I’m sad to say the people seem hellbent on erasing POC existence everywhere. Everywhere.
In my case, I have been informed on multiple occasions that there have been no POC in Britain until 1950.
I’m writing an historical fiction story set in the 1940s and 50s. The main character is a gay Black British man.
I am a former academic. I research everything so thoroughly that sometimes I actually end up debilitating my own story. Because it reads more like historical textbook.
I joined a local writing group and sent a scene I had been working on. In this scene, my protagonist has made a reservation in a hotel in London, he shows up and the concierge does not want to give him the room.
Now a couple of things about this specific scene.
This scene is set in 1947. It is based off of something that actually happens in 1945 to Learie Constantine a cricketer from Trinidad who lived and worked in Britain. He became a barrister, he was an incredibly important figure within Black British history.
Constantine was instrumental in so much of the evolution of rights for people of colour within Britain. Incredibly impressive figure.
When he was turned away from the hotel in 1945, he sued the hotel. He won. There was a law past saying that hotels and other places could not refuse a person because of the colour of their skin. This was a very monumental and important point in British history.
Constantine is recognised within the scene. He’s mentioned.
When I sent this scene to my writing group, I sent a full list of additional resources for anyone who needed further clarification on Black British history, Constantine, how I was using that specific events, why I was using that specific events.
This included YouTube videos about the event itself in 1945 and Constantine. I recognised that the entire group was very white, and Black British history is just not something that is really taught. The list of resources I sent was literally longer than the scene I sent.
The resources list included research on the nightclubs in London in Soho, in Carnaby Street, that catered primarily to Black patrons. Places like the Paramount Club— and all the pictures we have from that time. The Black gay club in SoHo, the Shim Sham club.
I sent the scene, I sent the evidence along with it. They had weeks to look at all of the evidence and the scene I sent.
I wanted feedback on the dialogue, to see if the dialogue felt too modern. Too academic. And just to find out how the scene itself was playing— were the three primary characters flowing. Did it make sense?
No one could give me feedback on the scene. Because no one read it. The moment they realised that this was 1947, and the story was about a Black man in Britain – a Black British gay man, in fact – they shut down.
The only thing they said over and over was “ but there weren’t any Black people in Britain until 1950.”
These bastards had 20 pages of evidence that was handed to them that proved otherwise. They didn’t even have to look for it— they had dozens and dozens of hyperlinks to click, all right there.
I reminded them that not only do we have absurdly ample evidence of POC people within Britain in mediaeval textbooks, Victorian pictures of POC people, film evidence, books about people like Constantine— evidence that goes back further than the Romans.
Literally, the oldest body that has been found in Britain – Cheddar Man— from the mid to late 9th century BC!!!
I reminded them that we have dozens of books – dozens and dozens of books about the role of Black British soldiers in the world wars, and the treatment of Black American soldiers who came during World War II and were stationed here.
These people had 20 pages of so much research I had done for this story. They had maybe 1/100th of the evidence I explored for this story.
And despite all of this evidence in their hands, their feet were in concrete. They would not budge from their own perceptions, their own very inaccurate ideas that Black people were not in existence in Britain until 1950.
None of them even read the scene. The moment they realised that the protagonist was a Black British man, they stopped reading.
Not only did they refuse to look at the rest of the scene, not only did they refuse to look at page after page of evidence supporting that my protagonist could have been in Britain, they shut down.
And the conversation turned into me, as the former academic, trying to educate the entire room— but unlike the students I used to teach in classrooms, these people couldn’t— wouldn’t— acknowledge a word I said.
Archaeological evidence. Historical texts that show drawings of people with black and brown skin. Literal video from the era is that show POC in Britain. Dozens of books offered for further reading. Hyperlink after hyperlink after hyperlink.
And they would not look at a single thing. They would not hear me, they would not and could not listen. They could not recognise anything beyond their preconceived idea that there were no Black and Brown people in Britain before 1950.
That’s all they could say. Over and over. That the story was impossible because there were no Black and Brown people in Britain in 1947. Over and over. Over and over.
And the worst part of all of this? Our city is a former slave port. If they even went to the museums in our town, they would see undeniable absolute proof that Britain has not always been white. They can touch the evidence right now— they just need to go to the museum in town, the evidence is right there.
Obviously, I left the writing group and I’ve never spoken to these people again.
I guess it did one good thing – it reminded me that I have no control and need to stop worrying to much about people like this. There are some absurdly stupid people out there who will always deny absolute evidence so that they can continue to erase People of Colour.
And it did also prepare me for the fact that if this story ever does go anywhere, I will likely have more absurdly stupid people who just not only cannot see the truth of things, but actively will not.
So I guess I’m a little less worried about it now, because I know I have no control over them and that I am not the problem.
Like yourself I reached the point of ‘I’m just not arguing.’
Instead of trying to pacify or educate these people who work so hard to refuse to learn.
I’ve learnt to just deeply judge them with disdain but to ignore their comments — they not only have no idea what they’re on about, they refuse to even learn what they’re on about. You cannot keep peace with people like this. Fuck those people.
I’ve decided the scene in the hotel in my story is just fine.
But seriously. Fuck those people.
theartofmadeline
dededos
baratheonpilled
areudirty
titsay
romaincrisis
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