In what I imagine had to be a nervous rage, Twitter user @Bernfriedl tweeted about their disdain for the recently released trailer for the live-action “The Little Mermaid” in which Halle Bailey, a Black woman, plays the role of Ariel:
Raceswap is not suddenly OK just because “it’s a white character for a change” aka EVERY SINGLE TIME… #NotMyAriel #StopRaceswaping
This is one of many tweets, TikToks and Instagram posts under the trending #NotMyAriel hashtag, which first surfaced in 2019 when Disney revealed that Bailey would play Ariel. The hashtag has emerged again after the trailer’s release. I am most intrigued by the apparent urgency and, frankly, fear, with which these individuals write their anti-Black-Ariel tweets. People are panicking that their precious childhood Disney princess — who, mind you, is a fantastical mermaid — is now Black.
Some social media users have called out the clear racism in this rejection of Black Ariel, but few have made arguments any deeper than calling the hashtag racist. I agree with them, but I think this racism is much more complex than people initially suggest — it deserves an in-depth examination. In my opinion, people are agitated about Black Ariel because she disrupts one of their many racially utopic fantasy realms.
For #NotMyAriel hashtaggers, seeing Bailey enter the role of Ariel was a traumatic moment in which one of their beloved fictional worlds, which usually act as safe spaces uninhabited by Black people, was spoiled. For many who live in racially mixed societies that consist of Black folks, fantasy movies have always served as a form of escapism from their racial realities. Take other famous Disney films such as “Cinderella” and “Beauty and the Beast” as examples. These are fantastical realms in which main characters are always white and, better yet, Black people do not even exist as secondary characters. For those who are like-minded, these are imagined paradises void of their worst fear: Black people.
A popular contention against #NotMyAriel is that Ariel’s race shouldn’t matter because “The Little Mermaid” is a fictional story about a fantastical being. But if we seek to understand the true sentiments behind the hashtag, we must look beyond the claim that characters should be able to transform races because they’re fictional. Yes, I understand the argument, but I don’t think it reaches the root of the problem.
I’m inclined to think that it’s actually because this is a fantastical world that people are so protective of its racial utopia. Fantasy often provides space for viewers to mentally enter realms in which real-world problems don’t exist. It’s more productive, then, to identify these racist opinions as clear racial panic that a fictional universe — one which usually allows viewers to momentarily inhabit an ideal world that shelters them from the horrors of Blackness — now features a Black woman as its main character. To these people, this is the end of the world.
#NotMyAriel supporters have claimed that Black Ariel is a manifestation of an unnecessary “wokeness” campaign that seeks to privilege Black groups to an extreme degree for the purpose of inauthentic political correctness. This running narrative of anti-wokeness merely exists to conceal the true origins of their outrage. No, they are not mad that film producers are abusing political correctness; they are mad that their white dreamscape has been shattered.
Consider how these individuals would react if it were the other way around. If a franchise made a fictional character of color white, these folks would expectedly be fine with it. This is demonstrated by the public reception of M. Night Shyamalan’s 2010 film “The Last Airbender.” The live-action film, based on the Nickelodeon animated television series “Avatar: The Last Airbender,” had white actors play characters originally modeled off of Inuit, Chinese, Japanese and Tibetan cultures. This adaptation received a fraction of the criticism that “The Little Mermaid,” “The Lord of the Rings: The Rings of Power,” “Harry Potter” and “Percy Jackson & The Olympians” did; all of which were recently condemned for casting Black actors in the roles of originally white characters.
Needless to say, critics of such Black actors are not enraged because characters aren’t remaining racially consistent. They feel threatened by Black people ruining their treasured white mythical worlds.
On a deeper level, I believe these individuals also have an easier time empathizing with white main characters. A major part of the pleasure that people find in watching films comes from their ability to emotionally relate to the protagonists. Watching a protagonist struggle causes viewers to develop an emotional investment in their well-being. Those who find comfort in predominantly white fictional universes have difficulty putting themselves in the shoes of Black main characters and developing this sentimental connection, a phenomenon known as the racial empathy gap. Dr. Elizabeth A. Segal, a social policy analyst, echoed this thought, writing that substantial research proves that “racist individuals demonstrate significantly lower levels of empathy for those who are different from them.” So, of course movies like the live-action “The Little Mermaid” aren’t enjoyable for racist people.
Why is it worthwhile to unpack the racist truths behind #NotMyAriel? Most conversations regarding this topic have been going in circles — people freak out over Black Ariel, others respond by calling them racist and Black Ariel haters continue to be Black Ariel haters. I would argue that we need to move towards a reevaluation of the role that fantasy plays in our lives. Only when folks begin to dismantle their search for racial escapism in fantastical worlds and their inability to empathize with Black people on a human level will they possibly begin to actually enjoy watching films with Black protagonists.
