Who are you when you see the movie, Black Panther? Are you the Black Panther, the superhero, who is fierce and agile? T’Challa, the King, strong and kind? How about Nakia, the gutsy multilingual spy? Or Okoye, the skilled warrior and general of the Dora Milaje? Because this movie certainly taught us that the women will put a hurtin’ on you too. Are you the Queen Mother, ageless, flawless, proud, and determined? What about the STEM Queen, Princess Shuri, who is the face of Black Girls Code? Well, I will gladly tell you who I am. I am N’Jadaka. Oh, you don’t know who that is? Well, maybe you know him better by the name, Erik Killmonger. I bet you are asking why on earth am I him, the scarred (inside and out), gold toothed murderer who tried to take over Wakanda and seize their weapons? No, please hear me. I did not say I was Erik Killmonger, although but for my Dad, I could have been. I said I was N’Jadaka.
The beginning of the movie always stands out for me because the young N’Jadaka says, “Baba, tell me a story” and the story he asks for is “one of home.” And so, his father told him the story of Wakanda. That’s what my father did too. He told me the story of his home in the Old Country. The story of Hilton Head. But my father went a step further: He took me there. He pointed and said, “These are your people.” “This is your land.” “These are your customs.” “This is your sunset.” That way, there is no doubt for me, when there is doubt from others, where I belong. That certainty of belonging my father gave me was the code imprint on the inside of my bottom lip. It was my grandfather’s ring on a chain hung around my neck. But N’Jobu didn’t take his son home and that is why he is Erik when he could have been N’Jadaka even after his uncle left him in Oakland. Because regardless, Wakanda would have always been in that safe place inside of him. See, Erik Kilmonger comes from rejection and hurt that he wasn’t accepted as one of them. Had N’Jobu taken him to Wakanda even once – and shown him all that belonged to him, the people would have known he was N’Jadaka, son of N’Jobu. That those people are his. The land is his. The customs are his. The vibranium is his. The sunset, his. But Erik never saw what was his, where it was his. He never had a context with which to put the vibranium, so he did not understand that it needed to be protected and not exploited. That there is a strategy into providing aid to others. And that it takes time and careful planning to right systemic wrongs that have been in place for centuries. Erik let his hurt drive him. Believe me, I get it. That’s why I relate to him. Yes, even the “Erik” part of him. Sure, he seems tough because he marked off his kills – his many kills – by scarring up his body, but he was still a little boy who did not learn to be tough in the face of his people’s rejection, like most face when they return to their tribe of origin. He didn’t learn all he could about Wakanda and use that knowledge to help them move into a future that allowed them to be of aid and still thive as the technology giants of the world. Instead, he tried to make Wakanda into what he wanted it to be, led by him, and not led by the wisdom of the people. Led by the wisdom of T’Challa, who struggled between tradition and doing what was best to move Wakanda forward. For T’Challa was closer to seeing Erik’s point of helping struggling descendants of Africa than he realized. And N’Jadaka would have learned that not all leaders have to sit on a throne. If N’Jobu had taken him home just once, maybe N’Jadaka would have come to the council of elders, recited his lineage as all African/Caribbean/Gullah/Black Diaspora folk must do when they return “home.” If N’Jobu had taken him home, N’Jadaka would not have accepted their rejection as being not a born Wakandan. The rejection would not have served as a deterrent to preserving his culture, learning from the elders, learning about vibranium technology, and educating his people on the Black American struggle. And N’Jadaka would have learned that in the effort of trying to help all of his people – African and American and Gullah – benefit from Vibranium and technology, that the he will encounter several types of people in his effort (Some of these types will definitely make him want to use that axe from the British museum exhibit and… but, I digress…): 1) The ones who want to go full force into the the future (Nakia and Shuri) 2) The ones who want to move forward, but they want to do so purposefully and carefully (King T’Challa) 3) The ones who want to move forward now, not understanding that systems that take centuries to build cannot be dismantled immediately, and therefore, they don’t agree with your methods for advancement to the point of self sabotage (W’Kabi and the Border Tribe). 4) The ones who are who are dead set against bucking tradition (M’Baku and the Jabari). And 5) the most frustrating of all are the ones out for self, who have no stake in or ties to anything and yet, they always crack dey teet’ (Gullah for “talk”), the loudest about what they think Wakandans need (I can’t find a movie example, but maybe they’ll be an example in Black Panther 2, because trust that they are out there).
To try to deny one of their purpose, sense of belonging, and their sense of self in a culture that is theirs can leave a person bitter. And for N’Jobu to not take his son home when he knew that is what he would face, is why Wakanda ended up with Erik instead of N’Jadaka. N’Jobu basically said this when Erik visited him on the ancestral plane. His son needed that strength of home because it’s hard to be N’Jadaka. It’s hard to fight on the side of right when your very being and belonging is denied by your own people. Seeing the Wakandan sunset as a little boy would have told him that he had every right to be there as a man fighting for the advancement of Wakandans in the right way. But instead, because his father didn’t take him home, that doubt as to who he is made Erik Killmonger and Erik Killmonger is lying at the bottom of the ocean with his ancestors from the Middle Passage.
Palmetto Author 