the business of being used: a quick and unqualified rant about Black sitcoms, network strategy, and cultural exclusion
Apr 7
Can I whine about this a lil’ bit?
I don’t have children, but if I did, I’d probably turn into a cultural steward and fill them with knowledge about all the amazing Black TV shows we had in the '90s. Actually, I’m 1000% sure that’s what I would do. I’ve always wondered why, as the years went on, there was a steady decline in Black sitcoms when our nights used to be loaded with them. I was always confused about why it felt like network programming was moving backward, while other platforms were moving toward progress, until someone vaguely pointed out the motive behind green-lighting the content we covet so dearly. We’ve all heard the myth that non-white people lack universal appeal—an excuse used for gatekeeping certain tiers of entertainment opportunities. We’ve also heard how powerful the Black dollar is. Yet, these two ideas co-existing about one particular subject never made any sense. One of them was clearly a lie. One of them was an excuse to perpetuate the gatekeeping in Hollywood that has systemic racism baked into it. We learned quite a long time ago this was all nonsense, except for the part about the Black dollar—that shit is powerful.
Like everything successful in this world, television laid a solid foundation. The titans, or ‘the big three’, were NBC, ABC, and CBS. When other stations came along wanting a piece of the pie, they had to do something slightly different to solidify themselves. It probably didn’t take much time to realize a heap of people were unfairly underrepresented in network television. So these new stations did what most businesses would do and developed a strategy to fill in the gaps in order to compete with the big dogs. The problem with this strategy was that it wasn’t born from a sudden altruistic love for Black culture. It lacked commitment to diversity and sustainability for Black programming, using Black comedy as a launchpad for their credibility, viewership, and ad dollars. Black audiences were dependable, loyal, and eager to flex their dollar in the name of representation. This was a business move that tugged at our heartstrings, exploiting our desire for representation and using it as leverage.
When the news started to spread that Black television was a lucrative business, it debunked the age-old myth about our lack of universal appeal. This revelation brought in a large, diverse audience they hadn’t seen before, leading to a premiere of shows that make up a large part of our canon. You couldn’t turn the TV on without seeing Martin, A Different World, Living Single, The Parent 'Hood, Fresh Prince, Moesha, Cousin Skeeter, and a long list of other shows in our canon. To the naked eye, this seemed like a natural evolution. However, behind the scenes, it was a case of exploitation, using Black culture for profit without a genuine commitment to its sustainability.
Once networks successfully leveraged Black comedy to establish themselves among their peers, the era was slowly put to an end. This shift marked the beginning of the decline for many beloved shows. Some were canceled, relegated to unfavorable air times, or denied syndication and further opportunities. The networks' shift to 'mainstream' programming cut short the beautiful stories of family and friendship, triggering a return to the cycle of exclusivity, gatekeeping, and stereotypical roles. Although economic factors played a role, the stark contrast in how networks treated Black comedies compared to their white counterparts was evident. White-led shows were frequently given chances for improvement and development. This left a hole in the industry that persists to this day.
In many ways, the industry has evolved, and now we can find several platforms offering diverse content, much like our cult classics I'd eagerly share with my hypothetical kids—or my dog. These platforms are a testament to the enduring power of the Black dollar and the undeniable appeal of our narratives. Yet, the premature cancellations of shows like Grand Crew, Marlon, The Carmichael Show, and How to Die Alone on major networks/streaming platforms serve as stark reminders of the ongoing obstacles in this industry. Progress doesn’t happen overnight…not even in 10,000 nights—we get it. Sure, UPN, Fox, and the WB couldn’t have predicted the deep cultural impact Whitley Gilbert would have. Yet, a proper business plan with a conscious commitment to diversity could have changed the entertainment landscape even further and altered the course of television history as we know it. But you know...systemic racism still rears its ugly head, affecting the allocation of marketing and production budgets and significantly disadvantaging our shows. This topic could turn into a 100-page essay with the angles that go into this, but I digress—Thank God for Abbott Elementary.