The Diversity Myth: Where Have All The Black Editors Gone?

Much like this year’s blindingly white selection of Oscar nominees, the overt lack of diverse representation in the publishing world isn’t limited to authors and their books. The Black editor attempting to navigate the intricacies of the corporate publishing system is, by default, a unicorn, simply because Black voices are routinely undervalued and dismissed. In the eyes of white publishing, the universality of a narrative is dependent upon its connection to whiteness. The default modus operandi in publishing is that of the white gaze, where the white protagonist is held as the standard of authenticity, likability, and familiarity. Narratives that defy this white-centered tradition are considered Other. Fiction that prominently focuses on the lives of Black characters are often shelved in the “African-American Fiction” section, as though fiction that casts a spotlight on Black characters is a deviation from the expected norm. Books such as The Coldest Winter Ever are peddled to the public by hungry publicists as “street lit,” a term for stories about Black people set in an urban environment. The word diversity has become a circular conversation piece that separates those involved into two different camps: POC writers, agents, editors, and readers who demand equal representation and hold the industry accountable, posited against white writers, agents, editors, and readers who refuse to bend, who deny maintaining a system of exclusivity. These are the same white publishing executives who want to benefit off diversity, but do not possess self-awareness. They want to reap the monetary rewards of bowing to diversity without changing their all-white masthead. They want the credit and the positive publicity without implementing changes. They are so trapped in their fear of the unknown and love of the almighty dollar that they would rather sacrifice talented writers at the altar of consumerism.  

I know what they’d say: We only pick the best people for the job. We didn’t have any minorities apply. We just want someone who fits into our work culture, regardless of race. These are all lies, fairy tales, and fallacies to deflect the issue. Some would like to argue that the lack of Black editors is not the fault of the industry itself, that the low turnout is simply a reflection of the overall tastes of Black people. They find convenient excuses to hide behind like titanium armor, refusing to believe that the current model rewards those who have the privilege to access (internships, a liberal arts institution with a hefty price tag, industry networking) deemed necessary to even earn an entry-level position. It’s not that Black people aren’t interested in literature or adding their own contributions. Rather, it’s the people in positions of power, the so-called gatekeepers, the all-white publication mastheads, and their reluctance fueled by either ignorance or racism or some combination thereof, that effectively derails both opportunity and career mobility.

I cannot help but think of Kiese Laymon’s brilliant essay, “You Are The Second Person,” which originally appeared on Guernica. The essay, told in second-person POV, recounts Laymon’s rough and uncomfortable road to publishing his first novel, Long Division. The novel is a coming-of-age tale in which a young, Southern Black boy named City Coldson inherits a strange book which allows him to time travel. Despite some of the harrowing moments of the story, including encounters with Klan members, the story is humorous, utilizing AAVE and modern slang to emphasize the City’s youth and upbringing. Unfortunately, Laymon’s editor didn’t think that the “race issue” was an essential element of the novel. The editor exposes his myopic vision in a slightly reprimanding e-mail: