Why are men writing the stories of Windrush women?
Really, why are they, don't they have enough yet?
I was listening to an interview last week with the playwright I really like and he talked about his new work, a script he is working on, a play about the women of the Windrush.
As much as I'm sure this will be a brilliant play, the first thing I asked myself was, why is a man writing this story? As much as we talk about people needing the space to tell their truth and sharing their lived experience, why is a black British born man writing the story of our older Caribbean born woman? Why are Windrush women not writing their own stories? These women exist, they are writing great work and yet a man is still more likely to have commercial success with their stories than they are.
Of course, great writers can write characters that represent all of us –
Male, female and non-gendered.
Young, old and infant.
Animal, mineral and vegetable.
A good writer can bring a story to life and take the reader on a wonderful exciting journey. But, just because you can, doesn’t mean that you should. Is it right that our Windrush women should have their stories told by a man, half their age, who is telling their story second hand? I don’t think so. These are important stories and I think the best people to tell them, first hand, are the women to whom these stories belong. This means that everyone who is not an older Windrush woman needs to create space for these women, give up power and if necessary invite them into the writing room. If they don’t have the experience of turning their stories into plays and film scripts those with the experience need to work with them and support them to bring their memories, stories, joys and losses to the page, stage and the screen.
It is no secret that I love these women. They transcend generations, they give us a window into another time and place, but mostly they give us an inner strength, a knowing, a yearning, they give us a place called home, even if some of us have never been to Jamaica, Barbados, or Trinidad. Through the lilt of their words, a half smile, a raise of an eyebrow they take us to kitchens, onto buses and into their bedrooms and share with us worlds that are unique and filled with feminine energy. It’s the intimate details you can’t write down but must be able to observe to learn from.
These women are in their golden years and it a complete disservice not to pass them the mic and the pen and then shut up, sit down and listen.
Here here! They’re not hard to find either