The publishing industry is in need of a major shift and fast.
As we cheapen terminology surrounding race by throwing meaningless diversity statements into the final moments of our boardroom conversations, where is the work really being done?
We share falsely isolated experiences and anecdotes about the last few years and the impact that social movements regarding race have had on our society and viewpoints. We reflect emptily on the summer of 2020 as if the boiling point came without first leaving the water to heat for far too long. We reduce 15 million people marching in demand of a better future for Black lives to the goings-on of a fleeting summer memory and consider maybe allowing these occurrences to color marketing plans and perhaps adding another BIPOC author to the roster.
While we have seen relative increases in diversity in terms of authorship and entry level positions, executive offices remain starkly white. My interest in publishing stems from a desire to be of service to those who have not been able to see themselves adequately reflected in the media they consume. If there are no relevant reflections of self to be found on shelves then where are we to find stories that validate our own. Of course, there are other sources of visual representation in media but the power of books is undeniable as we saw a significant increase in book purchases during the start of the pandemic. Our understanding of a shared humanity can be fostered through reading about the experiences of those considered to be “other” than ourselves. It can whittle away at this otherness and build bridges between our cultural gaps.
The New Yorker has, in its 96 years of existence as a weekly publication, has only printed four book reviews by Black women. Less than 4% of their reviews have been written by Black critics. If a prestigious publication with the funding and resources necessary to do better can fail for decades on end without being forced to make a major change, what does this say about what we are willing to allow from entities meant to act as cultural resources?
Toni Morrison was the first African American woman to serve as an editor at Random House, working to bring titles to life from 1967 to 1983. Morrison was an outstanding example of the work that can be accomplished when we dedicate ourselves to building a publishing industry that is reflective of our collective, rich, diverse lived experiences. Her efforts to improve diversity within the industry will continue to be felt and witnessed for years to come. Her books purposefully centered marginalized voices and this intention extended into her literary career and her work uplifting the marginalized within the publishing industry. As we work toward broadening the narrative of what it means to be Black in modernity, it is time that we acknowledge the issues tucked behind our corporate DEI promises. In a Publisher’s Weekly profile on women in publishing, Morrison reflected on the biases held within the industry that allow for white mediocrity to flourish as Black editors (as well as Black authors) are overlooked unless proven to be remarkable. “Some people think I’m some sort of Amazon, so in the future they may expect other black women editors to be Amazons. But for years they have hired dumb whites so why not include dumb blacks?”
It is time that publishers take the time to do what they work so hard to get others to practice: reading. Like actually reading the calls to action issued by the BIPOC authors they work with as well as the statements of frustration issues by the oft overlooked authors that have never had the opportunity to see their manuscripts pass through the doors of a major publishing house. Or perhaps, reading the pleas from minority entry level publishing staffers who work to bring these titles to life without receiving a living wage. Public promises to uplift the marginalized are purposeless if the industry is not willing to practice self-awareness before attempting to bring forth a broader cultural awareness through the titles we produce.