Question for Feminists: Is it wrong to directly target women for inclusion?
One of the things I’ve struggled with as someone who sees himself as a feminist is whether it is right to intentionally create diversity by targeting women (or another minority group). One specific instance can be found here. Jen and I do not get as many women authors on our show as we would like (let alone LGBT authors), which we are not comfortable with. We’re not sure why that is, except perhaps because there are simply many times more men publishing in SF/F. Occasionally, we put out a call for female authors (and other minority groups) to fill the gap. But every time I write up one of those posts, I wonder whether I’m crossing a line. Is creating diversity artificially a good method? Or does it make me complicit in the system? And if I am committing a wrong of sorts, how do I get around it while also creating the diversity of content that I want? Do I avoid the request system altogether and simply go directly to the authors Jen and I want to interview (a difficult process, actually, and one I’m not sure we would both enjoy, since we like the unexpectedness of our request system)? What do you think? The comments are wide open for opinions. Have at it. ——————————————————- P.S.: I am a feminist. The title of the post is directed towards other feminists in part because I don’t think of myself as a particular good feminist in terms of being well read or fully understanding the experience of women in a patriarchal society. I am a white male, after all. I’m hoping the title will draw some folks with more experience or knowledge into the mix.
SF/F Rant of the Day: Privilege is Not Equal
You’re probably already familiar with the shitstorm that erupted on Peter Watts’ blog over acrackedmoon’s “review” of R. Scott Bakker’s novels. If not, then you should glance through to see what has been going on (this is not the same as the other shitstorm which also involved acrackedmoon’s comments, though certainly the issues are related). Here, I am interested in one particular issue: the question of privilege. But before I do that, I want to say a few quick things: I harbor no ill will towards Peter Watts, acrackedmoon, R. Scott Bakker, or any of the people involved in the comments. I may not like some of the commentators, but that’s a separate issue. I think Watts makes some valid points. I think acrackedmoon makes some valid points. I think they both occasionally put their feet in their mouths and say things that are counterproductive to discussion and debate. They are both human beings. I understand why acrackedmoon takes the approach that she does, and while I do not always agree with that approach (sometimes I think she shuts off debate by being overly aggressive when taking a step back might be more productive), I think many of the issues she attacks are ones we should be concerned about anyway. I think it’s more pathetic that we don’t think about the problems she raises (such as the treatment of women in literature, racism, etc.) except when someone throws “a fit” and uses “bad words.” For the record: from what I know of Mr. Watts, he is concerned with many of the same issues and reflects that in his writing (this based on my friend’s obsession with him as a writer). I do not agree that the “tone argument” is invalid in all instances, as I’ve said before. But I do not agree that responding to another’s “tone” with a similar “tone” makes you look any more “civilized” than the person you’re attempting to delegitimize. Now that all of that is out of the way, I’d like to draw your attention to one problematic comment left on Peter Watts’ blog by someone calling himself Giorgio. Who the hell do you think you are? Who the hell do _she_ think she is? What makes you think that she can arrogate herself any kind of representative role? Who the hell gave _you_ the right to decide who someone can or cannot represent? I’m _sure_ all those tormented people feel better now that someone finally can be obnoxious on the Internet in their place. Get down off your high horse, ACM is a privileged woman from a privileged background (a Thai Chinese!) who speaks a very good English and is completely steeped in North American culture in a country where only 10% of the population speaks any English at all, who has access to Internet in a country where only a quarter of the population has any kind of connection and apparently has a lot of free time she can spend reading fantasy books and maintaining a constant Internet presence. If _she_ can represent someone, I surely can decide that I’m the voice of billions of farmers and factory workers and as such I’m happy to tell her that she’s an obnoxious bourgeois and should start thinking about doing something productive and useful to make up for the history of prevarication and oppression who gave her her role in society. There is one fundamental problem here: the assumption that “shared privileges” are equal. Let’s take as true that acrackedmoon is an upper class Thai woman and that a marker of that is the fact that she has apparently unfettered access to the Internet (the commenter’s statistic is wrong, by the way: 25.5% of Thais have Internet access, but another 66+ million and change use mobile phones – that’s practically the entire population of Thailand; determining how many of those mobile users also use their phones to access the Internet is a little difficult, but if Africa is any indication, phone-to-Internet access is likely more common than standard Internet in countries previously dubbed as “third world.” You also have to take into account other forms of Internet access, such as cafes, etc. – basically, we need to seriously get beyond this “she’s got the Internet, so she must be totally privileged because Thailand is a backward bumfuck country where everyone lives in rice patties and huts” bullshit. Backwards my ass.). What do these assumptions tell us about acrackedmoon? That she has privilege within her country of residence. One way to think of this is to use the Internet as an analogy: if I have access to the Internet through broadband, but acrackedmoon only has dialup, could we reasonably suggest that our access is the same? Are the privileges equal? The answer: no. While we both benefit from having access, that does not mean we benefit in the same way, or that we have the same level of access. The same is true if we think only in terms of nations. A privileged woman in Thailand is certainly better off than lower class Thais, but is she better off than an American woman (or, as the comments seem to suggest, a white American male)? If you think the answer to that question is “yes,” then you are naïve as best, or an utter idiot at worst. Yes, acrackedmoon has privilege, but only within the context of her country of residence. Compared to myself, a white, straight male living in Florida on a University stipend? We might be more equal, but there are still things that I have which are not as easily accessible to her, and our relationships to our countries of residence are not the same. I am not as privileged in America as acrackedmoon supposedly is privileged in Thailand, and yet in relating our positions it becomes clear that we are not equal from a socio-economic perspective. I’m not saying this in order to speak down to acrackedmoon or Thais; rather, I’m bringing this up because it
England: The Country With a History Face
There is something absolutely magical about visiting another country, especially a country like England. At least, I think so. But why? On my descent into Gatwick, I thought about that question, and this is the best I could come up with: England is a country that wears its history on its face. To someone like myself, who has lived in various parts of the United States where colonial history is not explicitly present (i.e., there aren’t a whole bunch of forts and “old towns” on the West Coast).[1] But what does it mean for a nation to wear its history on its face? Traveling to England is like traveling through hundreds of years of history compressed into one space. It is impossible to look at England without being able to see the ancient, the old, the modern, and the contemporary all comingled in the same space. Perhaps this does not fascinate the British, but it certainly grabs my attention every time I visit (just as it captures me now as I sit in the airport).[2] Perhaps that is, in part, why Damien Walter claimed that England is bewitched by the magical/mystical (having only glanced at the post, this is really random speculation). England really is magical, mystical, bewildering, wondrous, and all manner of other delicious descriptors one might use. But it’s because of the history, I think, that so many tourists are drawn here. That history is a kind of magic of its own, filled with myths, legends, exciting stories, architecture, characters, and literature. It’s a place where you always feel like there’s something grand to learn about the very place you’re standing on. Something happened here, perhaps something insignificant within the endless stream of historical time, but something exciting nonetheless. Maybe that’s why I keep coming back – this is my fourth trip to England (though my first foray into the southern half of the island). I’m jetlagged. I’m tired. I’m unclean. But I’m amazed by the wonder around me. Is this just the journey of the tourist? Or is there something truly magical about England or equally ancient places that inspire such emotions? A question for you all: what countries or places have you visited that seemed to wear its history on its face? Let me know in the comments so I can make a list of places to see with my girlfriend… This is what a picture taken from a plane looks like. What is it, you might ask? Well, it’s the clouds being murdered by the sunlight on the horizon. Pretty? I think so, even if my photography skills say otherwise… ——————————————————— [1] When I say old, I mean by degrees of hundreds of years. Much of California was settled fairly late in American history. But there is also something to be said about living in these places that demystifies the historical experience. I love the Old West – the mines, frontier towns, the Gold Rush sites, etc. – but I have lived in that space for so long that it doesn’t hold the allure it once did. [2] I wrote this post while I was sitting in Gatwick International Airport while waiting for my train.
The West’s Third World Others (or, Hey, Thailand Has Prostitutes, What’s the Big Deal?)
