I first started working with Strange Horizons in the fall of 2000, not long after I moved to California and started graduate school. Working with the magazine has changed a lot of things in my life, but the change that was the hardest to come to terms with was the change in the way I relate to the rest of the science fiction community. It’s been eight and a half years, and it’s still weird to me that strangers try to schmooze me at conventions, but that’s actually the least part of it.
Sometime in that first year that I was with SH, I got into an argument with someone. It was one of those weird petty little blogfights–I made a post about a book that I loved, the other person made a post about the same book, saying that it was terrible, and we said a few snippy things back and forth at each other about what makes for a good or bad book, in the context of this particular book. At the time it was happening, I don’t think I would even have called it a fight, it was more like some irritated bickering. Totally not a big deal.
Except. Except that this person’s spouse emailed the fiction department at Strange Horizons, withdrawing a submitted story, saying that I had created an environment that made it uncomfortable to have fiction under consideration. The person and their spouse then started posting on various writers-resource websites, warning writers not to submit to Strange Horizons because of the risk that I would use my position as an editor to attack them. A whole series of emails were sent back and forth, mostly “what the eff?” on my side and “how dare you” on theirs.
I was stunned by the whole thing–these weren’t strangers I knew only online, these were people I considered friends, people I’d spent time with socially. We’d exchanged birthday presents, I’d been over to their house for dinner, we’d lent each other books. But it was explained to me, in great detail and at extraordinary length, that the fact that I was an editor at a professional magazine meant that everything I said had to be placed in a professional context. The idea that my “editor” identity overrode any other identity I might have seemed frankly bizarre and more than a little troubling–had their friendship with me also just been about my editor status? Were they really saying that I couldn’t ever have non-professional relationships with other people in the field?
Even years later, I think they were wrong. They were wrong, they were acting crazy, and they were acting inappropriately. But here’s the thing: it doesn’t matter. Even if I had done absolutely nothing wrong, it wouldn’t matter. What mattered was that I put the name and reputation of the magazine at risk. What mattered was that my public statements and actions were going to be framed by other people in the context of my position at the magazine. Strange Horizons is, and always has been, dependent on the goodwill of the community–not just financially, although obviously our ability to be donor-supported depends on the goodwill of the community. If we really want to be a magazine that showcases new voices in the field, if we want to be a welcoming and encouraging home for underrepresented viewpoints in speculative fiction, if we want to live up to our potential as a fabulous, vital, important, and relevant force in science fiction publishing, then we have to be very careful about our public image and public presentation.
People who knew me in college knew me as someone who was always willing, often too willing, to get into a fight. That’s not true anymore. Part of it is the normal process of becoming a grown-up, right? But part of it is the realization that my involvement with Strange Horizons means that I do not have the freedom I used to have. Any stupid fight I might get involved with — and let’s all be very honest about this, the science fiction community is packed full of people who have a hair-trigger for starting stupid fights — carries with it the very real possibility of reflecting back on the magazine, and that’s a risk I’m no longer willing to take. (This feeling has only intensified as a result of my new job, by the way. I don’t want anything reflecting back on my school or my professional integrity as a teacher, either.)
Over time, this has extended beyond the threat of stupid fights, to the threat of any fights at all. Whatever is going on, anywhere in the community, I don’t want to get involved. Whatever “it” is, it isn’t my business, you know? This position has become such second nature, so ingrained in my behavior that I don’t even really think about it anymore. I’m thinking about it now, though, and I’m becoming kind of disturbed, because this extreme non-involvement feels more than a little bit like cowardice. Over the last few years, I have bit my tongue and smiled politely when crazy old men said patronizing and sexist things to me. I have waited for someone else to deal with it while friends of mine were insulted and had their professional integrity challenged. (And, while we’re being honest, I’ve also let friends of mine get away with sloppy reasoning and bad behavior, because it was too much hassle to call them on it, which makes me a bad friend, I think.) I don’t know that these were all wrong decisions. I do know that the overall pattern isn’t one I’m comfortable with anymore.
