White Women Cops Can Be the Boss, But Only Over POC

Gender and race hierarchy in series ‘Unbelievable’, based on a true story of a victim of police misconduct and sexual assault

This article is not an attempt to dismiss any weight of the harm towards rape survivors, so don’t take my focus on gender intersecting with race as disinterest in the terror of sexual violence. If you haven’t seen Unbelievable (Grant et. al., 2019), you may want to stop reading now, unless you don’t mind spoilers. This series is based on the true story of Marie Adler, a young survivor who gave two different accounts of her attack. For reasons related to trauma, personal history, and the inadequate and bullying responses of the police officers, she recanted the account, saying she “made it up” and never was raped.

Those who begin watching this series will be immediately taken in by the two women lead detectives Karen Duvall, and Grace Rasmussen. They are attractive, blond, white women. They command respect and authority, even over their male colleagues as they join forces to track down the white male rapist.

I wasn’t fooled by their “power” though. It was a lukewarm attempt at showcasing post-Me Too movement heroines. Of course, it’s a positive thing to show strong women leads. We need more movies where women take charge. We have come a long way from the time when the writers for Lost removed their lead woman character and replaced her with the Jack character. I can only suspect they weren’t ready to have a woman run the show (but they were ready to have enormous polar bears attack survivors of a plane crash on a tropical jungle island. You get my point.)

Back to Unbelievable. This series writes in bad-ass women characters, but unfortunately, the script mimics the problem that overtook the Lost creators. White women can’t be badasses with white men, but concerning men of color, hip-check them to the curb.

White women hold more power than people of color, even if they are men

I began to notice that in many scenes when the women flexed their authority muscles, they never beefed up their biceps towards white men over whom they held rank. With men of color, they were allowed to do so.

This reminds me of advertising in the 70s and 80s. In the documentary Killing Us Softly (Lazarus, M. et. al., 1979), one scene exemplifies the same confluence of gender and racial hierarchy that I found in Unbelievable. A young blond girl stands looking down at a young black boy who is sitting. They are about the same age. The producers argue that the image gives a message that white girls, even though they are seen as weak in the general society, are more powerful than black people even if they are male.

Here are some examples in Unbelievable of white women Karening on black men and men of color. I do believe it’s time to make Karen a verb.

If you’re wondering why I’m only talking about men of color, women of color in authority are almost completely absent in Unbelievable. However, there was one black woman victim of the serial rapist, but of all the rape victims featured in the film, she had the smallest part.

Full-on Karen rant

Here’s the scene. There’s an Asian American woman officer, a white male officer, and an Asian American man officer. Karen (that’s her actual name) Duvall, asks why the labs have not come back yet from the victim’s rape kit.

Asian American man officer: “You know the labs are always late. I’m sure the reports are on their way.”

(Conveniently, the white man moves out of the frame and goes to make a phone call leaving Karen to focus her anger on the Asian man).

Karen: (In mocking tone). “You’re sure? Ok, great. Don’t worry, Mia. Everything is right on track. Morris is sure of it.”

Morris: “I’m not the enemy, detective. You don’t have to yell at me.”

Karen: “I sure shouldn’t have to. Look around, Morris. What do you see? I’ll answer that. A whole lot of human beings. All well-intentioned, but wildly capable of error….(more yelling, then a crescendo of yelling)…So yeah, given that, I do expect everyone on my team to give me 100 percent of their effort 100 percent of the time….if that seems beyond your capabilities or your field of interest, maybe another team would be a better fit.”

(The white guy had jumped over to call the lab in the middle of the tirade, and effectively threw his coworker under the bus. He pipes in, saving the day).

White man officer: “The labs had a mix-up on their end. They’re sending them over now.”

Karen: “Well there you go.” (Stares at the Asian American man with exasperation and sighs. The man bows his head).

Try to substitute the role of Morris for a white man. Can’t picture it working out, can you?

Being the boss

It’s also interesting that the intern, Elias, who works under this all-women team is a man of color. In other words, he directly takes orders from three white (and it so happens that they are all blond) women, who say things like, “Still with us, Genome (because he is a genetic wizard)?” It’s as though the writers couldn’t have pictured women talking to white men in that way and getting away with it.

Take the moment when the Latino man technician informs Karen that he doesn’t have the ability to open an encrypted file that holds images of other victims of sexual assault.

Karen: “You gotta get in there [the files].”

Latino technician: “I’m trying, but like I said…”

Karen: “Oh, I know, it’s impossible. I’m just saying, you have to.”

I would have loved her to talk to any white man anywhere in this series. Oh, that would have been rich.

Being pouty with white men in power, even if they effed up big time

Let’s contrast this demeanor with the way Grace Rasmussen talks to her white husband, also a cop, when she is asking him to give her classified personnel files of other cops who she suspects might be the serial rapist.

Grace: (She looks at husband pleadingly). “Ok, hear me out. I’ve got a list of names…”

Husband: “No.”

Grace: (Looks away, shaking). “You’re not even going to hear me out?”

Husband: “I can’t use my position at the Attorney General’s office to pull personnel files. You know that.”

Grace: “It’s in your power. This is what you do.”

Husband: “In my office line of work as an investigator, yes. But not as a favor to anyone who asks.”

Grace. (Looking hurt). “It’s not anyone. It’s me.”

Grace starts whining. He puts his foot down. She storms off and gives him the silent treatment. Nope, her power doesn’t measure up to her husband’s (eventually he gives in because she sulks for a few days and keeps slamming doors in his face). She does the passive-aggressive thing. “If he rapes again, it’s on your conscious,” she murmurs, looking away from him. Instead of being a self-assured, bad-ass woman, she turns into a whiney, emotional, immature person, more like his child than his wife.

