BIPOC Trauma Porn & Us
There is power in the media. That is no secret. Our technology is ever-improving and has an increasing role in our lives. Along with this, our information has the capability to spread like never before. All of us have been exposed to physical and mental suffering in an online space, which often leaves us in a helpless state of mind. Although social outlets serve as a powerful device for injustices to be publicized and upheaval to be mobilized, the material spread can actually have a more damaging impact than the initial intention. This has sparked our modern society’s obsession with violence that is so often spread and shared by the click of a button. Sociologists have coined this phenomenon as ‘trauma porn,’ in which communities’ abuse is showcased for the entertainment of outside groups. So to what extent does our coverage of ethnic catastrophes actually support the oppressive behavior at hand? How do we know when a video or post is benefiting the issue, and how can we end society’s obsession with cultural violence?
Trauma Porn & Harmful Impacts
Engaging in the consumption of trauma porn is something that is largely inescapable in our day-to-day culture. As previously noted, trauma porn refers to a form of media that depicts acts of us sexual, cultural, or physical violence, in order to illustrate the injustices faced by a marginalized group to the historically privileged group (white, cisgender, heterosexual, neurotypical, etc.) The fact of the matter is that - we know. Marginalized community members are well aware of the stereotypes, death and institution rates, sexual violence, and sad stories that plague their identity. So the viewing of said content simply does not serve to elevate their voices or raise awareness, but commodify their body and their experience.
Instead, this media serves to lift the saviorship of the unaffected communities by giving them an outlet to pour their regrets and misfortunes into. With the click of a thumbs down or a ‘so heartbreaking’ Instagram comment, the media is effectively twisting the marginalized narrative back into the hands of the privileged and giving them power over what they view as our ‘needs.’ But a lot of this published content is in fact at the hands of those being oppressed. With the intention to spark action and anger in popular culture, they sometimes weaken their stance by giving power to the hands of the people. Because the art being shared is a continuation of the violence itself.
For example, Childish Gambino released a billboard-top song This is America in 2020. The music video depicts acts of gun violence and the cruel realities of being Black in America, especially during the reign on President Donald Trump. While Gambino’s intention was to shed light on and call action to the way race remains a powerful variable in police efforts, these illustrations caused many members of the African American community the become resentful towards similar forms of media. Brittany Johnson, a writer for the health-advocacy organization The Mighty, describes her and others’ perception of Gambino’s This is America: ‘This video was not made for Black people, and I stand by that opinion. We know about the KKK. We know about police brutality. None of this is new information thus, for Black people, it only further served to be a video that highlighted Black trauma after trauma.’ Johnson adds that although some view these depictions serve as an educational resource for those inexperienced with the realities of Blackness in America, it only furthered ‘Black pain with no end in sight.’ When tragedy is at the forefront of a community’s representation it reduces the triumphs and happy endings that marginalized groups share.
And it is not just Gambino or similar music artists or songs. It is in the videos we share on Instagram of neurodivergent children being kicked in their facilities, in books like American Dirt, or even in the recent release of Tyre Nichols’ beating by the police.
How often does your social media or television talk shows display the courage or success of our Black community members? Are Hispanic-Americans at the forefront of the news due to their contributions to our nation’s industry or because of the subjugation and criminalization of their family members? How can we celebrate a marginalized group when our outlets put their grief at the center of concern?
But America’s obsession with racial trauma extends much farther than the popular, visual depictions of violence spread. If you possess what is classified as a ‘disadvantaged’ identity (non-cis, LGBTQ, non-Christian, disabled or neurodivergent, etc.) - the expectation is to place your marginalized grief on display. And it is exhausting. When we constantly feel required to share details of our cultural grief, experiences with poverty, or systemic discrimination, our triumphs in separation of marginalization are diminished. I am more than a sob story as a woman of color in STEM and bigger than the Mexican stereotyping and discrimination I have persevered through. Dr. Anthony Ocampo, a writer on race, immigration, and LGBTQ issues, summed this up, saying that for BIPOC people, “what gets you into college, what gets you that diversity fellowship, it’s this exercise in deploying the most traumatic experiences of your life.” Basically, our worth seems defined by the hardship we have faced. And if we do not share it - did it really even happen?
Used for good
As previously noted, the spread of violent and horrific cultural violence has the opportunity to elevate a cause and spark reform toward an overlooked injustice. A powerful example of this can be seen in the Rodney King tape, who was brutally beaten by four police officers in March of 1991. Many sources call this recording the first-ever form of citizen journalism and trauma media. As the coverage swarmed the country, it ignited the LA riots of 1992, with anger towards the four officers being acquitted of all charges. There was now visual proof of the police - specifically the LAPD - being a systemically abusive and racist organization that no one could deny, and the white officers were still getting away with it. With globalized evidence, protestors could rightfully fight for a more equitable and accountable justice system.
So when the entire nation watched George Floyd get murdered on our iPhones - social unrest through shared media violence was bound to occur. As my city flooded with a community of angry and determined citizens seeking justice - the video of Floyd served as a foundation for the charges to come of the involved officers. Finally, the justice system acted on our side. But the decision to charge Derek Chauvin, Alexander, Keung, Thomas Lane, and Tou Thao with this murder left the whole nation wondering: would this have happened if there was not plain and clear video evidence? Or would it have just been swept under the rug like years of systemic racism and abuse of white power?
What we can do
The power in media. The power to serve justice and the power tear down communities. How can we know if our media consumption is supporting the focus of tragedy in marginalized groups or supplemental to seeking change in America?
To what extent can we classify imagery used for good and imagery used to further oppress?
It starts with the action that results from trauma illustrations, or lack thereof. This means that if a violent media contribution is not defined or shared to rectify the represented abuse - it turns into bystanders or citizens behind the screens embodying an unsupported intention of ‘spreading awareness.’ And even when a video is put out to ‘educate’ - the Instagram shares with ‘this needs to end’ captions do nothing but add to the violence.
When coming across a form of trauma porn, we must ask and actively seek out the answers to questions as such:
What is the context and harm of what I have just watched?
Where are the resources for us to contact the city or groups responsible?
Who published this and how much knowledge or experience do they have regarding the culture?
Are there petitions that can be brought to a state or national level?
Am I encouraging further damage to the affected community by promoting this footage?
But what about when our personal identity or struggle with societal repression comes into question? How can we dismantle a standard of obligation to relive our trauma in the eyes of those who will never understand? While some people may feel proud of or grateful to act as a spokesperson for very real injustices, others want to be seen as a human with a happy story, too.
Establish Boundaries - Ask: Do I know this person or group of people? Is my sharing of my personal discretions a source of strength or weakness for where I am in my life right now?
Express what consensus you come to directly and selectively share:
Thank you for asking me to speak on this but I would prefer to discuss another aspect of my unique identity.
I appreciate your curiosity, here is some more information on my experience and some advice for you.
While I do not feel comfortable relaying my experiences of such trauma/event, I am open to talking about this other part of my personhood.
Although these are experiences I have endured, I would appreciate it if I could be seen for these other parts of myself and my accomplishments.
Care for your mind and practice introspection - If this means journaling about your encounters, past experiences, or ongoing abuses, do it! Meditation and similar healing processes like yoga, running, and communicating with like-friends or family, are extremely productive strategies for understanding the fullest extent of your own trauma, without placing your coping process on the forefront of a white and fragile agenda. Seek out your own story and put it to life inside your mind, first.
Our racial trauma is not all-defining. Taking our power back begins with the selective release of our encounters and emotions.
