as tokenization, white-framing, objectiﬁcation, and stereotyping. The movie was hailed as pivotal within the public domain, yet it
would be unfair to place the burden of uprooting long-standing representational traps on
a single ﬁlm. Considered vis-à-vis the expanding Marvel Cinematic Universe and the ﬁlm
industry, Black Panther’s impact is diﬃcult to determine. More movies by African American ﬁlmmakers and featuring Black protagonists have been released recently, but they
constitute a small percentage of the total ﬁlm production. The 2020 Academy Awards
ceremony included women in new roles and celebrated international ﬁlms, but few
people of color received nominations and all the acting awards went to white performers.
Issues regarding gender, race, and representation in the ﬁlm industry—and in society at
large—continue to demand our attention. The transmedia nature of superhero products
invites further research.
Black Panther entered popular culture, in comics and in cinematic format, during
times of social transformation. Recent developments in the American public sphere
include a wave of protests against racial injustice, sparked by the death of a Black man
(George Floyd) at the hands of a white police oﬃcer, caught on video and shared
widely on digital media. Coverage of these events highlights the connection between
media texts and their socio-political contexts, while problematizing the way discursive
representations engage with structural issues and grassroots movements. A conversation
regarding Hollywood’s track record of biased representational styles and treatment of
women and people of color is also currently underway, with actors, ﬁlmmakers, screenwriters, and the public advocating for change.
Superhero movies are marketed as family entertainment and circulate on a global
scale. To ﬁlmmakers such as Martin Scorsese, they resemble “theme parks” more than
artistic endeavors, as he argued in a New York Times op-ed in 2019. The movies
provide a venue for light-hearted escapism, yet they also oﬀer depictions of what empowerment can look like, including subtexts suggesting who may or may not have access to it.
Dismissing these movies as simple entertainment seems facile. Upon scrutiny, they can
be a venue for validating—or transforming—dominant cultural values. As the roster of
180
C. BUCCIFERRO
cinematic superheroes continues to expand, we must push for stories that portray diverse
voices, embodiments, and experiences not as a side note, but a fundamental part of an
inclusive narrative. Movies—available now through multiple streaming services, 24/7
— can constitute conceptual sites of struggle, providing a space for countercultural
responses to dominant ideologies. Still, they are obligated to accommodate commercial
imperatives, which leads to conﬂictive results.
It is unclear whether Black Panther’s progressive representations will remain mostly
contained within its own emerging franchise or expand signiﬁcantly into the Marvel
Cinematic Universe. Its main characters appeared in Avengers: Endgame (currently,
the highest-grossing ﬁlm in history) but were peripheral to the narrative. At present,
the Black Panther franchise is at a crossroads, after the unexpected death of Chadwick
Boseman in August 2020, due to colon cancer. A sequel was being written for him,
and the complexity he brought to his performance of T’Challa, as well as his rapport
with the rest of the cast, will be diﬃcult to equal. Slated for release in 2022, with Ryan
Coogler as director and lead writer, Black Panther2 will necessarily bring along new
choices in casting, narrative, and representation. Nevertheless, the 2018 Black Panther
ﬁlm adaptation will remain one-of-a-kind.
Notes
1. Black Panther, in italics, is used here to refer to the movie; without italics, Black Panther
refers to the homonymous character and the comic books.
2. Special thanks to Julie Davis and Robert Westerfelhaus for organizing the session at the
National Communication Association Annual Convention where an earlier version of
this paper was presented. I appreciate the comments and suggestions voiced by colleagues,
students, and anonymous reviewers who helped me improve the original manuscript.
ORCID
Claudia Bucciferro
http://orcid.org/0000-0001-5614-9697
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Critical Studies in Media Communication
Vol. 29, No. 4, October 2012, pp. 292312
We Want Your Success! Hegemony,
Materiality, and Latino in America
Susana Martı́nez Guillem & Marco Briziarelli
In this article we offer a detailed examination of CNN’s documentary Latino in America
and of the ways in which a particular group of viewers responded to it. Our goal is to
show how we can explore the nature of hegemonic processes in a way that more fully
incorporates the role of material reality in the reproduction of a particular social order.
Thus, our analysis will shed light on how the material conditions of a specific segment of
the Latino population interact with the dominant representations of this group in ways
that need further exploration. As this analysis shows, a closer look at this interaction
reveals that the embracement*or not*of the ideological messages embedded in a
particular text is not only based on the rhetorical aspects of these messages, but also on
the extent to which their implications are in consonance with the material needs, wants,
and priorities of those interpellated by it.
Keywords: Hegemony; Materiality; Gramsci; Latin@s; Latino in America
On October 21 and 22, 2009, CNN aired a two-hour documentary across two days
called Latino in America. As presented on the network’s website, the producers of this
show aimed to explore ‘‘how Latinos are reshaping our communities and culture and
forcing a nation of immigrants to rediscover what it means to be an American’’
(Latino in America, 2009). This hopeful message arrived at millions of U.S.
