In my Feature Writing class I took last semester, a guest speaker and prolific writer, Rachel Ghansah, came to speak. Ghansah is a Pulitzer-Prize-winning essayist and is known for her profile writing. While bestowing wisdom to our class about chasing a story, having ownership over your words, and feeling the heart of writing, she, in a nutshell, explained the importance of being a Black female writer.
To paraphrase, Ghansah said her writing wasn’t so stunning and powerful because she was more intelligent than others, but because she has simply done the work. As a Black woman, she has walked through life with the knowledge and experiences that only a Black woman can live through, and therefore, write through. Black storytellers are an integral part of not only literature and media, but life itself. Because, who else has really done the work?
I grew up as an unintentional African-American poet, museum curator, and literary critic. The bookshelf of my childhood home was flooded with books about Blackness – Toni Morrison, Malcolm X, Spike Lee. My parents read me books like Shades of Black, where I saw different skin tones of Black children represented, and Please, Baby, Please, a picture book depicting a Black mother and child. My parents were the first Black storytellers I ever knew; they inadvertently told their story of strength, resilience, and pride in Blackness every single day.
As I’ve grown older, I have a newfound appreciation for Black art and storytelling. I’ve binge watched A Different World, Insecure, and Girlfriends. I’ve read Toni Morrison, Octavia Butler, Alice Walker, and Zora Neale Hurston. I have the coffee-table book version of the Moonlight screenplay, and can quote almost every line from Friday. Part of this is not only because I have impeccable taste in media, but also because I recognize the importance in consuming Black stories as a Black woman. The feeling of seeing my everyday occurrences represented and broadcasted to all audiences affirms me in my present, and also excites me for my future.
I can see myself a little in Toni Childs from Girlfriends, or maybe Issa from Insecure. I’m a little boujee like A Different World’s Whitley and witty and outspoken like Smokey from Friday. Seeing all of these different Black characters, plot lines and stories give me lessons that I can apply to my own life, and represent tropes that the Black community loves and knows so well.
Of course, there is work made by Black people to be consumed and loved by all audiences. Ryan Coogler directed The Black Panther, Ava DuVernay created Selma, and we can’t forget Jordan Peele’s incomparable canon, including Get Out and Us. Even though their works are appreciated by viewers of all backgrounds, their messages remain clear, and their art encourages everyone to reflect on the society in which they live. Black storytellers do not just matter to Black people, but the work they do impacts every person that their stories reach.
In our current political climate that has cultivated fear, sadness, and anxiety about the future of diversity, we must remain steadfast and united on the understanding that Black art and storytelling is not going anywhere. As long as we walk through life with the distinct perspectives and experiences that we have, nobody else can possibly emulate our ideas. Every day that we wake up Black again is another opportunity to do the work that is required to create, and a reminder that Blackness is such a blessing that can only be shared with others through our powerful depictions.Â