Invisible Man and the Irony of Erasure
"Whence all this passion towards conformity anyway? Diversity is the word... America is woven of many strands. I would recognize them and let it so remain."
—Ralph Ellison, Invisible Man
As DEI initiatives face backlash, as book bans multiply, and as publishing quietly shifts its priorities, Invisible Man feels more relevant than ever. I read the book several years ago, but its weight has never left me. A book about erasure, itself being erased. A novel about invisibility, slowly vanishing from shelves. The irony is unsettling, but it is not surprising.
Ellison’s novel reveals how visibility is never neutral—it is often conditional, transactional, or manipulated to serve the interests of others. This struggle between visibility and erasure extends beyond fiction—it is a cycle we have seen repeatedly in publishing, where Black voices (and other underrepresented voices) are welcomed when they serve an immediate need but are dismissed when the industry's priorities shift. This is when we cry, "We are not a trend!"
Ways Invisible Man Explores Erasure
1. The Narrator’s "Invisibility"
The narrator is not seen for who he truly is but only for what others project onto him. Throughout the novel, people refuse to recognize his individuality—they see him as a dutiful student, a hardworking employee, a dedicated activist/political pawn, but never as himself. While he is not literally erased, his identity is constantly overwritten by societal expectations, forcing him to struggle with his own sense of self.
2. The Battle Royal Scene (Erasure Through Dehumanization)
In one of the novel’s most disturbing scenes, the narrator, just having graduated high school the day before, is put on display, forced to fight blindfolded in a ring with other Black boys, and then expected to deliver a speech about Black progress. His dignity is erased for the sake of entertainment, and his message is reduced to spectacle as his audience of drunk white men mock and jeer at his use of big words and ideas. It’s humiliating and heartbreaking, yet the moment encapsulates how systemic attempts to dehumanize and manipulate Black voices, making them perform for an audience that does not truly see them.
“Everywhere I've turned somebody has wanted to sacrifice me for my own good—only /they/ were the ones who benefited. And now we start on the old sacrificial merry-go-round. At what point do we stop?”
3. His Time at the Brotherhood (Erasure Through Political Exploitation)
The narrator is recruited into a political movement that claims to uplift Black people but ultimately uses him as a tool for its own agenda. Initially believing that he has found a platform for his voice, he soon realizes that he is valued only as long as he serves the movement’s interests. Once he stops serving their agenda, he is discarded—erased from the movement just as quickly as he was embraced by it. His value was never in his voice, but in his usefulness to those in power.
4. The Ending: Choosing Erasure as Resistance
By the novel’s end, the narrator chooses to disappear underground, embracing self-imposed invisibility rather than continuing to be controlled by external forces. This decision is both an act of defiance and a form of exile—he recognizes that he was never truly "seen" by society, and so he withdraws.
“And my problem was that I always tried to go in everyone's way but my own.”
How This Ties to Publishing and Diversity, Equity, and Inclusion Rollbacks
Just as the narrator is only made visible when he serves a purpose for others, publishing has long treated diversity as a moment, not a movement. (I wrote about this very issue in a 2020 article for Faithfully Magazine. Read it here.) Black authors see doors open when trends favor them—only to watch them quietly close again when the industry pivots back to its defaults.
Ellison captured something that Black writers and publishing professionals have long understood—visibility is complicated. To be seen is not the same as being recognized. To have your work acknowledged is not the same as having your humanity affirmed.
This is why I’ve spent my career pushing for diversity in publishing—especially in Christian publishing, where stories by Black authors (as well as writers from other underrepresented groups) often struggle to find space. Conforming is the furthest thing from what I’d ever want to do, but I still wonder: What do people who resist diversity (i.e. fair, appropriate visibility—representation—of people from various underrepresented groups) believe they will gain from sameness? (That’s a rhetorical question—I have some ideas, but their answers won’t lead them to the outcomes they think they will.)
Ellison saw this tension long before this current moment. He wrote, “Must I strive towards colorlessness?... Think of what the world would lose should that happen.” Some believe that conformity brings comfort, peace, and harmony. But history—and even nature—tells us otherwise.
In every thriving ecosystem—from the biodiversity of a rainforest to the delicate balance of our intestinal flora—flourishing depends on difference. Overgrowth of one species at the expense of others doesn’t create strength; it creates collapse. Diversity is not a burden to be managed; it is a necessity for survival. Resisting it does not lead to harmony—it leads to dysfunction, depletion, and decay.
Yet, time and again, institutions attempt to flatten the landscape. To erase what challenges them. To curate a version of history and storytelling that keeps some voices loud and others silent.
We are seeing rollbacks and shifts in other markets—retail, nonprofit, and government spaces. We are watching to see if this spills over into book publishing. This moment calls for proactive, courageous, and innovative action.
Find Strength in Who You Are and Keep Shining
In a 2003 Guardian interview, Toni Morrison, noted for writing exclusively for Black audiences dismissive of the white gaze, responded to Ellison's Invisible Man: "Invisible Man [1952] begs the question, invisible to whom? Not to me....It was amazing how freed up the canvas became once I took white people out as predominant figures."
So, yes, while Ellison’s novel explores a Black man's struggle for identity under the gaze of whiteness, does it matter if "they" can't see you, as long as you and those who matter can? No.
Though the struggle is real between being received by what our industry sets as a gold standard and remaining true to your voice and vision, there's so much strength in building your community around those who love you and your work.
I lead my work toggling between two mindsets expressed by two favorite Black women writers:
Zora Neale Hurston: “Sometimes, I feel discriminated against, but it does not make me angry. It merely astonishes me. How can any deny themselves the pleasure of my company? It’s beyond me.”
Maya Angelou: "Don't make money [or in this case, validation within systems of oppression] your goal. Instead, pursue the things you love doing, and then do them so well that people can't take their eyes off you."
You're a gift to the world and the brightest light when you are flowing in your craft from a place of honesty and personal truth. Only those publishers, agents, editors, or critique partners that help you shine brighter from that place earn the right to speak into your progress.
As you seek them out, don't stop writing your book. Engage strategically when necessary—to secure the partners, the investment—but never at the cost of yourself. Hold tight to who you are in that process even as you learn and grow. When you know who you are and what you want, you won’t lose yourself in the pursuit of getting your words into the world.
Continue to Move with Purpose and Intention
At a time when access to works like Ellison's feels increasingly uncertain, the path forward is clear: We must be intentional in how we engage with, support, and share Black literature.
For Writers: Continue telling the stories that need to be told. The tradition of Black literature is one of resilience, innovation, and resistance.
For Publishers & Editors: Advocate for these works. Prioritize acquisitions that honor the breadth of Black storytelling and ensure these books remain accessible.
For Readers: Read, share, and discuss. If books are removed from shelves, let them find homes in community libraries, book clubs, and personal collections. Visibility isn’t just about presence—it’s about engagement.
The irony of Invisible Man being erased—both figuratively and literally—is a reminder of what’s at stake. But history proves that literature is resilient. No ban, rollback, or industry shift can erase the power of our words. As we continue to write, publish, and amplify Black voices, we ensure that our stories remain—not just present, but undeniable.
Have you read Invisible Man? How did its themes strike you? If you haven't read it, what other book by a Black author has shaped the way you see the world? Which story helped you find your voice? Share in the comments—we keep these narratives alive together.