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Courtesy of Matthias Clamer
W. Kamau Bell
On Monday, November 24, comedian
W. Kamau Bell went for a walk near his home in Berkeley, California. Earlier that evening, a St. Louis County grand jury had decided not to indict Ferguson, Missouri, police officer Darren Wilson in the shooting death of teenager Michael Brown. Bell was anxious, upset. He needed to get out of the house. He wanted some ice cream.
What happened next is a tragicomedy of errors that Bell details in a
recent online piece for Vanity Fair. When he arrives at the bodega, Bell, like Brown a 6'4" black male, goes through a checklist that is likely standard operating procedure for many BBMs — per Bell's VF piece, that's short for Big Black Male. First, he drops the hood on his sweatshirt to appear less suspicious or threatening. He keeps his hands out of his pockets while he browses, only touching items he's certain he'll buy and keeping his palms visible, just like his mother taught him. When he's ready to check out he slowly, "gingerly" as he writes, places his items on the counter. Just as carefully, he reaches for his money. Then something goes wrong.
The elaborate parade of thoughts that marches through Bell's head at that moment — a series of imagined events that culminates with Bell being gunned down, ice cream sandwich in hand, by police — is absurd. So much so that it would almost be funny, except for the fact that the scenario that plays out in his mind contains elements of the shooting deaths of not only Brown, but several other BBMs recently. Though he's one of the country's bright, up-and-coming comedic stars, Bell's story is no joke. And it highlights the unique day-to-day reality of being a large black man in America in a way few of us who aren't large black men likely ever think about.
Bell is hailed as among the sharpest young sociopolitical comedians working today. He's perhaps best known as the host of the critically acclaimed but sadly short-lived late night FX talk show, "Totally Biased with W. Kamau Bell." But it's his standup act that has really set him apart. To wit, the
New York Times called him "the most promising new talent in political comedy in many years."
On Thursday, December 4, Bell will bring his latest show, "The Oh Everything! Tour" to Club Metronome in Burlington. In advance of that performance
Seven Days recently caught up with Bell by phone.
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SEVEN DAYS: The ACLU named you an Ambassador of Racial Justice. That's quite a grand title. What does it mean, exactly?
W. KAMAU BELL: You know, I'm still figuring it out. I'm just worried about messing it up. I think when you take a comedian and give them respectability, sometime comedians don't know how to handle when they're meant to be respectable — but we're not talking about Bill Cosby.
SD: Yeesh …
WKB: My thing is that I just keep doing what I do and if I do the wrong thing they'll take it away from me. They have a bunch of different ambassadors. Harry Belafonte is one them, and all Harry Belafonte has to do is continue to be Harry Belafonte. So I have to get better, faster, stronger.
SD: I imagined you swooping in wearing a mask and cape wherever racial injustice rears its ugly head.
WKB: Nope. I do it from onstage. I just wish it came with a badge so I could be walking down the street and randomly break up racism.
SD: I really appreciated what you wrote for Vanity Fair after the Darren Wilson grand jury verdict. Being a five-foot-eight white guy, it made me think about some things I probably don't think about as often as I should.
WKB: The thing that I'm trying to put out to the world is that we can argue all day long — and we are arguing all day long — about whether you think that was justified. I certainly don't think the killing of Michael Brown was justified. However, you can't, or at least shouldn't argue how people feel. You can't tell me I shouldn't feel this way or that there's not a reason to feel this way. And since that piece came out, a lot of BBMs — "Big Black Males," as I put in the piece — have come out saying, "Yeah, exactly."
I think we're finally coming to a place, for the most part, in places where adult discussions are happening, that women walk around in the world a lot of times feeling like they have to protect themselves from being a victim. And I feel like this is the flip-side of that. We haven't really talked about that. There is fear of black people of any size. But for black people over six feet tall who have some size and girth to them, as I do — I've got some dad weight on me — there's a way that I have to walk through the world, too, to try and limit the possibility that something bad will happen, even if I'm just going out for ice cream.
I sort of wrote that for the
Vanity Fair audience. I don't need to tell black people that story. If that piece was in
Essence magazine they'd be like, "Yes. I know." It was for people that that idea had never even crossed their mind before. And there are million different versions of that story. But this one literally happened the night of the grand jury decision. I was up and anxious and it was 12:30 and I needed to take a walk and that all happened. So the lingering feeling from that story I felt was inarguable. And if you do argue it, which many people have, then you … are … a …
dick.