This June 26^th is the 7^th anniversary of Clarke’s death. We thought it was a good time to remember the author’s contribution during Emancipation Month

Austin Clarke was living in a basement apartment north of Bloor Street and east of Sherbourne in Toronto in the late 1950s when he first worked for the CBC, as a stagehand. The neighbourhood, Rosedale, was affluent and white. He was poor, parenting two children, sneaking time in between work and caregiving to write into the late hours.

Despite some challenges — including living in a dark two-bedroom with damp ceiling pipes alongside his wife, Betty, and their babies, Janice and Loretta — he found his way to work on time. That was until November, as another bitter Toronto winter approached.

The restrictions and discrimination of city life were taking their toll. In a chapter titled “The CBC Stagehand” in his 2015 memoir, ‘Membering, he writes of the snowy metropolis, commutes through a white city, his unfavourable apartment, the “sweating beads” on the pipes, the grind of supporting a family on a small income. Surviving in Toronto as a low-income immigrant has always been arduous.

Clarke started getting warnings from his employer about his tardiness: he was late to work two days in November, five times in December, and on at least seven more occasions before he was fired.

The day after he was let go, he walked into a CBC studio, script in hand. He was hired as an actor. These were some of the precarious first steps Clarke took on his journey to becoming a seminal literary figure in Canada.

The Barbadian-born writer later became a reporter for the Timmins Daily Press and the Globe and Mail. As his profile grew, he worked as a freelance radio broadcaster for his former employer, the CBC; this was a role he never rose above at the organization. But Clarke went on to publish 11 novels, six short-story collections, two books of poetry, three memoirs and a cookbook, as well as articles for Canadian outlets. In one 1968 essay he wrote for Maclean’s on racism in Canada, he was called “Canada’s angriest Black man” in a headline for the piece he did not approve before it was published.

He wrote intricate and intimate stories illustrating the communities and geography of Toronto. Many of his poems, stories and essays expose and dissect the racism of his new home. For the CBC, he spent some time in Harlem hoping to secure an interview with author James Baldwin. Instead, he landed a one-hour interview with Malcolm X. He was one of the few journalists to interview the civil rights leader for a Canadian broadcaster.

Aside from writing, Clarke worked in academia and politics. As a visiting lecturer at several schools — including Yale, Duke and the University of Texas in the 1960s and ’70s — he had a hand in developing their Black studies programs. He was a writer-in-residence at Concordia and Western University (then known as the University of Western Ontario). In 1977, he ran as a Progressive Conservative candidate in Ontario’s general election but lost. This step away from the ideology inherent in his literary work showed some of his contradictions. One might say that for radicals, he was too Conservative, and for Conservatives, he was too radical.

But wherever he went, his infamous nickname followed. He wrote in his memoir about experiencing housing and other institutional racism he endured during his time in the country, which prevented him from accessing housing and work.

“The euphemism ‘Canada’s angriest Black man’ did not faze any thinking person,” Clarke wrote. “The hidden meaning was simply ‘Canada’s most anti-white Black man.'”

Clarke examined the growing Caribbean community in his Toronto Trilogy: The Meeting Point (1967), Storm of Fortune (1973) and The Bigger Light (1975). Through the fictional story of Bernice Leach — a domestic worker from Barbados — and her friends, employers, lovers and neighbours, Clarke dissects Black life, immigration and racial tensions. The feeling of being unsettled — through a lack of social mobility, citizenship status and shared community — swims through each book in the series.

Many writers from Canada’s Black diaspora have cited Clarke as a major influence, including Rinaldo Walcott, David Chariandy, Katherine McKittrick and George Elliott Clarke.

Clarke is unequivocally an important writer in the Canadian literary canon. But despite finding some support, he was often discredited for his writing about whiteness, migration and nationhood. Institutional racism and the lack of a shared writing community during some stages of his career — “In those days of uncertainty, I was tormented by personal demons … with no one, no other writer with whom I could share these misapprehensions of writing that hugged me like a wet, cold shirt,” he wrote in ‘Membering — shaped his trajectory.

In spite of this, he persevered. CanLit’s sometimes frosty response to his literary contributions in the history of CanLit had much to do with the Black artists and critics Clarke was in conversation with in his writing: Kamau Brathwaite, Richard Wright, Amiri Baraka, Édouard Glissant and John Coltrane. In Canada’s incapacious literary climate, Clarke was rebellious and revolutionary, much like his peers in England and elsewhere in the diaspora.

But undeniably, Clarke is one of the most important postwar writers — and one of Canada’s most important writers of the last 60 years, entering CanLit as a contemporary of Alice Munro and Margaret Atwood. He wrote in his memoir: “I have never held a Canadian writer as a model of my own work. I am alone, singular, peculiar and foreign to the establishment that governs and controls Canadian literature.”

According to activist Desmond Cole, “The younger generations of Black writers, activists and thinkers should read and remember and learn from Austin Clarke,” he said in a 2021 tribute for the Royal Ontario Museum. “I feel in this moment especially, Toronto should remember him, because we’re in a moment where our city continues to perpetuate suffering against Black folks while calling it something else.”

“Austin Clarke wrote with great lyricism, but also with great honesty — and we need that honesty and clarity now.”