Opinion | May the new Ariel lead to many more Black heroines

The furor over Disney’s live-action remake of “The Little Mermaid” has been fierce.

At issue is the casting of singer Halle Bailey as Ariel, the fictional mermaid princess. Bailey is Black. Some have said Disney is using race as a cash grab. One particular tweet that gained a lot of attention was by a redheaded woman who said she was sad that she no longer felt represented now that Ariel is Black.

Which led me to post a thought experiment on Twitter.

I grew up admiring and wanting to be like many iconic, fictional White superheroines and princesses. Some of my early favorites were Disney’s Ariel, Serena from “Sailor Moon,” Pippi Longstocking and She-Ra: Princess of Power. Later, I was obsessed with superheroines such as Rogue from “X-Men,” Wonder Woman and Xena: Warrior Princess.

So I asked White followers: Could they name a fictional Black superheroine or princess they admired growing up?

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First, some rules.

No. 1: They could not be Storm from “X-Men.” Ororo Munroe, a.k.a. Storm, is arguably the most iconic intergenerational Black female superhero of the last two generations. Introduced in 1975, Storm is a Kenyan mutant with the ability to manipulate the weather. She has appeared in multiple issues of “X-Men,” the hugely successful ’90s cartoon, as well as in multiple video games and movies — and even got her first stand-alone series in 2014. But everyone knows she’s an outlier, which is why I took her off the table.

No. 2: They had to be characters originally rendered as Black, not Black actresses playing White characters. Which eliminated Eartha Kitt’s iconic five-episode run of Catwoman in the 1967-1968 final season of TV’s “Batman,” as well as singer Brandy’s cherished 1997 portrayal of Cinderella.

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No. 3: They had to be fictional.

Easy, right? Welp, not so much.

I got hundreds of responses, particularly from boomers, Gen Xers and my generation, the millennials. Let’s just say, White people’s struggle to name fictional Black superheroines or princesses whom they personally looked up to was very, very real. And taking Storm and Kitt’s Catwoman off the table made people very, very upset.

“No, I’m changing your rules,” one said. Others angrily accused me of rigging the game, of disrespecting Storm and Kitt.

A number named entertainment celebrities such as Diana Ross, Grace Jones, Oprah Winfrey or Tina Turner. Others named athletes such as Serena Williams. Still others named feminist icons such as Angela Davis. All are disqualified for not being fictional. I was beyond aghast when more than one White woman mentioned real-life or fictional Black female slaves, such as Harriet Tubman, Addy from the American Girl franchise or Kizzy from “Roots.” I was waiting for someone to argue that Nala from “The Lion King” should count as a Black princess.

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The most common and iconic Black female character to come up was the original “Star Trek”’s Lt. Uhura, played by Nichelle Nichols in the 1960s and again in a later series of films. Nichols made history as the first Black woman to appear in a leading role on television; it is understandable why she made such an impact on a generation of Americans.

None of this is to say there have been absolutely zero Black superheroines or princesses in pop culture. Tiana is a recent Disney princess. Comic book nerds will remember Misty Knight in “Ms. Marvel”; Vixen from “Justice League” also came up.

Now why does my little experiment matter? First of all, superheroines and princesses represent the possibilities of female empowerment, of “specialness.” Whether it is a woman who possesses superhuman abilities to fight for the good of humanity, or a princess who wields social power, privilege and desirability, these are the cultural archetypes of feminine power. The fact that there have been fewer than a handful of Black women characters held up as representative of female power is bad enough.

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What made the responses frustrating were the various forms of mental gymnastics employed to avoid the uncomfortable reality: Every American generation so far has grown up in a cultural environment that disallows Black girls and women as possessing some form of power over others, whether through super abilities or social power inherited through birth or marriage. The fact that many couldn’t name any is not a personal attack but an indictment of our racist, misogynist system.

So back to a Black Ariel. There is an argument to be made that the lazy entertainment corporations need to create and support original Black female characters, not reheat old White characters with Black faces. I agree. Representation without investment in character development and longevity is not the same as progress. How many Black superheroines and princesses, and major hero characters, were birthed only to fade into obscurity? Or to be rewritten as White (i.e., Rogue from “X-Men,” for example).

We can only hope that Halle Bailey’s Ariel leads artists and corporations to resurrect forgotten Black superheroines and princesses — and create new ones. Representation is not enough. Inspiration, dedication to and normalization of empowered Black women — that’s where the true magic lies.

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