The Spectacle of Black Pain: From Strange Fruit to Straw

Exploring the US history of relishing in Black pain, connecting historical spectacle to contemporary media and art.

Jun 21, 2025

America has a long, troubling relationship with Black pain—one that is often public, ritualized, and even celebrated. This fascination is not just historical; it persists today, shaping how Black stories are told, consumed, and commodified in media and popular culture.

Strange Fruit: The Spectacle of Lynching

Few images are as haunting as the Black bodies hanging from Southern trees—the very image that inspired Billie Holiday’s “Strange Fruit.” Between 1877 and 1950, over four thousand Black people were lynched in the United States, often in spectacles attended by thousands of white spectators who treated the violence as a kind of public festival. These events were not only acts of terror but also affirmations of white supremacy, with souvenirs sold and postcards printed to commemorate the brutality.

Billie Holiday’s rendition of “Strange Fruit” was a radical act of mourning and resistance. For Black audiences, it was a performance of grief and solidarity, a communal reckoning with the violence that loomed over their lives. For white audiences, it was often received as a shocking revelation or a call to action, but rarely with the same depth of sorrow and recognition of complicity. The song politicized Black consciousness, forcing a nation to confront its appetite for Black suffering.

The Burden of Black Genius and the Spectacle of Struggle

This spectacle did not end with lynching. The recent documentary Sly Lives! (aka The Burden of Black Genius) explores how the pressures of fame and creativity can lead to self-destruction for Black artists like Sly Stone and ODB (Ol’ Dirty Bastard) AKA Unique Ason. Their stories are often framed as cautionary tales about the cost of Black genius—the drugs, the isolation, the loss of bodily autonomy. Throughout both documentaries, you do not see close to enough references that the cause of all of this is under the gaze of a system that both elevates and exploits them.

Questlove, the director of Sly Lives!, frames this as “the burden of Black genius,” where success brings not just accolades but also scrutiny, expectation, and the risk of being consumed by the industry. The documentary reveals how the public’s fascination with Black pain is not limited to violence but extends to the spectacle of Black struggle, addiction, and downfall—subjects that are often mined for entertainment and moralizing.

Tyler Perry’s “Straw” and the Endless Display of Black Pain

Today, this dynamic persists in the stories we tell about Black life. Tyler Perry’s latest film, Straw, is a case in point. The film centers on a Black single mother, Janiyah, who is pushed to the brink by poverty, systemic neglect, and the relentless demands of motherhood. The narrative is heavy with trauma, and while it aims to highlight the realities of Black women’s lives, it also risks becoming a spectacle of unending pain.

Critics argue that Perry’s work often leans into melodrama, presenting Black women as perpetually overwhelmed, suffering, and isolated. In 2014, an academic response to Perry’s Productions on Black women’s lives was released. This text sparked heated conversations surrounding Perry’s portrayal of black women in his films.

While there is value in telling these stories—especially when they are grounded in real struggles—there is also a danger of reducing Black life to a cycle of misery, reinforcing the idea that Black pain is the only story worth telling. It seems that Black women, especially, are often restricted to being perceived as either strong, suffering, or both. We see how even a strong, accomplished, and intelligent Black woman is overshadowed by a racist tyrant who has been convicted in a court of law.

Why Does America (the USA) Love the Spectacle of Black Pain?

From the lynchings of the past to the struggles of Black artists and the trauma narratives of modern cinema, America has a habit of relishing Black pain. This is not just about empathy or awareness; it is about spectacle—about the thrill of witnessing suffering from a safe distance, of consuming trauma as entertainment or moral instruction.

As audiences, we must be cautious. We must ask: Are we learning from these stories, or are we merely indulging in the spectacle? Are we supporting art that empowers and heals, or are we perpetuating a cycle where Black pain is the only currency that matters?

Toward a New Narrative

The challenge is to tell Black stories that are honest yet not exploitative, that acknowledge pain while also celebrating joy, resilience, and complexity. We need more stories that are both honest about the trials of Black genius but also hold accountable the systems that lead to their downfall. We honor them not just for their struggles, but are inspired by their brilliance, their creativity, and their humanity.

Let’s move beyond the spectacle. Let’s demand art that honors the full spectrum of Black life.

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Self-Sustainability in Media and Art: A Path Forward

While the history of Black pain as spectacle is deeply entrenched in American culture, there is a growing movement to reclaim narratives and build self-sustaining ecosystems for Black creators and audiences. This is not just about telling different stories—it’s about creating structures that allow Black artists and media makers to thrive on their own terms.

The Need for Self-Sustainability

Mainstream media has long treated Black stories as a niche or charity, rather than recognizing the value and demand for Black-led, Black-owned media as a robust and sustainable industry. Organizations like BOMESI are pioneering a shift by supporting over 250 independently owned Black media outlets, prioritizing majority Black ownership and financial independence. Their three foundational pillars—equity, innovation, and sustainability—guide Black-owned businesses toward long-term viability, ensuring they not only survive but also thrive.

Support as a Catalyst for Change

Self-sustainability in media and art is not just about financial independence; it’s also about holistic support for creators. This includes funding for health and wellness, flexible resources for community-driven projects, and the integration of healing justice into creative and organizational practices. As Audre Lorde famously wrote, “Caring for myself is not self-indulgence, it is self-preservation, and that is an act of political warfare”. The Black Panther Party’s community survival programs and modern initiatives, such as Sibyl’s Shrine—an artist residency for Black mothers—demonstrate how support networks can foster both personal and collective resilience.

Art as a Tool for Transformation

Black artists have long used their platforms to address social issues, promote sustainability, and envision new futures. From LaToya Ruby Frazier’s environmental justice photography to celebrated artist, teacher, and author Faith Ringgold’s famous painted quilts, Black creatives are modeling what it means to build sustainability—both ecological and cultural—into their work. Contemporary storytellers like Darius Simpson and Queen Loany are also pushing for narratives that celebrate Black beauty, resilience, and joy, countering the media’s fixation on trauma.

Moving Beyond the Spectacle

To truly move beyond the spectacle of Black pain, we must invest in self-sustaining Black media and art ecosystems that empower creators to tell the full spectrum of Black stories—stories of struggle, yes, but also of hope, innovation, and abundance. This means supporting Black-owned platforms, funding wellness and creative projects, and recognizing the value of Black-led cultural production as an industry in its own right.

By building these structures of support and sustainability, we can create a future where Black artists and media makers are not just surviving, but flourishing—and where the stories we tell reflect the full complexity and beauty of Black life.