In the age of wokeness and empathic inclusivity, Rachel Dolezal might be one of the most tone deaf people in America. In 2015, she became infamous when it was revealed that Dolezal—the then-President of the NAACP chapter in Spokane, Washington—was not African American and had lied about being Black. Dolezal had appropriated Blackness, and lied about hate crimes perpetrated against her. Afterward, she doubled down on the idea that she was Black and misguidedly leaned into the idea that she was “transracial.” So when it was announced the controversial figure would be the subject a new Netflix documentary— “The Rachel Divide,” directed by Laura Brownson— the idea was met with outrage fierce backlash. And understandably so. Dolezal, a white woman who lied about her identity, was rewarded with a documentary and foolishly attempts to squeeze out audience sympathy with white privilege. To defend their decision, Netflix used Twitter to address the blowback emphasizing the film’s existence as a means to create conversation around the larger topics of race, identity and the notion of transracialism.
Hmmm, ok, benefit of the doubt with intention, but “The Rachel Divide” does the opposite of reminding audiences that whiteness is often centered during discussions of race. The issue with Brownson’s doc, rather than exposing Dolezal as a fraud who paraded around as a Black woman, or trying to explore the motivations behind her identity grifting, it focuses on humanizing her, which would be ideal if she wasn’t a charlatan, somehow still unable comprehend why people hate her.
“The Rachel Divide” does attempt to uncover the psychology behind her thinking, discovering that some of it rooted in her harsh upbringing. Along with her brother, Rachel’s parents adopted four Black children as a child and she took it upon herself to educate (and racesplain) her new siblings about their people. And this is where Dolezal’s infatuation with Black history and narratives turn into an obsession, and the seeds of her quote-unquote transracialism began to grow. It is here she convinces herself that she too is Black. Was it the abusive nature of her parents, and the hatred for her brother (who she claims sexually abused her), that caused her to turn to Black history for acceptance? Unfortunately, that isn’t made clear in the documentary.
Rewind to 2014. Dolezal, an outspoken activist, and leader is a respected member of the Black community in Spokane Washington, is disgraced when her secret is revealed by the local media. In the fallout, Dolezal is a pariah who invokes stares, gossip, and is subjected to castigation everywhere she goes. Dolezal complains about the harsh treatment, but the dark, unfunny irony here is this is just a taste of what Black people, especially Black women, experience on a daily basis in America.
Sadly, the aftermath of the scandal doesn’t seem to affect Dolezal as much as it does her children, particularly her 13-year-old son Franklin. Possessing more common sense and self-awareness than his mother, Franklin constantly reminds her that her actions impact the whole family. “I wish it had happened when I was older,” he says. Probably because as an adult it’s easier to separate himself from the situation. He wants to shift the focus from the scandal and implores his mother to make it all go away.
What’s heartbreaking in the doc is that Dolezal seems fine with sacrificing her family’s peace of mind in order to rationalize to the world about the fabricated lie she won’t let go. Brownson’s misguided and desperate attempts to humanize Dolezal only expose how deeply selfish and self-absorbed this woman is. There is something sick, twisted and insulting about America’s fixation with Rachel Dolezal and the way her lies have given her a platform, albeit a negative one, that most Black people don’t have. She’s not Black, and her statements surrounding Blackness and identity only hurt further discussions on the subject as this documentary continually center Dolezal’s feelings instead of examining the ramifications of her delusional life as a whole.
It shouldn’t be lost on anyone that “The Rachel Divide” is directed by a white woman, who, in a tone-deaf fashion of her own, fails to layer her portrait or inject key details into her film due to what we can only assume are blackout-curtain-like societal blinders. But what’s the documentary’s expectation? For every person who empathizes with the subject, many more will be infuriated again because Dolezal is in the limelight. The audience really knows the truth, so without a meaningful examination of identity, delusion or race, what else is there to learn? Not a lot, unfortunately, which leaves the efforts of all involved in vain. [C-]
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