Let's Talk About #OwnVoices

I'm a little late to the party, but I've been sitting on some thoughts on the #OwnVoices hashtag and related topics for quite a while now.

For those who don't know, the #OwnVoices hashtag was created on Twitter by author Corinne Duyvis. It was created, in Duyvis' own words, "to recommend kidlit about diverse characters written by authors from that same diverse group." [Source]

I adore the concept behind #OwnVoices. I like how easy it has become for me to search for books by and about people who share my marginalizations. It's an extremely useful tool, and I'm glad to see it being used, and used widely. It has done a lot of good, and I'm grateful for it.

But I wanted to talk about a few things I've seen become increasingly common.

With the popularity of #OwnVoices, books by marginalized creators seem to be, generally, a lot more visible. It isn't solely because of #OwnVoices, of course, but the hashtag has definitely contributed quite a bit. And with stories by marginalized creators becoming more visible...well, to be blunt, the assholes have come right out of the woodwork.

I don't refer only to blatant bigots who hurl slurs and whine about "SJW conspiracies" on Twitter. I refer specifically to those who have started to put unfair demands on #OwnVoices writers. Demands such as:

"If you don't write exactly my personal experience with this marginalization, then it's bad representation."

"You have to bare your soul and write your life story for it to really count."

"If you're a marginalized creator who doesn't write anything I consider #OwnVoices, you're betraying your own community."

Et cetera, et cetera, et cetera, ad nauseum. People have started to act as if they are entitled to #OwnVoices content, and if it fails to meet their impossibly high standards, they get vicious.

It feels like there has been increased demand on marginalized creators to tell stories they may not want to tell, and share parts of themselves they would rather keep private. And it feels like, when these creators do share that part of themselves, it is held to an extremely high standard. A standard that is much, much, much higher than the standards placed on creators who are not marginalized.

Marginalized creators (and from what I have seen, this is particularly true for people of color) are constantly told that their voices aren't "authentic enough," whatever that means. Additionally, any problematic elements their content might contain are ripped apart on a level not seen when the creator is not marginalized.

Offensive portrayals of a marginalized group often get praised. Genuine portrayals written by members of the same marginalized group are often ignored, torn down, and waved aside.

A personal example that comes to mind? Allistic creators writing about autistic people get praised and told how compassionate they are. Autistic creators? We get told we shouldn't bother, because we're "not creative enough" and that we're "too biased" to tell our own stories. People want to use our stories as inspiration porn, but they don't want to support us in telling those stories ourselves.

And don't even get me started on how vocal people are about it being "bad representation" when a bisexual character winds up in a "het" relationship. That particular bit of bullshit has been circulating for years.

None of this, of course, is at all the fault of #OwnVoices, and certainly not its creator. But from where I stand, it feels like we as a writing and publishing community are in a place where we really, really need to take a step back and think: are we putting unfair demands on marginalized creators? Are we being overly harsh when they make mistakes? Are we asking for more #OwnVoices content because we truly believe in it, or are we just looking to make a buck?

As a marginalized creator, it can be an extremely unpleasant feeling to wonder if your story is only getting attention because it can be marketed with a popular hashtag. It can feel extremely othering to wonder if the people reading your work actually enjoy it and truly want to support you, or if they're trying to tick some box on their "I'm Not A Bigot" checklist. And it can be terrifying to know that there's a high chance you are going to be roasted for something for which someone who isn't marginalized would be given every excuse in the world.

At the end of the day, I want to write and share good stories. I don't want to feel like I'm selling my own marginalizations as some sort of voyeuristic inspiration porn. And I don't want to feel like I have no room to make mistakes, because I have the weight of my entire community somehow on my shoulders.

Keep promoting content from marginalized creators. Keep supporting marginalized creators. But be careful that you aren't hurting those marginalized creators with unfair demands and expectations.

Marginalized people are people. Treat us as such.

Until next time,
Jenn.

Representation is Not a Zero-Sum Game

Last week, I participated in the very first #QueerSpec Twitter chat, hosted by @AlexHarrowSFF. I had a great time chatting with some great people, and I'm looking forward to the next one (which, for those interested, will be June 15th at 6 PM EST).

One of the discussion questions centered around what kind of stories, topics, and themes the participants would like to see become more common in queer SFF. I posted multiple things, but, in particular, it was this one that came back to bite me:

"I would LOVE to see more queerplatonic relationships in fiction. People crap all over them, but they're important. #queerspec" [permalink]

I woke up this morning (er, afternoon) and checked Twitter to discover someone, who I have since blocked and whose tweets I can no longer access, was taking my tweet to mean that I believe gay romance doesn't matter and I think queerplatonic relationships are more highly stigmatized than sexual queer relationships. I was then accused of internalized homophobia and told that I am not allowed to use the word "queer."

A tip: that is not what I meant, and I can damn well use the word queer if I please.

I was accused of saying that gay sex isn't stigmatized and therefore shouldn't be represented, when what I simply said was that I'd like to see more representation of queerplatonic relationships. Queerplatonic relationships, or QPRs, are often stigmatized both outside and inside the queer community. They are a relationship style common among asexuals and aromantics, who constantly face harassment and exclusionary gatekeeping. Aspec people deserve to see our relationships represented as much as anyone else.

This spiked a conversation with a few other, wholly delightful, folks on Twitter that boiled down to, "representation is not a zero-sum game." People writing about QPRs does not take away from people writing about sexual and romantic queer relationships in the slightest. 

Writing autistic characters doesn't mean that nobody can write characters with ADHD. Writing bisexual characters doesn't take away from stories about lesbians. Writing stories with Latinx characters doesn't take away the importance of writing stories with Black characters. Etc. All of these groups deserve positive representation. 

Positive representation of one group doesn't take away from positive representation of another (assuming, of course, that the positive representation of one does not come coupled with hurtful representation or erasure of another--but that's an issue that deserves its own post).

If I am not portraying romantic and sexual queer relationships in a negative light, or pretending that they don't exist, there is no harm, and in fact is a lot of good, in me positively portraying queerplatonic relationships. Aspec people seeing ourselves in fiction is not taking away from allosexual and alloromantic queer representation.

So please, write queer romantic and sexual relationships. We need them desperately. Write them, share them, tell me about them so that I can share them, too.

But don't tell me that I don't deserve to see myself represented.

Don't tell me that seeing myself somehow means I'm keeping you from seeing yourself.

There is room for us all to be represented, and I will gladly stand beside you and help you boost your representation right alongside mine.

Because it's not a zero-sum game.

Until next time,

Jenn.

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