Kung Fu, Black Power, and Transpacific Solidarity: Rethinking Bruce Lee’s Radical Legacy

In 1970s America, many young African Americans loved going to the movies and watching a Bruce Lee fight scene. What connected black youth to a Chinese martial arts master? In many ways, this fascination may seem strange—yet it reflects a deeper story of solidarity, identity, and rebellion. Kung Fu movies, especially those in Bruce Lee's time, resonated with African Americans' struggle for civil rights and social justice.

Civil rights movements in the U.S. have long been framed through the lens of African American resistance, from the Montgomery Bus Boycott to the March on Washington. While these moments are crucial to understanding the fight for equality, they often forget significant cultural intersections. Asian American struggles for rights, for example, are frequently portrayed as separate from or even in opposition to those of African Americans. Such depictions ignore moments of cooperation and unity. Scholars like Vijay Prashad have pointed out that while African American and Asian American experiences are often split in historical narratives, these communities shared overlapping struggles, particularly in their fight against systemic racism. African Americans found cultural and political allies in the Asian American community, and vice versa, yet many scholars have failed to explore these interconnections in depth.[i]

The idea that African American and Asian American struggles exist in isolation stems in part from systemic efforts to drive a wedge between marginalized groups. The “model minority” myth, for instance, portrays Asian Americans as universally successful, obedient, and academically exceptional. Some scholars argue that this stereotype was strategically popularized during the civil rights era to undermine African American resistance by implying that success is achievable without challenging systemic structures.[ii] They rightly pointed out, by framing Asian Americans as a “model minority,” white power structures sought to pit the two groups against one another, reinforcing racial hierarchies and diverting attention from shared experiences of discrimination. However, many academic narratives have simplified Asian American experiences by portraying them as passive—either as a “model minority” that benefits from white privilege, or as victims of racism with little agency.[iii] These views often ignore the active roles Asian Americans have played in resisting oppression and building solidarity with other communities of color. One example of shared struggles lies in labor rights movements. In the early 20th century, Chinese and Japanese immigrants worked alongside African Americans as laborers in industries such as railroads, agriculture, and domestic work.[iv] Both groups were frequently paid less than their white counterparts and endured harsh working conditions. In some instances, they resisted these inequities together. For example, in the 1930s, during the Great Depression, Filipino and African American farmworkers in California collaborated to organize strikes for fair wages under the leadership of organizations like the Agricultural Workers Organizing Committee (AWOC).[v] Despite differences in language and culture, their solidarity highlighted how economic oppression united them in a common cause.

Another critical moment of solidarity came during the Black Power Movement of the 1960s and 1970s. The rhetoric and activism of African American leaders like Malcolm X and the Black Panther Party inspired Asian American activists to develop their own frameworks for resistance. Inspired by the Black Power Movement, Asian American groups such as the Asian American Political Alliance (AAPA) emerged. Formed in 1968 at the University of California, Berkeley, the AAPA sought to challenge systemic racism, oppose the Vietnam War, and advocate for the rights of Asian Americans and other marginalized groups. Members of the AAPA openly aligned themselves with the Black Panther Party, viewing their struggles as intertwined. This solidarity was not only ideological but also practical. For instance, the Black Panthers and Asian American activists often collaborated on community initiatives, such as health clinics and food distribution programs, that addressed the immediate needs of oppressed communities.[vi]

Beyond the Black Power Movement, the Civil Rights Act of 1964 and the Immigration and Nationality Act of 1965 are two landmark pieces of legislation that highlight the interconnected struggles of African Americans and Asian Americans. The Civil Rights Act was a culmination of decades of African American activism and dismantled segregation and discriminatory practices in education, employment, and public accommodations. Its passage set a precedent for broader anti-discrimination efforts that would benefit Asian Americans and other minority groups. Similarly, the Immigration and Nationality Act, which abolished the racist quotas that had restricted Asian immigration since the 1920s, was passed in the wake of the civil rights movement. This demonstrates how African American-led resistance to racism and inequality created ripple effects that opened opportunities for other groups.

