WWE SmackDown: The slaying of Kofi Kingston sends the wrong message

When Kofi Kingston first won the WWE Championship at WrestleMania, it represented far more than just a tenured veteran getting his just due. It was a win for the black community.

As a black city boy who was literally born and raised in south Detroit, I didn’t grow up seeing myself often represented in media, and when I did, the portrayals were less than flattering. Criminals, gangsters, pimps, drug addicts, you name it. I was either the bad guy or the loser. At a young age, seeing people who looked like me look like this really weighed on my mental and affected my self worth growing up. Since then, black representation in media has vastly improved, but one place I noticed always needed work was WWE TV; maybe wrestling in general.

Only, it had less to do with the characters black wrestlers were given that adhered to stereotypes (because just about every character in wrestling, regardless of skin color, is expected to highlight a specific stereotype), but more the issue was that there was a certain glass ceiling black wrestlers could never get passed. No matter how many boxes black wrestlers checked, it felt like there was a limit to how high up the corporate ladder we could climb. Hence, why there was never a dark skinned man to ever hold the WWE Championship in the company’s 67 year time span.

In 2019, Kofi Kingston finally broke through that glass ceiling.

When I saw the referee’s hand hit the mat for a third time and proceed to raise Kofi Kingston’s hand as the new WWE Champion at WrestleMania, I popped like the little kid inside me that never got to see his black heroes flourish growing up. I still hold this as the most fulfilling, feel good moment I’ve ever witnessed inside the squared circle.

As evident from the response across social media, the black community especially was deeply affected by Kofi’s win. We all rejoiced at the sight. He wasn’t just the WWE Champion. He was our champion. And black readers especially know what I mean when I say our champion. Someone who looked like us, talked like us, walked like us, and represented us as a community in the most positive light. His win really highlighted the importance of representation in media, even in such a silly medium as professional wrestling.

For the first time, I could say that my WWE Champion was rich in melanin and a full blooded African. It felt surreal, but also so, so refreshing. It was a win that showed even if the world isn’t the easiest place for someone like me to live in, there’s hope and when we win, we win big.

Kofi Kingston said it best when he told FOX, “It means the world, especially when we talk about representation being so important. For me to be the first African-born WWE Champion is incredible because now, people who look like myself can look at TV and see on WWE television that anything is possible because I’m doing it.”

Fast forward to close to 130 days with the title, and Kofi gets booked to defend his championship against Brock Lesnar on the SmackDown premiere on FOX, which also serves as the show’s 20th anniversary.

Kofi Kingston losing the WWE Championship to Brock Lesnar felt like a foregone conclusion. With a new FOX deal on the horizon, it just made sense for a decision to be made (whether it be WWE’s or FOX’s) to put the top prize on a face that casual viewers may recognize. And to some extent, most of us accepted that.

Heading into the match, a lot of us happily accepted Kofi’s reign was about to end because we knew that he had a phenomenal reign at the top and he’d at least go out swinging.

That’s not what happened.

Kofi Kingston’s road to the WWE Championship took 11 years to complete, but it only took 10 seconds before it came crashing down.

Again, it’s not Kofi’s loss I had a problem with. Hell, in some respects, him losing in 10 seconds isn’t even the biggest problem. It’s a bummer, sure, but at most, that was merely a factor in the larger issue at hand. That issue being what WWE is saying by immediately tossing him aside in favor of pushing a feud between Brock Lesnar and Cain Velasquez.

After 130+ days of hard work on Kofi’s behalf to make this title feel special in ways it hadn’t in years, he’s treated as an afterthought in favor of a man who reportedly has yet to even sign a WWE contract. A veteran’s credibility was demolished with a 10 second loss in favor of putting over an outsider. WWE took a decade long company man, gave him the brass ring, turned him into a man that black viewers could champion behind, and took him out of the focus as quickly as possibly.

WWE might as well have looked him in the face and told him “You don’t matter.” It produces the same effect.

Of course, I’m not saying that this was the intention, no. I can even imagine what their thought process may have been in coming to this finish (i.e. “make it quick like a UFC fight”). I’m just saying that it looks a certain way.

It looks a certain way when Seth Rollins, someone who is more or less the same height and weight playing a similar underdog role, is afforded not only the privilege of pinning Brock Lesnar twice, but to kick out of multiple F5s. It looks a certain way when only one of these men is of a certain complexion.

What really struck a chord with me about Kofi Kingston reaching his WrestleMania moment was the realization that some black child in the world was getting the positive representation that I struggled to find as a youth. That another city boy born and raised in south Detroit could find their own self worth in seeing a hero who they look up to – who looks like them – reach the highest pedestal of their success.

Coming to such a realization really warmed my heart, but imagining that same little boy watching his same hero as the pedestal was kicked from under him last night puts a pain in my chest that I find hard to verbalize.

If you look like me, maybe you’ll understand that feeling.

Maybe you’re feeling it right now.

I write all this not to vent an angry rant or complain about the outcome. I’m just here to point out how people of color may digest or perceive certain stories told onscreen, wrestling related or otherwise. It’s just as important to be self aware of how you represent your POCs onscreen as it is to elevate them with uplifting moments when the time is right.

Feel free to say I’m overthinking this or I’m reaching, but if you don’t understand where I’m coming from, I want you to go back and watch Kofi’s post-match celebration at WrestleMania and watch his six year old son lift his father’s WWE Championship above his head. I want you to see a child watch his actual hero reach the promise land and inspire that boy that he, too, can accomplish his goals and dreams some day.

I then want you to think about what it means for a child, any child, to watch their hero fall faster than they rose to prominence with no guarantee of returning to the promise land. That same hero tossed away like yesterday’s news as if they never existed and ignored like so many POCs are ignored on a daily basis.

Think about it.