Dreaming Whilst Black star Adjani Salmon: 'Black people are asked again and again to explain ourselves'

“When life gives you lemons, you make lemonade”: an adage used to encourage an optimistic mindset for those who face adversity. I’m almost certain this was first said by some rich asshole in an attempt to pacify the poor. Because who said I had access to water, or sugar, or even a glass to make lemonade in? This is the reality of the white working class trying to break into the film industry. For Black people, it’s worse.  

Even when the lemon looks juicy, we often cut into them and realise it’s actually rotting inside. The bright, yellow and shiny rind was preserved by layers of wax (promises of change) on the surface. While we squeeze to make the best lemonade possible, the gatekeepers, who expect us to be grateful for these lemons, are drinking freshly blended tropical fruit smoothies. 

Nothing I am saying here is new. Others, far more intelligent and eloquent than I am, have said this before – yet it remains our burden.  

We’re constantly forced to explain our plight to white people in positions of power who suffer from selective amnesia. Another racist scandal breaks, they feign shock, again, then we’re asked – again – to explain ourselves.   

Afterwards, they launch useless diversity schemes to “boost diversity and opportunities in the regions” that never affect any real change. A couple years later, everything goes back to “normal” – white, middle-class, private-school educated, London-centric practitioners. Eventually, another scandal breaks, cue the shock, the cycle repeats. That is the perfectly glazed lemon that’s rotten inside. 

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The structural barriers are well documented: Access, Retention and Promotion.  

Access is where the problem begins: 44% of the industry is privately educated (only 7% of the country is). 46% of Black households live in poverty. Research has found that seven in 10 jobs involve nepotism and it’s safe to say this nepotism doesn’t benefit us. Then there are the entry schemes which everyone else (Black, Brown and white working-class people) have to fight over. Another rotten lemon. Yes, training schemes give us access into the industry, hooray, but they are 1: rare and 2: no or low paid. Regardless of race, working-class people cannot afford to work below the living wage, thus access remains with the more fortunate who can afford to move to London to chase opportunities. Meanwhile the gatekeepers pat themselves on the back for ticking off the “regional access” box. 

Then there’s Retention. After 2020, a number of Black shows emerged with Black showrunners hiring Black directors (myself included). Unfortunately, most of them didn’t get a second season. This left many of us (now equipped with TV credits) in a precarious situation – we couldn’t find more work. In a meeting, I was asked what would be my dream show to work on. I said The Crown. They looked at me surprised; how could someone that “looked” like me possibly contribute to a show about royals and British elites.  

Many Black directors face the same roadblock, their Blackness means they can’t “relate” to the white story they’re interviewing for. In theory they’re right. I have no idea what it’s like to live in the biggest council house in England (Buckingham Palace). But their logic is flawed. While Black directors are rarely considered to work on white shows, white directors are almost always considered (and hired) on Black ones. Lemon.  

We are typecast by our skin, relegated to working exclusively on our own stories, but when our stories are no longer trendy, our directors are out of work and out of the industry. We’re more than capable of making lemonade, but the cups we were promised are snatched away. 

The lack of retention inhibits Promotion. When I was looking for Black directors for season one, I found many directors with impressive credits that hadn’t worked in a while. That gap in many of their CVs put them on the same plane as burgeoning directors. This should have never been the case. Our ogas – the experienced Black directors – watch their white counterparts stay employed and get promoted, because only our reliability is policed.  

The UK has been desperately trying to “increase diversity” in the industry since the 70s, so why do these issues persist in a sector known for having liberal, left-leaning white people at the top? It’s because they continually focus on intentions rather than impact. They focus on alleviating their guilt, rather than solving the problem. 

Big Man ting, we do not give a fuck about your feelings. All we want are feasible pathways to the industry to build our careers like everyone else, that is all.  

That is why I made Dreaming Whilst Black.  

You may think, “Fucking hell, why would you make a comedy about something so bleak?”  

Good question. It’s something I grappled with when we screened the web series in Paris. The first audience question was, “as a Black person I experience racism throughout the day, why do you think I want to go home and watch it?” I was stunned. Max (co-creator and the only white guy with us) went red-faced. Knowing everyone was looking at me to answer, I said, “because I want us to know that we’re not crazy.”  

That shiny wax of opportunity (racism cloaked in plausible deniability) often leaves us questioning whether the racist thing we think happened, actually happened. Are these feelings of rage misplaced? Did I do something wrong? Surely this person, who tells everyone they used to live in Peckham, wouldn’t treat me in a racially biased way?  

Season two focuses on how a diverse show can fail those it was intended to serve. I explored this because our programme was one of the lucky few who made it through. Our success is not a sign of progress, but “the exception that proves the rule”.  

I am not here because I’m more talented than my skinfolk. I am here because I made a web series with racialised jokes at the exact moment the world was crying for diversity content. I’m here because I lived at my aunt’s house rent-free while I “curated my career”. I am here because my mother loaned me £20,000 to make that web series. Don’t get me wrong, I’ve worked extremely hard, but I have succeeded because of a precarious citrusy cocktail of coincidences, coupled with my class privilege. This is why I slipped through the net that holds most of my community back.  

If we don’t get a third season (a common fate of Black shows no matter their success) I wanted to highlight that it’s not because they didn’t “try hard enough”. It’s because of the barriers deliberately built to force us into compromise, which often leave us burnt anyway. I don’t know if I’ll overcome the season two cancellation curse, but even if I don’t, I sincerely hope everyone enjoys our lemonade.  

We made it with love. X 

Dreaming Whilst Black series 2 is available now on BBC iPlayer.

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