Many scholars pointed out that Asian Americans, particularly during the height of U.S. imperialism in Asia, connected their experiences of discrimination in America with larger struggles against imperialism abroad. For example, during the Vietnam War, Asian American activists recognized parallels between the dehumanization of Vietnamese people overseas and the racism faced by people of color in the U.S. They drew inspiration from African American critics of imperialism, such as Martin Luther King Jr.’s famous 1967 speech, “Beyond Vietnam,” in which he condemned the war and linked it to systemic injustices at home. These shared critiques of imperialism created opportunities for collaboration and mutual support between the two groups.[vii] In this context, many scholars have introduced the concept of Pacific Studies, which argues that Asian American history should not be viewed in isolation from the histories of other racial and national groups. Instead, it should be understood through the lens of trans-Pacific exchanges that cross national and racial boundaries. [viii]

Cultural intersections played a significant role in fostering solidarity. For example, jazz and the civil rights movement were deeply interconnected, and Asian American musicians often contributed to this cultural exchange. Toshiko Akiyoshi, a Japanese American jazz pianist, used her music to comment on racism and civil rights, blending African American jazz traditions with her own cultural influences. Similarly, African American musicians such as Duke Ellington openly celebrated Asian culture in their compositions, creating a sense of mutual respect and artistic collaboration. While these cultural moments are often overshadowed by political activism, they underscore the ways in which art and music became spaces for solidarity and shared resistance.

Despite these moments of unity, it is essential to acknowledge the tensions that have existed between African Americans and Asian Americans, many of which were deliberately stoked by systemic forces. One of the most prominent examples is the 1992 Los Angeles uprising, which erupted after the acquittal of police officers who brutally beat Rodney King, an African American man. Much of the violence was directed toward Korean American businesses, highlighting the economic and racial divides between the two communities. Grace Lee Boggs argue that these tensions were rooted in structural inequalities rather than inherent animosity between the groups.[ix] She emphasized the need to address the economic systems that pit communities of color against one another rather than focusing solely on individual conflicts. his raises an important question: can we offer an alternative framework for understanding Black-Asian relations, that can acknowledges the influence of white supremacy and complex political-economic systems, but also recognizing the differences and agency of both communities, instead of relying on overly simplified narratives?

Today, movements such as Black Lives Matter and Stop Asian Hate demonstrate the continuing relevance of African American and Asian American solidarity. In the wake of the COVID-19 pandemic, which saw a surge in anti-Asian hate crimes, many Black activists expressed solidarity with the Asian American community, recognizing the shared roots of racism that target both groups. Similarly, Asian American activists have stood with the Black community in condemning police violence and systemic racism. These contemporary movements reflect the enduring importance of unity in the fight for justice and equality. However, this solidarity is not without its complications. Some scholars argue that, at times, Asian American advocacy has been complicit in upholding white supremacy, inadvertently limiting the space for Black civil rights struggles.[x]

To fully understand these tensions and possibilities, it is essential to look back at the longer history of Black-Asian relations. The roots of this complex relationship, that marked by both solidarity and conflict, can be traced through a shared history of resistance, shaped by broader structures of racial capitalism, imperialism, and migration. Understanding the intersections of African American and Asian American struggles challenges the idea that civil rights movements are isolated efforts. From labor strikes to the Black Power Movement, and from legislative victories to artistic collaborations, these communities have built moments of solidarity in response to shared experiences of systemic oppression. Recognizing these connections allows us to better understand the complexity of racial politics in America, and the ways marginalized groups have turned to one another for inspiration, alliance, and resistance.

One powerful and often overlooked site of this connection is popular culture, especially the unexpected but profound resonance of Kung Fu films within Black communities during the 1970s. These films were not merely entertainment, but became a symbolic space where African Americans saw their own struggles reflected through narratives of resistance, dignity, and anti-colonial defiance.[xi] To fully grasp how transracial solidarity took shape on the ground—and on the screen—we must explore how Bruce Lee's cinema offered Black audiences new ways to imagine empowerment and liberation.

