On Safety Nets and "Failing Better"

[dagas_isa]

This is kind of a "thinky thought" post on measures that can be taken to "fail less" or "fail better" when it comes to writing about oppressed groups, especially ones in which the author does not self-identify as a member of that group. It's been stewing in my head in relation to various and sundry fails, but I've been unsure as to how to write and whether to post this. It's a rather privileged author writing a post for rather privileged people about my personal thoughts on failing better when writing about people with non-privileged identities and experiences without the safety net of a knowledgeable beta reader.




As a disclaimer, this isn't to say that actually talking to members of the oppressed group or soliciting feedback before posting are bad ideas. They're actually very good ideas. But this post acknowledges first that it's not the responsibility of members of the oppressed group to read over story drafts and give pointers to privileged authors, and second that for any number of reasons, this direct feedback may not be available to all authors. So these are sort of "solo safety nets" that I at use when working with characters who aren't privileged in ways that I am.

I am white, cis, USian, currently able-bodied, and in a straight-looking relationship. What follows comes from drawing on a personal experience that I've been through where my place in it is commonly ignored or overlooked if not outright condemned, and thinking about how I would want someone to write about that experience if they were looking to not hurt me. I do this as a way to attempt to relate to the other side. But I am highly-privileged on several axes and I acknowledge that this influences my views.

A "safety net" for the purpose of this piece means little tips, tricks, and systemic ways that, while they don't prevent Fail, make it much more difficult for any author to cause large-scale hurt. Some safety nets are individual/internal, such as keeping in mind that one's audience consists of people who have experience with the issues one writes about. Others are systemic, such as posting to communities that have shown broad support for non-privileged points of view and/or a low tolerance for fail.

I think, at some level, anyone who is consciously choosing to minimize problematic content needs to have at least some safety measures in place, not because they themselves are bad people or unskilled writers but because, in general, minimizing problematic content means going against years of social education and hundreds of readily available narratives.

Threads in my safety net:

• Seeking to understand the basics of the oppression one is trying to write and understanding the most blatantly offensive/commonly used offensive tropes.
  
  Honestly, doing one's research at least enough to pass Racism/Misogyny/Homophobia/Transphobia/Abilism 101 and understanding that all these attitudes are built into our culture, and I think more so understanding what exactly is hurtful is the basis for not being problematic. It's impossible to guard against something one is unaware of.
  
  
  • Knowing what words and phrases are generally considered harmful/slurs.
    
  • Understanding how dominant narratives deny agency and reinforce prejudice.
    
  • Understanding some of the most common stereotypes/tropes in already existing stories.
    
  • Understanding what exactly what is problematic about some of the works getting pointed out.
    
  • Reading stories, essays, posts, etc. by members of the group one wants to write about, while also understanding that these works do not speak for everyone in that group.
    
  • Understanding how race/gender/sexuality/disability intersects with the story you want to tell.
  
  
  I think this is pretty basic for people both with and without beta readers, and that just doing this would probably at least make sure that the story isn't blatantly hurtful or offensive enough to cause a pan-fandom criticism of one's story. It might not be non-problematic, but I think the problems are going to be more of the sort that can be solved by a gracious and sincere apology/making minor changes/putting up a content notice/making sure that the next work doesn't perpetuate the same pattern.
  
  
  
  
• Discernment between what stories are mine to tell, and which aren't.
  
  So, I'm one of those people who believes that there's a difference between the works of an author with first-hand experience with a topic and an author without it, and that in general, the author who has the first-hand experience with the topic will have something much richer and valuable to say, and that their voice and their speaking out matters more because of their identity. To 'think of the children', as it were: it matters to a queer kid to see works by queer authors, to children of color to see works by authors of color, for girls to see books by women, etc.
  
