On a night meant to celebrate global film, two Black men — Michael B. Jordan and Delroy Lindo — were left standing on stage as a racial slur rang out across the room.

Let’s start with what needs to be said plainly: Tourette syndrome is real. Tics are involuntary. No one chooses them. No one “controls” them. That part is not up for debate.

But here’s what is up for debate: editing.

The British Academy of Film and Television Arts — British Academy of Film and Television Arts — had a two-hour delay. Two hours. That is an eternity in broadcast time. And they used it. They removed director Akinola Davies Jr. shouting “Free Palestine!” They removed Alan Cumming comparing the themes of Zootropolis 2 to modern political realities.

So let’s be clear: the edit button worked.

It just didn’t work for Black people.

No one is arguing that the individual who shouted the slur should be demonized for a neurological condition. That’s not the point. The point is institutional responsibility. The point is editorial judgment. The point is harm mitigation.

If BAFTA could surgically remove a political statement, it could have removed the N-word. Period.

What happened on that stage wasn’t just a “mistake.” It was a message. Because when you make a conscious decision to protect certain sensitivities — geopolitical commentary, political critique, controversy — but you leave in a racial slur while two Black actors are presenting? You are signaling whose discomfort matters.

And whose doesn’t.

There’s something especially violent about the optics. Two accomplished Black actors — men who have navigated Hollywood, awards circuits, and global stages with dignity — standing there while the most loaded word in the English language cuts through the air. Even if involuntary. Even if unintended. Even if unchosen.

Intent does not erase impact.

And the defense chorus that immediately followed? Equally troubling.

“Yes, but he has Tourette’s.”
“Yes, but he can’t control it.”
“Yes, but it wasn’t malicious.”

All of that can be true — and it still doesn’t justify airing it.

This is not about punishing someone for a medical condition. This is about a broadcaster deciding that the emotional weight of that word — a word rooted in slavery, lynching, segregation, humiliation, and systemic violence — was somehow acceptable to beam into millions of homes.

It wasn’t.

Black audiences are exhausted from being told to contextualize harm. To intellectualize it. To soften it. To understand it.

There is no context in which the N-word lands softly.

And for an institution like BAFTA — which routinely speaks about diversity, equity, and global inclusion — the failure here feels especially hollow. Because if you are serious about inclusion, then your editorial decisions must reflect that seriousness.

Editing is power.

Editing is protection.

Editing is choice.

And on Sunday night, BAFTA made a choice.

An apology — and there has been one — is a start. But apologies without structural accountability are just PR. What needs to happen now is transparency. What was the decision-making process? Who reviewed the footage? Who signed off? Why was a racial slur deemed broadcastable while political commentary was deemed too controversial?

If you can delay for diplomacy, you can delay for dignity.

This isn’t about canceling a man with Tourette syndrome. It’s about refusing to normalize the public repetition of a word that has been used to terrorize Black people for centuries.

And no — we should not be defending it.

Compassion for neurological conditions and protection for Black dignity are not mutually exclusive. We can hold both. We must hold both.

But what we cannot hold is a double standard.

Because if the edit suite works for politics but not for racism, then we have a bigger problem than a broadcast error.

We have a values problem.