In the 1970s, Bruce Lee’s films, with their focus on defiance against oppressive forces, resonated with African American audiences who saw parallels between his fight against colonialism and their own struggles against institutionalized racism. Bruce Lee was a symbol of resistance and empowerment, representing a larger anti-imperial message that resonated across racial lines. His movies are directly related to the Chinese experience but also can appeal to However, much of the existing literature largely ignores how these films influenced African American identity and solidarity in the civil rights context.

By the late 1960s, African Americans had been engaged in a long and painful fight for civil rights. But as the civil rights movement evolved into the 1970s, many Black Americans, particularly in urban environments, began searching for new symbols of resistance and empowerment. Traditional civil rights leaders, though revered, often seemed distant from the struggles of everyday Black youth, many of whom faced increasing alienation and systemic oppression. But with films like The Big Boss and Fist of Fury, Bruce Lee captivated audiences not only with his martial arts prowess but also with his unapologetic defiance of colonial powers, systems of oppression, and injustice.

For many African Americans, in Bruce Lee’s characters, they saw a person of color standing up to powerful, oppressive systems, that mirroring their own experiences with police brutality, economic disenfranchisement, and systemic racism. Bruce Lee’s films didn’t just offer fantasy; they portrayed the power of an individual, marginalized by society, to challenge and dismantle that very society’s injustices. Furthermore, the era of the rise of black cinema, which overlapped with the rise of Kung Fu films, helped solidify the connection between African American and Asian cinema. Movies like Black Belt Jones and Three the Hard Way merged Kung Fu fighting with Black American street culture, showing the impact of these films on black culture.

 These cultural intersections were not accidental, but reflected deeper patterns of identification, solidarity, and shared resistance between African American and Asian American communities. Despite this historical and cultural significance, much of the existing scholarship continues to overlook the role of Kung Fu cinema in shaping Black political imagination and cross-racial solidarity. As a global cultural phenomenon, Kung Fu cinema provided a transnational space for imagining resistance across racial and national lines. Examining how these films were received and reinterpreted within African American communities not only highlights the symbolic power of popular culture, but also responds to the call of transpacific studies to move beyond isolated ethnic narratives. Through close analysis of two key films and Bruce Lee’s cultural persona, this paper argues that Kung Fu cinema became a medium through which African American communities articulated solidarity, reclaimed agency, and connected their struggles to broader anti-imperial narratives.  In doing so, it reframes the relationship between Black and Asian Americans through a global and transnational perspective, enriching our understanding of race, culture, and political imagination.

Although Bruce Lee is globally recognized for his martial arts prowess and cinematic legacy, his cultural significance as an advocate for racial justice and civil rights has often been understated. Emerging at a time when Asian Americans were largely absent from or stereotyped in mainstream media, Lee transformed not only the image of Asian masculinity but also became a symbol of empowerment for marginalized communities around the world. His body, philosophy, and films embodied a radical reimagining of race, resistance, and identity that aligned closely with the civil rights struggles of the 1960s and 1970s.[xii]

Lee’s own experiences of racial discrimination—particularly in Hollywood, where he was repeatedly denied leading roles because of his ethnicity—deeply informed his activism. As Daryl Joji Maeda argues, Lee “articulated interlinked critiques of colonialism and racism” by creating hybrid philosophies and fighting styles that rejected purity and embraced cultural syncretism.[xiii] His martial arts style, Jeet Kune Do, fused elements from various traditions across Asia and the West, offering a physical metaphor for the polycultural and anti-essentialist identity he embodied.

Lee’s appeal extended beyond the Chinese and Asian American communities. His films, particularly Fist of Fury(1972), resonated strongly with African American audiences, who saw in his cinematic defiance of colonialist and racist oppression a mirror of their own struggle. According to scholar Vijay Prashad, Lee became a “polycultural figure who demolished the high walls of parochialism and ethnonationalism through a potent dialectic of cultural presence and antiracism.[xiv]” In this sense, Lee was not merely an actor or athlete; he was a radical cultural figure whose very image challenged systemic white supremacy.

