The Struggles of Being a ‘Black Creative’

“You are an amazing Black Writer.”

I politely asked for clarification. My reply, which wasn’t a thank you or some self-congratulatory embrace of his words, left the person I spoke to feeling a bit self-conscious.

They immediately extended an apology, and I reminded them that an apology wasn’t in order; I just wanted to know what gears were spinning in their mind when they called me a “Black Writer.”

This acquaintance, after being pried for his perspective, finally relented. He saw that I wrote extensively on my Blackness and, in turn, others’ Whiteness. My racial identity, even if my profile picture was a scavenger bird, couldn’t be mistaken.

I thanked him for trusting me with his perspective and allowing himself to be honest. I informed him that yes, I was a Black Writer who spoke about my suffering and, in turn, the suffering of others. But I also write about love, family, relationships, politics, and masculinity. I didn’t mention to him, but deep down I wish those too drew conversation or intrigue.

I impressed upon him my intention for asking was to know exactly the intention of his words, not indicting them or convicting them as falsehoods.

As a Black writer, as an individual who descended from people who have survived tragedies due to their skin color, it isn’t easy to deduce what people mean when they call you a “Black insert professional.”

I recognize that not everyone has the same experience, so it may appear as though I am speaking another language or commenting on things that are not there. Let me take you into my mind and explain.

“I’m Not A Black XXXX. I am a XXXX.”

“I’m not a Black Writer. I am a writer.”

“I’m not a Black dancer. I am a dancer.”

“I’m not a Black actor. I am an actor.”

Black writers, Black creatives, or any profession and hobby that causes you to excavate something deep about your experience, will bring you to the Rubicon of the situation I described earlier.

Be it in an interview, a head-on discussion, like the one I had, or a conversation in the past that lingers in your mind and you comment on in the present. A Black creator will be called upon to comment and give voice to their sentiments on the title.

Not a writer, but an actor, Idris Elba found himself in similar strife. He publicly acknowledged he no longer wanted to be called a Black actor.

But why?

Elba knows what I know, and many Black people know. There is a shortage of authentic, decent, nuanced storytelling in Hollywood that doesn’t propagate insensitive themes about the Black diaspora. Ryan Coogler can’t make every single movie.

The title of a Black actor or writer, or creative, boxes and typecasts someone into certain opportunities and accessibilities. They will only be selected or considered for certain roles, further depreciating their value to Hollywood in the long run. They become replaceable.

And this is a real, authentic fear for Black actors as well as creatives.

Remember, Denzel Washington is a rare occurrence, walking on the foundation paved by Sidney Poitier and others. Very few Black actors gain the ability to say, “I am the leading person”, in a sea of other non-Black A-listers.

The fears of unemployment are real, and your credentials don’t guarantee a contract when you want it. Denzel is probably the only person of color in Hollywood who has this privilege.

Djimon Hounsou is an acclaimed actor whose ancestry hails from Benin, and he still can’t find steady work in Hollywood.

So Idris Elba’s fears carry weight, and I am sympathetic to them.

The issue is that oftentimes such statements are not made with the most eloquence to display the totality of the experience, so they come off not as pleas to not be boxed in, but perceived as moments of anti-Blackness.

Anti-Blackness is still a powerful theme within the Black community in the narratives we propagate, the themes we subscribe to, and the adages we pass on to our children. Descendants of slaves didn’t have access to the cultures their ancestors came from, so all they could do was soak up what was given by the slave system.

Elba and so many other creatives intend to draw a line in the sand and show their versatility, but often come out appearing ashamed of who they are, thanks to the culture that has demonized Blackness and forced many to distance themselves from it to gain opportunity.

But what of the writers and creatives, who make their Blackness a part of their body of work? What is their struggle?

“Anti-White Racism Concerns”

Black Creatives, who are in touch with their Blackness and seek to explore it through their various mediums, often run into the challenge of their works’ reception once they hit the air.

Many Black people will applaud your triumphs, but the broader dominant culture will latch on and deem your work and efforts as “woke” or “racist against white people.” The sentiments and nuance of your words may very well be overriden with the perception of the reader, more prepared to argue and fight than hear and listen.

I see it consistently here on this platform. Black writers putting pen to paper, then the screen, of the hard lessons they learned through life. They gather very rich and subjective experiences and place them in an algorithm, only to be bombarded with individuals who miss the point entirely, even when it is spoken in clear English.

This dilemma is echoed in the halls of libraries, as many Black Writers and thinkers have seen their books removed and banned. All in the perception that their work is filled with hatred against White people, with minimal nuance and room for conversation.

I still remember my 5th-grade teacher telling me I couldn’t report on Malcolm X, because she read his autobiography and he wanted “to kill White people and enslave them”. She opted for me to write about Henry “Box” Brown instead(An essay on that is coming soon)

The very tender nature of the works causes many from the institution to the individual to perceive the body of work as just some great big smear campaign against them, the reader, and every individual they know and love.

Generalizations for the writing need to be utterly specific.

Hyperbole becomes myth.

Painful experiences get scrutinized or trounced, followed by the stories of the commenter’s Black friends who may disagree with you or your perspective.

All of a sudden, the Black creative cannot write unimpeded by the thoughts of what happens when that movie is out, when that book hits the shelves, when the blog post scrapes the algorithm. Their other work is forgotten or minimally spoken of.

They become marginalized, bullied, and are allowed the only honor, being that they were a martyr.

Black Creative vs. Creative Who Is Black

You can be a Black creative, or you can be a creative who happens to be Black.

You can play roles that don’t pigeonhole you, that show diversity of skillset. You avoid the ones that may force the industry to label you a “Black actor.”

You can write about less divisive things. Your hobbies and interests from a colorblind lens, only focusing on the topics themselves.

You can try and create films and speak to the audience from an objective perspective on things that speak to a common experience.

But then what differentiates you from the others? If I write a piece about my time studying martial arts and I don’t pepper my analysis and thoughts with my experiences as a Black kid navigating those systems, what separates my work from others?

The style, why yes, of course. However, the true lived experience will be hiding from scrutiny and ruffling of feathers.

Being a Black Creative doesn’t mean that your body of work must only be a dedication to your Blackness. It means you and I share the raw experience of a specific struggle with the work we make.

I appreciate the reception of, White America is Waking Up. I just wish A Family Friend is Ostracized. He Doesn’t Drive received the same attention.

I hope Male Solidarity Cannot Disappear When Feminists Leave, can earn the right to be a conversation starter.

I hope that my work doesn’t cause people to misuse the term “Black Writer” to minimize my perspectives.

I hope that if people catch wind of my work and content, and they are non-white, they assume that something of importance can be gathered from my words, and the world still turns.

The Black Creative struggle means that very often, race is at the forefront of your perception. Talk about race, and you will be called a provocateur, and maybe blackballed. Your other perspectives go unheard.

Don’t speak, don’t write, don’t dance, don’t rap, don’t sing, don’t rhyme, don’t film anything that could be deemed too controversial, and you become another talented creative who happens to be Black. When the projects slow, you will be forgotten and replaced with another face.

Either struggle presents its challenges, and I can only empathize with both sets of creatives, even if I can be one but not the other.