As a youth, I spent many Saturdays at eta Creative Arts Foundation, rehearsing and performing.

In 1991, when I was a sophomore, I acted in Runako Jahi’s musical “A Place to Be Me,” which starred elementary and high school thespians. The play centered on a little boy trapped in a television set. During the fantasy, he encountered stereotypes about black people; by the end, he returns to real life with a deeper sense of self.

The show amplified the positive messages cultivated by eta, while winking at the legacy of cultural guardians Margaret Burroughs, the founder of the DuSable Museum of African American History, and writer Useni Eugene Perkins.

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“A Place to Be Me” entertained young audiences and told them they aren’t who society may project them to be. The African American eta theater is a treasure, with a nearly 50-year-old legacy of giving artistic voice to Chicago’s South Side. Cast members, children and adults alike, witnessed a place to be us, a home where we could bring original stories to life.

Black representation on big and small screens remains an issue today. Stereotypes aren’t relics like camera film. But with de-massification of media, more outlets and streaming services abound and are giving black cultural producers more outlets — indie and mainstream. It’s beautiful.

Sometimes black actors are tapped to play beloved characters in remakes — and that sometimes causes an unnecessary brouhaha.

That happened recently when Disney announced that 19-year-old black singer Halle Bailey will play Ariel in the live-action remake of “The Little Mermaid.” Racist backlash came in the form of the social media hashtag: #notmyariel.

Those fans of 1989’s original Ariel, with her Flamin’ Hot Cheeto-red hair, feel Ariel should still be white in the revival. Their nostalgia is stifling.

Ariel is a fictional character, a mermaid who could be of any race. Disney’s new Ariel isn’t the same as a white woman in powdered makeup playing a geisha in the opera “Madame Butterfly,” or Denzel Washington as Atticus Finch in “To Kill A Mockingbird,” or a white man cast as Troy Maxson in August Wilson’s “Fences.” The new Ariel is hardly the poster child for appropriation.

Most people are happy Bailey has been cast. She’s talented, and I understand the joy little black girls will experience seeing someone on screen who looks like them. A brown-skinned girl with dreadlocks as a Disney princess — that once was unfathomable.

While I’m happy for Bailey and the new generation of Ariel fans, a part of me wonders, why another Disney remake? Is Disney offering a token of validation? Is its colorblind casting a win for diversity? Or are we too hyped-up that a corporation has putting us, black people, at the center of one of its stories and not one of our own?

Sydney Chatman is an elementary school theater teacher, founder of the Tofu Chitlin’ Circuit. She wrote the award-winning play “Black Girls (Can) Fly!” which she says seeks to remind black girls that they were already thinking about space travel before there was a catchy acronym, STEM, for the now-widespread school curriculum that emphasizes science, technology, engineering and math.

“Historically, knowing that the Disney franchise has operated and created images from a racist point of view, doesn’t make me excited too about it. Am I happy for Ms. Bailey? Absolutely,” Chatman said. “However, if I am to think critically about the work that we support and promote as a black community, I’m perplexed. Are our stories and traditions not good enough to receive this same type of support? I think it’s difficult to quantify our artistic existence, when others attempt to seek validation from the white gaze.”

It’s easy to fall into the trap of validation. I used to want Idris Elba to be the next James Bond. Then I considered, perhaps not. Sure, 007 is a winning franchise, but Elba has the chops to star in a better role, not play a character rooted in imperialism.

I love the schmaltzy movie “Steel Magnolias” and was giddy when Lifetime announced a remake with a star-studded black female cast. When it aired in 2012, I couldn’t contain my disappointment. It fell flat, and I realized it wasn’t necessary to remake. Alfre Woodard and Phylicia Rashad deserved better.

Actors need work. I, too, am happy for Bailey. They aren’t the problem, or where the critique lies.

More opportunities for black story-creators are needed. Chicago is full of them. Nnedi Okorafor is a science fiction writer and author of Africanfuturism stories, who now has a deal with HBO. Aymar Jean Christian created Open Television, which produces and exhibits indie TV and video art, lending a voice to LBGTQ stories.

I recall my time on the eta stage, where original stories were performed, celebrated and validated — by black audiences.

Natalie Moore is a reporter for WBEZ.org

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