• By Peter A. Berry / Bloomberg Opinion

Diaspora wars — those recurring fights over identity and ownership among the global black community — are never pretty, and they are rarely necessary. However, the latest battle feels particularly wasteful.

American comedian Druski reignited a familiar debate last week when he released a skit satirizing Hollywood for casting black British actors in stereotypical African American parts. In it, Druski plays an English thespian who shifts between the roles of an enslaved American and a modern-day gangster only to jarringly return to a British accent moments after a director yells, “cut.”

In the days since the skit was released, people across social media have once again lambasted Hollywood executives for filling the roles of African American icons with black people who use the Celsius scale. As Samuel L. Jackson did in 2017, many other black Americans argue that those performers should not play African American roles that revolve around race relations. Others say those actors are pantomiming the lived experiences of black Americans and that by taking these roles, they are stripping away what few parts are available to black men and women born and raised in the US.

Critics want Hollywood to stop. Putting aside the fact that the industry does not prioritize black stories, such a mandate ignores the nature of a global business while helping disenfranchise black actors across the globe. It would be trading one problem for another or turning one problem into two. Of course, either scenario assumes there is a major issue with casting black roles internationally. There is not — or at least there should not be.

Like the National Basketball Association (NBA), Hollywood uses big budgets to sell big titles to big audiences worldwide. With so much invested, Hollywood executives are, like their NBA counterparts, facing serious stakes. If they lose too much money, they lose jobs. Maximizing their chances of winning requires drawing from the largest possible talent pool. The person they believe to be most suitable for a particular role can — and must — come from anywhere.

In the league, that means the Charlotte Hornets drafting reigning MVP Shai Gilgeous-Alexander from Canada and the San Antonio Spurs bringing on current Defensive Player of the Year Victor Wembanyama from France. In show business, that means Welsh-born Christian Bale plays Batman, London-raised Tom Holland plays Spider-Man and Australian Margot Robbie plays Barbie. Sometimes that also means black Londoner Daniel Kaluuya plays Black Panther leader Fred Hampton. People can complain about cultural identity, but would they also argue against signing Serbian Nikola Jokic or Greek Giannis Antetokounmpo because they were not born and raised in, say, Idaho?

Of course, the world of art would never be the tidy science sports can be. It is strange to watch Londoner Chiwetel Ejiofor be interviewed about playing an enslaved American. I also found Kaluuya’s Southern accent as Hampton to be unconvincing. However, occasional misses do not negate the broader merits of international casting — and abandoning it altogether could result in a bleak domino effect.

Beyond the best black actors being prevented from performing on the biggest stages, up-and-coming black performers would suffer too. If the A-list black actors from across the pond could not take on parts beyond their home, they would have to take on smaller local roles in an already smaller international film economy. Global black stars would become local black stars, local black stars would become journeymen, and emerging black actors would become hobbyists. All the while, white Europeans would still be free to play the roles of white Americans, free of misplaced identity politics in a game of dollars and cents and craft.

No one is wrong for considering cultural sensitivities, and some roles could indeed be best portrayed by black Americans. I am the descendant of enslaved Americans, and my parents are from Mississippi and Alabama. I know the stakes. The dearth of opportunities black communities have known for generations is one shared by many families of color in the US. Drawing a hard line to keep non-American black actors from telling these stories, however, pulls focus away from the real issue at home: a talent pipeline that is drying up.

Nearly seven percent of black children in the US do not have access to arts education in school, more than twice the rate of their white peers, according to a 2019 report from the National Arts Education Data Project, which collected data from 17 states.

An often-cited 2012 National Endowment for the Arts survey found that black students experienced a 49 percent decrease in arts education since the 1980s. Their white counterparts saw almost no change.

Better-funded arts programs and stronger outreach can help ensure the next Michael B. Jordan can blossom instead of shrivel, and future Issa Raes do not need a Kickstarter campaign to launch their careers. More intentional pipelines can help ensure the next generation of actors is nurtured instead of neglected.

That future, however, does not exist in isolation. Diaspora means “a dispersion of people from an original homeland,” but it doubles as a synonym for cultural connectedness — and shared consequences, even if they are not obvious at first. In an industry where opportunities are already limited, excluding black actors from overseas from black American roles could mean fewer stories get greenlit at all. So every time the question of whether black Britons should portray African Americans comes up, we should consider who really loses.

Peter A. Berry is a culture journalist with bylines in XXL, Variety, COMPLEX, Rolling Stone, Okayplayer and more. He also writes the “Rate It Or Love It” newsletter on Substack. This column reflects the personal views of the author and does not necessarily reflect the opinion of the editorial board or Bloomberg LP and its owners.