The latest shitstorm in the SF/F community comes in response to acrackedmoon’s criticism of Pat’s (of Pat’s Fantasy Hotlist) controversial perspectives on Thailand and travel (acrackedmoon offers a counter here). The short version: Pat reinforces some stereotypes about Thailand and non-Western culture, some of them through sexist and/or racist lenses, gets called out on it without the bells and whistles of mutual respect, and then posts a rebuttal under the threat that he “will monitor the comment section,” which turns out to be code language for “I’ll let anyone who wants to call acrackedmoon a dirty name, etc. post whatever they want, even if they’re full of shit.” A part of me wants to bring in every postcolonial non-fiction book I have ever read in order to tear apart Pat’s original post and his response, but the amount of effort needed to do that should probably be spent on more productive measures. But I am going to say something here by way of an insufficient summary and an insufficient criticism of my own. I should note that I don’t know Pat. He may very well be a nice fellow. But people these days aren’t judged by the selves we don’t get to see, but by the selves presented to the public. Any claim that “Pat is a nice guy in real life” seems to miss the point entirely: if you’re not a racist, sexist, or whatever-ist in your personal life, then why would you use your public persona for non-satirical, non-parodic opinions about other people’s cultures? acrackedmoon is right in more ways than one, but the accuracy of her (?) criticisms seems to have fallen victim to the “you could have said this without being a bitch” argument (and the “bitch” is not implied, but spoken — see the comments on Pat’s blog). Is Pat a racist/sexist/etc.? Yes. But so am I, so are you, and so is everybody (don’t bother suggesting otherwise; you are and you have to deal with that, and not because you’re white or a man — everyone is racist, sexist, etc.). Perhaps not to the same degree, but enough to reasonably say that none of us are “pure.” Does Pat know he has racist/sexist/etc. opinions? No idea. I know I have them, but because I am aware, I try to challenge them when they spring up, to varying degrees of success. Is Pat challenging his? It doesn’t seem so. His response is all defense and no (or few) admissions. One rather interesting response to this comes from of a literary discussion of Forrest Gander’s Core Samples of the World from OF Blog of the Fallen (a.k.a. Larry, the Book Eater): Recently, there was a post that took another blogger to task for his depiction of her native Thailand (and his views on Islam and near-slavering over this “Girls of Geek” calendar). When reading Gander’s prose-poem and the passage I quote above, I could not help but note the complete difference of approach between him and Pat. Where Gander notes the discomfort and explicitly states how “the foreigner can’t control his situation; mastery eludes him,” Pat in his response to the Requires Hate posts does anything but acknowledge his obliviousness to how his words showed a callous disregard for a complex situation. No, the narrative there is that he was just pointing out an uncomfortable “truth” about the sex tourism industry over there (while neglecting to point out or being very unaware that sex trafficking is a very serious problem in both the United States and his native Canada). Of course, the way he put it was taken as very condescending at the very least, not just by acrackedmoon, but by several others who read it. But what happened is that there was no communication to hint that hey, ya know, maybe a native’s perspective might just be more valuable in this case than someone who, like the people in the Holiday Inn commercials, think that they “know” a culture or society just because they visited a few places over a period of days, weeks, or months. Problem is that it takes several years at least for an outsider to become acutely aware of an insider’s perspective. Lord knows that in 2012 there are still all sorts of Mississippi Burning or Deliverance jokes told about my native American South region. Oh, sometimes there’ll be that bright, enlightened person who wants to sound all sympathetic and say “I am impressed by how much you’ve changed since the KKK days,” in that grating tone that seems to accompany an elderly adult patting the head of a young child who is tempted to kick that oldster’s shins but has to refrain from doing so because s/he’ll be in big trouble. It is understandable that after a while of being talked down to, as if an adult from another society/culture were a gifted child, you grow tired of being polite and being deferential to the irritating dumbfucks who can’t bother themselves to learn more than the most superficial aspects of your culture/society. (Read his full post if you want to see what else he has to say.) That’s a fairly long quote, but one that, I think, gets to heart of the matter without running the risk of that evil “tone argument.” Those of us who live in the West, who benefit from its inherent privileges, must be willing to interrogate that very position in order to get beyond, or at least to work through, our biases about elsewhere.* Issues of degree don’t seem terribly relevant to me when it comes to generalized opinions of a foreign land. Does it matter that prostitution is less visible in the West than it is in Thailand? No, especially in light of the West’s involvement in the development of prostitution in Southeast Asia (do some research on Vietnam and South Korea if you want to see how America essentially turned a nominal, fairly normal human occurrence into a disturbingly common practice).** That, to me, seems to be the underlying problem with all that
