Writing Inclusion...or Exploitation?

 

Mexican-ish

Janine Cummings’ 2020 book, American Dirt debuted to thunderous acclaim. The story of a bookseller who must flee her native Mexico with her child and then live in the United States as an undocumented immigrant, American Dirt had been the subject of a bidding war among publishers. Early reviews sparkled with praise. Maureen Corrigan of NPR, Jacob Appel of the New York Journal of Books, and Oprah all lavished acclaim on “the book of 2020.”

Lost in translation

Unlike Lydia, the protagonist of American Dirt Janine Cummings is not Mexican. She is purportedly of German in Puerto Rican heritage. The distinction is telling in her prose. After two-plus centuries of Estados-Unidos-infused corruption, Mexicans are seldom shocked as Lydia, (more flawed translator for non-Mexican readers than valid character). The details and Lydia’s reactions are written for effect rather than to advance the story. Indeed, as critic David Bowles called it, American Dirt is “harmful, appropriating, inaccurate, trauma-porn.”

Nothing under the sun, especially cultural mal-appropriation, is new

In 1976, Forrest Carter released The Education of Little Tree, a novel written in memoir form. The story of the eponymous Little Tree who is raised by his Cherokee grandparents in the Appalachian mountains, steeped in the Cherokee language and ways. The book sold like crazy.

Homespun racism

However, Emory University Professor Dan T. Carter (no relation) revealed the book to be fraudulent. In fact almost every word of the 216 pages—depictions of Cherokee language, customs, “The Way”—are lies pitched in blatant exploitation. Forrest Carter denied it all. He also attempted to deny proof that he was actually Asa Earl Carter, white-supremacist Klan member and one-time speech writer for George Wallace, (bigoted Alabama Governor, not the brilliant comedian). 

But why, though?

There are more mysteries here than Easy Rollins could address. However, the big question—why?—is as blatant as the lie on Asa Carter’s face. Carter would have seen the runaway hit television series The Waltons. He would no-doubt have noted the success of Ernest Gaines’ groundbreaking novel, The Autobiography of Miss Jane Pittman, followed closely by the critically acclaimed television movie of the same name. Just as likely, he would’ve experienced the cultural phenomenon of Alex Haley’s Roots.  

Carter, who had found modest success with his revisionist (wish fulfillment) novel The Outlaw Josey Wales, wanted mainstream, national success. He wanted cultural money. He seized upon Native Americans, misappropriating and misrepresenting all the way to the bank. Fame and money remain a potent draw for writers of all ilks.

Representation isn’t easy

The 2000 sitcom, Girlfriends broke ground in the depiction of African American women. Centered on four friends—three professionals, one professional student—Mari Brock Akil’s show (about women of color) focused on challenges not previously seen on TV. With no housing projects or poverty porn, the situations Girlfriends addressed, that four women of color addressed, are universal: career, relationships, and defining friendships that grow and change.

Who has a pass? No one.

Hollywood took note: and then played the dynamic for laughs in movies like Friday, Norbert, and Big Momma's House. When Dog the Bounty Hunter stated that he only used the N-word because he thought he had "a pass" from his "black friends" many white movie and television producers nodded in solidarity. Most of us rolled our eyes in embarrasment.

Get out of black women’s hair

In the 20 years that followed, there have been books, podcasts, and documentary films all plumbing the secrets of black women’s hair. Much of it has been exploitative, *cough*Chris Rock*cough*. But ~sigh~ rather than glean insight or develop respect, too many writers have instead derived cheap descriptive device.

Yeah, but I’m not writing women of color, so…

The noble savage in Last of the Mohicans, (the book is 200-years old and probably coined the trope) the manipulative Jew in Homicide, (David Mamet should’ve known better) the shrill black woman v. big momma, endemic to every story Tyler Perry does, the all-wise asian, in Iron and Silk or The Karate Kid are all deeply hurtful stereotypes. Worse, all are also lazy writing. We can do better and tell better stories.

Inclusion, representation, and difficult questions—who does it right

Caveat: I have a love/eyeroll relationship with Grey’s Anatomy but one of the things the show has consistently done well is address race without preaching, (was that my self-awareness tingling?). When Amelia Shepherd, (Caterina Scorsone) a white woman asks Maggie Pierce, (Kelly McCreary) a black woman if her statements to another person were racist, Maggie retorts, “Are you asking me as a sister or as a sistah?”

It’s a powerful scene and illustrates one of the most important distinctions between representation and exploitation: agency. Too many writers still see the “other” as either a trope of nobility or evil—or a proxy for their views/validation for the protag. And, no, no person of color voluntarily “shucks and jives” with characters of color, no matter how James Patterson or Robert B. Parker writes them. Again, this is lazy and wastes an opportunity for a richer story. Next, lets look at who does it well.

Yes, an old white dude…

In his Border Trilogy, Cormac McCarthy embraces Mexico and Mexicans at multiple perspectives, from the rich/powerful latifundistas and poor dirt farmers, to revolutionaries and street denizens hustling to stay alive. McCarthy writes with the respect of a guest. As such he never forgets his manners.

Laugh to keep from cussing

In her delightful On Beauty, Zadie Smith skewers race, politics, and culture with her family feud. The Belseys and the Kipps both aspiring and insecure, dance and scuffle through religion, social mores, and class. Unable to best or even stay away from the other, both familes grasp at questions of identity and fidelity, access and exploitation. 

“If you are going to tell people the truth, make them laugh or they will kill you.” Oscar Wilde

Kenya Burris’ 2023 film, You People did a standup job at a thankless task. Chronicling the relationship of a white, jewish man with an African American woman raised in the Nation of Islam, Burris and cowriter Jonah Hill take the Wilde approach to attacking the fundamental American problem: race in relations. The results are hit/miss and there is a lot of recycling from Stanley Kramer's Guess Who's Coming to Dinner. But what You People does well is explore entitlement-based racism, through debate on microaggressions and privilege. Additionally, Burris never stoops to objectification or fetish in his depiction of the growing attraction. Most importantly, the central premise holds true: people of different cultures can never fully understand one another without standing in respect and common cause.

That is the challenge to writers, as well. 

The photo at the top, You People promotional piece, is the property of Netflix, et al. It is used here for instructional/education purposes as covered by the Fair Use Doctrine.