  This does not mean that people who don't have first hand experience can't still say valuable and supportive things with their stories, or shouldn't write about people Not Like Them. There's no reason at all why a het/cis author can't write skillfully about queer characters and experiences, or white people about characters of color, men about female characters, or able-bodied people about people with disabilities. But at the same time, there's also parts of these experiences that can be troublesome for an outsider to write about, because in the larger context or with poor treatment, it's still likely they might end up (unintentionally) reinforcing oppression because of who they are.
  
  To talk about transfic (fanfiction about transgendered or genderqueer characters), since I have a bit of experience writing it...there are stories that I feel absolutely fine telling as a cisgendered woman, some that I am rightfully cautious about writing but choose to tell anyway within limited circumstances, and some that I absolutely refuse to touch, even if they might be worth exploring by an author with personal experience, or with a more-developed safety net. This is a wholly personal set of rules, and someone else's decision of "should I tell this story or not?" may vary.
  
  In the first category: Trans people hunting zombies, eating at restaurants, playing chess, writing on unicorn stationary, etc. Also: anything that affirms their individual gender identity, or that makes room for a wide variety of queer/trans experiences. In other words, experiences that either normalize transgender people or affirm trans* or genderqueer identities.
  
  In the second category: Trans people having sex. I'm sex positive and adore showing sexual agency for everyone, but I also know that I need to stay on the side of sexual agency and not fetishize the identity. Also: Transphobia, at least from the point of view of the trans character, and in limited circumstances, where the transphobia is more implicated than out and out stated.
  
  What I absolutely refuse to touch: Cis character finding out the person zie's about to have sex with is trans and freaking out EVEN from the PoV of the trans character, but ESPECIALLY from the PoV of the cis character. Any instance of a character being referred to in-text as a 'freak' or where other characters deliberately refer to zir as their birth-assigned sex. Also: Any instance that indicates that a trans person is "lying" about their gender. Basically, the stories and tropes that, unless dealt with skillfully, reinforce transphobic attitudes.
  
  
  
• Understanding the effect of one story within the context of a whole body of works.
  
  I think this works on two levels: First within an individual's body of works, and then also within a larger whole of works.
  
  Hypothetical example: A single story with a person of color as a villain may not be harmful. As an antagonist, zie might have a sympathetic motivation and zir interiority might be acknowledged. It might be that the behavior of the antagonist zirself is wrong, no matter who is doing it, and that it might be necessary, even though readers are set to sympathize with this character, for the heroes (who happen to be white) to stop zir because zir behavior is problematic. After all, I think even exclusively positive stories and stereotypes can be harmful. And I think it's important to be willing to write a character as not being wholly ideal, especially if that's part of their canon characterization.
  
  But.
  
  If that's the only story that's written over an entire body of works though, a troubling pattern emerges. Why isn't the character of color the hero? Why doesn't zie have the opportunity to save the day/get the romantic interest/have the leadership potential and planning abilities that the white characters always seem to have in mainstream narratives? And I think, similarly, if one's own works are all about the white characters even if one is a professed fan of the characters of color, then I think the question of why is a good one to ask oneself, and the conscious attempt to break that pattern matters.
  
  
  
  
• Making the story visible in spaces where one expects members of the oppressed group to be part of the audience, and where reinforcing *isms won't be tolerated.
  
  Here's the thing. It's not the obligation of someone hurt by my story to speak up about it. They may choose to or feel the need to, but at the same time, there are costs of engaging, and there's a need to weigh whether having that particular offense called out is worth that cost of engagement. I know for me and some of my issues, it's better to just disengage because I'm not up for people questioning my experiences and their validity. But I think writing stories with the thought in one's mind that a trans person or a person of color or a person with disabilities is going to be part of the audience changes the approach in a good way.
  
  Colonialist narratives only be thought of as "not being purposefully hurtful" if the author assumes (consciously or otherwise) that only white people from first world countries are going to read it. I think the moment one thinks to ask about their story's effect on PoCs or indigenous people and works to make sure that effect isn't harmful, the story will change.
  
  Participating in communities like chromatic_fanfic or lgbtfest puts the story in an arena where these stories are going to be read at least partially for the chromatic/queer experiences, and where fail is less likely to be tolerated at a systemic level because the prioritization is on the depiction of the experience, not the effort of the author.
  
