When the past month of history recorded, there is a good chance that our grandchildren will not be able to understand just how chaotic it truly was. Not since 1968 has there been a year ripe with so much violence and division that it formed a mythic lens around everything else. As it stands, 2020 doesn’t feel like a practical continuation of 2019. It came out of left field and brought with it a series of problems that started with threats of war and continents on fire before evolving to a global pandemic that has featured OVER 100,000 deaths from COVID-19 in the United States alone in just three months.
There is so much that will be a miracle to survive at this moment that it’s amazing to note the one thing that overshadowed it all:
George Floyd.
By this point, his story is well known. Upon cashing a faulty check, he was murdered by a police officer who sat on his neck for eight minutes and 46 seconds. There’s no reason to play up plausible deniability when it’s caught on video, become a viral sensation that has done an amazing job of changing the course of history, or at least how the public talks about the police. The call for reform has paved the way for defunding, with negligent officers being fired immediately as opposed to leniency periods. Even then, the president has gone out of his way to assault these protestors with tear gas just so that he can take a very crass photo-op in front of a church.
Where is the civility? Things have only spiraled from here as the two sides have waged war against each other. If the cops wanted to keep their job, then they need to check their boys. Some of them are ruining their campaign not only with brutal force on protestors, but continuing to act like the George Floyd death never happened, that they can just kneel on people’s necks and hear cries of “I can’t breathe” with a transparent reply of “I don’t care.”
So where is the great commentary on the moment? The simple truth is that they’re out in the streets right now, gathering daily in hundreds and even thousands to make their voice heard. It’s an unprecedented moment and one that will hopefully be seen as triumphant, leading to change. Even as the casualties continue to pile up, the fight for change has been heard and one has to wonder how this moment will be reflected throughout history books. Will it be the seismic shift that’s been long overdue? Will things actually change?
Whatever the case may be, I suggest putting Dave Chappelle’s 8:46 (2020) in the supplementary materials.
It’s evident that everyone with a heart has made their voices heard. There are those who are out there sacrificing their safety just to change the conversation. In that regard, 8:46 isn’t necessarily the most essential tool. At no point does Chappelle take to the street and yell the common phrase “Justice for George Floyd!” It’s unclear if he would’ve had time to update it to include others like Breonna Taylor and Robert Fuller, but one thing was clear. It has always been true since he started his career over 30 years ago.
He is unafraid to speak his mind. With Chappelle’s Show, he famously took on racism through comedy sketches that launched him into a unique class. It showed the absurdity of social dynamics in such a way that it created dozens of catchphrases, characters that have withstood the test of time, and set a standard for the next two decades of comedy. When he returned to stand-up, he received controversy for some of his more candid thoughts on the LGBT community during a prolific run of Netflix specials that otherwise captured his ability to ramble for hours and keep them laughing.
Because of his gift for rambling, there may be a subset who were honestly wondering: what does he have to say about the modern chapter of the Black Lives Matter moment? It’s the crux of his latest special, dropped without notice on Netflix’s YouTube page for all to see. The 27 minutes of “stand-up” finds itself veering into territory more reminiscent of Tig Notaro’s “Live” and Hannah Gadsby's “Nanette.” They definitely fit into the stand-up box, but they’re not driven by comedy. Instead, they’re more like town hall meetings and this is Chappelle’s chance to open up thoughts that have clearly been buried in him for too long. Again, it’s not funny but there’s no other way to get this message across.
The stumbling into the subject is apparent, as Chappelle is aware that once he starts it may be difficult for him to stop. He needs to get through every last thought he has because it all matters to the bigger picture. That may be why it’s a stumbled, unpolished beginning that finds him trying to win over the crowd before joking that if they don’t like it, he has a bunch of pussy jokes that he can use. We never hear a traditional routine. All there is is Chappelle on a stool looking out into the world. The crowd is so distant that you can barely hear any response. It’s a cerebral look into not only his life but the world around him.
It starts like this. He hears on the news following The George Floyd Murder a question that concerns him: why aren’t the celebrities out there using their voices to promote causes?
