2. It revolutionized the way I thought about the world, humanity, and myself.
3. And like many young girls at the time, I found myself relating quite a lot to the series’ most prominent female character.
Hermione wouldn’t and couldn’t deny her intellect; she was bossy, she had big bushy hair, and she had best friends who loved her even when she was a pain in the ass — and who frequently needed her to save their asses.
She was also a Muggle-born, navigating a world that looked down on her for the situation of her very biology and culture.
4. As a biracial girl growing up in a very white city, I found myself especially attaching to the allegory of Harry Potter’s blood politics.
In middle school, when I was confronting that there were people out there who’d call me “n****r,” I thought back to Hermione being called “mudblood” and harassed by teacher and students alike.
5. I related to her deeply, but like with so much of what I watched and read, I couldn’t see myself in Hermione.
There was a gap, and even for a kid as obsessed with pop culture as I was it was one that existed between me and most of the things I was reading and watching.
I’d dress up in Hogwarts uniforms for Halloween but avoid going overtly as Hermione because I knew I could never get my hair like Emma Watson’s. I could never get it white-girl bushy — and don’t even get me started on white-girl movie-sleek-pretending-to-be-frizzy. My hair was a whole different kind of frizzy. I loved her so much, but it took me a long time to accept that I could never be her.
In Harry Potter and the Sorcerer’s Stone, Hermione is introduced with a description of her bushy brown hair and her large teeth. There’s nothing there to indicate she didn’t look just like me, yet I always pictured a white face under that bushy head. I always pictured her not-me.
6. As I grew up I stopped comparing myself as much to Hollywood actors and tried to train myself out of seeing white as the default for fictional characters.
Call it maturation, call it learning to love myself, call it education; whatever it was, I started looking at my media and my stories through a more critical lens — and as someone learning to feel more comfortable speaking up when not enough of those stories are representing me.
7. And, somewhat miraculously, so did the internet.
“Racebent” characters have long been making appearances on sites like Tumblr, but they’ve been picking up heat recently. One of the most popular and frequent, at least on my dash? Hermione Granger as a woman of color, most often black.
9. I was seeing parts of myself actually spelled out in this character I’d always related to.
The part of me that had always been text met up with the movement of Hermione’s story from allegorical Wizarding World “other” to the kind of other I’d always felt like.
12. She’s often mainly described by her hair; if not her hair, then her teeth or a non-physical aspect. The only direct mention I could find, from Prisoner of Azkaban:
“They were there, both of them, sitting outside Florean Fortescue’s Ice Cream Parlor — Ron looking incredibly freckly, Hermione very brown, both waving frantically at him.”
14. And as Junot Diaz once said during an appearance on the FanBrosShow podcast, on the topic of representation:
Look, without our stories, without the true nature and reality of who we are as People of Color, nothing about fanboy or fangirl culture would make sense. What I mean by that is: if it wasn’t for race, X-Men doesn’t sense. If it wasn’t for the history of breeding human beings in the New World through chattel slavery, Dune doesn’t make sense. If it wasn’t for the history of colonialism and imperialism, Star Wars doesn’t make sense. If it wasn’t for the extermination of so many Indigenous First Nations, most of what we call science fiction’s contact stories doesn’t make sense.
Without us as the secret sauce, none of this works, and it is about time that we understood that we are the Force that holds the Star Wars universe together. We’re the Prime Directive that makes Star Trek possible, yeah. In the Green Lantern Corps, we are the oath. We are all of these things—erased, and yet without us—we are essential.
17. It’s simply another Junot Diaz quote put into action:
You guys know about vampires? … You know, vampires have no reflections in a mirror? There’s this idea that monsters don’t have reflections in a mirror. And what I’ve always thought isn’t that monsters don’t have reflections in a mirror. It’s that if you want to make a human being into a monster, deny them, at the cultural level, any reflection of themselves. And growing up, I felt like a monster in some ways. I didn’t see myself reflected at all. I was like, ‘Yo, is something wrong with me? That the whole society seems to think that people like me don’t exist?’ And part of what inspired me, was this deep desire that before I died, I would make a couple of mirrors. That I would make some mirrors so that kids like me might see themselves reflected back and might not feel so monstrous for it.
20. Maybe along the way more people will be able to see themselves reflected back at them.
Junot Diaz’ quote about the imbedded nature of people of color in sci-fi and fantasy was originally said on the FanBroShow podcast. An earlier version of this post failed to cite the true, badass origin of the quote in question. You can listen to the full episode of the podcast here.
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