The alignment between Black Power movements and Asian American activism was not coincidental. Organizations like the Red Guard Party in San Francisco took inspiration from the Black Panther Party, adopting similar ideologies of self-determination and community defense. Bruce Lee’s philosophy and fame intersected with this wave of solidarity. His films became popular in urban Black neighborhoods, and figures within the Black Power movement viewed Lee as an icon of self-empowerment through disciplined resistance. Rychetta Watkins notes that Bruce Lee’s influence “contributed to a shared vocabulary of resistance” that linked Black and Asian American communities in a broader movement for racial justice.[xv]

Moreover, Bruce Lee’s physicality served as a form of counter-narrative to Hollywood’s emasculating portrayals of Asian men. Through his on-screen charisma, athleticism, and moral authority, Lee redefined what it meant to be an Asian male in Western culture. As Celine Parreñas Shimizu argues, Lee projected an “ethical masculinity” rooted in care and vulnerability rather than domination—one that stood in direct opposition to both racist and patriarchal norms[xvi]. In this way, Lee’s activism was not only political but embodied; his body itself became a contested site of racial and gendered meaning.

By bridging East and West, martial arts and media, resistance and representation, Bruce Lee crafted a unique form of civil rights activism. His influence rippled across racial lines, inspiring global audiences to rethink stereotypes, colonial hierarchies, and cultural identity. As Maeda summarizes, “Lee refused to be captured by either East or West but instead flowed between and shaped both.[xvii]” In doing so, Bruce Lee not only broke bones and box office records—he shattered boundaries.

Among Bruce Lee’s films, Fist of Fury(1972) stands out as one of the most politically charged and emotionally resonant works. Set against the backdrop of colonial violence and national humiliation, it tells a story of resistance that deeply resonated not only with Chinese audiences but also with African American viewers. Analyzing this film closely helps us understand a central question of this essay: why did Kung Fu films, and Bruce Lee in particular, hold such appeal for Black audiences? What did they see in these stories of defiance, discipline, and identity? By exploring the themes, symbols, and reception of Fist of Fury, we can begin to uncover how global cinema shaped local experiences of race, resistance, and solidarity.

Fist of Fury follows the story of Chen Zhen, a skilled martial artist who seeks justice after the murder of his teacher, Huo Yuanjia, the revered leader of the Jingwu School in Shanghai. The film is set in the early 20th century during a time of great tension between the Chinese people and foreign powers, particularly the Japanese, who exerted significant control over parts of China.

The film begins with Chen Zhen returning to Shanghai, only to find his school in mourning. His teacher, Huo Yuanjia, has died under suspicious circumstances after a fight with the rival Hongkou Dojo, a Japanese martial arts school. While others accept the official explanation that Huo died of illness, Chen Zhen is immediately suspicious, believing his teacher was poisoned.

Tensions escalate when representatives of the Hongkou Dojo arrive at the funeral, openly insulting the Chinese martial artists and challenging them to prove their worth. They bring a sign that reads “Sick Man of Asia,” a derogatory term used by imperialist forces to demean the Chinese. Infuriated, Chen Zhen takes matters into his own hands. He single-handedly storms the Hongkou Dojo, defeating their students and their master in a brutal display of martial prowess. His message is clear—China is not weak, and its people will not tolerate humiliation.

Chen Zhen’s actions, however, set off a chain of consequences. The Japanese authorities and their Chinese collaborators target the Jingwu School, attempting to crush their defiance. Meanwhile, Chen Zhen continues his investigation into Huo Yuanjia’s death and confirms his suspicion: his master was indeed poisoned by the Japanese. Seeking justice, he goes after those responsible, leading to a series of confrontations with Japanese martial artists and officials.

One of the most memorable moments in the film occurs when Chen Zhen encounters a park sign that reads “No Dogs or Chinese Allowed.” The sign is a blatant symbol of colonial-era racism, echoing real historical discrimination faced by the Chinese under foreign rule. In a powerful act of defiance, Chen Zhen smashes the sign, symbolizing his rejection of oppression and his fight for dignity.

