One of the first episodes of the series of film shorts I found online was “The Kid from Borneo,” which is probably the episode most frequently cited to prove how racist the series was. I turned serious and watched it expecting to be put off by the depiction of Black characters in the film. I came away with a completely different conclusion.
The protagonist of the piece, Bumbo, the Wild Man from Borneo, is certainly a racist trope of the worst kind—a Black man in pseudo-cannibal costume compete with a bone in his nose. He is further denigrated by the showman who displayed him in carnival sideshows as having the mind of a seven-year-old child. The running gag that drives the action is Bumbo’s obsession with candy, which he calls “Yum-yum. Eat ‘em up,” the only words he apparently knows and that he repeats endlessly throughout. The kids in the gang mistakenly think he means to eat them up, however, and various slapstick chases ensue. Yes, the portrayal is disgustingly racist any way you look at it.
What also struck me, though, was how color-blind the rest of the film was. The kids come into contact with the wild man because one of them, Mickey, who is White, mistakenly believes the Black man is his uncle. He’s not in the least disturbed by that anomaly, nor are any of the other characters. What really contradicts the racist perception, though, is the sophistication of Stymie, one of the Black characters almost always featured in leading roles throughout the history of the series. Stymie is clever, world-wise, and an important member of the gang. He interacts with the White kids as an equal in every way and they reciprocate accordingly. All of the characters, adult and juvenile, are stereotypes, but Stymie is one of the most fully developed. Like several of the Black kids in the long-running series, his character is a genuine leader of the gang.
The first of the Black characters in the series was known as Booker T. Bacon, although he was named Sunshine Sammy in later episodes. He was played by Ernie Morrison, actually the first child signed to perform in the films when Hal Roach initially produced them as silent films. Morrison starred from 1922 to 1924. His character, Sunshine Sammy, was one of the chief troublemakers in the gang and was treated as an absolute equal by the other kids.
The character of Farina, played by Aleen Hoskins, was introduced as Booker’s little sister in the silent episode now titled “The Outing.” Farina became a boy in later episodes. Gender swaps for both Black and White children’s characters were not unusual. The Farina character appeared in over 100 of the short features and always played a mature, caring person who not only took care of himself but watched out for the other kids as well. Allen Hoskins had the unique ability to cry on cue, so Farina was often seen in tender-hearted situations.
Stymie came along as a leading Black character of a different sort. As played by Matthew Beard, Stymie is a self-assured, nonchalant, semi-conman full of clever ideas to solve the gang’s problems. He has a quick wit and gets many excellent lines that undercut White adult authority for comic effect. Spanky may have been the titular head of the gang, but Stymie was the brains.
The character played by Billie Thomas, Stymie’s successor, first appeared as a toddler girl in pigtails, but soon became Buckwheat, one of two little boys who tagged along after the big kids, often showing them up or besting them in one way or the other. His White partner in crime, Porky, was played by Eugene Lee. Both actors had speech impediments that often led to garbled dialogue played for laughs. From their repartee came the catchphrase “O-Tay!”
I noticed another thing about the relationship between the Black and White characters after watching several more episodes: The Black kids were never “rescued” by the White ones, nor did anyone expect them to be. In fact, Sunshine Sammy, Farina, Stymie, and Buckwheat saved the day time after time in the 220 films.
Racial stereotypes (and others) can be found throughout the Little Rascals. The same can probably be said of every feature film produced from 1922 to 1944 when the shorts were made—as well as today. What you didn’t see on screen at the time were Black characters interacting with Whites as equals with no hidden agendas or implied disparagements—except in the Little Rascals. The Black kids were portrayed as equals of the Whites, the major reason the films were banned in many Southern markets and lauded by organizations like the NAACP at the time. It was only twenty years after production ceased that the tables turned and the series drew heavy condemnation from the politically correct community and was eventually taken off commercial television stations where it had played in syndication for thirty years before migrating first to cable and then to home video.
It's unfortunate that the label police buried a positive message about Black and White kids coping—together as equals—with the world around them. When we insist on imposing current standards on art produced in completely different times, we often destroy much that is good.
Adapted fromThe Journal of My Seventieth Year