pop-culture for the people

I hear this over and over again: Wrestling is sexist Wrestling is racist Wrestling encourages homophobia. There are protesters, parents’ groups, religious groups, and feminists who would tell you the same things. All would agree that pro-wrestling is morally wrong, but I don’t believe this is entirely true. I believe that it is, in fact, a time-tested gauge for the values of its audience. No, that doesn’t mean that I believe the audience is essentially racist, sexist, or anti-gay. I do believe, however, that fan response to wrestling gimmicks speaks volumes about what levels of sexism, racism, and homophobia will be tolerated by the audience.

Wrestling gimmicks have often pushed the boundaries of what is tolerable by the public, and the public response, more than the gimmicks themselves, reveals the values of the audience. Gimmicks, however crude and demeaning in concept, are all intended to elicit a crowd response. They are aimed at a target, sometimes utterly foul, often striking a chord nonetheless.

Still, there’s no amount of sugar-coating that could excuse some of the following stuff I wish to discuss in this quick and very painful look at wrestling as it relates to racism. Whether you believe that the fans fuel these atrocities or that the writers behind pro-wrestling are or were abhorrently ignorant, these things are utterly terrible. At best, they are in poor taste, and at worst, they make me really ashamed for all mankind (and I don’t mean the guy in the leather mask).

Let’s start with an easy one to stomach. In the mid-80s, there was a character called the Million Dollar Man: Ted Dibiosi. As you might have guessed, the fellow was “rich” and so proceeded to buy his way to success in the world of wrestling by tempting other wrestlers to join his stable, including the late, great Andre The Giant. Dibiosi would challenge kids from the audience to do stupid tasks for money, and he’d always end up screwing them over somehow. All the while, dressed in a tuxedo ripped off from Chippendales, Virgil, his black manservant obeyed Ted’s every command.

For years, we watched poor Virgil kiss Ted’s feet and suffer constant verbal abuse while Ted rubbed money in his face. Now, I’m no sociology major, but I can say with a fair amount of certainty that this character did not serve as a quality role model for African Americans. And there were few, if any, in wrestling at the time. Basically, you could choose from Junkyard Dog, who was part Sanford and part actual dog, or The Birdman KooKoo BeWare, a perpetual loser who dressed up like and danced with a parrot. Virgil’s saving grace may have been that he was the only African American wrestler of the times that did not have an apparent mental disorder or an unhealthy animal fixation. Virgil rebelled from his bonds, but failed to catch on with the fans afterward, since his humiliating beginnings forever marked him as a loser.

Poor Virgil.

Those were sad times, truly, but at least Virgil acted somewhat human. Prior to his time, many wrestlers were portrayed as sub-human, which had more than a little to do with their race. Take, for example, renowned wrestling legend, Abdullah The Butcher who hailed from somewhere in the jungles of Africa (according to ring announcers). His “gimmick” was to be as untamed as possible, scaring crowds by biting his opponents and actually drawing blood. People were shocked and amazed, and yet something about it (besides brutality) must have been appealing to audiences.

Years and years later, the same type of gimmick was tried, this time with a more comedic twist. His name was Camala, the Ugandan Giant. He was also from the deepest, darkest jungles of Africa. Led to the ring by his “handler” Kimchee, Camala would crush other wrestlers, but often get confused and neglect to pin his opponent’s shoulders to the mat. This would prompt Kimchee to threaten poor Camala with beatings. I don’t think I even need to mention that Kimchee had a big white mask or that several years later, Camala would rebel against his master. It was yet another master-slave relationship, which seemed to be a prevalent theme in wrestling. Very seldom did a non-white wrestler enter into the public eye without first appearing subservient and/or under-developed.

Some were lucky enough to enter the fold with managers at their side. Managers, if not abusive, were often even worse stereotypes than the wrestlers they escorted to the ring. The most horrid example is the Reverend Slick, a jive-talking preacher man who ran his stable of wrestlers like a cracked-out pimp pushing his hos. Slick wasn’t mean or demeaning, but any question about whether or not his gimmick was racist should be put to rest by his music video for a song entitled “Jive Soul Bro” recorded for the second WWF album. The Doctor of Soul’s lips are seen in extreme closeup as he wolfs down a bucket of fried chicken. I remember as a kid I didn’t quite understand what was wrong with Slick or why he seemed to act so stupid or why the giant guys in his wrestling stable didn’t just break him in half and go solo. Now, looking back, it’s a wonder that between 80’s wrestling and my having gone to an almost entirely white school in the backwoods country of upstate New York, I don’t have the prevailing opinion that all black people are crazy pimps or rabid bushmen.

I can’t even begin to explain some gimmicks. Akeem The African Dream, a fat white guy, was some kind of parody of something or other. I know I’m supposed to be talking about the sociological implications of what I’ve seen, but when I close my eyes and see Akeem, that colorfully-clothed bearded monstrosity, I lose all semblance of coherent thought. I’ve been searching for a metaphor to describe the experience and the best I could come up with is being forced to eat an uncut Spam and Avocado roll. It’s too big and it’s just too damned wrong.

There’s a happy ending to this story, though. A few short years down the road, social progress caught up to wrestling. Years after black athletes began demanding respect, wrestling responded the way they usually do to real life conflict. They exploited it for ratings. A new group of wrestlers calling themselves The Nation of Domination were a hated group of evil black supremacists who vowed to beat the hell out of anyone who stood in their way.

What’s interesting about this group is how it fit in with a new and surprising trend in wrestling’s brief 90’s return to popularity. While wrestling had long relied on an easily definable line between good and evil, these new factions of wrestlers were appealing to select groups. They were booed by some crowds and applauded by others. The Nation was one of the first wrestling groups to divide the fan base and successfully drive intriguing conflict. Out of this new conflict-based, uncertain climate, fans discovered a more exciting product, the perfect backdrop for exciting talents to elicit mass hatred and appeal. And thus, the Rock, now known worldwide to wrestling fans and non-fans, eventually emerged from The Nation to become an international success. Something that would have never happened for poor Virgil, Camala, or the Junkyard Dog. When tolerance increases in America, expect wrestling to catch up at least two to three years later.

Wrestling continues to rely on racial tension to make for interesting gimmicks and storylines, and the sensitivity level waxes and wanes, but overall, things have progressed in a good direction. There may be periodic lapses in taste, and these are either checked by a lukewarm crowd response or reinforced by the fans who ultimately have the say in what is and is not acceptable. Currently, WWE is trying a gimmick in which evil Arab-American wrestlers are yelling at the crowd telling them they refuse to be stereotyped and profiled by ignorant Americans. By the taking this real conflict and choosing to tweak it in a way that portrays the Arabs (the only Arabs on the show) as enraged hate-mongers, wrestling has once again tried to exploit real fears and play upon the strengths of widely held stereotypes to evoke mass hatred for their villains. And it works. It has always worked. And that’s why it will continue to be done.

As long as there’s real hatred to feed the fake conflict, the conflict will often take these absurd shapes complete with appalling exaggerations. That’s what wrestling characters are, essentially: exaggerations -  larger-than-life creations used to pit the core values of the audience against the objects of its hatred and fear.

Until crowds find the gimmicks themselves offensive, you can bet that whatever race is currently getting the short end of the stick in America will be twisted into wrestling’s newest distasteful comedic character, or irresponsibly villified stereotype.