households at a crucial moment for minorities in this country: the first black
president had just taken office, and the echoes of his ‘‘yes we can’’ still resonated in
the minds of many white and non-white Americans, as well as throughout the rest of
Susana Martı́nez Guillem is a Ph.D. candidate in the Department of Communication at the University of
Colorado-Boulder. Starting in August 2012, she will be an Assistant Professor in the Department of
Communication and Journalism at the University of New Mexico. Marco Briziarelli is a Ph.D. candidate in
the School of Journalism and Mass Communication at the University of Colorado-Boulder. The authors would
like to thank the editors, the anonymous reviewers and Lisa A. Flores for their helpful feedback. A previous
version of this essay was presented at the annual meeting of the Western States Communication Association,
February 2011. Correspondence to: Susana Martı́nez Guillem, Department of Communication, 270 UCB,
University of Colorado at Boulder, Boulder, CO 80303, USA. Email: susanam@colorado.edu
ISSN 1529-5036 (print)/ISSN 1479-5809 (online) # 2012 National Communication Association
http://dx.doi.org/10.1080/15295036.2012.665998
Hegemony, Materiality, and Latino in America
293
the world. At the same time, the worst economic recession since 1929 led to an
unprecedented precariousness for many Americans that materialized in a renewed
hostility towards those perceived as not having the right to benefit from shrinking
resources.1 Embedded in this scenario, the majority of the stories featured in Latino in
America presented a two-way perspective on the assimilation2 road. Thus, they
emphasized how, on the one hand, maintaining a Latino identity could be an obstacle
to the access to the privileges provided by mainstream society while also, at the same
time, Latin@s3 contributed to the redefinition of the very idea of the mainstream.
Soledad O’Brien, the popular mixed-raced CNN anchor, was the correspondent/
narrator who provided the connecting thread of the documentary and also conducted
the different interviews. In her book on the documentary, O’Brien pointed to the
challenges of including the diversity of experiences that come with the label ‘‘Latino’’
in only two one-hour episodes: ‘‘As we did our reporting, I realized quickly how
challenging this was going to be. Latinos are an extremely diverse ethnicity that can
be of any race and have many different origins, history and traditions. You can’t easily
group people who come from as far away as Buenos Aires, Argentina, and Rio de
Janeiro, Brazil, with people of Mayan, Incan and Taino descent who have mixed with
Spaniards, Africans and Jews’’ (O’Brien, 2009).
In spite of these acknowledged difficulties, and from the network’s standpoint, the
goal of the project was largely met, and Latino in America was able to show a picture
of Latin@s that complicated the too often simplistic images offered by mainstream
media (O’Brien, 2009). However, and despite CNN’s positive self-assessments, the
responses of viewers participating in different internet fora told a different story:
most of these viewers*who, for the most part, self-identified as Latin@s*
vehemently condemned what they saw as a negative overemphasis on social problems
in the show and, most importantly, the absence of what they referred to as ‘‘success
stories.’’
In this article we want to offer a detailed examination of this text and of the ways
in which a particular group of viewers responded to it. Our goal is to show how we
can explore the nature of hegemonic processes in a way that more fully incorporates
the role of material reality in the reproduction of a particular social order. Needless to
say, we do not intend to speak for all Latin@s, nor to praise or condemn particular
positionings within this group. Rather, our analysis aims to shed light on how the
material conditions of a specific segment of the Latino population interact with the
dominant representations of this group in ways that need further exploration.
Moreover, and following Ono and Jackson (2011, p. 2), we would encourage readers
to consider the ‘‘relevance beyond the case,’’ and move towards the more general
theoretical contribution we are trying to develop. In this sense, our analysis will
highlight how the embracement*or not*of the ideological messages embedded in a
particular text is not only based on the rhetorical dimensions of these messages, but
also on the extent to which their material implications are in consonance with the
needs, wants, and priorities of those interpellated by them.
The evaluations of Latino in America that we examined, embedded in a
contemporary reality for Latin@s that is continuously changing in socio-economic
294
S.M. Guillem and M. Briziarelli
and cultural terms, offer an invaluable opportunity to explore why particular
segments within potentially marginalized groups may position themselves within a
dominant ideological message and question the alternative options that are presented
to them. As a starting point in this exploration, our analysis will first expose the
particular rhetoric of ‘‘Latino success’’ that runs through Latino in America, mainly
constructed through stories of self-improvement, determination to overcome adverse
circumstances, or achievement of specific goals that do not necessarily translate into
an economically better social positioning. We will then concentrate on how, in spite
of its potential to ring true,4 this rhetoric is consistently questioned by the Latino
viewers whose responses we examined in favor of more ‘‘inspiring’’ stories that
present, for example, educated Latin@s or those occupying influential positions in
U.S. society*doctors, lawyers, university professors, etc. Our analysis of the
documentary, together with an examination of exactly what it is that these viewers
find problematic in it, reveals that the process of social reproduction in this example
takes place, first and foremost, in the material realm that interacts with the rhetoric of
Latino in America. In other words, the social position of these specific audience
members informs their dissatisfaction with symbolic representations of success that
are odds with what they see as a necessary and unquestionable access to a materially
more comfortable living. Accordingly, when the ‘‘success’’ rhetoric does not
incorporate concrete possibilities for Latin@s to enjoy or reach material comfort
(i.e., higher income, social mobility) it is ultimately not embraced.
In order to better understand the processes just described, we believe that we need
to revisit, once again, Gramsci’s contribution to social theory and, in particular, his
notion of hegemony. In short, we will argue that we need to expand our
understanding of the materialist components of hegemonic processes to incorporate
the objective conditions of particular groups, not only as the result of ideological
processes aimed at legitimating their disadvantaged position, but also as the one of
the reasons why these processes are effective. In the end, we believe that this can
constitute an important step towards understanding the tensions within elite factions
of minority groups, and the different impetuses that guide their self-positionings in
particular societal contexts. Accounting for how these motivations are part of a nondiscursive materiality that interacts with ideological processes (Williams, 1977) will
allow us to point to the ways in which a specific social order is successfully
reproduced.
