One of the most compelling scenes in Selma takes place towards the end of the movie. Martin Luther King Jr. is standing on a bridge surrounded by religious leaders of every denomination. They all walk arm in arm towards a crowd of white people at the end of the bridge that have already brutalized and violated previous marchers. At MLK’s directive, the marchers stop. As a viewer, you can’t help but be pulled into the scene, overwhelmed by the immense potential and beauty of that moment. Love standing up to hatred, peace winning over violence.
But then there is a close up of MLKs face. He sees the white supremacists at the end of the bridge move aside for the marchers. His eyes seem to flinch from a mix of uncertainty and maybe even fear. The blessed moment of potential evaporates as a MLK we are not used to seeing takes over the screen. MLK kneels to pray, and you almost pray along with him, please don’t turn around, please march forward. But as MLK stands back up, you know what will happen. And you know more than anything that this MLK is not about living up to any viewers dreams, but to the reality of his own life.
It is scenes like this one that Selma director, Ava Duvernay, does best. MLK, portrayed masterfully by David Oyelowo, is one of those iconic figures that sees continuous reinforcement of narratives of heroism and valor (or conversely, on the white supremacist side, narratives of mongrelization and depravity) at the expense of MLK’s humanity. Selma is clearly aware of the narratives about MLK and what viewers expect of him–we want MLK to be huge, powerful, gloriously and continuously reaffirming the ultimate goodness of humanity. Selma does not deny MLK’s place in history as a magnificent thinker and organizer in his own right, but it also refuses those iconic narratives and insists that MLK was a human being, after all, one that was very much aware of the dangers of walking across a bridge and into the waiting hordes of armed white people.
Selma couldn’t have held this balance if it weren’t for Oyelowo. Witness the scene when a fellow organizer peeks into a room to talk to a working MLK. Sprawled on a bed, a speech in front of him, MLK tries the words of his speech out, practices the cadence, listens for how it could be interpreted. It seems to be a normal scene of a hardworking preacher, until you notice how MLK holds his hand against his cheek, responding to questions put to him thoughtfully, even as his focus is still clearly on his speech. His hand seems to act as a placeholder of sorts, a way to help his speech writing mind pause while his organizing mind deals with more immediate problems. It is a small gesture, but one that Oyelowo uses to ground MLK in a physicality you rarely think of when listening to his soaring speeches.
But if Selma understands and fights for a more human MLK, it is much less sure of what to make of the women in the Civil Rights movement in general, and Coretta Scott King specifically. While Selma deserves much credit for actually showing that women participated in the Civil Right’s movement, there is not one single scene that shows any woman verbally participating in any sort of movement strategizing and very few of the on the ground women organizers even have speaking roles. Only one woman is allowed to voice her thoughts about the movement outside of Coretta.
But the most questionable depiction for me was that of Coretta Scott King. Carmen Ejogo does a beautiful job with a limited role, and the scene that most critics are talking about, where Coretta confronts MLK over his infidelities, is rightfully recognized as one of the best in the movie. When Coretta asks MLK if he loves the women he is cheating with, her face makes it clear that she resents MLK not just for his infidelities, but that he made her ask such a question. When he pauses before he answers, there is no question that Coretta finds the pause more unforgivable than the answer. Coretta is often understood by history as an iconic figure in her own right with her own set of narratives often make her seem less than human, and Ejogo parses through those narratives to portray a capable intelligent woman that is locked in a stifling role defined by sexism and needs that are not her own.
And yet, even as we see a more human Coretta, there is no getting around the movie’s overall premise, that Coretta Scott King is the impetus behind MLK’s moment on the bridge where he turns around and walks away. His real life decision is still a moment that is hotly debated by historians and Civil Rights organizers today. Was MLK cowardly? Was he in the back pocket of LBJ, waiting to march until he had federal protection promised him by LBJ? The movie does not allow MLK to answer directly, and doesn’t really touch on the theories that have developed over the years to explain his actions. This leaves viewers who are unaware of the debate to draw the only conclusion left, that it is Coretta’s fear of violence and MLK’s desire to appease her that lead him to turn around.
While Duvernay is careful to demonstrate legitimate reasons for Coretta’s fear, historical records state almost universally that Coretta actually wanted to participate more in the movement, not less. And that it was MLK’s desire for a traditional homemaker as a wife (or, respectability enacted through women’s roles) that she didn’t. But even as Coretta didn’t participate as much as she wanted to, it is completely false that she didn’t want to participate at all (or on a limited basis, the movie isn’t exactly clear what she would’ve preferred).
By the time the events in Selma took place (1965), Coretta had already survived an attempt on her life and the life of her oldest child after her home was firebombed when MLK was away. Even so, Coretta continued to travel and organize, and three years after Selma, she even walked with her children at the head of march for sanitation workers after MLK was assassinated. It simply isn’t plausible to me that a woman who was willing to put herself and her children out in the forefront of a movement in such a visible way even after the murder of her husband would allow her fear immobilize her husband, the movement or even herself in any way.
I don’t believe that movies about historical moments/figures must be documentarian in nature, sticking to the truth and only the truth. I do think, however, that women, especially black women of the Civil Right’s movement, are far too often denied their place in the historical record. And in Selma’s case, its portrayal of Coretta Scott King and the women of the movement in many ways serves to continue to deny their place as assertive agents and main players on a national and international stage. While Selma is profoundly moving and offers some of the best performances of the awards season, it points to the need to continuously reevaluate the lens we understand women with. Is being present in historical memory enough? Or are women and their conflicts, dreams, and humanity necessary and important stories that need to be told too?