What could read as an act of refusal turns into a lengthier exploration of America’s obsession with trusting celebrities. They want to hear what Chappelle has to say because they trust him. There is no chance that he will go out of his way to murder them. It’s the haunting start to every other point: the systems put in place to protect citizens have been largely untrustworthy, which makes everything that’s happening all the more logical. People are mad that their institutions are letting them down. Why isn’t Chappelle out there yelling for change? It’s because the streets are doing a far better job.
They’re hurting, eager for a change that has been centuries overdue. By breaking his silence with 8:46, he allows himself a unique perspective that goes beyond simple equating that “violence = bad.” What he’s about to do is take the audience on a journey through his own life and his countless ties to the systemic racism in society. While some of it may be the typical profiling, a lot of it may qualify more as conspiracy theorists territory, giving you good reason to believe that Chappelle’s anger is also driven by some underlying paranoia, connecting strings that only make sense to him.
Without giving them all away, it starts with a correlation that seems especially sketchy. George Floyd was murdered for eight minutes and 46 seconds. Chappelle was born at 8:46. There is this mystic connection to that number that hurts him on a deeper level, showing both sides of this painful number. Everything else is a journey through the life that subliminally connects the dots with how a Black life reacts to living decades through a frustrating culture where the police care more for themselves than others. He even ties in his surname by the end, showing how much of this anger is rooted in his blood.
Why hasn’t Chappelle spoken up? By the end, it becomes clear that there have always been signs there that he has. It’s in the numerology, the family lineage, the very idea of life and death. These things that humanity holds dearly have all symbolized his own personal dread of being more scared of police officers than a homicidal maniac who lists him in his manifesto (along with Kevin Hart).
When discussing the police’s handling of this particular man, he discusses how they all protected each other. Why were the cops able to understand that form of threat but not the feeling of insecurity in the Black community? If life mattered, why couldn’t they understand that they felt threatened to the point that waving a stun-gun at cops could lead to your death? There’s so much of a grey area at the center of 8:46 that Chappelle doesn’t give an answer. All he does is provide scenarios that are supposed to sit with us, making us wonder what value humanity has when some seem destined for less pleasant outcomes.
On one hand, a stand-up routine may seem like a slip-shod encapsulation of a culture’s frustration. Where are the theatrics, the effort put into a presentation? At the end of the day, a stage is really the best way to communicate ideas and Chappelle has made it clear. He puts in pictures not only of George Floyd but of many other victims of police brutality throughout recent history. He talks about how Tamir Rice reminds him of his child. These small ways that it tears at him show something vital and human. This isn’t pandering. It’s a genuine cry of anger, wanting to make a big difference when you’re too oppressed to speak up and make that change by yourself.
I am unsure if this will be the essential document of this moment when all is said and done. There has been more related to George Floyd murals and public demonstrations that deserve more attention. Even the pantheon of cinema and music already has made their resources available as learning tools. You can watch films like Selma (2014), The Hate U Give (2018), and Blindspotting (2019) right now and get an understanding that what 8:46 says is not new. It’s just the latest cycle.
Though if we’re going to have any change, there is a need to have a conversation. That is what Chappelle has always fought for, even when he’s doing boneheaded jokes. Here there is no punchline. There are moments of levity, but what he’s saying is serious, needing to be looked at and understand on a personal, human level why these things are terrible. It’s not just a “violence = bad” argument, it’s the optics that go into that argument. It’s the feeling that the alternative isn’t much better. Will they really protect you?
If you look out at the streets, the answer has been a mixed “No.” Because they have cameras filming it all, it’s easier than ever to understand why things need to change. 8:46 may not capture it the best, but the calm and collected way that Chappelle presents his message is an encapsulation of a feeling felt by millions of Americans, and one that may come in handy of understanding how the death of George Floyd isn’t just awful because of how preventable it was. It wasn’t a blip on a perfect radar. It’s the latest in a long line of police murders. By reflecting this on a level that’s almost cosmic, Chappelle best explains his own fears without ever directly saying it. He may have done funnier sets, but this is one of the few times where he reminds us of the power of his words.
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