Enlarging the picture: Media Representations, Latino Identities, and Economic
Capital
Our discussion aims to contribute to and expand a well-established body of literature
that has critically engaged with the (re)productive dynamics between different media
outlets and Latino identities. This kind of work has made significant contributions to
our understanding of the systematic othering and homogenization embedded in
mediated Latinidad (Dixon & Linz, 2000; Mastro & Greenberg, 2000; Molina
Guzmán, 2008), and the ways in which audiences make sense of these representations
Hegemony, Materiality, and Latino in America
295
(Báez, 2007; Mayer, 2003; Rios, 2003). Rooted in a general turn in the social sciences
towards an emphasis on differentiation and heterogeneity (Johnson, 2000), Latino
media studies have been especially successful in their interrogation of binaries such as
black/white, native/foreign, or citizen/non-citizen (Mayer, 2004). The diversity of
experiences among Latin@s has proven to be a major preoccupation for Latinocentered scholars, whether they emphasize issues of visibility, identity, and
representation of Latinidad in the media (e.g. Davila, 2002; Flores, 2000; Halter,
2000; Levine, 2001; Ball-Rokeach, Kim, & Matei, 2001; Valdivia, 2003), or the
interpretative processes of Latino audiences at the intersections among race, ethnicity,
gender, class, and/or sexual orientation (Calafell & Delgado, 2004; Cepeda, 2008;
Johnson, 2000; Peñazola, 1994; Ramirez-Berg, 2002; Rivero, 2002; Rojas, 2004;
Sebesta, 2007; Subervi-Vélez, 1999; Vargas, 2006).
As Rodriguez (1999) and Valdivia (2008) observe, the academic interest in Latino
media representations and their reception is not limited to an exploration of underor over-representations of this group, and the consequent problematization of an
‘‘essence’’ expressed in terms of a particular color, language, religion, and/or social
status (Calafell, 2004; Habell-Pallan, 2005). Rather, and building on reception studies
within the cultural studies tradition (Bobo, 1995; Fiske, 1989; Hall, 1980; Livingstone,
1998; Moores, 1993; Nightingale, 1996), many studies of Latino audiences highlight
the capability of viewers to appropriate particular meanings for their own use
(Moran, 2003; Noriega, 1992). They also acknowledge how Latino audiences may
‘‘talk back’’ to the different representations by producing their own counter-images
(Báez, 2007; Ramirez-Berg, 2002) or re-negotiating media depictions (Cepeda, 2008).
Moreover, studies on representation have drawn our attention to how certain images
of Latin@s, even when they incorporate an element of diversity and progressiveness,
are ultimately managed culturally in order to position Latino subjects as clearly
defined ‘‘others’’ (Moreman, 2008; Shugart, 2007). In this sense, scholars have
noticed that a diverse depiction of Latin@s disassociated from topical images may not
be inherently positive, since it can serve a more subtle hegemonic function (see
Calafell & Delgado, 2004; Molina Guzmán & Valdivia, 2004; Holling, 2006; Valdivia,
2000).
The studies that address mediated Latinidad as a possible site of social
(re)production are thus often embedded in a broader discussion of hegemonic
processes. Along this line of research, there have been stimulating discussions of the
extent to which, for example, hybridity can constitute a counter-hegemonic strategy
or a hegemonic move (Henderson, 1999; Rodrı́guez, 1999; Sandoval-Sanchez, 1999),
the ways audiences can challenge particular readings of Latinidad, and the role that
Latino cultural capital*such as education attainment*may play in these processes
(Molina Guzmán & Valdivia, 2004; Del Rio, 2010).
To these important insights, we would add that, in order to get a fuller picture of
how complex representations of Latinidad interact with specific audience members, it
is crucial not only to examine different depictions and their assessments/uses, but
also to develop an understanding of where these judgments originate and what they
do, not only from the perspective of viewers’ preferred identities, or their cultural
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capital, but also in terms of their (desired) social position and their economic capital
(Bourdieu, 1986). Our goal is therefore to contribute to a more comprehensive
approach to the relationship between media and audiences that incorporates the
constraining material basis on which different representations are judged. In our
particular case study, this can help us understand why some Latino viewers may
question alternative representations of their group and align instead with a dominant
position. As a first step in this direction, in the next section we offer a discussion of
the economic aspects that inform the Gramscian concept of hegemony.
Hegemony: Incorporating Material Need
The word hegemony has become, in the last decades, one of those unavoidable terms
in any analysis of societal processes that aims to contribute to a critical project in
academic circles (Chase-Dunn et al., 1994). In spite of the current taken-forgrantedness of hegemonic processes, we believe it is important to reflect on the
different understandings of hegemony that inform most critically oriented scholarship. In our view, what emerges from this review of literature is that scholars have
rarely taken advantage of the full range of possibilities that the Gramscian notion of
hegemony offers. In this sense, our goal is not to present an entirely novel approach
to hegemony, but rather to recover its original heuristic potential as a dialectical
concept that does not lend itself to binaries such as material/symbolic (Godelier,
1986) or real/epiphenomenal (Williams, 1977).
As some reviews have pointed out (e.g., Johnson, 2007), Gramsci’s writings were
ambiguous and incomplete enough to allow for a variety of interpretations when it
comes to deciphering the possibilities he envisioned for the different actors in society.
