Where are Britain's
black writers?
It seems our stories are truly acknowledged only when coming from the pen of white authors
- guardian.co.uk, Monday 5 December 2011
Shone Romulus, one of the actors in Top Boy, in Ridley Road Market, Hackney, where part of the drama was filmed. Photograph: Antonio Zazueta Olmos
It seems like a boom time for black literature and drama. Tiny Sunbirds Far Away, which focuses on the life of a young girl in Nigeria, is shortlisted for the Costa first novel award next month. Pigeon English, the story of a Ghanaian boy living in Peckham, made the Booker shortlist. And Channel 4's Top Boy, depicting black gangster life in Hackney, east London, has just been commissioned for a second series. A reason to be cheerful in shiny, diverse, Britain surely?
Well, maybe not. These three works are all the creations of white authors. There is clearly no shortage of talented black writers – Courttia Newland, Malorie Blackman and Andrea Levy, to name a few – so why is it that, right now, the stories that receive the most mainstream recognition all seem to be the ones written by white people?
I would never tell an author only to "write what you know" – if everybody did this, there would be many fewer stories, and nowhere near as many interesting ones. It's always good to think outside your own personal box, and if you do your research – Ronan Bennett said his research for Top Boy took years – and are thoughtful about it, you can tell a good story about any kind of person without making it into a train wreck, as these titles demonstrate.
I don't have a background in guns or crime, but a lifetime living in Hackney and a stint as writer-in-residence at a prison stood me in good stead for writing Bullet Boy – a film that looked at how gang culture implodes and impacts on family life. The problem isn't that white people are writing stories about people who aren't white – it's that these stories are being treated as more worthy and exceptional than similar ones by black authors.
Top Boy was beautifully made with some heart-breaking performances. But for the new series there should be young, fresh writers on board who can widen the scope of the story. There are millions of stories to be told from the inner city, so shouldn't we be hearing new ones?
Many film and television commissioners still believe it's a risk too far to commission a show that is both about non-white people and produced by non-white people. Or maybe the problem lies with an audience that is more willing to read or view stories of other races and cultures when they are filtered through white authors.
White readers might be interested in the story of an African British boy like the protagonist of Stephen Kelman's Pigeon English, but it appears to be much easier for them if the story comes secondhand. The words of a white author are a comfortable buffer, a reassurance that nothing in the story will be too shocking, too hard to understand; the author is like you, and you can trust him or her to tell you this story in familiar terms. You don't have to make the effort to bridge the gap between your own world and the protagonist's, because Kelman has already taken that step for you.
For the same reason it's easier to have a well-off person who volunteers with the homeless tell you about how tough life can be on the street than hear it from a homeless person direct. It doesn't make people uncomfortable if someone saves them the trouble of making direct contact with the unfamiliar. And a story in a book or on TV lets you think about the experiences of imaginary black people without having to confront your prejudices and actually respect a real black person's words, voice or opinion.
This is not just sour grapes. A lot of these books are compelling reads that deserve the attention they are receiving; Frank Cottrell Boyce's Costa-shortlisted The Unforgotten Coat brings Mongolia to Bootle magnificently, and Paula Milne's adaptation of Small Island for the BBC was great. And it's good that these stories are getting told at all. Perhaps if they were told more often, audiences would gradually adjust to the idea of other races as ordinary, and in time more minority authors will make it on to these shortlists – with a whole new range of stories that will surprise and entertain us.
But that's no reason why editors and commissioners shouldn't make the effort to bring about change. It's wonderful that these white authors are willing to step out of their comfort zones to tell these stories, but wouldn't it be even better if people didn't wait for a white person to say what other people have been saying for ages before they take any notice?
Catherine Johnson writes stories for screen and books for children, including Bullet Boy, with Saul Dibb. Her latest book is Brave New Girl