When I was 7 years old, my parents had me spend the night at my cousin’s house, and my life changed forever. I sat in front of their old TV and watched in awe as flashing lights danced across the screen. A strange-looking alien yelled in disbelief as the dust cleared, and a man with a cropped jacket and a sword flew through the air, wasting no time splitting the alien in half.

To the unknowing, this may sound like nonsense, but this scene was all I thought about for a week. This was my introduction to the world of Dragon Ball. 

Six months ago, the world lost Akira Toriyama, a man who lent his unique mind to the creation of many series across several mediums, most notably Dragon Ball. 

I, along with countless others, mourned the loss of a man who had impacted many of us since childhood. Yet this pain seemed to uniquely impact the Black community, and I had to ask why.

One might find Dragon Ball’s multicultural foothold fascinating, considering it is the series responsible for Mr. Popo, a character who, at best, borders on racial caricature.

Dragon Ball started as a weekly Shonen Jump manga in 1984 and was adapted into an anime not even two years later. Most Americans, myself included, knew nothing about this series until “Dragon Ball Z” aired on Cartoon Network’s anime block, Toonami, a little over a decade after the series’ initial adaptation.

I think the Black community was primed for Dragon Ball when it landed. The way I feel about this series is an echo of the way my father feels about old kung fu movies. The impact of Bruce Lee and his contemporaries was so prominent that their influence can be found in the Blaxploitation films of the mid-1970s. This era even culminated with Kareem Abdul Jabar’s starring role in “The Game of Death,” Lee’s final film. This reverence for martial arts can be seen in other Black art, notably hip-hop acts like the Wu-Tang Clan. 

Symone Johnson, a professor in DePaul’s African and Black Diaspora studies department, believes this fascination with martial arts may go deeper than aesthetics. 

“I think that the Black American preoccupation with martial arts has something to do with a kind of spiritual curiosity,” Johnson said. “It was the ’60s and ’70s, and we saw this emergence of the Black Power movement.” 

Johnson also identifies materiality as a central theme of empowerment.

“I imagine that being able to use your body in a way that’s defensive but also disciplined helped to empower people during a period of mass disempowerment,” Johnson said.

In the decades since its inception, Dragon Ball has been allowed to fit a similar niche in Black art, being referenced by countless hip-hop artists and even the final fight scene in the 2023 film “Creed III.”

The Dragon Ball series follows a young boy named Goku, who trains in martial arts and is seeking out seven wish-granting orbs called Dragon Balls. As the series progresses, new elements — such as aliens, androids, time travel and most other sci-fi tropes you can think of — creep their way in. But the fundamental martial arts core remained. More importantly, the show’s heart has stayed in the same place.

Darrell Jenkins, DePaul junior and vice president of the Nu Rho Chapter of the historically Black Alpha Phi Alpha Fraternity, thinks it is a very simple show.

“It’s a show about friendship, grief and sacrifice, while also incorporating martial arts and mythical beings,” Jenkins said. “Anything you look for in a show, you can find it in Dragon Ball.”

People who have never seen the show may be drawn to the flashy scenes I previously described, but a lot of us stick around because we like watching these characters grow. Goku’s story resonates with marginalized communities because it is fundamentally about finding your place in the world. 

Throughout the series, we watch as Goku learns the story of his people and how they were victims of genocide and displaced. We watch him continually overcome his limits, for the sake of his found friends and family, and do what was previously thought impossible. Longtime fans watch Goku grow from a naive 11-year-old boy into a strong fighter who saves the world again and again and becomes a father, a grandfather and a loving husband. 

“The storytelling in anime is so masterful,” Johnson said. “There’s value in being able to tell stories about underdogs overcoming oppression that allow us to grapple with moral and philosophical questions.”

Johnson also makes note of the series “My Hero Academia,” a show where the main character is born powerless in a world of superheroes.

“How can I be a hero if I don’t have powers?” Johnson asked. “It’s such a compelling question, especially for marginalized people. How can I make a change if I don’t have the faculties to do so? How can I make something out of nothing?”

I could write a novel about what these shows mean to me, and my editors know the original version of this was probably 200 words too long, so I’ll leave you with this: The most life-changing stories can come from the most unlikely corners. I don’t think anyone at Shonen Jump knew their most loyal viewers would be young Black boys like me.

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