Despite the inherent fragmentary nature of Gramsci’s work, there are some distinctive
aspects of the notion of hegemony that must be noticed. One of these is its
relationship with ideology. Certainly ideology cannot be considered as an unproblematic concept. However, in the general classic Marxist framework*following the
conceptualization offered in Marx’s German Ideology (in Tucker, 1979)*it accounts
for a functional relationship between base and superstructures. Hegemony, though,
represents a quality of the social whole. Thus, whereas ideology tends to be
understood as concerning only ideas, hegemony encompasses social practices too.
Moreover, ideology, as Eagleton notices (in Regan, 1998, p. 241) tends to be
dissociated from the relations of production, from reality, from history, and
ultimately from material existence, whereas hegemony is seen as encompassing the
relationship between a world view and the sphere of material production (see, for
example, the Gramscian concept of Fordism).
The conceptualization of hegemony as a dialectical process also implies a broader
understanding of power which embraces its consensual and coercive, as well as
material and ideological, aspects. This understanding of power has created an
important point of contention among scholars. Thus, there have been significant
differences of opinion with regards to how to better account for Gramsci’s
forceconsent formula for hegemony, extrapolated from definitions such as the
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297
following: ‘‘the spontaneous consent given by the great masses of the population to
the general direction imposed on social life by the dominant fundamental group; this
consent is ‘historically’ caused by the prestige (and consequent confidence) which the
dominant group enjoys because of its position and function in the world of
production’’ (Gramsci, 1971, p. 12).
Typically, authors have opted for prioritizing one of the two elements outlined in
this formula. Thus, studies that emphasize leadership have tended to focus on the
‘‘consent’’ and ‘‘resistance’’ aspects of hegemonic processes and the ways these are
achieved through rhetorical means (e.g., Burnham, 1991; Cox, 1983; Laclau &
Mouffe, 1985; Martin-Barbero, 1983; Zompetti, 1997, 2008). Coercion-oriented
scholars, on the other hand, have prioritized the ‘‘force’’ component of hegemony:
that is, the ways both consensual and transformative actions are ultimately
constrained by structural elements and the prevalence of these objective conditions
in spite of possible rhetorical changes (e.g., Anderson, 1977; Arrighi, 1994; Aune,
2004; Taylor, 1996). Hall (1986) probably offers the most well-known discussion of
hegemony within cultural studies, addressing the possibilities that Gramsci’s work
opens for a theorization of the intersections between class and race. Drawing on
Gramsci’s view that class unity is ‘‘never assumed a priori’’ (Hall, 1986, p. 15) but
internally fragmented, Hall invites us to explore the conflicting interests that inform
particular group identities, as well as the centrality of contradictory discursive
formations in the (re)production of popular hegemony.
Dana Cloud (1994, 1996) and Celeste Condit (1994, 1996) present the most
articulate examples of engagement with the notion of hegemony for the purposes of
rhetorical analysis. Condit emphasizes the need for a kind of ideology criticism that
attends to its contemporary historical context. For her, this inevitably calls for a reconceptualization of hegemony that can account for a particular reality, and more
specifically what she calls ‘‘social concord’’ (Condit, 1994). Cloud, on the other hand,
(1996, 1997) has forcefully argued against this reframing of hegemony in harmonious
terms. She emphasizes the need to pay attention to ‘‘the limits of compromises within
the available conditions’’ (1996, p. 118), thus putting a strong emphasis on the ways
in which rhetoric, backed up by the state’s force, serves the interests of those in power
by guaranteeing that ‘‘voluntary’’ consent*understood in an ironic sense*will take
place.
We definitely share Cloud’s concerns with a theorization of hegemony that overcelebrates the ‘‘diversity’’ of voices found in the public sphere and ultimately turns
necessity into choice. However, we also recognize the soundness in Condit’s (1994)
call to factor in consumers and mediators of rhetorical artifacts in contemporary
examinations of hegemonic processes. The question, nevertheless, remains: to what
extent are actors actually able to set their own interest agendas? How can we account
for the existence of multiple voices without giving too much credit to the actual
empowerment*beyond the discursive realm*that these allow?5
A possible way to start extending our discussion of hegemonic processes is to
recover an understanding of hegemony that also embraces cultural materialism
(Williams, 1961) and thus challenges the reduction of culture to an ‘‘‘immaterial’
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phenomenon in contrast with real ‘activity’’’ (Jones, 2004, p. 47). In his view,
economic, social processes and cultural symbolic ones are not mutually exclusive, and
‘‘we see language and signification as indissoluble elements of the material social
process itself, involved all the time both in production and reproduction’’ (Williams,
1961, p. 99).
In the case of Latino in America and a portion of its audience, this view helps us
address the tensions arising from the limitations that the symbolic and material
dimensions of a dominant system force on Latin@s. The responses analyzed can thus
be seen as stemming from the constraints imposed by the cultural/economic
dimensions of Latino experiences. This reading contributes to our understanding
of how the objective conditions within which this particular group operates play an
important role in limiting their room for embracing alternative ideologies. We thus
propose an analysis that retains, as Cloud suggests, the material aspects of hegemony,
but that at the same time creates the space within materiality for those groups whose
immediate interests contribute to the maintenance of a particular hegemonic
order. With these goals in mind, we turn in the next section to the object of this
analysis.