As the conflict intensifies, the Japanese authorities order the capture of Chen Zhen. He realizes that his resistance has made him a marked man, and the authorities will not stop until he is either dead or captured. In the final confrontation, he faces Suzuki, the head of the Japanese forces, in an epic showdown. Chen Zhen emerges victorious but finds himself surrounded by armed soldiers.

In the film’s tragic yet heroic ending, Chen Zhen refuses to surrender. Instead, he launches himself toward the soldiers in one final, defiant attack as gunfire erupts. The film ends on this powerful note, leaving his fate ambiguous but reinforcing the message of unwavering resistance against oppression.

Fist of Fury resonated deeply with audiences in China, Hong Kong, and Taiwan because of its themes of anti-colonialism and national pride. At the time of the film’s release (1972), Hong Kong was still a British colony, Taiwan was under martial law, and mainland China was emerging from the Cultural Revolution. In all these regions, the historical memory of foreign domination—whether by Western imperialists or Japan—remained strong.

The film’s depiction of Japanese colonial oppression struck a chord with Chinese audiences, many of whom had lived through the Second Sino-Japanese War or had grown up hearing stories of occupation. Chen Zhen’s defiance represented the collective frustrations of Chinese people who had suffered under foreign rule. His refusal to submit and his willingness to fight back became a symbol of Chinese resistance and resilience.

The film also appealed to audiences because of Bruce Lee himself. At a time when Hollywood rarely portrayed Asians as strong, independent heroes, Lee’s on-screen presence was revolutionary. He was not only an exceptional martial artist but also a cultural icon who challenged stereotypes of Chinese people as weak or subservient. His performance in Fist of Fury fueled a sense of pride and empowerment, particularly in Hong Kong, where his success was seen as a challenge to Western dominance in cinema.

While Fist of Fury was a hit in Chinese-speaking regions, it also found an enthusiastic audience among Black Americans in the 1970s. Many Black viewers saw parallels between Chen Zhen’s struggle against Japanese colonialists and their own fight against systemic racism in the United States. Themes of masculinity, resistance, and defying oppression resonated with Black communities, especially as the Civil Rights Movement transitioned toward a more militant stance in the face of continued injustice.

One of the most powerful connections between the film and Black American struggles was its message of self-determination. Just as Chen Zhen refused to bow to foreign oppression, Black communities in the U.S. were increasingly rejecting passive resistance in favor of self-defense. Groups like the Black Panther Party emphasized armed self-protection and community empowerment, much like Chen Zhen’s approach to fighting for his people’s dignity.

The film’s portrayal of masculinity also played a significant role in its popularity. Bruce Lee’s character embodied strength, leadership, and defiance, qualities that resonated with Black male audiences who were often portrayed negatively in mainstream American media. In the same way that Bruce Lee challenged stereotypes of Asian men as weak, Black audiences saw his image as a counterpoint to the demeaning portrayals of Black men in Hollywood. While this male-centered vision of resistance has since been critiqued by both Black and Asian feminist scholars for sidelining women’s voices[xviii], it helps explain why Kung Fu films found especially strong appeal among Black men seeking empowered representations of themselves.

Additionally, Fist of Fury’s global anti-colonial themes linked the experiences of Black Americans to struggles in Africa, Asia, and Latin America. During the 1970s, figures like Malcolm X and Martin Luther King Jr. had emphasized the connection between civil rights and global anti-colonial movements. Black audiences saw in Bruce Lee’s films a shared resistance to systemic oppression, making Fist of Fury more than just a martial arts film; it was a cinematic rallying cry for empowerment.

This global solidarity also influenced pop culture. The rise of Blaxploitation Kung Fu films, such as Black Belt Jones and The Last Dragon, combined martial arts aesthetics with Black empowerment narratives, further cementing the connection between Bruce Lee’s legacy and Black American identity.

