When Racist Imagery Makes It Through the Approval Process, “We Didn’t Know” Is No Longer Enough

 

There comes a point when “we didn’t realize how it looked” stops being a satisfactory explanation.

The two images accompanying this article are disturbing to me for reasons that should be immediately apparent to anyone familiar with the history of racism in America. One is from a recent Converse campaign. The other is associated with a Halloween costume sold by Target. In my view, both draw upon imagery with a long and painful history of degrading, terrorizing, and dehumanizing Black people. And once again, after public outrage, we hear versions of the familiar corporate response: "We got it wrong." "We are sorry." "We will do better." However, better never seems to come as we keep seeing the same so-called mistakes. But I have a question: How does something like this get approved in the first place?

These Ads Do Not Appear Out of Thin Air

Advertising campaigns for corporations the size of Converse and Target are not created by one person sitting alone at a computer and then immediately released to millions of consumers. Concepts are developed. Photographers, stylists, designers, creative directors, marketing executives, brand managers, agencies, merchandising teams, and corporate decision-makers may be involved at different stages. Images are photographed, selected, edited, cropped, reviewed, revised, approved, and ultimately published. That is precisely why claims of ignorance are so difficult for me to accept.

In the case of Converse, critics said the combination of a white triangular form and dangling black shoes evoked the Ku Klux Klan and the lynching of Black Americans. Converse subsequently removed the image and apologized, saying it understood why the image was “deeply upsetting” and acknowledging, “This should not have happened.” I agree with one part of that statement wholeheartedly: It should not have happened. But saying that afterward does not answer the more important question of how it happened beforehand.

Similarly, Target recently removed a Halloween costume after criticism that its imagery evoked racist minstrel caricatures. Target itself acknowledged that the costume was offensive, said it should never have been part of its assortment, and specifically recognized the hurt caused to Black customers, employees, and partners. Again, how did it get there?

At What Point Does “Oversight” Become an Unbelievable Explanation?

This is where I struggle with the standard corporate apology. How many people looked at these images? How many meetings were held? How many emails were exchanged? How many proofs were reviewed? How many people signed off before the product or advertisement reached the public?

While I try to be careful about claiming to know the private intentions of people I do not know, and I cannot prove what was in the minds of the individuals responsible for either decision; it does cause me to question when imagery this racially charged survives multiple opportunities for someone to say, “Stop. Do you understand what this looks like?” From where I sit, consumers are justified in questioning whether simple ignorance is a credible explanation.

Indeed, the Converse controversy has prompted exactly these questions about corporate vetting and accountability. When these incidents happen repeatedly across corporate America, followed by remarkably similar apologies only after Black consumers and others point out the offense, I believe we have every right to ask a harder question: Was nobody aware, or did nobody care enough to stop it? For me, it becomes increasingly difficult to dismiss every occurrence as an innocent mistake. If companies want the public to reject the assumption that such imagery is intentional, then they must demonstrate through transparent accountability and meaningful changes to their review processes why that assumption is wrong.

The Larger National Climate Matters

I also believe these incidents cannot be completely separated from the racial and political climate of the country. Under the current Trump administration, the federal government has undertaken an explicit campaign against diversity, equity, and inclusion programs. The White House describes these actions as restoring fairness and eliminating discriminatory DEI practices. Critics, however, argue that some of these policies weaken institutions and programs designed to address racial inequity. The administration, for example, canceled hundreds of millions of dollars in teacher-training grants it characterized as supporting “divisive ideologies,” including DEI; a federal judge recently ruled that directive arbitrary and capricious and in violation of federal law.

In my opinion, we are living through a period in which some people appear increasingly comfortable expressing racial antagonism, mocking concerns about racism, or treating racial sensitivity as something society should simply abandon. I worry that the political assault on the language and institutions of diversity and inclusion can contribute to an atmosphere in which some people feel less compelled to consider how imagery, language, and decisions affect historically marginalized communities.

An Apology After the Damage Is Done Is Not Accountability

Corporate apologies have their place. A sincere apology is better than silence. But an apology does not erase an image once millions of people have seen it. It does not erase the history that image evokes. And it does not answer the fundamental question: Who approved it?

If a corporation truly wants to demonstrate that an offensive advertisement was an accident, then tell the public what failed. Explain the approval process. Tell us how many levels of review the material passed through. Explain why no one recognized the problem. Tell us specifically what will change. Otherwise, “we are sorry” begins to sound less like accountability and more like crisis-management language. Companies spend extraordinary amounts of money protecting their brands. They conduct market research, analyze consumer behavior, study demographics, test messaging, and obsess over the smallest details of how their products are presented. It is therefore reasonable for Black consumers to ask why that extraordinary attention to detail seems to disappear when it comes to imagery connected to some of the most horrific chapters of Black American history. We cannot keep accepting ignorance as the explanation after the damage has already been done.

The question is no longer simply whether these images are offensive. The deeper question is: How do they keep making it all the way through the process? And perhaps most importantly: Who was in the room—and who was not?