Isaac Izekor: Just Keep Moving Forwards

JUST KEEP MOVING (FORWARDS)

WORDS BY ISAAC IZEKOR

Isaac Izekor is a writer and creative, working to put people at the heart of communication. He used to consider himself the scientific sort, but a failed year at medical school soon convinced him otherwise. Now he listens for a living and tries to craft stories worthy of what he hears.

Nothing changes overnight. Or so the saying goes, but anyone who has ever tried to leave a lasting impression of themselves in some medium; stone, paint, poetry, knows how wrong the phrase is. An idea left overnight morphs into something else entirely, a client left unchecked suddenly has fresh feedback to shower your work with. Not just the ephemeral though, the material can shift in a day too. As you go to bed tonight, tomorrow you will awaken 1/2 an inch taller. Invariably change happens, whether we want it to or not.

I think we forget the inevitability of change when charting the success of social movements. After all, movements are made up of people that shift just as much as the world they shape. So we forget that sometimes, days are all that separate the world as it is, from the world we want. Not a handful mind you. But even the myriad days it takes society to shift are useful units of change. I’m currently typing this on a laptop that is 1826 days old. This number represents my entire experience in the creative industry. And over those days both the industry and I have grown and shifted in many ways. Some change for the better, some for the worse. But each twist got me a little closer to discovering the place I now hold there. A place that couldn’t exist without both our cumulative changes.

A stunning revelation, of sorts (2017)

In 2017 I dropped out of Medical School. Looking back, my departure was almost inevitable. It’s hard to pass Biochemistry when you’re constructing sets for theatre society plays no one watches, instead of memorising the Krebs cycle. But the truth was biochemistry didn’t make me happy, poorly painted doors and terribly theatric actors did. Somewhere along the way to discovering that fact I’d failed my end of year exams miserably and was searching desperately for some kind of life direction. Somehow, the how is a mystery to me to this day, my desperate searching led me to a London advertising and branding course with zero experience or portfolio to my name.

I didn’t know then that I was joining an industry still working out how to accept people exactly like me; BAME creatives without a network or a name. A year earlier, a DCSMS report into diversity in the creative industry had found it seriously lacking (only 11.4% of roles filled by BAME workers). But this wasn’t a new or isolated conversation. In 1991 the AIGI held a seminar asking “Why is Graphic Design 93% White?”. 24 years later influential designer Maurice Cherry asked a similar question, albeit in more pointed language, “Where are the Black designers?”. It was a question I’d find myself asking regularly as well.

So many questions (2018)

In truth, my introduction to advertising and brand design was filled with questions. What type of creative am I? Is this the right space for me? What if I’m as terrible at creativity as I was with Krebs? And the uncertainty was hard. There’s no way to shake the discomfort of not knowing, I just learnt to manage the feeling. First and foremost by making moving a habit. I tried things, failed things and grew from the effort. Because you can’t grow unless you try. From that growth I discovered I was a terrible designer. And realised words, not images, sat the most comfortably on the tip of my pen.

The creative industry had questions of its own. Inspired by the DCSMS research, creative culture was asking how diversity could be anchored in design. Articles like ‘whitewashed’ explored the multi-layered educational issue that bottlenecked design diversity, while others focused on the other side of the pipe, pulling apart how bias drove homogenous creative cultures—and more importantly how to begin untangling that bias. But the political will to address these issues was limited. In 2018 just over £1 million was made available by the UK government for initiatives that delivered digital skills to under-represented groups and disabled people. In comparison, more than £150 million was jointly invested by the government and businesses to develop the creative industry as a whole. The industry was growing, but the space for me remained the same. And when you’re growing faster than the industry you hope will home you, you realise the industry isn’t ready for you.

