The Guardian Weekend | 27 February 2021 5I’ve been building a profi le as a writer and
broadcaster long enough to know that there
will be public storms. Some creep up on you ,
others you sense brewing, and some have been
lingering in the background for a lifetime.
A couple of weeks ago, I posted on social
media about having “lost out” on hosting a
documentary to a lighter-skinned black
woman. The subject of the documentary was
maternal mortality in the UK, and the
harrowing fact that black women are fi ve times more likely to die in
childbirth than white women. This is something I have campaigned on
for several years, wrote about in my book I Am Not Your Baby Mother
and experienced fi rst-hand when I almost died a few days after the
birth of my fi rst child in 2013.
I had been in talks with a production company about developing a
documentary on the subject for much of last year, so I was hurt (but not
entirely shocked) to learn that a similar fi lm, from a diff erent company,
with a light-skinned, mixed-raced pop star as the host, had already been
commissioned. Perhaps the ir show got the green light for unrelated
reasons, but the sensation of losing out to a lighter-skinned person was
depressingly familiar. The storm that followed my post felt like it was a
long time coming – and in some ways I welcomed it.
If 2020 was the year the world decided it was time for a properconversation about racism, then 2021 is defi nitely the year we need to
face up to colourism. Colourism is discrimination against dark-
skinned people. It comes from within the community as well as
without, and is an issue across many races, including mine.
Growing up in south London in the early 90s, I found colourism
played a far bigger role in my life than racism. Brixton was so full of
“diversity” (before it was a buzzword) that my six-year-old self would
defi nitely have said that most people in the UK were black.
But early on I noticed that children were far nicer to my lighter-
skinned friends than to me. It wasn’t until a boy with the same
complexion as me pointed out that I was “too black and ugly” to ever
be chased in a game of kiss chase that the penny fi nally dropped. As I
grew up, the majority of black women I saw in movies, on TV and in
magazines were fair skinned. Those who looked like me were never
cast as the lead or love interest; they were at best the funny sidekick.
Of course, there were exceptions, the most famous being Oprah
Winfrey : her show was a staple in our Caribbean household. And, of
course, there was Naomi Campbell, one of the supermodels, raised a
stone’s throw from me in Streatham. But can you name many others?
After I posted about the casting choice of that documentary , I heard
from many black women about how they have been aff ected by
colourism : actors who felt overlooked for roles; one woman who
wrote that she was encouraged by her mother to use bleaching creams
“ because she thinks my dark skin tone is why no one will marry me ”.
It helped me remember that I wasn’t being too sensitive, overthinking
it, or being “ungrateful”, as one black man had commented.
Apparently I should be happy to have achieved all I have, “given how
you look”. I have met this attitude everywhere.
All black women face prejudice, but the truth is that mixed-raced and
lighter-skinned black women have been granted a degree of privilege.
Research look ing at 12,000 female prisoners in North Carolina found
that sentences for lighter-skinned women are, on average, 12% shorter
than for dark-skinned inmates. In 2014, the founder of dating website
OkCupid shared data show ing that dark-skinned black women are the
least likely to be approached on his site. Even the UK passport system is
biased : according to a BBC investigation last year , women with the
darkest skin were four times more likely to have their photograph
rejected than those with the lightest skin.
Post Black Lives Matter , the media are more willing to tell black stories
and the public increasingly open to hearing them – but the presenters,
actors and storytellers being amplifi ed are often still pale skinned.
Perhaps they are seen as a safer bet ; people who a majority-white
audience might see themselves in. The producer of th e documentary
asked me to be interviewed about my near-death birth experience.
When I asked why I could be a subject but not a presenter I was told that
that they prefer their presenters to go on a “journey of discovery”.
I am personally pretty exhausted. As with racism, combating
colourism is going to take a group eff ort, and some diffi cult
conversations. Commissioners and editors are going to have to make
bolder, braver choices. Lighter-skinned presenters and writers will
also have to be honest about whether they are really the best person to
lead on certain subjects, and if they aren’t, to step aside.
I won’t hold my breath: I recently found out that another
documentary is being made for a major TV channel with a diff erent
light-skinned black pop star at the helm. The subject? Colourism
Hadley Freeman is away.Candice Brathwaite
ILLUSTRATION: THE PROJECT TWINS/SYNERGY
Even in the playground, I was told my skin was too dark. It’s time to face up to colourism
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