It’s easy to look at a screen today and see a vibrant, nuanced world. You’ve got Craig of the Creek navigating a backyard wilderness with his family, or Miles Morales swinging through a Brooklyn that actually feels like Brooklyn. It feels normal now. But honestly, the road to getting black characters in cartoons to a place of genuine humanity was a total wreck for decades.
We aren't just talking about a lack of representation. We’re talking about a legacy of intentional, often cruel, caricature that took generations to dismantle. If you grew up in the 90s, you might remember the "token" friend. If you grew up in the 40s? Well, what you saw on screen was often a nightmare of minstrelsy.
Understanding the evolution of black characters in cartoons isn't just a history lesson. It’s a look at how media literally shapes how we see our neighbors. It’s about the shift from being the punchline to being the protagonist.
The Early Days were Honestly Pretty Brutal
Let’s not sugarcoat it. The 1930s and 40s were a dark era for animation.
Early studios like Warner Bros. and Disney didn't just ignore Black people; they leaned into "The Censored Eleven." These were cartoons so offensive that United Artists pulled them from syndication in 1968. We’re talking about characters like Coal Black—a twisted parody of Snow White—that relied on exaggerated features and "jive" talk. These weren't characters. They were props for a specific kind of white humor.
It was ugly.
But then something shifted. By the late 60s and early 70s, the Civil Rights Movement forced the industry’s hand. You couldn't just have minstrel shows anymore. The audience was changing. The world was demanding better.
The Saturday Morning Breakthrough
Enter Fat Albert and the Cosby Kids in 1972. Whatever your (very valid) feelings are about Bill Cosby today, the show itself was a radical departure. For the first time, black characters in cartoons weren't just sidekicks or caricatures. They were a group of kids dealing with real-life stuff—school, poverty, friendship—in North Philadelphia.
It wasn't perfect. It was "educational" in that slightly stiff, 70s way. But it gave Black children a chance to see themselves as the center of their own universe.
Around the same time, we got Franklin in Peanuts. His introduction in 1968 was a huge deal. Harriet Glickman, a schoolteacher, actually wrote to Charles Schulz after the assassination of Martin Luther King Jr., urging him to add a Black character. Schulz did it, despite pushback from his syndicates. Franklin wasn't a "Black version" of Charlie Brown. He was just a kid on the beach. That simplicity was the point.
The 90s and the Rise of the Cool Sidekick
If the 70s were about "social relevance," the 90s were about "cool."
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This is where things get a bit more nuanced. We started seeing more black characters in cartoons, but they often fell into the "Best Friend" trope. Think of Gerald Johanssen from Hey Arnold!. He was the voice of reason, the urban legend storyteller, and Arnold’s absolute backbone. Gerald was undeniably cool. He had his own life, a distinct family dynamic, and that iconic high-top fade.
But he was still the second lead.
We saw this a lot. Skeeter in Doug (who was blue, but coded as Black through his voice, interests, and slang). Vince LaSalle in Recess. They were essential to the show's DNA, but they weren't the ones the plot revolved around most of the time.
The Static Shock Moment
Then came Dwayne McDuffie.
In 2000, Static Shock changed the game. Virgil Hawkins wasn't a sidekick. He was a teenage superhero dealing with the "Big Bang" that gave a bunch of kids in Dakota City powers. The show didn't shy away from real issues. It tackled gang violence, homelessness, and racism head-on.
One of the most famous episodes, "Sons of the Fathers," deals with Virgil visiting his best friend Richie’s house, only to realize Richie’s father is a blatant racist. It was heavy. It was real. And it proved that audiences—of all races—wanted stories with depth.
Breaking the Aesthetic Mold
For a long time, there was a "look" for black characters in cartoons. Often, they were drawn with the same features as white characters, just colored with a brown fill. This is what some critics call "palette swapping."
True representation requires more than a paint job. It requires an understanding of hair texture, skin undertones, and cultural fashion.
Look at The Boondocks. Aaron McGruder’s style blended anime aesthetics with sharp, uncompromising social satire. Huey and Riley Freeman looked like Black kids. Their hair mattered. Their clothes mattered. The way they moved through their suburban environment mattered.
Then you have The Proud Family. Penny Proud was a revelation because her family felt familiar. Sugar Mama, Oscar, Trudy—they represented a multi-generational Black household that didn't feel like a lecture. It felt like home.
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The Modern Golden Age
We are currently living in what many call a "Golden Age" for black characters in cartoons.
- Craig of the Creek: This show is a masterpiece of childhood wonder. Craig Williams is a cartographer. He’s smart, sensitive, and lives in a loving, middle-class Black family. The show is packed with specific cultural nods—like the "Council of the Creek" or the way his mom handles his hair—that feel authentic because the writers' room is diverse.
