Some Stories Are Not Ours To Tell
Should white people write black characters?
I came across a short story on Medium that irked me.
Its author, a middle-aged white lady, stared at me from the right-hand side of my screen, as I read it.
She had written the tale of a young Caribbean woman, Mai, whose dreams and aspirations took her from her native island to London, where she found creative and financial success. Because of this success, she was able to buy a big house on the island for her parents, who had always lived modestly.
In a plot twist at the end (Spoiler alert — I’m about to tell you exactly what it was), we find out that our protagonist had imagined the whole thing. And we leave her, as we found her, on a beach.
So, why did this seemingly inoffensive bit of prose irk me so much?
Because I couldn’t divorce the story from its author — I kept wondering what could possibly qualify this white woman for writing a slice of black Caribbean life.
I was reminded of one of my favourite books, Half of a Yellow Sun, by Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie.
In this superb novel, Richard, an English expat and journalist in Nigeria finds himself bearing witness to the Biafran war between 1967 and 1970. He attempts to write a book about it, but abandons the project as he realises that the war is not his story to tell.
Ugwu, whom we meet as a young Igbo boy, is eventually conscripted into the army and becomes both the victim and perpetrator of extreme violence. He goes on to write his own account of the war in a book titled The World Was Silent When We Died.
Adichie’s message is very clear: If a white man writes a black man’s story, he will only ever write it from his biased perspective, often inflating his own importance within it as the “white saviour”.
(Sidebar: Don’t watch the film adaptation! They missed the whole point in playing down such a pivotal character as Ugwu)
Anyway, back to our original story:
I went looking through the author’s bio, hoping to find some link to the Caribbean. Nothing there — English, born and raised, with stints in Wales and the Middle East.
I then had a look through the comments — Surely, I wasn’t the only one feeling this way?
There again, nothing.
Maybe it is just me.
It is a fictional piece after all, coming straight out of the author’s imagination. If she could imagine these characters, why couldn’t she bring them to life?
Well for one, because there is absolutely no reason for it.
The story arc and the plot twist would have worked just the same, had the story been set on a beach in West Sussex or Wales. In fact, the author could have created much more authentic and nuanced characters if she had drawn on her personal experience.
As a white English woman, her impression of Caribbean life can only be biased by her education and conditioning. How much of these characters can she truly know?
Also, because the story brings nothing new to the table, and it perpetuates a Eurocentric view of the world.
For example, Mai’s parents are poor and work for “the rich folk” on the island.
And Mai’s aspirations lead her to “the mainland” (England), where she can pursue her dreams and earn enough money to support her parents.
Now, I’m not saying that these things aren’t part of the human experience, but haven’t we heard it before?
On top of that, let’s consider the current context in the UK and Caribbean for a minute.
The people of Barbados have renounced Queen Elizabeth II as their head of state — Barbados is now a republic, and Jamaica is thought to be heading in the same direction in the next few years.
The idea of England being their “mainland” belongs to a colonial past that they are fighting against. So, it’s hard to see the place or value of this particular narrative as a Caribbean portrait.
Lastly, because in reading the story, the reader becomes complicit in perpetuating stereotypical views.
I’m a white woman too, and I am based in the UK. So in many ways, the author and I share the same stereotypes. In fact, as I read the story, I couldn’t really tell where her bias ended and mine began.
Is the story even set in the Caribbean? She never actually says. But, a couple of words were enough to convince me of it: “tropical island” and “mainland”.
Mai and her parents are never physically described either, so how do I know that they’re black? When did my mind make the leap? Was it when I read that they were poor and used words like “rich folk”? Or was it when I read that Mai’s favourite food is “saltfish, plantain and eggs”.
And was I imagining it, or was some kind of accent implied in the writing of the dialogue?
In any case, I interpreted the story, filling any gaps left by the author with my own preconceived ideas. And just like that, I became complicit.
The solution:
As writers, let’s just take a beat before we hit “publish”. Let’s ask ourselves whether we are the best person to write this particular piece. And let’s strive to make a positive contribution.
And as readers, let’s seek to read authentic voices from as many sources as possible.
Here’s a good place to start — Check out this list of Caribbean women writers.