A Fantastical Fantasy Conversation w/ the Girlfriend
If anyone wonders if my creative juices are still flowing, you’d only need to sneak in on some of the conversations I have with my girlfriend. I say “conversations,” but really these are long, surreal rambles I launch at her, which she finds amusing. This is one such conversation: Me: Would you prefer I court you in the old English way? I need to get a cool steampunk pocketwatch… That way, while we’re on a strolle, I could pull it out and say, “Hmm. My dear, it is half past seven. It’s mighty late and it will be quite chill soon. Shall I escort you home?” And you’ll say, “Why Reginald, that’s a capital idea!” And we’ll walk home and I’ll bid you good night and bow and gently kiss your hand, and you’ll scurry up to your room and I’ll look up to your window and you’ll flick on the light and lean out and blow me a kiss. And then I’ll walk with my cane and top hat down the snowy street whistling. Her: *laughs* Me: Good. It’s settled. I have this fear that you’ve copied every single bizarre fit of imagination I’ve had with you in the chat or on Skype or whatever and that you’ll one day publish them as part of your memoirs. The book will be called: In the Shadow of Greatness — Life as the Wife of a Mad Literary Genius. Her: Ha, that’s a good idea! Me: Or perhaps the title would be: The Anti-Teakettle Diaries: How One Woman Survived an Eccentric Writer for 75 Years. It’d be an instant hit. But you’re the reclusive type, so you’d refuse the call from Oprah to be on her show. And reporters from The Guardian and some new paper called The Flickerfist Quarterly will pile outside our door hoping to catch a glimpse of you on your way to work, perhaps for a quote. But you’ll be old, so they’ll look at you with respect and fear, because nobody knows what an old person will do. And you’ll scurry off to your little shop, called Tinkers and Pages Magical Emporium of Tinker Toys and Books. Her: *laughs* Me: You won’t make any money at the shop. Mostly, you just sit around winding up the little toys and giggling. And once in a while, a kid will come up with his parent and buy some cool thing, like a wind-up pheasant pirate or a rotating fobblefig. And then you’ll go home, walking as you usually do with your little cane, and the reporters will be there, as if they’ve never left, waiting to take more pictures. And you’ll never say a word. Only walk inside, put on the kettle for your hot cocoa, and read a book, which you’ll forget about when you fall asleep in your chair with old BBC re-runs on the tele. Somewhere in the basement is me. Trapped in a giant typewriter. The End. *long pause* I should put all that in a blog post… Her: You should. And here we are. With a blog post… Thoughts?
The Black Santa Chronicles (or, Why Size Really Matters)
This is the story of Black Santa and his wife, Black Santa’s Wife. They also go by Black Father Christmas and Black Father Christmas’ Wife (I assume the missus has a proper name or title of her own, but I can’t find it). Don’t they look like a happy couple? Well, perhaps not, but that may have more to do with my brother’s photography skills and subject placement than anything else. Still, with that bushy beard and the beautiful purples and pinks and those adorable gold wings, you’d think they’d be a happy couple (unless, of course, that additional statue in the background is there to imply that Black Santa is, in fact, an unfaithful jerk; but that would be too easy a stereotype, now wouldn’t it?). Now let’s bring White Santa into the picture, shall we? Wait a tick…is White Santa really that much taller and larger than Black Santa? Yes, he is. And while I would love to think this is all an unfortunate misunderstanding — that, in fact, there is a small version of White Santa too, and vice versa for Black Santa. But no such figure was available in the Michael’s we visited that day. Rather, there were one or two giant White Santas and a whole bunch of tiny Black Santas, implying more that Black Santa is akin to a helper elf than a proper Santa for anybody who likes to think that the race of Santa really doesn’t matter. (Of course, White Santa’s Wife was not in large form either, though I have no picture to prove that.) If I were a betting man, I’d gather most people would see a problem with the size differential. Has anyone seen anything like this before?