Support a BIPOC Editor Against NDA to Tell Her Story

Hi there, my name is Su Hwang, and I’m a Minneapolis-based poet, activist, and author of Bodega, which received the 2020 Minnesota Book Award in poetry.

On May 7, 2024, I posted an open letter announcing the termination of my publishing contract with Milkweed Editions for my second poetry collection in protest for and in solidarity with a free P 4l e8tin3. I also noted “additional concerns that are unrelated to the boycott,” among the reasons for seeking another publisher. Over the years, as a local writer, I’ve witnessed firsthand a very troubling and unacceptable pattern of problematic practices by the all-white publisher and leadership team at Milkweed Editions toward their staff, as illustrated below. Since November 2023, four Milkweed staff members have departed, for example. In fact, I wrote the publisher an email on March 17, 2024, detailing my observations and concerns. Sadly, this is a common trend in publishing and nonprofit communities in Minnesota and beyond.

I’m organizing this fundraiser on behalf of a local BIPOC artist, editor, and educator who was recently affected by these alarming practices and is in need of urgent financial support. Due to a combination of factors, it is in her best interest to remain anonymous at this time, but we hope more information will come to light upon the completion of this fundraiser. Please read her story (in her own words), and please support this effort.

P.S. I (we) believe in the mission and future of the press, which was founded by Emilie Buchwald in 1980. The incredible work being published by Milkweed, alongside the collective labor of staff, past and present, need to be properly honored and celebrated, which can only happen with change and accountability. This effort is a small step toward that goal.

Fundraiser: help a newly-unemployed BIPOC editor push back against a non-disparagement clause contract and tell her story.

“In September 2022, I believed I secured my dream job as an editor with an independent publisher that claims to champion BIPOC, LGBTQ+, and neurodiverse voices. And I believed my six years of schooling (a Bachelor’s in Creative Writing and English Literature from Sarah Lawrence College, and an MFA in Fiction and Nonfiction from The New School) had finally paid off. I believed these things so deeply that I suppressed my own reservations about finding myself in a professional environment where I’d be the only woman of color once again—a pattern which has almost always ended with devastating consequences for me. My experience at this press quickly proved to be no exception to this rule.

For months, I was singled out and mistreated by a white woman in leadership who I did not report to, which I internalized for over a year before speaking out. My facial expressions and body language were regularly scrutinized, and my abilities were called into question on a weekly basis. I was tone-policed and notified that I was being surveilled. I became so riddled with anxiety and fear that I dreaded opening my emails each morning. I was acutely aware of my perilous position as one of the newest (and youngest, at 27 years old) hires, so I decided to wait for my annual review to come forward.

In February 2024, I submitted a detailed, ten-page discrimination report directly to my boss, the publisher, complete with reproduced evidence of hostile correspondences and a list of employees who corroborated my story. All I requested was validation of my experience and transparency about the standing of my job; I had just purchased my first house to invest further in my career and my future in Minnesota, after moving here from halfway across the country. Within days, I was placed on a performance improvement plan (PIP) and informed that I needed to make immediate and significant (but also vague, unquantifiable) changes to secure my position.

During my PIP, I had to report my whereabouts, daily tasks, and weekly priorities at the start of every day to a new but equally unsupportive white manager who told me I would need to submit my assignments ahead of my deadlines to “earn her trust.” Then, in the same month that my first mortgage bill came due, I was abruptly informed on Thursday, April 18, 2024, that my position had been dissolved, effective immediately. I was offered a severance of one month’s salary ($3,846.16) under the condition that I sign a contract with a non-disparagement clause, waiving my right to speak out and share my firsthand experiences.

Protecting real stories is the reason I wanted to become an editor in the first place. Milkweed Editions may have taken away my career, but I refuse to let them buy my silence and take away my voice. Please consider donating to my cause or sharing my story, if you can. Thank you so much in advance for your support and solidarity.”