Latino in America: the ‘‘Latino Success’’
Latino in America is the most ambitious CNN project ever to concentrate specifically
on the Latino population in the U.S.6 In spite of the specific focus of its content, the
fact that the documentary was aired in prime-time evidences the network’s
confidence in the ability of this particular product to reach a non-Latino audience,7
mainly due to the perceived universal character of the different stories told. Reflecting
on her motivations to get this project started, O’Brien points to a particular
understanding of what it means to be Latin@: ‘‘Latino is an American identity’’ that
describes ‘‘a people who celebrate the new culture they’ve created in the United States
while struggling each day with whether we need to assimilate or integrate into this
new society’’ (Latino in America, 2009). In consonance with this understanding, the
stories in the documentary can be seen as exemplifying the dual nature of this
particular American identity, and more specifically the conflicts, both at the personal
and at the societal level, that arise from the different efforts to reconcile its opposing
aspects.
Given this potential step away from simplistic media representations of Latin@s,
how is it that the documentary was still negatively evaluated by a consistent majority
of the Latino viewers posting comments on the different online fora? A closer
examination of exactly what kinds of redefinitions are accomplished by this show
may place us in a better position to understand why the specific Latino audience we
examined responded to it in the ways they did. As the following textual analysis will
demonstrate, the diversity of representations in Latino in America is embedded in a
predominant narrative of ‘‘Latino success’’ that undermines improvement of material
conditions in favor of a rhetoric of self-empowerment.
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‘‘I turned my life around’’: Uncovering the road to success
The first half of Latino in America is symbolically titled ‘‘the Garcias,’’ as it reminds
the viewer, on the one hand, of the reality of the Latino presence in the U.S.*Garcı́a
is among the 10 most popular last names in America*and, on the other hand, of the
diversity that lies underneath a common label. The second half of the show, ‘‘Chasing
the dream,’’ focuses on ‘‘a journey as old as the nation*the pursuit of the American
Dream’’ (Nelson, 2009) through the stories of those Latin@s who have achieved their
personal goals, together with the experiences of those for whom the ‘‘dream’’ remains
‘‘elusive’’ or has even been ‘‘denied’’ by the force of hate crimes.
After a close examination of all the stories presented in the show, different patterns
worthy of attention emerged. Thus, the show portrays the contradictory experiences
of a class faction that struggles for a better composition of its capital (Bourdieu,
1986) in three distinct ways: first, Latino in America tells the stories of those who have
embraced mainstream American values at the expense of their cultural heritage*and
somehow regret this. The audience meets, for example, Bill and Betty Garcia,
‘‘New York City transplants now living in the suburbs of Charlotte, North Carolina,’’
who ‘‘made the move with their two sons 15 years ago to escape high prices and the
big city grind,’’ and ‘‘are worried that by living in Charlotte their sons, Andrew and
Brian, are not getting the same Latino experience they had.’’ The cameras follow Bill
and Betty through their now materially comfortable lives, and we learn that they
‘‘have made a successful life in Charlotte. Bill has made a career working for nonprofit organizations whereas Betty is a school teacher.’’ The interview conducted by
O’Brien takes place at their rather spacious and nicely furnished house. Here, we also
learn that, in spite of this material progress, this couple is far from satisfied with the
sacrifices they have made in order to access their new life. They especially regret
having abandoned the use of Spanish at home and worry about their sons’ reluctance
to self-identify as Latinos. Asked by O’Brien how she thinks giving up on speaking
Spanish has affected the boys’ identity, Betty states: ‘‘if I had the chance to start over, I
would really make a conscientious effort to teach the boys Spanish.’’ Then, she adds:
‘‘Maybe, not even move to Charlotte and stay up in New York.’’ Thus, Bill and Betty’s
nostalgia for their authentic Latino past emphasizes the painfulness of their cultural
losses, thus showing how, in their case, success ‘‘has come at a price.’’
Another path presented in the show is that of those Latin@s whose cultural
heritage*seen, for example, in their native language or in their family responsibilities*stands in the way of their hopes to join mainstream America. Latino
cultural capital is thus portrayed in these stories as not easily ‘‘capitalizable’’ in
economic terms (Bourdieu, 1986). One of these Latin@s is Carlos Robles, a Puerto
Rican in Orlando who ‘‘has a dream*to become a Florida sheriff*but his poor
English and thick accent stand in the way.’’ In order to overcome this obstacle ‘‘he is
taking English pronunciation classes, hoping to reduce the accent he acquired on U.S.
soil.’’ Being fluent and accentless in English is presented as a condition for Carlos to
‘‘pass the Sherriff ’s exam, which he already failed once due to his lack of English
skills.’’ As O’Brien’s team follows Carlos’s steps, the audience witnesses him fail his
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test for the second time. Although disappointed, he remains optimistic about a better
future for him and his pregnant partner, and he makes this explicit in his final words:
‘‘I will try again; I need my future; that’s my future; that’s what I want; that’s my
goal.’’ This emphasis on determination and willingness to overcome obstacles is also
at the heart of O’Brien’s conclusions, as she states: ‘‘failure doesn’t dismiss Carlos’s
ambitions [. . .] Carlos is determined to have it all. This is Carlos Robles’ American
dream.’’