Interestingly, when Grace and Karen discover a pair of white male cops mishandled and essentially forced Marie Adler to declare her rape report false, Grace, the hardcore woman cop has no words. In fact, the incompetent officer fessed up on his own. Grace had no smart remark, no reprimands about his improper actions, even though his mistake could have led to the sexual assault of many other women. Grace just stares at him as he says,

“I should explain. The problem is, uh, I’ve got…nothing. You know, you hear about bad cops. You know, guys who make bad calls or end up hurting the people they’re supposed to protect, and I always think, like, who the hell let him on the force, right? Just get rid of him. Maybe we should get rid of me.”

Blink blink, says Grace. Yet when Morris didn’t double-check the arrival of the lab results from the rape kit…heads were rolling.

The correct and coherent thing would have been that Grace file a complaint to fire the incompetent cop. But no, let’s reserve the heavy-handedness for men of color.

White men are still top dog

When undercover Grace tracks down a white cop in a lonely bar at night, the suspect turns aggressive. After taking a swig of his beer bottle, he lets it be known that he’s on to her.

“No, no, no. Leave that,” he says to the bartender, and then looks at Grace menacingly. “My lady friend is gonna want that bottle. Isn’t that right, detective?”

Grace looks down at the counter, like a kid caught with her hand in the cookie jar. “You can have as much as my DNA as you want,” he continues, getting closer. “Here’s a little extra in case they fuck up in the lab.” He spits on her cheek. At point-blank range. She says nothing. Doesn’t even wipe it away until he saunters out of the bar. He zeroes in. “You don’t want to f*ck with me, Grace. I have a lot more friends than you do.”

What he means is, he has a lot more power, and the backing of other men just like him.

Where’s your rant now, about how men don’t care about domestic violence and women victims? The man literally threatened to take you down. Oh, I forgot. You used all your ammo against Taggert, the black FBI agent who is literally co-signing all investigations to hunt the rapist.

White women are the queen of the castle when surrounded by POC

When it comes to white women and men of color, and people of color in general, you know who the boss is. You see that when the team meets to iron out the final details before zoning in on the rapist. Sitting around the table is a black FBI agent, a Middle Eastern-looking intern, an East Asian woman detective, another white woman, and the two white women lead detectives. It would upset the apple cart too much to hold the weight of a powerful white woman bossing around a competent, white male.

In fact, Grace channels her wrath at Taggert who is helping with the case, storming out of their team meeting. Karen follows and listens to her rant about gender double standards, and how the police force overlooks systemic gender violence. Grace blames Taggert for all of it, the black FBI agent who has, in fact, taken on the work of hunting down the serial rapist.

“I hear ya,” says Karen, “But I just don’t think it’s entirely Taggert’s (the black FBI agent) fault.” (Really? Systemic sexism is the fault of a single, black FBI agent?)

Grace asks, “What if Taggert was worried a stranger was gonna f*ck him in the a** walking from the grocery store at night?”

Karen: “This man is helping us. This man is stepping up.”

Grace: “Ok, But where is his outrage? You know? Where is the voice looking at the pattern, saying,’This is supremely f*cked up?’”

It’s interesting that Grace doesn’t demand the same moral outrage when it comes to her white husband. When she comes home from work, upset about the case, she sits glumly on a crate in the garage, visibly distressed. Her husband responds, “No point in saying not to let it get to you, I guess.” No outrage to show. He is as cool as a cucumber. He wouldn’t even have the energy to lip-sync outrage. In fact, he was the most visibly angry when Grace nicked the door of the old car they were working on.

“Hey, hey, hey, hey!” He screeched, as he ran to the aid of the door handle. “You’re off your game, girl.” He is completely unaffected by the case that is consuming his wife but one hundred percent attentive to the door handle of his car. “I’m sorry, I am just distracted,” she excuses herself.

What she should have said was, “Don’t you give a damn about these victims? You don’t seem to have any reaction. I come home, and you’re all, ‘What’s for dinner?’ ‘Let’s fix up the car…’ Where is your outrage that a serial rapist, possibly a cop, is on the loose? This is the reason men learn they can get away with sh*t like this, because other men look the other way, or don’t even let it faze them.”

You know who else also didn’t give a hoot? The serial rapist’s brother that Grace and Karen interrogated (white, of course). They revealed to him that his brother tortured his victims for hours and took photos of them. His response was, “Are you sure? This is gonna destroy my Mom.” Umm, that’s all you got? Not a word of disgust towards his brother’s actions. Not a modicum of empathy for the victims. No outrage, just pity for his Mom having to learn her son is a serial rapist. Boo to you. And surprise, Grace and Karen don’t have anything to say to him about that.

What’s the moral of the story here?

You might say, just relax, it’s a series for television. True. And it is a cultural map of values. Unbelievable offers some terrible ideas of how to fight for gender equality. To find some good from the series, you need to read between the lines, and do other than what the series promotes. Here are some reminders.

1. Number one: Gender equality should not come at the expense of racial equality.
2. Number two: Gender equality should demand that white men, who hold the most political and social power, give a hoot about gender violence.
3. Number three: Women of color aren’t coat-racks, inanimate decorative pieces where you dump your belongings, who don’t complain or take up much space. Women of color deserve a voice and body in the plot of all things.
4. Number four: Don’t be a hypocrite. If you want men to care about gender equality, you had best put your money where your mouth is and demand that your husband and your well-intentioned f*ck-up colleagues put in the effort to give a crap.
5. Number five: Stop being a Karen. If you have the brains, the authority, and the plan, remember your goal isn’t to emulate the worst aspects of white male dominance and squish all the brown and black people under your high heel.

Watch all films with a critical eye. This won’t destroy the art, it will keep you from being a passive recipient of bad values.

Thanks for reading!

~MJ