he knew that “the idea of the hypersexualised Black man was something that had its origins in slavery and in colonialisation and in trying to justify the abhorrent acts of the transatlantic slave trade and the foreign policy from Western powers”. But the actor would not let it go. “For him,” Ugoala says, “his sense of self was very much rooted in this idea of, ‘In a world where I might be denied equal access to education, employment, justice and fairness, in this game of life, on my starting position as a Black man, I might have minus two on those characteristics, but I get plus two on my sexualit.’ And for a world that exalts a man who is successful with the opposite sex, he didn’t want to give up that plus two, no mater the taboo or negative origins of that [narrative], because it was such a part of his identit.” This was enlightening for Ugoala—and surprising for me because, when we discuss this incident over Zoom for this interview, I at first assume the actor in question is white. “It’s not always only white people who believe [these anti-Black narratives]; it’s not only straight people who believe homophobic narratives or men who believe misogynistic narratives,” says Ugoala. “Even though he was Black, [this actor] had internalised an anti-Black narrative.” And this is where we come back to puting in work. Aſter this incident, Ugoala was determined: “So I thought, ‘Maybe I can’t convince you’, but I’m a big believer in if you want to change the world, you start with yourself first. So I started with my own journey of questioning: if I was going to be critical of this man, how much of my own narratives had I learnt? How dangerous were they and how could I begin to unpick them?”
Starting the process Thus began Ugoala’s deep dive into how Black men exist within a racist patriarchy and the degree to which our societal idea of masculinit is rooted in racism, misogyny and homophobia. And also, most importantly, his explo- ration of how to expose and dismantle these narratives to ensure they are not passed down to the next generation. While the title of the book was one of the first things put to paper, the subtitle of the book, Myths of Race, Sex and Masculinit, surprised Ugoala. “I knew that my idea of racism, as experienced as a Black man, was connected to the fact that I’m a mixed-race man in some sense. I knew that sexualit and homophobia played some role in my construction of the idea of masculinit, but I don’t think I had ever really connected how none of these things exist in a vacuum,” he says. “As much as it’s a discussion about black masculinit, it’s as much about a discussion of masculinit as a whole and how we all, as a societ, interact with that.” The interconnectedness of these aspects is vital to the understanding and progression of societ when it comes to dismantling misogynistic, racist and patriarchal structures, says Ugoala. “What’s dangerous is if we do try and take these things in isolation, then we end up with this very odd notion in trying to say that [police officers recently convicted for murder] Wayne Couzens and Derek Chauvin are outliers, when they’re very much more products of our societ... that is an uncomfortable truth,” he explains. “What’s really tricky is that as a
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societ we would prefer to have one or two outliers than for all of us to do the necessary work to say, ‘Actually the way that I treat you as a woman is potentially a bit prob- lematic, my expectations of my wife in the distribution of household chores are potentially problematic’. That is more uncomfortable, and we would prefer to sacrifice one Wayne Couzens and go, ‘We’ve done the work’, than to go, ‘Hey listen, we all need to constantly be in work; we all need to constantly be asking questions, constantly saying, “Can we do beter?”, constantly engaging in what it is to be human.’”
Ugoala highlights some shocking data that underscores the importance of us all doing this work. “When someone is constantly challenging you and asking you to do beter, you get tired,” he says. “It is tiring, but it’s necessary and vital work because eight out of 10 women who are sexually assaulted know the person who sexually assaulted them. So it isn’t an outlier, it isn’t one or two particularly perverted people—these are our friends, neighbours, brothers, uncles, colleagues, and we need to have those necessary conversations, not only to protect women from becoming victims of those people we know, but also to protect those men from doing these gross, horrific things.”
Stage plight
As a mixed-race actor working on the West End, Ugoala has received backlash and “gross messages”, particularly about his casting as Kristoff in “Frozen”, who was originally white in the Disney film on which the musical is based. If you can believe it, this year a group of audience members actually walked out of a perfor- mance over his casting. “I know that this doesn’t need to be said but in a world where you can have a talking snowman or a queen who can turn everything into ice—this is the thing that’s concerning you? Okay. I’m sorry,” Ugoala says. “There are six-year-olds in the audience who watch it with an openness, with a desire to be entertained. But because [these people] have been wounded, they have wounded themselves, they cannot access that level of open- ness and I think that’s sad.” Emphasising his reasons for exploring these topics in the book, Ugoala continues: “If aſter reading the book, or having been asked these questions, people decide to carry on living exactly how they want to live or leave completely unmoved, that is entirely up to them. As an artist, my only aim is to leave people slightly moved as they leave the theatre—the same goes for my plays as it does for this book. Maybe somebody sees something from a slightly differ- ent perspective, and if they do, mission accomplished.”
Metadata
Imprint Scribner UK Publication Out now Format HB (£16.99) ISBN 9781398504783 Rights S&S has world rights Editor Chris White Agent Hellie Ogden, Janklow & Nesbit UK
Book Extract
Far too often I am aware of my position in predominantly white spaces as a man of dual heritage, and the predicament it puts me in. If I am a passive observer to certain charged conversations, I am accused of denying my race and heritage and having my tacit reaction read as non-verbal approval. If, however, I am moved to reply, I have alternatively been accused of ‘getting too confrontational’, ‘making everything about race’ or, my personal favourite, ‘playing the race card’. Secondly, there was this older actor’s presumption of my willingness to leap to violence. Half-goad, half-threat, it was a hopeless attempt to paint me as either a coward or a bully. Allowances are often afforded for comments made under the influence; after all, I had been called worse by much better. It was the specificity that stuck in my ears, from the size of my genitalia, to my dating preference, to the crudeness of the language. These were not witty put-downs, nor were the comments borne of any first-hand observations. Race, as so often happens, had come bounding into the room as we two men swung our proverbial manhoods around.
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