Last but not least, there is a third set of stories in Latino in America, in which the
duality pointed out in the presentation of the show seems to have been reconciled by
its protagonists. Thus, the experiences of these people show that they have managed
to be upwardly mobile while maintaining their Latino cultural roots. Among these,
the show introduces ‘‘Eva Longoria, [. . .] actress and prime example of a Latina star
whose roles have transcended stereotypes.’’ As she’s interviewed, Longoria proudly
asserts that she has ‘‘never played stereotypical parts.’’ Recalling her different roles,
and her current part in the show Desperate Housewives, she states: ‘‘I’ve never played a
maid, I’ve never played a gardener, I’ve never felt like, you know, Desperate
Housewives had an overtly ethnic line with me, I’ve never been like: ‘come on over for
tortillas’[laughter].’’ The same pattern can be found in the story of Chef Lorena
Garcia, who is presented as ‘‘a Latina businesswoman driven by a passion to cook and
communicate,’’ who shocked her family ‘‘when she announced a career change to
cooking’’ instead of becoming a lawyer as they expected. As proof of her right
decision, the audience learns that ‘‘she now has her own product line, is a
spokesperson for national brands and appears weekly on the Spanish-language
television network Univision.’’ Lorena’s strong Spanish accent in this case is presented
as a symbol of her commitment to her roots, as O’Brien continues to narrate her
story: ‘‘fresh out of culinary school Lorena was told, to break through, she had to lose
the accent.’’ This, however, ‘‘didn’t stop her,’’ but gave her ‘‘more strength’’ to try. Her
accent is even turned into an advantage in this context, as we learn that Lorena
decided to ‘‘market herself as a national brand,’’ and she claims that her way of
speaking is unproblematically accepted: ‘‘our accent is cute now.’’ The story’s
conclusion is that ‘‘Lorena is banking on a changing America, where she can be a
crossover success, without losing her Latina identity.’’
As mentioned above, the majority of the stories told in the show fall into one of
these three patterns. There were four stories with mixed components that did not
clearly fit into one of the paths. Of the total number of narratives, four presented a
narrative in which acculturation led to economic assimilation, seven emphasized the
struggle to acculturate and its relation to material limitations, and eight presented
maintenance of cultural roots and upward mobility as compatible. Even though this
may suggest an important presence of narratives that present a possibility for Latin@s
to enter the American mainstream and contribute to redefining it, two important
qualifications need to be made before we can completely uncover the main
components of success as proposed by Latino in America.
First, almost all of the narratives that reconcile the ideas of ‘‘mainstream’’ and
‘‘Latino’’ feature either a celebrity or someone in the entertainment business.
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Moreover, stories such as Chef Lorena’s do not seem to fit the classical pattern of
immigrants who start at the bottom of the social ladder and then slowly climb up.
The fact that her family wanted her to be a lawyer suggests that Lorena enjoyed an
amount of economic and symbolic capital (Bourdieu, 1986) that is not typically
available to most Latin@s within the U.S. One has to wonder then whether this story
really constitutes an example of achievement of the American dream through one’s
personal efforts, or rather they exemplify how an already advantaged position has
allowed some Latin@s to maintain their privilege.
The second important aspect of the different narratives developed in Latino in
America relates to how the audience is invited to evaluate them. Whereas the stories
of those immigrants who have acculturated and assimilated structurally have a sour
undertone*seen in the nostalgia for their Latino past, or in the remorse for having
abandoned their roots*the stories that portray the efforts of those immigrants who
try to acculturate, even as they show how their inability to overcome certain obstacles
results in personal or social punishment, systematically end on an optimistic note.
The emphasis in these narratives is not on the lack of equality exemplified by these
people’s ultimate life chances, but on their ability to overcome particular obstacles*
such as managing an unexpected pregnancy while still in school*or on their
determination to ‘‘keep trying’’*as in Carlos’s case. In short, these stories convey a
message of personal improvement that downplays the limits of mobility by reducing
achievement and success to the ability to overcome challenging circumstances at the
individual level, and where socioeconomic advancement remains at most a distant
promise. Nevertheless, the struggle and determination of these people when
confronting adverse circumstances and introducing limited or short term changes
in their lives are constructed as ‘‘success,’’ and viewers are encouraged to interpret
them as such.
As the detailed analysis of the contents of this show reveals, the ultimate possibility
in the societal picture of Latino in America is not one where Latin@s enjoy the
benefits of what Gordon (1964) labeled ‘‘structural assimilation,’’ meaning equal
access to the benefits that mainstream society provides, but a place where what
O’Brien proudly calls the ‘‘intangible cultural link’’ appears as ultimately an obstacle
for most Latin@s whose ability to cope with different challenges, nonetheless, should
be embraced and accepted by this community as a form of success. Thus, in the end,
the show presents this (unprivileged) Latino social space as the best option for
reconciling economic achievement and cultural fulfillment. In order to explore how
some Latin@s positioned themselves with regards to this rhetoric of success, in the
next section we conduct a close examination of different responses posted by viewers
in online fora.
Viewers’ Responses: We Want Your Success
Latino in America as a cultural artifact comprises much more than the actual
documentary aired on CNN: the network also developed a website where viewers and
fans could learn more about the different stories, read about related topics not
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featured in the show, and even report on their own experiences of being a ‘‘Garcı́a.’’
Latino in America also materialized into a Facebook group that periodically posts
pieces of news considered relevant for Latin@s, and, right after it was aired, asked its
members to voice their reactions to the documentary. The group currently has more
than 10,000 followers who actively engage in the different discussions proposed.
Given the relevance of these other dimensions, uncovering Latino in America’s
ideological message(s) becomes only one aspect of our inquiry into how a particular
social system gets reproduced. In the end, one could argue, the fact that media elites
would be interested in promoting dominant values should not come as a surprise,
and some critics would say it is even unavoidable (see Altheide & Snow, 1979).
