I don’t want to see white folks with a stack of books by Black authors for Black History Month. Every year, it’s the annual showcase of all the Black stories the white reading community plans to read in February. They morphed into a version of Vanna White, parading their Black Book Collection to the interwebs, smiling brightly because they, of course, truly care about the cause. It’s always reeked of the perpetual need to not be perceived as racist or prejudiced, regardless of the validity of the statement. Free of bias, therefore free from criticism and free to float above it all and earn the sympathy of others in the process. I’m reminded of the mother in Tina Fey’s Baby Mama, “Look at me and my Black baby.” I’ve been bored with the ritual, but now I am disgusted.

My boredom stems from these long-standing patterns among white folks. This repetition is especially glaring now, as it’s tied to the newest flare of fascist activity from the American government. White folks have not had a true reckoning with white supremacy, its violent history, and its implications. They believe themselves, for one reason or another, to be irreproachable in the eyes of the oppressed. “It was sooo long ago.” “My family didn’t own slaves.” “I don’t believe that.” Why must you repeat the same pattern, over and over, at your own expense? The ignorant commitment to indifference is past the point of frustration; it’s boring.
This vow of indifference is why we’re in this position as a nation. People refuse to give up their comfort and their inherited benefits from a white supremacist, patriarchal, cis-het world. That comfort, no matter how conditional, keeps this fascist train moving forward. Rather than enacting change, many choose the safer route—risking exposure for performative platitudes. Because that change is too hard. Too much to renounce. And I would love to sympathize with such a sacrifice, but alas, I cannot relate, as I am a Black queer woman who reads passionately and thinks critically about Black culture, history, and literature.
Since I joined the online reading communities (Booktok, Bookstagram, BookTube, BookThreads), Black readers have been shouting into the void, trying to persuade the publishing industry and its audience to give Black literary voices the same opportunities as white authors. Minimal efforts to move towards diversity are smothered by the firing of multiple Black book editors and no real marketing budgets for Black and brown books. I’ve heard stories from Black authors whose work was rejected because the publisher had met their quota of Black books. I’ve witnessed publishers send out Black-authored books to white content creators only to have their works either be relegated to non-importance or have certain works selectively chosen as the beating heart of the Black community because of their proximity to and comfort with whiteness. The number of sponsored opportunities for Black book creators is negligible compared to our white counterparts. These are the experiences of most Black book creators, and they are quite frankly exhausting.
So yeah, I treat those Black Book Collection posts like a dick pic that was involuntarily sent to my DMs. I don’t give a damn how large the dick/collection is. Because seriously, what am I supposed to do with those posts? These performative posts offer no relief or comfort. Am I, the Black woman who has lived experiences in oppressive systems, supposed to feel comforted by the performance? Ew. No. Gross. Am I supposed to celebrate you for doing something as basic as reading diversely? No, I cannot allow that to be the standard for what I celebrate. I MUST hold white folks to higher standards if this country is to ever see progress. Put your dick away and let’s have a substantive conversation with action steps for change.

And yes, this also includes the white book creators who have placed themselves at the forefront of the ‘read diverse books’ campaign. My dear, you are part of the problem, too. Far too many creators with very large followings make themselves out to be the loudest and most trusted voices when addressing Black stories, without recognizing or caring that they are creating the same harm. Operating like this still creates an environment where the Black voice is filtered through someone not in our community. To be more specific, I believe it stems from fear and an unwillingness to engage your own community meaningfully. I believe your conversations should begin with a critical analysis of white literature and culture. Use your diverse reading background to examine and question how white Americans are sustaining white supremacy, even in minuscule ways. That journey will not be perfect, but the work is necessary, for all of our sakes.
This year, I need to see a fervent change in white booktok spaces. So decenter yourselves while in the room with Black and Brown folks!! This Black History Month, I need them to use their microphone of privilege to amplify Black creators who can speak to Black literature in authentic and nuanced ways. I need them to publicly and loudly hold publishers accountable for the lack of funding of Black and Brown books. I need you all to actively engage with Black authors, artists, and book creators, raging against algorithms that seek to silence us. I need white folks to question how oppressive systems impact every facet of our lives and how their seemingly individual decisions contribute to the harm. This needs to be done year-round, but let’s start with February.
No need to show your Black History Month TBR or your whitewashed interpretation of the works. American fascism has caught up to you, my dears. It’s now enacting violence on you in the same way it’s been impacting the rest of us. You are not exempt from the violence; you were always just the last ones on the list. You can no longer play the role of an indifferent inheritor. This February, start the hard work of decentering yourself and uplifting others. Hold each other accountable to that mission. Your community needs to change how it operates, and this is the perfect low-lift, mid-scale exercise to help fight American fascism in the long term.




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