Ultimately, Fist of Fury’s popularity in both China and the U.S. reflected the common experiences of marginalized communities facing oppression. Whether in the context of Japanese colonial rule or American racial discrimination, the film spoke to the universal desire for justice and dignity. Bruce Lee became a symbol of this resistance, uniting audiences across racial and national lines in a shared fight for self-respect and freedom.

While Fist of Fury emphasized anti-colonial resistance in a Chinese context, Way of the Dragon shifts the setting to Europe and explores what it means to navigate racism, displacement, and cultural identity as an immigrant. This change in location allows Bruce Lee to address a different dimension of marginalization that speaks to the global struggles of diaspora communities, including many of the challenges African Americans could also relate to.

Way of the Dragon (1972) was written, directed by, and starring Bruce Lee, follows the journey of Tang Lung, a humble but highly skilled martial artist from Hong Kong who is sent to Rome to assist his relatives. They run a small Chinese restaurant that has come under attack from a powerful local mafia determined to seize control of their property. Unfamiliar with Western customs and unable to speak Italian or much English, Tang Lung is initially dismissed by both his relatives and the local thugs as a country bumpkin with little to offer.

Upon arrival in Rome, Tang Lung struggles with the cultural barriers—he is confused by Western food, uncomfortable with the urban environment, and awkward in his interactions. However, his martial prowess is soon revealed when gangsters attempt to intimidate and assault the restaurant staff. Tang Lung effortlessly defeats them, stunning his relatives and earning their respect. From this point on, he becomes their protector.

The mafia, embarrassed by their failure and desperate to assert dominance, continues to send waves of increasingly skilled fighters to threaten and coerce the restaurant owners. Tang Lung dispatches them with graceful, precise movements, blending traditional Chinese martial arts with his own unorthodox adaptations. His fluid fighting style sharply contrasts with the brutish, straightforward aggression of the gang’s enforcers.

Realizing they are no match for Tang Lung, the mafia turns to international mercenaries. They fly in top martial artists from around the world, culminating in the arrival of Colt, an American karate champion played by Chuck Norris. The mafia’s plan is to stage a final confrontation between Tang Lung and Colt, with the restaurant’s future hanging in the balance.

The climactic duel takes place in the hauntingly empty Roman Colosseum, a setting that elevates the fight from a simple brawl to a symbolic clash of civilizations and philosophies. The Colosseum, once the stage for ancient gladiator battles, now becomes the arena for a modern test of skill, honor, and ideology. Colt’s rigid, linear karate style contrasts with Tang Lung’s more adaptive, fluid approach. The battle is fierce and evenly matched, marked by respect and intensity.

Ultimately, Tang Lung overcomes Colt, but rather than killing him, he allows him to live—showcasing a key tenet of Lee’s martial philosophy: that martial arts should be used not for domination or vengeance, but for self-defense, discipline, and personal growth.

After this decisive victory, the mafia’s grip over the restaurant is broken. The gangsters lose face and power, and the Chinese community regains its dignity. However, rather than stay and bask in triumph, Tang Lung quietly prepares to return to Hong Kong. He has fulfilled his mission—not just by protecting his relatives’ livelihoods, but by restoring their sense of identity and strength in a foreign land.

The film ends with Tang Lung walking away from the Colosseum, alone. His departure reflects a deeper message: that true strength lies not in conquest, but in humility, restraint, and the pursuit of harmony.

Way of the Dragon (1972) resonates deeply with themes of immigrant identity and cultural resistance. Tang Lung, a Chinese martial artist from Hong Kong, arrives in Rome and is immediately marked as an outsider—unfamiliar with the language, mocked by locals, and dismissed as ineffectual. His initial awkwardness with Western customs mirrors the experiences of many Asian immigrants who navigate linguistic, cultural, and social exclusion in their host societies. Yet, through martial arts, he asserts his identity and earns respect, offering a powerful metaphor for cultural survival in diaspora.

