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Whites Writing Blacks

Alissa Miles
Epilogue
Published in
4 min readJun 11, 2020

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On my walk the other morning I started listening to Ta-Nehisi Coates’ BETWEEN THE WORLD AND ME. There was a point where I stopped walking and took a picture of a field that lay to my right so that I could post it on my Instagram feed. The sky was gray. The field was covered in green grass. It was calm.

I stopped to take this picture because the words in my ears, read by Coates himself, were slowing me down. I realized I was holding my breath. I wanted to look at something beautiful to take away the uneasiness, the uncomfortable feeling that came with realizing I’ve never understood. I thought I knew some things. I thought I was on the right side of work that is being done to eradicate racism.

But I didn’t know a thing.

I didn’t know a thing because it takes reading, listening, learning from Black stories and experiences to see the connections of what happened then to what is happening now. Because not enough has changed.

I write fiction. I want my writing to be relatable, real, genuine. To exclude Black voices from my writing simply because I’m white is not real life. To use Black voices in order to represent myself as inclusive is not noble; it’s racist. In the past I have feared representing Black experiences in my writing. I fear getting the Black voice wrong or taking the place of a Black author who could be telling the experience from an authentic place.

So what do white writers do?

The BLACK BODY is studied in undergraduate and graduate African and African American Studies programs at schools (see Princeton, Northwestern, University of Rochester, etc.) and can be discussed at great length. Even though I’m not taking that deep dive in this article (there is so much more that could be discussed on these topics), it is an important part of the conversation and should be researched by writers writing Black people. Currently, writers who have thought themselves to be pro-Black, but aren’t, write around the Black Body in a number of ways:

  1. By including a Black character who is secondary. She is the no-nonsense best friend. She’s so sassy. He is the partner in the detective duo who rolls his eyes at his white counterpart and, let’s face it, he probably gets murdered in the first half of the book. They are based on stereotypes. They have no depth and are there to add “color” and most often humor.
  2. When we do write Black characters, we fall back on dialect we think is Black.

“What’s up, girl?”

“It’s been a minute, boo.”

We have the white characters appropriate the language when speaking to Blacks (this also happens in real life) and it comes off as if the white person is trying to play a part. It’s disingenuous.

OR

We erase their dialect altogether for fear of trying to sound Black, which is a problem in itself.

3. We describe Black bodies using food.

“Her skin was as brown as coffee.”

“The dark meat of his arms trembled as he dug the holes for my rosebushes.”

This goes back to the extent to which the BLACK BODY could be discussed. Consuming Black people is a theme that dates back to before America was born. Slavery, colonization, sexual violence, ownership, subjugation, and appropriation are all connected to the “eating” of Black bodies.

4. Writers over-apply Black culture. Not everyone is everything. A character that represents all stereotypes for his/her culture is not well-written. Yes, Black culture should be included when writing a Black character, but adding it for the sake of checking a box is a disservice and will read as inauthentic and racist.

5. We don’t know/talk with/seek out/follow/read Black voices; therefore, writing them is impossible.

Here’s the thing: White writers can and should write diverse characters. Not writing them is an act of erasure. It’s ignoring their existence. A good writer will research and not depend on what she thinks she knows about People of Color, specifically Blacks. Speak to Black people. Ask who they enjoy reading. Read Black authors (you do know they write about things other than slavery and cotton plantations, right?). Afrofuturism is an incredible genre and I would love to see it get more readers. Understand that their dialect is a dialect and not ignorant speech. It’s also okay for Black characters to not use a Black dialect. If you are going to have dialogue, listen to Black people speak. As in any culture, the tone and words in dialogue change depending on who, what, and where. If you have, up to this point, relied on food descriptions for your Black characters’ appearances, STOP IT. It’s not okay. Lastly, there is no way I could take the place of a Black author because I am not living the Black experience. I am limited to what I know and can truthfully say about a Black life.

What’s important is not to shy away from writing Black people for fear of being called out as racist. Intent is the foundation. If you intend to include a Black character so that no one can say you didn’t, that’s still racist. If you write a mostly white character-driven story, but have a Black character included, make sure the use of that Black body is not to relieve your own guilt, but to represent real life.

I would highly recommend visiting Writing With Color for more resources and topics of discussion.

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Alissa Miles
Epilogue

Author of MAD MOON coming September 2020; alissacmiles.com, TITLE PAGE PODCAST, Twitter: @alissacmiles & @page_title Instagram: @alissacoopermiles