Name and shame (2019)

Names are powerful, they give focus to energy. In 2019 I found mine as a copywriter. In the middle of fumbling from project to project, I realised words were my medium. But as I got closer to the industry I discovered other names and expectations would be levied on me. On my course, with its diversity, I’d rarely if ever thought about myself as a black creative. But realising the industry looked neither like me nor my course flipped those feelings. It gave words to difficulties I’d had adopting and taking ownership of my creativity. I wasn’t just a creative copywriter, I was a black creative copywriter and the industry wasn’t ready for me. The home I’d been hoping for was poorly prepared.

I wasn’t the only one who felt that way. Several on my course were frustrated by the ongoing and

ineffective conversations happening around diversity. So for us, it was important for those conversations to end. And to be replaced with meaningful change. We called ourselves ‘Nuff Said’. We created events, workshops and education pieces. In response to an industry that was still; talking—but the industry wasn’t completely still. CIC members signed up to the Diversity Charter, as a framework for moving the dial on diversity and inclusion in the creative industries. Nuff Said was driven by that same energy, a recognition of what is possible when you move forward collectively. And as the year set, the path was paved to create lasting change.

Hopes stall (2020)

Then Covid happened. I distinctly remember the complete assurance that everything would be okay before lockdown. Almost comical conversations about plans to restart projects after what would be a quick lockdown, but the realisation slowly set in that no part of the Covid crisis would be quick. We weren’t ready to work from home. I wasn’t ready to learn from home or graduate from home. To say 2020 was a tough year would be an understatement. While the world moved like molasses, projects spun at high speed. From final major projects to my dissertation, work was completed through pure force of will. Everyone became a plate spinner, watching plans and hopes shatter as they fell, but promising ourselves we’d glue them together later. Then more crashed.

On 25 May, 2020, police were called to a Cup Foods grocery store by employees who suspected a customer had used a counterfeit $20 bill.

George Floyd, the customer in question, was found sitting in a car with two other passengers. Officers forcibly removed Floyd from the car and handcuffed him face down in the street. One officer, Derek Chauvin, held Floyd in position pressing his knee to Floyd’s neck for 9 minutes and 29 seconds. And ultimately killing him. George Floyd’s murder was a cold reminder of the dangers of systemic inequality. The structural strains the pandemic revealed were nothing new, we’d just gotten very good at spinning plates. Amongst the backdrop of BLM and protests, agencies responded. Diversity conversations I’d gotten all too used to hearing suddenly shifted in tone. There was a focus on practical actions. The BBC committed £100m to increase diversity on TV. Channel 4 outlined a six-part plan to become an anti-racist organisation. And agencies began plans to upturn their internship programs...

In the midst of the mess I graduated. Out in an industry rushing to answer questions people had asked for years. But that context made my perspective suddenly more valuable. In the wake of our infrastructure failing us, remaking our creative systems became a true need, not a nice to have. And people willing to be a part of that process became prized.

Work from home (2021)

In January 2021 I started working as a copywriter at JKR. The journey was strange. A prior internship with the expectation of future work had ended in me being gently sent back into the pool. But I’d met enough people in that time to chart my course. Creativity finally felt like home. And I wanted that home to be built on my terms. So the tide gently took me to that job. No more me changing and the industry-changing separately. We were together. And like all love stories, the tale didn’t end with the two of us colliding. We had to stick together, and adhesion is work. Me learning to think like a professional and the industry learning to treat people like me with professional care. But I’d found my way home regardless...I wasn’t outside looking in anymore, I was in and trying to fit. And the industry was doing the same. We were both working to turn the creative house into a home for all.

Where to next (2022)

5 years can change a lot. From dropout to copywriter, those 5 years were enough to let me sit in the industry as a member, not a spectator. There are still others who deserve to sit beside me though. So there’s more change to come. But my hope is the days till they join will be much less than mine.

We can shorten those days by understanding movements move with us.

We change and they change. And we are both equally shaped by the times we work through. So creating social change is a holistic enterprise. Equity is created when we understand each other and our world better. Sharpen our individual perspectives, then free those perspectives to shape systems. In all my 1826 days of experience, I’ve learned one major lesson; the world will always move, we will always move. And it’s all of our jobs to make sure we both keep moving forwards.