The Chinese restaurant that Tang Lung defends symbolizes more than just a business—it stands for immigrant persistence, communal dignity, and resistance to external threats. As Maeda explains, Bruce Lee’s films often portray how “people who migrate far from home develop new senses of self and identity”[xix]. Tang Lung’s transformation from underestimated newcomer to heroic defender reflects the real-world struggles of immigrants to find agency in societies that marginalize them. His victory over the mafia’s enforcers is not merely physical; it’s symbolic of reclaiming space, identity, and pride without conforming to dominant Western norms.

During the 1970s, Way of the Dragon also gained popularity among African American audiences, who identified with its themes of racial justice, resistance, and self-determination. Tang Lung’s struggle against exploitation in a foreign land echoed the lived realities of Black Americans confronting systemic racism and economic oppression. His refusal to assimilate or capitulate, and his triumph through self-discipline and cultural pride, made him a compelling figure of resistance.

Bruce Lee’s cultural influence extended beyond Asian communities. Prashad describes Lee as a “polycultural figure” whose popularity among Black audiences stemmed from his radical break from white-dominated cinematic narratives and his embodiment of anti-colonial strength.[xx] His films provided Black viewers with an alternative model of nonwhite heroism—one grounded in skill, dignity, and refusal to submit.

This cultural crossover reflected broader movements of Afro-Asian solidarity in the U.S. during the 1960s and 70s. Lee’s on-screen persona aligned with the Black Power movement’s emphasis on self-defense and empowerment. His real-life friendships with Black athletes and artists, such as Kareem Abdul-Jabbar and Jim Kelly, further underscored his role as a bridge between marginalized communities. As Ongiri notes, Bruce Lee became “a central figure in the visual language of Black Power,” with his image often appearing alongside icons like Malcolm X and Muhammad Ali in Black homes.[xxi]

The film’s climactic battle between Tang Lung and the American karate fighter in the Roman Colosseum reinforced this symbolism. It was not just a martial arts contest—it was a clash between Western and non-Western systems, reflecting the broader global struggle against imperialism and racial domination. For both Asian and Black audiences, Bruce Lee’s cinematic presence was more than entertainment—it was an affirmation of resilience, identity, and transnational solidarity.

Bruce Lee’s legacy transcends martial arts choreography and box office success. He was, and remains, a cultural and political figure whose films articulated resistance not only against colonial and racial oppression but also against invisibility itself. In both Fist of Fury and Way of the Dragon, Lee constructed cinematic narratives that dramatized the plight of marginalized peoples, whether through the historical memory of Japanese imperialism in China or the lived experiences of immigrants confronting racism in the West. That these films resonated so strongly with African American audiences was not a coincidence, but rather a testament to the transnational character of anti-oppression struggles during the 1960s and 70s.

At a time when Asian American and African American communities were both fighting for dignity, representation, and justice, Bruce Lee emerged as a bridge between these worlds. His embodiment of anti-colonial masculinity and self-determination challenged Hollywood stereotypes and inspired communities that had been pushed to society’s margins. Through his cinematic defiance and personal philosophy, Lee helped to forge a shared vocabulary of resistance—one that continues to influence civil rights discourse and popular culture today.        Recognizing Bruce Lee’s place within the broader history of civil rights movements invites us to rethink how those movements are remembered and taught. Rather than viewing African American and Asian American struggles in isolation or reducing Asian Americans to either passive victims or proxies of white supremacy, Lee’s legacy reminds us of the complex roles that Asian Americans have played within U.S. racial politics. His films reveal how cultural texts can become sites of identification, resistance, and solidarity across racial lines. The powerful reception of Bruce Lee’s cinema among African American audiences shows that popular culture is not just a reflection of politics, but a terrain where political meanings are produced, contested, and shared.

In this sense, close analysis of Bruce Lee’s films offers more than cultural appreciation; it provides a critical lens for understanding the transnational dimensions of racial formation and cross-racial alliances. Especially in today’s globalized and divided world, revisiting these moments of Afro-Asian connection allows us to move beyond simplified binaries and national boundaries. Bruce Lee did not merely entertain a generation, but helped them imagine what resistance, dignity, and solidarity across difference could look like. In recovering that vision, we begin to recover a more expansive, interconnected, and honest history of racial struggle.