Dexter: Bloody Good

by Guest Contributor Merq

As much as we clamor, beg, and plead for minority representation in the mainstream media, when we get it, it seldom seems to work out as we’d hoped. Many people of color can attest to squirming uncomfortably in front of their televisions, praying for that character of color to finish up and skulk offscreen, so we can return to the idyllic white utopia we enjoyed only minutes before.

Do not adjust your monitors – I really did just say that. While I appreciate the need for children and teens still defining their identities to have (at least) the occasional protagonist who looks the least bit like them, I never quite bought that argument as applied to adults. I (like many consumers of U.S. media) have never had a problem consuming all-white narratives for three reasons:

* It’s a fucking story. Any fully-formed adult mind should be able to identify with a properly written protagonist. (Hear that, white folks who “can’t identify” with predominantly POC casts?) * As we all know, white is presented as the norm in all media forms and general discourse in the U.S. * With the disgraceful way Hollywood depicts people of color, the all-white cast offers the least-painful viewing experience.

It was with all this in mind that I began to feel some apprehension when I noticed the first traces of melanin in the first episode of Dexter. I had just gotten Showtime and I wanted reassurance that cheating on HBO was the right thing to do. While I’d heard good things about The Tudors and Weeds, the premise behind Dexter was more than I could resist.

So with the show shaping up to be my post-Sopranos indulgence, I was understandably troubled at the possibility of some racist douchery messing up the whole thing – I find I can’t get reinvested in a show after that. (Please pass that on to Larry David. We aren’t on speaking terms.)

Early on in the first episode, things aren’t looking too good. The first non-white character we’re introduced to is Vince Masuka (C.S. Lee), a short, bespectacled APIA horndog who drools over Dexter’s sister (an undercover cop on the scene) while conducting a preliminary forensic analysis on a crime scene. Next, we see Lt. Laguerta (Lauren Vélez), a Latina higher-up who, despite being known for her media-savvy, gives Dex a spine-chilling, creepy-old-man wink in the middle of a press conference. In front of cameras. And a dead hooker. At a crime scene.

So, less than ten minutes in, we’ve already got a spicy Latina lusting after white-guy Dexter and an East-Asian geek lusting after white-girl Debra. Not looking good, kids. Or at least, it wouldn’t, if that were the end of the story. I remember one of my Media Studies college professors once pointing out how the contemporary male protagonist seems to emit pheromones so incredibly potent that all women he encounters are rendered helpless. It’s certainly true in most cases – and this seems to be yet another. Fair play, then. Still pathetically stereotypical, but at least it’s just sexist (rather than racist + sexist) in nature.

As the narrative evolves, we see Laguerta as a bitch on wheels to Debra, a devoted friend to Doakes and Angel (more on them later), and yes, still soft on Dexter. It turns out she doesn’t play well with another high-ranking female officer, either. Although I’ve heard complaints from some quarters that this was a sexist, “catty female” depiction, I beg to differ. She didn’t play well with someone whose very presence was effectuated to make her life difficult – not very nice, but perfectly normal. A few years ago, I watched a superb interview in which Diahann Caroll recalled insisting that the Dynasty writing staff treat her character no differently than a white male. She wanted ‘Dominique Deveraux’ to be as manipulative, sexed up, and downright evil as anyone else in the Carrington/Colby universe.

That has always been a point I’ve tried (and often failed) to get across in my rants against questionable depictions of minority characters in the media. People of color don’t all have to be rocket scientists or saintly teachers (two roles traditionally reserved for white folks on film). Just make them people, and we’ll be fine.

Laguerta is a vindictive, mean-spirited politicker. She’s a protective, fiercely loyal friend. She’s a sexually aware (and dead-sexy) woman. But these are only facets of Lt. Maria Laguerta, the person, so you’ll find no complaints here.

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