Do Not Adjust Your Television Set

I’ve had more than 24 hours or so to digest the Emmys, an awards show I probably should know better than to watch. I don’t watch very much TV nowadays (but my girlfriend does) and Mad Men’s the only appointment viewing I’ve got left.

So, the thought that resonated most as I flipped back and forth between the Emmys and the Giants/Cowboys game was how white the whole affair was. No, I’m not surprised by that. I knew that mainstream media’s racial representation problem hadn’t been solved while I’ve been off playing video games. Rather, my snowblindness comes in direct opposition from fond memories of a cultural moment in the 1990s and early 2000s where people of other–and black folks, specifically–seemed to have established a beachhead on the TV networks’ frontlines. From Moesha, Girlfriends, Martin and The Bernie Mac Show to A Different World, Roc and Will & Grace, you at least had options if you wanted to watch something that wasn’t wall-to-wall heterosexual WASPs. Yes, lots of these shows were cheaply produced, depth-deprived sitcoms that retread old comedy formulas and some of them I even hated. (Martin, I’m looking at you…) But my thinking was shows like those would help build a critical mass of goodwill and profitability that would spawn a second wave of programming that would be smarter, deeper and more nuanced.

They’d get to me eventually. So I waited and waited. But nothing ever came. And now, I feel cheated.

Julia Louis-Dreyfus jokingly delivered a line about this being “the last official year of network broadcast television” and that line nervously references the way viewing habits are changing.It’s tougher to track sthe way viewers consume video, thanks to YouTube, Hulu and other digital devices and delivery system out there. The TV medium’s movers and shakers have to contend with an audience that exponentially more splintered than it ever has been. From a social standpoint, the main attraction network TV had was that of creating and reflecting commonality amongst its viewers. And that’s what was exciting about the fleeting African-American airwaves moment. We were finally inching our way to the center. But, of course, the center cannot hold, because it never does. Our stories are left on the fringe, and while that’s a place that DOES have its own unique kind of fertility, I still want all eyes on us, on the biggest stage available in all our contradictory glory.

Until then, I’ll be watching 30 Rock.