  This is also partially why I like Ao3 and their tagging system. My fandom is fairly obscure, to the point where the overlap of "people who look for stories on trans-experiences in fanfic" and "people who look for stories for my fandom" is fairly small. However because Ao3 allows for tagging, it's more likely to get people looking for those experiences, even if the fandom isn't one they, personally, have heard of or are interested in. Ao3 also allows me to show in numerous subtle ways that responses like "Isn't he a man?" or "I usually don't like yaoi" in relation to a story about a cis man and a trans woman are not welcome. (The audience is also smaller, and in general, more interested in social justice but either of those can change as Ao3 grows, so I'm not counting on that).
  
  
  
  
  
• Having a policy (at least within oneself) of what I'll do when a story is hurtful or offensive to someone, and being honest about it.
  
  We'll mess up. We're not perfect. And if we've got years of social indoctrination working against us. I don't think it's a matter of "if" we're going to screw up. It's a matter of "when" and "how badly." And I think being prepared for it happening and getting called out for it, helps make sure that the reaction is going to be constructive rather than explosive. The initial calling out is not the problem in the larger debates that explode into a pan-fandom circle, it's the way that the author chooses to respond as well as the size of the original offense that determines the scale of the discussion.
  
  Generally speaking, the more one refuses to budge/give fauxpologies/tries to explain why no one should get offended/attacking one's critics/inappropriately compares criticism to other experiences, the larger the scale of the conversation and the more angry both sides are going to be.
  
  So I think understanding that things will probably go wrong and acknowledging that one's initial reaction might be a kneejerk one, and having an action plan helps both in making sure that mistakes are caught and dealt with and in avoiding large-scale debates. Plus, that the more gracefully one accepts criticism, the more likely people will be willing to call out mistakes and engage and the less likely that one will continue making the same mistakes.
  
  To me, a good policy would include understanding how to apologize in a way that acknowledges oneself as an agent in hurting others while also focusing on the act itself, making an effort to understanding what is hurtful and why, and deciding what is an appropriate way of fixing a fail that makes sense for both the offense and for one's artistic sensibilities (in an either/or case, I'd generally prefer to either make a compromise or to choose the fix that fits the offense).
  
  My own understanding of my fic is that it's malleable, even after its posted. If I choose to fix typos, adjust wording, rearrange a scene to fit characterization, etc, then I'm not sure why I wouldn't also change my fic to be less problematic. So I'd probably make an individual apology, edit the work, and make a note that the fic has been edited from the original version.
  
  Someone else might think of editing their work after the fact or erasing textual evidence of their fail doesn't work for them and changes the context of the conversation. They might choose to make that individual apology and then preserve the original fic as it is with an author's note above acknowledging the fail. If the story simply could not stand on it's own without editing, they may choose to take it down with a note and apology in place.
  
  I think, while one's own feelings and attitudes towards art should not take priority in discussions such as these, in order to be effective in dealing with criticism is the understanding which possible fixes work for oneself, and which ones do go against one's own principles. And, I think, being honest with oneself about what one either can't or is not willing to do. I have a hard time engaging with people and participating in heated debates and not taking things personally. This doesn't mean I shouldn't be called out on fail or that I should not apologize or attempt to fix it, but rather that my own actions should take into account those limitations and work within them. While someone may criticize my handling of an issue and have valid concerns about my methods, doing something that isn't just difficult but actually self-harming helps nobody in the long run.
  

The above applies to oppressions where I don't have first-hand experience. However in case where I am a part of an oppressed group:

I refuse to be a participant in my own erasure, even where that erasure may somehow be more 'empowering' to the group as a whole. I also refuse to apologize for examining the complexities of my own experiences as a member that group (I may do so if the examination is poorly done or careless, but not for the simple fact of acknowledging that complexity).