However, as pointed out above, the theoretical starting point of this article is that,
first, hegemony is as much about force as it is about consent, and, second, that the
gaining of consent does not only take place in the realm of ideology, but also in the
material worlds of specific groups, since what counts in the end are the specific social
practices linked to a given worldview. Thus, from this perspective, it is crucial to
assess the extent to which Latino viewers of Latino in America endorse its main
ideological message, mainly represented in the show’s expanding of the notion of
‘‘success.’’ We also need to explore the different motivations that guide the
evaluations of particular audience members, rather than assuming that the
representations put forward by the text automatically reproduce hegemony by
justifying the existing material conditions through rhetorical means. In order to
understand better how hegemonic processes work in this particular instance,
therefore, we should not only focus on whether Latino in America promotes a
particular ideology, or on whether this ideology reflects reality more or less
accurately, but also on understanding, through specific viewers’ responses, why
particular representations are not satisfactory, and from where that dissatisfaction
comes.
Online responses to Latino in America
We collected the text for our analysis from the CNN and Facebook websites where
viewers, who overwhelmingly self-identified as Latin@s, posted their reactions to
Latino in America. The responses took the shape of threads generated by a specific
question: CNN asked its viewers, ‘‘What did you think about ‘Latino in America?’’’
(http://www.cnn.com/SPECIALS/2009/latino.in.america/); whereas, the Facebook
group named ‘‘CNN Latino in America’’ posted the following question on its
profile: ‘‘So what do you think? What did you like? What did we get, what did we
miss?’’ (http://www.facebook.com/CNNLatinoinAmerica).
Altogether, more than 500 comments posted in these outlets make up the text that
we treat as online responses to Latino in America. Needless to say, this number
constitutes only a small portion of the total number of viewers of the documentary.
Our goal, however, is not to draw conclusions about the Latino audience as a whole,
but to explore how those Latin@s who aim to enjoy a comfortable economic position,
or who possibly already enjoy it, negotiate the social reality that Latino in America
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invites them to embrace. Accordingly, we chose to focus on those viewers who either
implicitly or explicitly embody these characteristics. The first implicit indicator of
comfortable economic position is internet access: slightly more than 40% of Latin@s
have internet access at home (Fairlie, 2008; Pew Hispanic Center, 2010), and based on
the general correspondence between yearly earnings and internet use (Fairlie, 2008) it
is reasonable to assume that this 40% is largely made up of those Latin@s with higher
incomes. A second marker is language use: the intersection between internet access
and English fluency is a strong indicator that these respondents belong to a specific
portion of the Latino population, most likely born in the United States, and with
incomes and educational degrees above the Latino average (Pew Hispanic Center,
2010). The demographic data provided by CNN with regards to the network audience
also point to the fact that these viewers belong to a very specific economic stratum
that challenges traditional associations between Latino ethnicity and economic
marginalization.8
Challenging ‘‘success’’
The majority of the comments reviewed for this project included some sort of
reservation about the documentary as a whole. More specifically, viewers consistently
referred to the absence of ‘‘success’’ or ‘‘positive’’ stories, and referred to the show’s
‘‘negative focus,’’ or its mostly ‘‘depressing’’ and ‘‘disappointing’’ message. In short,
much of what CNN presented as ‘‘success’’ stories were interpreted by Latino viewers
as narratives of ‘‘failure.’’ Viewers demanded a radically different approach that,
according to them, would not just perpetuate Latino stereotypes. Statements such as
‘‘I think you needed to highlight more stories of triumph,’’ ‘‘where are the success
stories?’’ (Vargas, 2009), or ‘‘are there any Latinas who aren’t pregnant?’’ (Becker,
2009) show a sense of discomfort with this particular aspect of the Latino experience
presented by Latino in America. The following responses show how viewers
articulated this feeling:
Your piece was too focused on Latino stereotypes (the typical story of the
immigrant that struggles with the English language, works for minimum wage,
struggles to assimilate). While this was true for many of us, especially our parents,
you didn’t cover the other side of the spectrum. (Arriola, 2009)
What about stories about succes[s]ful Latino professionals . . . why focusing so
much on the negative and stereotypes of [L]atinos. . . you should have shown more
successful stories of [L]atino professionals . . . (Garcia, 2009)
This predominant expression of disappointment definitely contrasts with CNN
producers’ statements on the diverse story about the Latino experience that this
documentary was supposed to tell. Perhaps more interestingly, it is also at odds with
the predominant optimistic tone with which many of the self-improvement stories*
the ones the responses mostly challenge*actually ended. But how do we explain this?
What could be leading to this dissatisfaction?
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One possibility would be to argue that these viewers are just making use of their
‘‘common sense,’’ in the Gramscian sense, and dismissing any suggestion that
personal effort does not always translate into material gains. This would lead them to
ask for ‘‘successful’’ and ‘‘positive’’ representations which in reality work against their
own interests because they legitimate the relegation of many Latin@s to unprivileged
positions. We could definitely concede that the above description explains some of
the responses to Latino in America found in the sites analyzed.9 However, we would
argue that this clear dismissal is not only a result of the workings of ‘‘common sense.’’
It is also, importantly, taking place within very real material conditions that are
influencing how viewers evaluate what the show presents as ‘‘success stories.’’ Thus,
because endorsing the show’s version of achievement for Latin@s would translate into
an acceptance that ‘‘success’’ is not necessarily achieved through social mobility*at
least, as we saw, for the average Latin@*and because the respondents’ needs, wants,
and, in some cases, actual social position do take account of upward mobility, the
stories presented as ‘‘successful’’ cannot be considered as such from this perspective.
