Grace Jones was my First

Picture it. 1984. A dark-skinned, tall, statuesque woman with shining white teeth appears on the screen in Conan the Destroyer. Zula is her name. She is fierce, strong and brutal – a warrior even Conan does not wish to fight against in this pre-civilization comic book tale.

When we first see her, she is in the circle center, her foot tethered to a chain, fighting off a throng of snarling, dirty men who, if they had their way, would “rip” her black body to many pieces. Conan, upon seeing her fight to live, gives her a “fighting” chance by removing the chains off her feet (after prodding by the white Princess, of course). She proceeds to “wipe the floor clean” of her attackers with her long, wooden staff (https://youtu.be/KoWmS5IYCkA).

There is no mention of a tribe or family to connect #Zula to. She is a roaming warrior looking for a family, although she would refute that if Conan had even bothered to ask her.

Picture it. 2022. Viola Davis is General Nanisca, The Woman King, leader of the elite al-woman army of the Dahomey kingdom in Africa in the 1800s: the Agojie. Her job is to not only protect the king, but to also protect the way of life, traditions, and cultures of her people who she fears are in danger of succumbing to the greed and evil of white slave traders.

The #Agojie are not allowed to take husbands or to become mothers. Why? Because motherhood does not align with the warrior way of life. It’s a distraction. A weakness for these warriors. At least that is what history would have us to believe. The mothers are separated from the warriors physically, mentally, and even spiritually.

The sanctity of “Black Motherhood” has never aligned with the story of the black woman, especially in the United States. Not in the history books, not in our literature, and before #TheWomanKing, not even in film. The story of #BlackMotherhood has been one of unworthiness and contempt; many were brought into it through sexual trauma and brutality, in fact. Slavery made her a breeder and a sexual provocateur (see the 18th-19th century slave laws in the South and Venus Hottentot); literature made her a religious zealot or jezebel (see Native Son and Uncle Tom’s Cabin). And politics … well, we know that story, don’t we?! (see Roe vs. Wade, Supreme Court 2022 decision).

?And who perpetuates these narratives? Men. Black and white (and in between). But the biggest culprit of them all is WOMEN! How many times growing up did you hear Big Mama and them talkin’ in whispers about that woman’s child? Or, that that girl is “actin’ to mannish”?! We are taught from the beginning to be ONE or the OTHER - a costly price to be paid for either choice, for both the community and ourselves.

One of the most interesting narratives The Woman King brings to the “kitchen table” for me is the re/conciliation for what it means to be a woman – a Black woman. We are both warrior and mother. That we are worthy of both identities and can defend them both with equal fervor and sensibility. And that within these two identities is the key to our survival as a people?- a nation - humanity.

The Dahomey (and many cultures of the past in various parts of the world) believed that legitimate power (creation) resided in a nation that was ruled by both man AND woman: the Mawu-Lisa. They are co-creators. Even in the ancient world of Conan the Destroyer, Zula fights alongside of Conan and the rest of her “family.” The Princess makes her head of her army at the end of the film. Not exactly co-ruler, but she had a voice now because she had proven her strength, cleverness with her sexuality, and loyalty.

So, where does all of this leave writers, in particular, who wish to tell the stories of black women here and abroad? The Woman King has informed and strengthened my belief that we CANNOT continue to tell the stories of black women – and women in general – a part and separate from warrior and mother. We must redefine what sisterhood even means because it IS actually mothering, and we see this on display a lot in The Woman King. These warrior women are “mothering” one another throughout their training and fighting on the battlefield. General Nanisca is not only mother to her soldiers (I won’t spoil the ending for you) but to the King and the nation of #Dahomey as well.

Grace Jones was my first. I do not want Viola to be my last, nor my/our daughter(s).

?Here’s to writing our warrior mothers into creation.

?~Rebekah Pierce is a retired English Literature teacher and the author of several historic fiction novels. Her latest history fiction novel, Captain Jack, is scheduled for publication in 2023. To learn more about her work and to book her for a speaking engagement, visit www.rebekahlpierce.com.