This is...kind of difficult to explain exactly, and I apologize if this explanation or the following example are poorly-worded and/or need a privilege check.

The thing about any kind of social-justice/anti-oppression/human rights (actually, any kind of activism) work is that there are accepted narratives that are told regarding these issues. Provided that we're talking about anti-oppression, these are narratives that value the identity, empowerment, agency, etc. of oppressed groups. And I think, if someone is on the outside of these issues (i.e. a white person re: racism), that working (mostly) within accepted social justice narratives is a good thing, even if it does end up oversimplifying things. In other words, I'd rather see a narrative that acknowledges the agency of people like me even if it doesn't acknowledge the complexities, then see someone tackle the complexities and fail to show how the agency and the complexity co-exist, if that makes sense.

From my experience, being on the inside is always going to be more complex than being on the outside. There's the internalization of the -isms, shame, and mixed-feelings revolved around these experiences. Sometimes, the dominant anti-oppression narrative devalues aspects of individual experience that don't fall completely in line with that narrative. And while, for example, that devaluation might serve to debunk arguments against equal rights (same-sex relationships are not "less-valid" just because the partners can't have biological children within that relationship) but at the same time also risks excluding or devaluing the individual experiences of queer people who want to have biological children for one reason or another.

And then there's another side where two oppressions that are usually linked together or intersected, maybe don't hit that way for everyone, and the question of how to both talk about that personal experience while still acknowledging that the intersection exists and that it matters.

I guess as a hypothetical example. Say that there's a fic writing challenge wherein characters are rewritten as immigrants (to the US or elsewhere). Provided that there was no additional requirement to write about a Character of Color, (either canon, OC, or racebent) or an intention to expand the presence of CoCs through writing about immigrants, I would at least consider drawing upon my own family's experience of recent immigration, even though they are/were all white and from a colonizing country. I'd understand why this might be problematic because, at least in the U.S, the intersection between immigration and racism is huge, and I'd be at risk of being part of the narrative that denies that racism and immigration have anything to do with each other. At the same time, though, I would feel uncomfortable if the sentiment came up that I should not draw on and use stories to talk about part of my own identity at all because of that risk.

My solution would probably be to write about that experience in a way that shows both the obstacles of not being a citizen and how the character's whiteness erases a lot of the external prejudice that comes with being an immigrant.

(For background: When I mean 'recent', I mean that my cousins and I are the first generation of my family born in the U.S. and that no one from the previous generation is a U.S. citizen, so immigration issues and policies still do affect my family directly, even if cops in Arizona would never think to ask my mother for proof that she's legally allowed to be here.)

Basically, in cases where this stuff affects me personally, I still think there's an obligation to be careful about the treatment of an issue and to be accountable for the ways one's work can be interpreted as supporting oppression, but at the same time I think it's too much to ask that people erase the complexities of their own experiences as a member of that group in order to serve a larger anti-oppression narrative.


I'm not sure if I'm going to be able to respond to all comments, and I reserve the right to screen comments in order to prevent blatantly -phobic or -ist comments from getting through.

Also, if you, as an individual, don't care about writing about "the other" in non-problematic ways, then don't care, but please don't use this space to tell others that they shouldn't care or put forth the effort.

Comments

[mjules]

This post (or at least my discovery of it) was quite timely. I've been rather exhausted by having conversations of "I'm not saying you shouldn't write it just because you don't experience it, but that doesn't make you immune to criticism" lately, plus I'm setting myself up for intense scrutiny in a story I'm about to tackle, because even though I belong under the umbrella I'm writing about, the experience is a hugely touchy subject, even among those of us experiencing it.

Anyway, you don't know me, so that probably doesn't matter a lot to you *grin*, but thank you for the post, and I've passed it along to some other writers who care about writing about oppressed groups they don't belong to. Thank you for a well-said post.

[skyblue-reverie.livejournal.com]

Here via mjules and wanted to say thank you for this. Thoughtful and thought-provoking and very much appreciated.

Also thanks to mjules for providing the link! :)