In other words, the kinds of stories preferred by Latino in America do not show a
concrete possibility for turning Latino cultural capital into a much needed economic
capital (Bourdieu, 1986). Thus, viewers make constant reference to how the different
representations of ‘‘success’’ are leaving out this desired or real possibility of joining
the economic mainstream, as we see in the following responses:
It was great to see stories that main stream Americans might not be aware of.
However, I would have liked to see more regular upwardly mobile Latinos. Why not
interview the Latino doctor too? [. . .] There are many of us who are making
achievements, striving too thanks to the sacrifices our parents made. Tell our
stories! (Palacio, 2009)
we were reduced down to teen age pregnancies, suicidal teens, people not wanting
to learn English and young Latinos not accepting their heritage and culture and
how Latinos are dividing the Catholic Church. There are so many positive Latino
Americans, doctors, lawyers, small and large business people. [. . .] As a Latina
American, I am saddened that this is not the voice of the Latino Community in
America. What you portrayed were the other stereotypical Latinos in America that
do not represent those of us that become productive members of society, that
volunteer in our communities, that juggle work, families, faith, culture, traditions
and are successful. (Hernandez-Mullin, 2009)
Although I agree that there are many sad and tragic stories among Latinos in the
U.S. as a cultural researcher and L[a]tina myself, I also know that there are many
stories of success, and I don’t mean Eva Longoria or Mel Garcia success, but the
success of my neighbor who just got a scholarship to become the 1st in her family
to go to college, success of Latina women who happen to be the biggest group of
small biz owners in the country. There’s also a strong sense of pride in our Latino
community that I didn’t see reflected in the interviews. (Lozano Longarini, 2009)
These remarks also point to another important trend in the responses, namely that
the challenge of a particular ideology of success, even though it redefines specific
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stories as ‘‘negative,’’ is not necessarily accompanied by the request to remove these
portrayals altogether. In fact, many viewers refer to these stories as ‘‘part of reality,’’
an ‘‘important reality,’’ or ‘‘the sad reality for some.’’ This position usually leads to the
claim that, even though this aspect of the Latino experience cannot be ignored, it has
to be complemented with other, more ‘‘inspiring’’ narratives. Some viewers even
recognize the dangers of putting too much emphasis on the happy and triumphant
side of the Latino experience, since it could lead to loss of a legitimate base from
which to demand social change:
I think if the show had shown nothing but positive stuff then the greater society
would have wondered why ‘‘we minorities’’ are complaining. They would wonder
why the Latino/African American etc. around the corner can[’]t be like ‘‘all the ones
on the show.’’ Both of these stereotypes are just as dangerous. (Rojas, 2009)
While I feel that there should have been more positive stories told, more stories of
overcomers, I do feel that we should not shy away from telling a true, well balanced
story. If part of that story is heart breaking, depressing, and even shameful, I think
we need to tell it. So, I feel that the stories that showed negative issues were
necessary and enlightening. With that being said, I do agree that there should have
been some profiles done on some of the Latino lawyers, doctors, and CEO’s in this
country. Perhaps in [Latino in America 2], CNN will play closer attention to the
accomplishments that this great population has managed to achieve. (Braden,
2009)
Most of the viewers who posted comments in the different internet sites, then, do
not completely reject the validity or usefulness of what they interpret as narratives of
failure. What a significant part of these Latin@s asks for is a discussion of those
stories along with what they consider ‘‘happy,’’ ‘‘successful,’’ or ‘‘positive’’ ones. This is
a crucial aspect of these online responses, because it shows that, once again, the
specific social position*this time in terms of group membership*these viewers may
be speaking from does not allow them to deny completely that stories such as Carlos’s
are a part of the Latino experience. However, their particular conditions lead them to
ask for other kinds of representations that present upward mobility as both an
unquestionable reality and an attainable goal.
A final aspect worthy of examination relates to whether the inclusion of Latino
celebrities acts as an ‘‘ideological lesson’’ (Cloud, 1996) that presents the road to
success as one of individual effort alone. As we saw before, these celebrities make up
the majority of stories that presented a Latino identity and assimilation into
mainstream society as compatible. The fact that many of these actors and actresses
point to the low or complete absence of influence of their ethnic background in their
professional chances is an indicator of the downplaying of racial inequality and
negative Latino stereotypes in these portrayals. The extent to which viewers are
successfully taught this ideological lesson, however, can and should be discussed by
examining how respondents evaluate these celebrity stories. More specifically, we
need to determine whether the narrative that the ‘‘dream’’ is possible for those
Latin@s who try hard is perceived in this context as providing a positive ‘‘successful’’
306
S.M. Guillem and M. Briziarelli
model, or as yet another damaging misrepresentation of ‘‘success.’’ A look at the
responses reveals that many viewers condemn these portrayals as yet one more
stereotype that, even though it may allow for a slight disassociation between Latin@
and failure, still does not open up the possibility of economic success for the
‘‘average’’ Latin@. Thus, the celebrities’ stories were criticized along with those stories
considered ‘‘negative,’’ since they were perceived as not being ‘‘the norm’’ and leaving
out ‘‘average successful stories’’:
If you were trying to portray Latinos in a positive light, you mostly failed.
Throwing in a few movie stars doesn’t quite do it. (Romay, 2009)
We do not all want to be famous movie and TV personalities, we are not all illegal
immigrants, we do not all live in poverty stricken, gang infested neighborhoods, we
do not all get pregnant as teenagers and drop out of school, and not all of us have
identity crisis about being Latino in America. (Lebron Striker, 2009)
you don[’]t need to be a celebrity or on the news to make a differe…

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