Dave Chappelle’s 8:46
June 11, 2020, just after 10PM I was in a serious writing groove when I got the text: a link to Dave Chappelle’s latest unannounced short special entitled 8:46 on NETFLIX IS A JOKE YouTube channel. I immediately pressed save on the document, closed my laptop, turned off all the lights, and put the special on my T.V. My Drop Everything You’re Doing Right Now list is small — that list includes album releases by Prince or Anderson .Paak, Barack Obama speeches, LeBron James in the NBA finals and anything Dave Chappelle. Before I clicked play, I knew how much I needed to hear whatever he was going to say.
The day after the Presidential election I went to work as the only black man in a company that had over 100 employees.
April 5th, 1968: James Brown took the stage at the Boston Garden. The most iconic, vibrant, and extraordinary entertainer of his era performed under unparalleled circumstances. Twenty-four hours prior to the show, Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. was assassinated in Memphis, Tennessee in front of his hotel room. The nation writhed with grief. Their pain escalated in the protests and riots that sparked in over 100 cities around the country. That night the crowd wasn’t just looking to be entertained, they were looking for hope. A balm to help heal their wound. The unrest in the United States in 1968 was eerily similar to today.
Dave Chappelle, the greatest comedian of my generation, is among the voices that I seek to find meaning when both everything and nothing makes sense in the world around me. I am not alone. Like wildfire, without promotion or fanfare (other than word-of-mouth,) 8:46 garnered two million views in twelve hours. Eight minutes and forty-six seconds; a sobering reminder of the time it took to express the oxygen and life out of George Floyd’s body. The time we, as a country, witnessed the nonchalance of an officer with his hands in his pockets, a smug look on his face and his knee on the neck of a black man. Chappelle connected the dots for all of us to understand why those of us in the streets have the rage and turmoil that we do. For those who asked, “why is this going on?” “Why the looting?” “Why are people so angry?” Chappelle powerfully answers these questions as the voice for the historically disenfranchised. This landmark special sits us right in the center of the funk of chaos in our country, not as a comedic moment of escape but as tool for dialogue. For dialogue to begat action and for action to begat change.
The 1968 James Brown concert almost didn’t happen. The mayor of Boston was concerned that the heightened emotions could boil over and explode into an overflow of dangerous and damaging protests on the streets. The heated debate between Brown’s team and the Mayor of Boston Kevin White on whether Brown should perform continued up until minutes before the concert started. James Brown knew the power of music. As did Prince in 2015’s Rally 4 Peace Baltimore benefit concert after the death of Freddie Gray. Like iconic musicians before and after him, Brown knew the power of music unites.
Chappelle reminded me of what I had forgotten.
November 9th, 2016. The day after the Presidential election I went to work as the only black man in a company that had over 100 employees. It felt like a close relative died. Nearly everyone was confused, nervous, and disheartened, yet none of us said a single word about it. It was a quiet day, nearly everyone left to process internally, except my boss. The President of the company, a female executive said “well, Melania will bring class back to the White House.” Her racist tone enraged me. I wanted to yell, scream, throw my resignation letter in privileged face and walk out. But as a Black man conditioned to hearing asides, micro-aggressions and blatant slurs in various professional settings, I had learned to let it go. Another example of the passive-aggressive racism everyday POC have to deal with for a paycheck.
Days later, Chappelle was tapped by SNL to give the monologue and provide the country with humorous relief in the election aftermath. I was hopeful. That Friday precisely at 9:00 PM, I closed my laptop, shut off all the lights, and turned the volume up on my T.V. The camera and hot lights honed in on Dave as he took the stage. “You know, I didn’t know that Donald Trump was going to win the election, I did suspect it” he said. “Seemed like Hillary was doing well in the polls, and yet, I know the whites. You guys aren’t as full of surprises as you used to be.” In that moment, I laughed, I laughed hard. His few weighted words of wisdom felt like a balm and I was able to grasp some meaning of this mess. He helped me realize part of the anger that I felt was being surprised by the results of the election. I have conditioned myself so much to the ways of the world, I had denied what my own eyes have seen. I went to school in Texas and North Dakota where I had debates with classmates not based on policy, but whether President Obama was “the right look” for our office. I can’t tell you how angry I was to hear this over and over again. But those conversations gave me a greater view of the country that I lived in and my place in it. Chappelle reminded me of what I had forgotten.
James Brown’s 1968 concert brought calm in the midst of a horrible situation. It was a glimmer of hope, an important method to shut out bad and see good at a critical moment. It kept hope alive in the middle of chaos. Today, Dave Chappelle pushed us to go further, going beyond entertainment with a critical message. The message so profoundly framed by Chappelle is George Floyd was one of us. No matter what his past was or how he lived his life. I’m far from perfect and I know if I was murdered in the same way my past would be dug up in an attempt to justify that I deserved it. The same would happen to any other person of color if they were under that knee. That is why I and others feel so enraged. Staying on brand, Chappelle is entertaining, uncomfortable and informative.
If we aren’t talking it out, we will act it out.
Dave Chappelle is not just a comedian. He is a thought-provoking premier voice of worldly issues, politics, and meaning. James Brown’s fearless bravery to perform amidst the grief transformed the country and his own position in it. Brown was no longer just an artist, but a healing voice of his time. The freedom that Chappelle has on stage is unmatched; struggling to light a cigarette and letting out a burp on stage. The audience doesn’t mind because we are tuned in to see and hear him. Dave Chappelle is a just a man he reminds us. Albeit, a rich man, he is a man that has heard the cries of his people reminding us that he has spoken on this before time and time again. Chappelle is a black man with a unique opinion that has received flack on several occasions but he has never allowed that to censor his content.
When there are no leaders, I dive into the arts. Music and comedy have provided dots to connect meaning in my life. The rhythm of the nation in pain heals in sound and laughter. Just as the country has Brown to thank for calming the storm in the late 60s, we have Chappelle to thank for prophesying how this storm may become a hurricane. I felt it in my own life and surroundings. My social media feed became divisive and once again my eyes were focused on people who refused to get it. People like my former boss. I had once again felt anger and powerlessness. I felt as if I was at a crossroads of choice. I either talk it out with these people on the other side who have opposing deep seeded beliefs. Leaning in on my own experiences of being able to connect to people of different sociocultural upbringings. Or I plant even more firmly into my like-minded community and cut off anyone who looks at things differently than I do. That has been my internal battle over the last three weeks. Dave Chappelle reminded me that the best way to heal and contribute is to talk.
So, where do we go from here?
As the next generation we need to take Dave’s cue. It’s time to be uncomfortable and it’s time to talk about it. We don’t need distraction. We don’t need avoidance. We don’t need to stay in our lane. We don’t need to shut up and dribble. We don’t need to just dance. We need to sit and have uncomfortable conversation. If we aren’t talking it out, we will act it out. That’s the message in every recovery program. And we are a nation in desperate need of recovery. As Dave warns us in the final word of 8:46, “this is the last stronghold for civil discourse. After this shit, it’s just rat-ti-ti-tat-ti-tat-ti-ti-tat-ti-tat-tat-tat!” This isn’t a threat. This is a reality. We can no longer afford to kick the can.
