THIS WEEK
Black Focus Opinion
Wilhelmina Asaam
Being Black in publishing can feel like being on the downslope of the diversity bell curve—but step back, reappraise and play to your strengths
Better to be different I
of these problems are amplified tenfold. In the adult books department, I was the only Black acquiring editor for the entiret of my three years working in trade publishing—which is nothing unusual in this industry. To be a Black woman among a sea of primarily white faces means feeling different, but it also means constantly minimising yourself. It means always having to shelve your true thoughts and beliefs for later in a way that is exhausting. It means only ever being able to let go at long-awaited lunches or dinners with your fellow “Black in publishing” friends, where together you can finally turn that trauma into gist or giggles, in the alchemistic way that I personally think Black people are the best at. Admitedly, I’m the tpe to internalise and botle up my feelings, but being Black in Publishing only makes these tendencies worse. Cripplingly worse. During the time I worked in editorial, all I could feel was that I was shrinking into myself. What can I say? If you know, you know. And if you don’t, just trust that the following has happened to either me or someone you know. And I hope you don’t mind me stealing a TikTok trend to illustrate it to you, it’s all in good fun. “I’m Black in publishing, of course I’ve been mistaken for the only other Black person that works here.” Or Asian person. Or Middle Eastern person. Or any person of non-white. Microaggressions are still rampant in the industry. We’ve all sat through multiple workshops on it. We get taught how to avoid them, but how oſten is the point
TheBookseller.com
recently leſt my job in editorial. Not because I’m totally disillusioned with the industry. Well, not yet. I have however been suffering from burnout—you’ve heard this story before—the workload in editorial is rough, the expectations senior people impress on you are unrealistic, and you care deeply about your work, so you do whatever it takes. However, if you happen to belong to a poorly represented demographic in the industry, all
The workload in editorial is rough, the expectations senior people impress on you are unrealistic
driven home about the mental and psychological toll these small transgressions take on the recipient’s mental health? Properly tackling microaggressions seems to require something foreign to British culture: strong discomfort. Instead of our usual response, which is usually some form of “Oh, X is just older, they don’t mean anything by it”, we need every instance acknowledged and dealt with, if not at the moment it happens, then soon aſter. We need allies to take people aside and say, ‘That was a microaggression, it was wrong and here’s how to do beter”. “I’m Black in publishing, of course I can read your Black submissions. Or sensitivit-read your Black characters.” I can almost understand this one. There’s the fear from some white editors that they might not “get” the essence of a book if its protagonist isn’t like them, a worry that they’ll do it a disservice, not give it the aten- tion it deserves. It comes from a good place, a place that believes it cares about Black people. This place thinks, “I’m a good person, I put up a black square in June 2020 and my friend/uncle/neighbour is Black”. But it’s a stance that also allows people to avoid challenging their deepest, most internal beliefs about people different from them. So inevitably that invisible workload falls then on to their Black colleagues, and believe me, it takes its toll. “I’m Black in publishing, of course, I have to be the loudest champion for diversit.” The people who tend to helm causes are the ones who it affects the most, I suppose that’s a given. But once again, it weighs down on your mental health—to push for books to be given atention, to focus your acquiring on books by non-white authors, to nurture more junior non-white staff to try and keep them in the industry. I’m not saying white allies don’t do this, I’ve encountered some amazing staunch allies who do all of the above. But while for them it’s an optional and sometimes virtue-signalling choice, for us Black people in the industry, it’s a given. It’s inevitable. It’s the part of our job descriptions writen in invisible ink. It’s exhausting. It feels like representation-wise in the
Wilhelmina Asaam is a freelance editor.
industry, we’re back to the downslope of the diversit bell curve. I can’t be the only one who needs a break before fighting for the slow climb back up.
13
© Shutterstock
Page 1 |
Page 2 |
Page 3 |
Page 4 |
Page 5 |
Page 6 |
Page 7 |
Page 8 |
Page 9 |
Page 10 |
Page 11 |
Page 12 |
Page 13 |
Page 14 |
Page 15 |
Page 16 |
Page 17 |
Page 18 |
Page 19 |
Page 20 |
Page 21 |
Page 22 |
Page 23 |
Page 24 |
Page 25 |
Page 26 |
Page 27 |
Page 28 |
Page 29 |
Page 30 |
Page 31 |
Page 32 |
Page 33 |
Page 34 |
Page 35 |
Page 36 |
Page 37 |
Page 38 |
Page 39 |
Page 40
