The schedule of events saw four white writers each give separate talks (topics ranged from poetry, to a critical theory of Kanye “rants” and even the Gamification of Kanye West) and a panel of four black people. (Are you actually surprised?) While the room was full for the first talk, a drop-off was expected for the second. Meanwhile the panelists and I stood in the back drinking (for four hours!), listening to the presentations and rolling our eyes at their conclusions: either they were truisms, already covered by writers of colour, or simply uncomfortable for us.

Taking the stage, we agreed to keep a good humour but not lie. By the time we were done, half the crowd was gone. I watched them walk out. I saw them gasp for air once they reached the outer courtyard, gesturing to friends to “get the hell out of here”. I was so unsurprised that I had to stop myself from making a joke about it from the stage.