As the film awards season reaches its climax, highlighted by the glitz of the Academy Awards, the glamour of the events contrasts with the harsh realities frequently depicted in the nominated works. For example, the film “Rustin” has received multiple award nominations for Colman Domingo’s performance as civil rights leader Bayard Rustin. Yet the descriptors for the film’s Motion Picture Association rating make no mention of the specific type of violence present in the movie — which is frequently vivid in films about that period in American history.
The descriptors for the film’s PG-13 rating list “thematic material, some violence, sexual material, language including racial slurs, brief drug use, and smoking.” But the phrase “some violence” barely scratches the surface. There is a term for violence that is racially motivated: racial violence. Despite the extreme racial violence in “Rustin,” the term is absent from the descriptors. Unfortunately, this omission is all too common. But given what we know about the psychological impact of depictions of racial violence, there is an urgent need for comprehensive change in how we rate and understand media content.
“If racial violence is portrayed, there’s not much thought to how it affects African Americans.”
Just within the past few years, the nation has been profoundly impacted by the tragic deaths of Ahmaud Arbery, Breonna Taylor and George Floyd, especially the disturbing videos of Floyd’s and Arbery’s murders. These events have not only shaken our collective psyche but have also highlighted how media content can reflect and, at times, intensify societal wounds.
As both a documentarian and a human rights scholar, I understand the profound influence of film on society. Recently, I spoke with multiple Emmy Award-winning filmmaker Stanley Nelson Jr. about the long-lasting impact these depictions have on societal perceptions. Regarding the racist depictions of Black characters that were the norm in film during his childhood, he said, “There were no warnings or descriptors for our children or for us in general. Descriptors prepare us for what we’re going to see, and it gives us a choice of whether we want to be exposed to that or not. If racial violence is portrayed, there’s not much thought to how it affects African Americans, how it affects African American young people. That can be really traumatizing.”
When Black children see racial violence on film, says Dr. Christine Crawford of the National Alliance on Mental Illness, “They are even more likely to consider that it could happen to them and develop anxiety and emotional challenges as a result. In contrast, white children exposed to racial violence without context often grow up with an inability to acknowledge their privilege. They may not develop the ability to recognize racial injustice in the world.” In short, she says, “the vicarious trauma experienced by viewers of color, especially Black children, who see themselves as victimized characters, leads to emotional distress and a heightened sense of vulnerability.”
That distress and vulnerability is hardly the escapism films hope to provide. All this underscores the inadequate distinctions made between real and fantastical violence in film ratings and the need for a more nuanced approach.
I began scrutinizing the Classification and Ratings Administration (CARA), the body responsible for movie ratings, a few years ago. As with “Rustin,” CARA uses terms like “racial slurs” and “some violence” yet often fails to address “racial violence” in its descriptors specifically. Frequently, the latter is hidden behind vague phrases like “thematic elements.” These are not just oversights, this reflects the broader societal challenges in confronting and acknowledging racial issues openly and responsibly.
Sadly, the pain inflicted by these portrayals is often overlooked.
Critiquing film ratings necessitates an examination of those who determine them. According to a 2018 MPA publication, anywhere between eight and 13 parents determined ratings and descriptors. As of that year, there were just nine full-time and part-time raters, representing California, New York, Illinois, Ohio, Maryland and Hawaii. The limited composition of the MPA’s rating panel raises concerns about the representation of diverse parental concerns. Imagine a white upper-middle-class woman from Los Angeles being given the power to decide what a Black working-class mother from Harlem might want to protect her children from. The disparity in perspectives is concerning and indicative of a broader disconnect in our media governance structures.
In 2022, I petitioned the MPA for better warnings about racial violence with the support of my former professor, Luis Moreno Ocampo, the first prosecutor of the International Criminal Court. I first proposed this idea as a final project while studying under him as a graduate student. At the time, I toyed with a different topic, but Ocampo steered me back to the petition. When I later asked him why, he explained, “I like to move from protesting or demanding to implementing. You are a citizen. You have rights. Use your rights to clarify the rules.”
Those of us who choose to remain vigilant about racial injustices are often labeled as angry. However, these emotions stem from a justifiable reaction to ongoing injustice and the psychological impact of racial violence in the media. Sadly, the pain inflicted by these portrayals is often overlooked, diminishing the trauma experienced by those who identify with the victimized characters.
We must advocate for more inclusive, empathetic and transparent film rating processes as we navigate these complex waters. This is not just a fight for better content warnings, but a stand for a more aware and sensitive media landscape that respects and reflects the diverse experiences of all filmgoers. The journey may be challenging, but the necessity for change is undeniable.
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