. Alas, not me: Lieutenant Uhura
Showing posts with label Lieutenant Uhura. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Lieutenant Uhura. Show all posts

05 April 2026

Star Trek: "The Man Trap" -- the First Episode Ever Broadcast.

 I have to admit when I watched the very first episode of Star Trek ever shown on television, there were lots of things I never noticed. First of all, I was six in September 1966. Second, my parents, though hardly perfect, were not racist or sexist, and didn’t mention certain defining features of the show that some today are in denial about.


Even before the opening credits, we see a Black woman officer sitting at the station we later learn is navigation. This of course is Lieutenant Uhura, who is more usually found at communications, where she will appear later in the episode.

Also before the opening credits, we see a non-human with pointed ears sitting in the captain’s chair in command of the ship while the captain is visiting the planet below. This is Lieutenant-Commander Spock, the ship’s first officer and chief science officer.

An alien man and a black woman, officers on the bridge of the starship Enterprise, a name packed with meaning a little more than twenty years after the end of the Second World War in the Pacific, a war whose bloody history was exacerbated by racial hatred on both sides, some of it prejudice, some of it arising because it is very easy to dehumanize an enemy who looks so different. The American aircraft carrier Enterprise had played a leading role throughout that war, even taking part in an attack on Tokyo in in February 1945.

Speaking of the war (sorry, Basil), another character debuts later in the episode, Lieutenant Sulu, who seems to work as a botanist. Although his ethnic background is not mentioned any more than Uhura’s or Spock’s, there would have been many in the audience that night who would have looked at him and immediately assumed him to be Japanese (as the character is later revealed to be). That would have raised a fair number of eyebrows. Even more surprising, Sulu is next seen on the bridge running security on the ship. In the final scene, Sulu is seen again on the bridge sitting at the helm, the station he will become most well known for.

In 1966, as I said, I was six years old. My parents and the parents of everyone in my generation had lived through the Second World War. So many had fought and suffered, lost friends and family. There was still great and widespread bitterness about the war. To put a Japanese officer in so prominent a position of authority on a television show was bold, just as it was bold to put a Black woman officer. By comparison, making an alien the second in command was minor.

One of the great ironies, of course, is that the actor who played Sulu, George Takei, is a Japanese-American. As a child he had been unjustly imprisoned along with thousands of other Japanese-Americans in concentration camps just because they were of Japanese descent. I don’t know how my parents felt about this in 1942, but in the 1960s they were teaching me what a disgraceful wrong our country had done to them. Over and over my father spoke of the extraordinary courage Japanese-American soldiers displayed when the government allowed them to enlist and fight in their own units in Europe. They were done wrong by their country, and did their country only right in return. And they were not the only ones. Nichelle Nichols could have told some stories, too.

When you look at this or other episodes of Star Trek (No bloody TOS, TNG, DS9, VGR — to paraphrase Mr. Scott), there are plenty of opportunities to shake our heads at things that wouldn’t fly today. The ridiculously short completely impractical uniform skirts worn by the women in Starfleet, and the insanely skimpy attire worn by the non-human yet still very enticingly human-passing alien women, costumes designed to look like they just might fall off, are only the beginning of things we could mention. The 1960s were poised between two worlds. Some were holding desperately onto the way things had been, and some had let go to reach out for what could be.

Finally, what is in some ways the most challenging and the most relevant aspect of that episode, is the interaction between Captain Kirk and Professor Crater. Crater is trying to protect “a creature,” which is the last of its kind, sentient, intelligent, and capable of love, but whose extreme need for salt to survive drives it to kill some of Kirk’s crew. The professor likens it to the American buffalo, of which there had been 50,000,000 or more circa 1800, but only a few thousand remained in North America by 1900. When Crater argues that the creature is just trying to survive, Kirk, who is just as desperate to protect his crew, replies:

“You bleed too much, Crater. You’re too pure and noble.”

In effect, Kirk has just called him “woke.”

Even so, after the creature has been killed attempting to kill Kirk, Spock sees Kirk looking pensive and sad. Approaching him, Spock says:

“Something wrong, Captain?”

With a rueful smile, Kirk replies:

“I was thinking about the buffalo, Mr. Spock.”

He, Spock, and McCoy exchange thoughtful looks, and the episode ends with Kirk ordering Sulu, now at the helm, to resume their journey, while Uhura works at communications in the background.

We’ll see this dynamic over and over again throughout the history of Star Trek in all its incarnations. The characters, who have already put certain attitudes behind them, are confronted by their need to do the same again in another context. This is what boldly going is all about. 

31 July 2022

Hailing Frequencies Closed -- Nichelle Nichols (1932-2022)

Lieutenant Uhura



Damn it. 

When I was a little boy, Uhura always struck me as so calm, so perfectly poised, and so completely on top of everything she had to do. Even in those episodes when they tried to make her act scared, that never seemed to fit her character. I never bought it. Now, when she had to play her part in Mirror, Mirror, fending off evil Sulu and tricking him, she did it with such sang froid and such charm -- that was Uhura all over. That was the Uhura I knew.

Yet there was more. Something seemed to emanate from her that I can only call beauty. I don't mean her looks -- though she certainly had the looks, and that silky voice -- but it was something that came from within which told you you were in the presence of someone very special and good. If anyone tries to tell me that this was just acting, I won't believe you. But if it was just acting, Nichelle Nichols was as stunning an actress as I have ever seen.

I didn't know anything about what she meant to others, to men and women of color in my own country and in other places. How could I? I was an eight year old white kid from a middle-class family. I had pretty much everything. Including hope. Maybe it was her cool competence playing itself out against the backdrop of the riotous  1960s in the United States that gave me this hope that we had somehow turned a corner, that what Lincoln called the better angels of our nature had prevailed, that the heart and words of Martin Luther King had rung in a new dream for us all. Lieutenant Uhura, I think, was one of those better angels to me.

I didn't know then, or learn for years afterwards, of the role Martin Luther King had played in keeping Nichelle Nichols from quitting Star Trek. That blew my mind as much he did and as Uhura did. It seemed to reaffirm what they stood for, and what I think I suspected even as a little boy watching Star Trek: that the future I saw every week on the bridge of the Enterprise was the promised land that King told us that we would all one day get to. Because it isn't the promised land unless every last one of us is there.

Lately all that hope seems so far away. I don't know that I believe in a promised land any more. I don't know that I can still sing that anthem of my youth in a land that is forgotten. Every day more of us seem to bear the mark of Cain. Every day more seem proud to wear it. Every day more seem proud to declare that we are not our brother's keeper. But the seed of Cain is monstrous. It can never do more than live in darkness and rail against the light.

When I saw that Nichelle Nichols had died, I wanted to weep, something I never do for people I don't know who have lived long, long lives. I keep choking up as I write this. But is it because there is no hope or because I have lost the courage to dare to hope in the face of darkness?

I don't know. The odds don't seem too good right now. But then I think of Uhura, so cool and brave and smart, and she reminds me of my favorite line by her, delivered as she sends Kirk and others off to rescue Spock from death itself: 'All my hopes.'

 



All our hopes, Ms. Nichols, all our hopes.