Why I Fear White Editors With My Black Art

There’s more to this than skin color. If you don’t know my journey, you can’t know my words.

I am afraid of White people touching my shit. Explicitly, I am fearful of those who lack a comprehensive understanding of Black culture and language adding commentary to my work. It’s like someone going to an NBA game and asking me, “So, when does Tiger Woods come out?” I have seen what White people do to Black shit — to the work of Dave Chappelle, Paul Robeson, and Etta James.

White editors will say they are just editing your work, but it will feel like they are holding lighters to it, they are holding wicker to it, waiting for the ashen parts to show themselves. You and your almost-not-you-anymore piece of work will have new legs, different legs, whiter legs. It will not feel brave; it will feel forced, fake. Essentially, no longer you.

To fully know a culture, it must be seared into your skin before you could even attempt to rewrite its roots.

I sometimes think I lack the appropriate language to tackle this head-on with White editors. I wonder if being the unconventional writer that I am is more of a hindrance than a gift. In that same breath, I wonder how much of the…