I've witnessed a lot of conversations
wherein White authors have expressed some trepidation about writing Characters
of Color in their books. While I totally understand where they're coming from
(after all, I write characters who are from different cultural heritages than
me and ask for help/do research to make sure I Get Things Right™), I
must admit that I’m also quite perplexed at the same time.
An example:
I’m a bi-racial cis-female. My father
was white, and my mother is Filipina. I grew up in a single-parent household,
as my mother took us with her when she left my father. I was around the age of
eight, and am thankful every day that she removed my brother (who is four years
younger than me) and myself from an alcoholic and abusive parent. My mother
worked three jobs to make sure that her children would be well-provided for, and
I’m happy to say that we grew up not really wanting for much. Sure, there were
years when we got that cool new toy that came out during the Holiday Season
(why we ever wanted a Furby is beyond me), but there were also years we knew
that cool new toy wouldn’t happen. Although I was disappointed, I was safe,
loved, and taught that reading was something fun people did in order to pass
the time.
In high school, one of our required
readings was The Catcher in the Rye.
While some of my classmates absolutely loved the book, I hated it. I thought
Holden Caulfield was whiny, and I had no time then (or now, really), to suffer
boys who whine about their problems and refuse to do anything to change their
circumstances. One could make the argument that I missed the point of the book
entirely, and I’ll admit that I haven’t re-read it since high school, so maybe
now I’d feel different about Holden. Maybe.
My point is that, even though I love
reading, there are some books that I don’t think are worth my time. I couldn’t
identify with Holden’s struggle at all, and didn’t care about what happened to
him. So, for about ten years, I’ve walked around hating The Catcher in the Rye.
Question: Does my hatred of The Catcher in the Rye prohibit White
authors from writing more stories with White protagonists?
No.
Another question: Does someone’s
disagreement with how a White author portrays a Character of Color hold back
other White authors from writing books with Characters of Color in them?
The answer I’ve found so far is a
resounding yes.
And this, my friends, is privilege.
This fear of confrontation (in this
instance, of being critiqued for a character choice) is, perhaps, one of the
more subtle forms of privilege, but it exists nonetheless.
While I am by no means the spokesperson
for all bi-racial White/Filipina cis-females, I can vouch for my own
experiences – and for the fact that I get asked quite frequently where I’m from from, as if my answer of “Virginia” isn’t good enough. The looks I
usually get are confused, or incredulous, as it does not compute that I come from Virginia. The temporary relief
that crosses their faces when I explain that my mom is from the Philippines
wrenches my stomach every time.
It makes sense, all of a sudden. I’m from Virginia, but my mother is not.
My mother is foreign. My mother is not one
of us.
This is a confrontation that I didn’t
ask for – but it’s one that I have to face on (at least) a monthly basis. Or
whenever I meet someone new. I have to explain my right to be considered “American,”
because, when I have a tan, I happen to look…not white. My example is also one
of the lighter miroaggressions one can face. I’d also like to remind everyone
that people are dying/have always been killed for looking or presenting a
certain way.
My mother didn’t dare teach us any of
her native dialects, because she wanted my brother and me to not be questioned
as much as she is. Other families kept their traditions going while ours fell
by the wayside. I have bi-racial friends
whose mothers are Filipina and their fathers are White, and they can speak
Tagalog fluently. And, like I said before, I can only touch on my own experiences.
What I do know is that I lost a crucial part of one of my cultures, because
white is the default. It’s the expectation. It’s the norm.
When White authors write White
characters, are they afraid of getting “whiteness” wrong? Some are, sure, but
others keep on trucking like there’s nothing holding them back. White
characters get to be intelligent, moody, make terrible decisions, win the
championship soccer game, slack off in school, have an excellent grasp of
sarcasm and snarkiness, have powers, save the world, live in dystopia, etc –
and people rarely bat an eye or sweat over whether they’re being “true to the
White experience.”
When I was growing up, do you know how
many characters I found who were the same kind of bi-racial as me? (HINT: The
answer is none) So, I went to the next best thing I could identify with – I found
Asian characters that I could cling to. And what was I presented with? Tiger
Moms, Book Worms, endless math equations, broken English, submissive women,
Geisha, Samurai, cultural barriers that were passed off as jokes, nerdy best
friends who only existed to validate the White best friend (and who never got a
date), and Miss Saigon syndrome (wherein: the Asian woman is wooed by the White
American man, who is obviously her ticket out of her horribly under-classed
existence, but she’s then dumped for a better/more suitable female. Usually
White).
I was presented with a portrait of
Asian-ness that was as true as it was incomplete. Sure, there might be some
Asian/Pacific Islanders who’ve had these experiences – but that doesn’t mean
all of us have. I am no more a spokesperson for the Asian/Pacific American
experience than the next, and I certainly don’t expect White authors to
spearhead the movement, either.
In fact, the only thing I expect White
authors to do is some research. Acknowledge my culture by putting in time to
get to know it, and then write it as well as you can. Will some people think
your depictions are spot-on and true to their experiences? Sure. Will some
people take issue with what you’ve written? Of course.
That’s art. That’s how art works.
Art isn’t built to have everyone agree
on everything all of the time. That’s
why I used my Holden Caulfield example. I didn’t particularly care for his
experience, nor did it resonate with me. That doesn’t take away from someone
who does enjoy that book. My experience is just one in a sea of endless
experiences.
Now, this isn’t carte blanche to just go
off and start writing things without research. If you rely on stereotypes to
convey your Characters of Color, we’re going to have a talk about why that
exists in your story. As a very wise friend pointed out, if you’re writing a
story about a pilot, you’d take the time to do research on what being a pilot
entails – so why would you not take the same care with a Character of Color’s
experiences?
Mistakes are inevitable. Everyone messes
up. But to refrain from writing Characters of Color because you’re afraid of
backlash is unacceptable, and it only ensures that underrepresented kids will
grow up unable to find themselves in stories. They’ll be relegated to the best
friend/side-kick role and never understand that they can be the protagonists,
too. They can save the world, win the soccer game, be moody, intelligent, have
an excellent grasp of sarcasm and snarkiness, too.
If you do make a mistake, own it, listen
to the people calling you out, and figure out a way not to make it again. Uplift
and help underrepresented writers who crave to get their stories out – who clamor
to be heard every day. Who have amazing stories to tell, but are held back for
systemic reasons and because they’ve been taught that their stories aren’t
worth telling.
But, whatever you do, please don’t make
the biggest mistake you can make: assuming that there are stories out there
that can’t be told. Somewhere out there is a child who desperately needs your
character, your world, your story. To deny them that is a truly frightening thing.
Isn’t it?