*
This whole journey of introspection started, for me, with this post. I’ve been following the whole RaceFail imbroglio from the beginning, with the same mixture of horror (for the stupidness and lack of awareness of some of my colleagues in the SF world) and admiration (for the eloquence and bravery of so many participants) that I think a lot of other people are feeling as well. There are a lot of reasons why I haven’t gotten involved–I didn’t think that another voice of white privilege would contribute very much, I didn’t think I had anything as smart to say as what other people were already saying, and, of course, I didn’t want to get involved. But Mely’s closing sentences there felt like a physical blow, and at first I couldn’t understand why. And then Nora’s post made me actually ashamed of myself, and I started to understand.
Staying out of some fights, the stupid petty ego-driven fights, is just basic common sense. Staying out of other fights, though, is an act of cowardice. And so I want to apologize to writers and readers and fans of color, and to all of the other people who’ve been fighting this fight rather than sitting on the sidelines, because in my attempt to just stay out of this, I’ve contributed to an environment that makes you feel silenced and marginalized. This isn’t a stupid fight. This is a huge and difficult and layered and fraught conversation about things that actually matter, a conversation that’s been punctuated with outbursts of shameful and embarrassing behavior on the part of people who really ought to know better but inexplicably don’t.
Anyway. My point is, brilliant and articulate and fabulous people have been made to feel alone and under siege, and that’s not right. My silence has been a kind of complicity, and that’s also not right.
Posted Sunday, March 8th, 2009 at 1:05 pm. Filed under: Uncategorized.
You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed.
You can skip to the end and leave a response. Pinging is currently not allowed.
It is indeed tricky.
My own rule for myself is that I don’t participate in fights unless it is my job to do so.
Sometimes that means my literal job (and sometimes that means I have to get into fights I don’t want to). Sometimes that means I’m on a board or committee, or a member of a congregation or denomination, or part of a family. Sometimes that means I’m a citizen.
And when I do fight, I fight on the terms and by the means of that specific context. That way, even when my actions may bring negative attention, they are transparent and justifiable. People can disagree with me, even retaliate, but they can’t accuse me of being unprofessional (or unfaithful or unloving or whatever, as the case may be).
Yes, yes, yes, yes!
Thank you very much for making this post.
Neat post. Thanks for making it. There’s hope for the genre. :D
Thank you for saying this.
Well said. (And also, hi.)
Very well said, Susan.
And, umm…a little bit sorry I got you into this position. :-/ Best of luck in finding a good way out, one that will let you both support the magazine, and be at ease with your own integrity.
Finally, someone, and it seems the right someone, has addressed this aspect of what’s happened. It has been bewildering that people are so indifferent to how their personal behavior could/would splash back, even to the point that this could cause financial as well as pr harm. That indiffernce wore the appearance of the very thing that was the first cause.
And here’s my take on the power thing: http://www.mamohanraj.com/journal/show-entry.php?Entry_ID=4954
Very well put.
And, wow, Susan, does this post ever make me miss the hell out of you!
Thanks, Susan. I think Oyce’s Aqueduct post (also here) covers some related ground.
Thank you for posting this.
I don’t even know you, but I could feel my heart sink when you started talking about how you don’t get involved at all. I guess I should give you a little background, I’m not involved in sf/f at all, not even as a reader. I am involved in blogging and trying to build community with other RWOC (radical women of color) bloggers. One of them, brownfemipower, blogged about something like this, she said that it’s too common for privileged people to make the issue all or nothing. When she blogs about the horrendous conditions that migrant workers deal with, someone will say to her, “What am I supposed to do? Stop eating?”. That is where you were at, either you speak your mind without a concern in the world about how you are presenting yourself and the magazine you are associated with, or you don’t get involved at all. I’m relieved to see that you found out this is wrong, that there is a middle ground.
Sinboy at lj made a similar post. I would appreciate it if you read the post and comments. The one I made (I am dmj618 at lj) would also apply to you here. Thank you.
http://sinboy.livejournal.com/997459.html