- Spider-Man: Into the Spider-Verse: While a movie, its influence on TV animation is massive. Miles Morales is Afro-Latino. His identity isn't a subplot; it’s the core of who he is.
- Kipo and the Age of Wonderbeasts: Wolf, one of the leads, is a fierce, complex survivor whose Blackness is just one facet of her incredible character arc.
These shows aren't "Black shows." They are great shows that happen to feature Black protagonists. That distinction is everything.
Why "Coding" Matters
Sometimes, a character isn't explicitly Black, but they are "Black-coded."
This is a fascinating corner of animation history. Take Piccolo from Dragon Ball Z or Knuckles from Sonic the Hedgehog. Ask almost any Black Millennial, and they’ll tell you: Piccolo is Black.
Why? It’s usually a combination of his role as a stoic mentor, his "outsider" status, and even the way he carries himself. In the 90s, when representation was slim, Black fans claimed characters that resonated with their experience.
Even Max Goof’s friend Powerline in A Goofy Movie is a massive cultural touchstone. He was clearly modeled after Michael Jackson and Prince. For a generation of kids, Powerline was the pinnacle of Black excellence in animation, even if he was a cartoon dog.
The Talent Behind the Mic
We can't talk about black characters in cartoons without talking about the voices.
For a long time, Black characters were voiced by white actors. This led to "blaccent" performances that were often cringey or outright offensive. The industry has made a massive push toward "authentic casting" in recent years.
Phil LaMarr is a legend in this space. He voiced Static, but also Samurai Jack and Hermes in Futurama. Kevin Michael Richardson and Cree Summer (who voiced basically everyone in your childhood, from Susie Carmichael to Elmyra) have been the backbone of the industry for decades.
When a Black actor voices a Black character, there’s a level of lived experience that translates into the performance. It’s in the cadence. It’s in the sighs. It’s in the "unspoken" parts of the script.
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Common Misconceptions About Diversity in Animation
People often think that adding diverse characters is just "pandering" or "woke culture."
Honestly? That’s a lazy take.
- It’s not just about "checking a box." Good representation leads to better stories. When you pull from a wider pool of experiences, you get plots that haven't been recycled a thousand times. Craig of the Creek is fresh because it explores a perspective that was ignored for 50 years.
- It’s not "erasing" white characters. There’s plenty of room. Adding a character like Bow in She-Ra and the Princesses of Power doesn't take anything away from Adora. It just makes the world feel bigger and more realistic.
- Kids don't care? Actually, they do. Studies, including those from the Geena Davis Institute on Gender in Media, show that children’s self-esteem is directly impacted by seeing characters who look like them in positions of agency and power.
What the Future Holds
The next frontier for black characters in cartoons is "unremarkable excellence."
We’re moving away from stories where Blackness is the only conflict. We’re seeing Black characters in fantasy, in sci-fi, in quiet indies. We’re seeing them be messy, be villains, be nerds, and be heroes without having to represent the entire race on their shoulders.
The industry still has a long way to go in terms of leadership. We need more Black directors, showrunners, and studio executives. But the progress is undeniable.
How to Support Better Animation
If you want to see this trend continue, you have to vote with your remote.
- Watch the originals: Support shows like Moon Girl and Devil Dinosaur or Young Justice. High viewership numbers are the only language studios truly speak.
- Check out indie animators: YouTube and TikTok are teeming with Black animators creating their own pilots. Support their Patreons and share their work.
- Research the creators: Look for shows where the creators share the background of the characters. Authenticity usually starts in the writers' room.
The history of black characters in cartoons started with silhouettes and shadows. Today, it’s a spectrum of light. It’s about time.
Actionable Next Steps for Fans and Creators
To truly appreciate and push for better representation, consider these steps:
- Diversify your watchlist: Intentionally seek out animated series from different regions and cultural backgrounds. Look into African animation studios like Triggerfish (creators of Kizazi Moto: Generation Fire) to see how Black stories are told outside the Western lens.
- Analyze the "Why": Next time you watch a show, look at how the Black characters are positioned. Are they driving the plot, or are they reacting to the white lead? Understanding this difference helps you become a more conscious consumer.
- Support Black Voice Talent: Follow actors like Zeno Robinson or Anika Noni Rose. When they announce a project, give it a look. Their involvement is often a stamp of quality and intentionality.
- Engage with Media Literacy: Read books like Dark Design: The History of Africans in American Cartoons by Christopher P. Lehman. It provides the deep academic context that helps you spot tropes before they become habits.
The shift toward better representation isn't a trend; it's a correction of a long-standing imbalance. By supporting nuanced, well-written characters, you’re ensuring that the next generation of kids doesn't have to look for themselves in the "sidekick" role—they'll already be the heroes of the story.