The Myth Of Cultural Appropriation.

This week, a piece by Australian journalist David Marr appeared on The Guardian Australia website "Why I refused to judge the Horne Prize."

In it, Marr announced that he was stepping down as a judge on the panel for the Horne Prize for Literature, an annual prize here in Australia. 

The panel of the Horne Prize had introduced a clause into their application process, in which the following entities would not be considered.

 "Essays by non-Indigenous writers about the experiences of First Nations Australians. Essays about the LGBTQI community written by people without direct experience of this community. Any other writing that purports to represent the experiences of those in any minority community of which the writer is not a member."

(image credit: Christopher Ireland).

Marr rightly argued that this was an alarming development - one that would have dangerous repercussions.

“I’ve been a big critic of such restrictions. Men can write about women, gays about straights, blacks about whites. You judge, as always, by quality. That’s likely to be higher when there’s direct experience. But you can’t disqualify for lack of it. And if we’re not going to accept whites writing about Indigenous experience, how can we have whites judging Indigenous writing?” ~ David Marr, The Guardian, 24th September 2018.

As you can imagine, the reaction to Marr's article was swift, particularly on Twitter where  many, including myself, pointed out the danger of excluding entrants on the basis of whether they belong to a particular group or not. It amounts to a restriction of creative expression and of free speech.

In the reaction to Marr's resignation, arguments on various social networks clustered around cultural appropriation. When I cited my own example of having observed and written about a culture different to my own - in my 2012 novel "Gifts of the Peramangk" accusations of cultural appropriation and stealing were leveled at me along with a couple of threats, which I chose to ignore. These came, without any attempt to consider the work or appraise its content. 

How can one be accused of cultural appropriation, if they have embarked on a creative project with a commitment to ethical cultural representation?

I would argue they can't. 

Cultural appropriation has become a term used by certain sections of the community to stifle free speech and creative expression and attack anyone who would dare step outside of their acceptable group identity to learn about or consider another culture.

When I began writing "Gifts Of The Peramangk", I was aware of the significance of the task I was taking on.

I knew from the outset that I would likely be criticized for being a non-indigenous Australian writer writing an indigenous Australian story. I would be accused of cultural appropriation, of misrepresenting the people I was seeking to portray. 

I began the project with a desire to seek knowledge. I put aside the bare bones story idea I had and instead committed myself to pure research. I had a basic knowledge of the fraught history of Australia's Aboriginal people, through the White Australia Policy and the resultant Stolen Generations. I had a basic understanding of the three Aboriginal nations that populated the Adelaide region. But I wanted to learn - not only to write a better story, but to write an ethical story, one that represented the people I was portraying *without appropriating* their culture. 

This journey of learning took a year. I researched, talked with experts, partnered with Peramangk people who guided me. When I sat down to write the story, I continued to seek guidance and critique. 

It was a long, methodical process. I experienced long periods of self doubt and worry over whether I could finish the story. Ironically, at no stage was I discouraged by those who I'd worked with. Their encouragement of me and belief in the story compelled me to continue the project to its conclusion. 

Any accusations of cultural appropriation, ironically, came from my own side.

As a writer, I have committed myself to the observation and documentation of the world around me. And while I predominantly write fiction - even then - the writing process requires a considerable amount of research. 

In writing "Gifts of the Peramangk" I set out to learn as much as I could about a culture, so that I could acknowledge and respect that culture in a story with themes that are universal. Adversity, Hope, Endurance, Triumph. The story, admired by readers all around the world, was my effort at bridging a cultural divide. 

This is not cultural appropriation. It is cultural representation. 

Any efforts to stifle that, makes us all the poorer. 

DFA.

Post Script - Following David Marr's reisgnation, the panel of the Horne Prize walked back their changes to the rules around submission.

Dangerous Ideas - Fae vs. Human: Who Gets To Live In This Forest? A Guest Post By Molly Ringle

I have another awesome guest post for you this week from one of my favourite writers and people in general, Pacific Nor-Wester Molly Ringle. Molly has amassed quite a formidable CV over the past few years, writing in both the romance and fantasy genres. Molly's latest release "The Goblins Of Bellwater" has been critically acclaimed and praised for its melding of the real world and the fantastical and she has proven time and again to be nimble and adaptable across the genres she has written in. 

I recently asked Molly, if she would like to explore a dangerous idea - something that she has been wrestling with both in life and in her fiction. True to form, Molly has come through with the goods and I'm so pleased to be able to present it here for you today. 

Please do check out Molly's work and interact with her - especially if you're into tea, chocolate, perfume...and Goblins!

Molly Ringle, author (image credit Molly Ringle).

When Dean approached me with the notion of writing a post on “dangerous ideas,” my mind immediately brought up some themes that have arisen in my work-in-progress. As with my recent release The Goblins of Bellwater, this story deals with troublesome interactions between fae and humans, and also between different types of fae, and for that matter between different humans. (Nearly every novel deals with that last one, I suppose.) Even though I’m writing fantasy, the reason this idea came to mind as “dangerous” is because it unavoidably brings up the specters of colonialism and race relations—which is not at all what I intended to do. I wanted to make up paranormal adventures and escape our fractious world, for goodness’ sake. However, our world and its problems have an insidious way of slipping themselves into our fiction despite our conscious intentions.

The Goblins Of Bellwater - Available Now. (image credit Central Avenue Publishing).

In my novel-in-progress, I've created an island that, up until a certain point in history, was inhabited only by fae (faeries of many types). The fae eventually let some humans ashore and allowed them to settle there, because they found humans intriguing; they brought novelty and different culture and, for that matter, new potential lovers. However, as inevitably happens in these situations, some of the fae came to resent the growing population of humans, living upon what had been the fae’s land. And violence between the groups escalated until a truce was called, but even that truce remains precarious. (And you just know I’m going to tip it over in my story.)

On the surface, to many observers, including some of my human characters, the anti-human fae are entirely in the right: this was fae land originally. Humans should clear out. On the other hand…yes, the fae are essentially sentient forces of nature, so they are truly tied to the land, but are humans not part of nature too? If humans treat the land and their fae neighbors with respect, can’t they stay? Humans belong to the Earth too, after all. They have to live somewhere. And what of those who are the product of interbreeding, and are half fae and half human? Where do they belong? 

Goblin "Wolf Riders" (artist Adrian Smith.)

(I’m American, and my ancestors have lived here for several generations, but we’re not of Native American stock, therefore I can’t exactly say the U.S. is my “real” home. However, surely if I went to Ireland, England, Scotland, Germany, France—the lands of my ancestors—the natives of those countries would tell me I was most definitely an American and didn't belong there either. Do I and the many, many other mixed-breed, transplanted people of the world not have any “real” homeland? Do we need a real homeland, or is that in itself a dangerous idea, in that it can promote territorialism and tribalism? 

When I start putting the questions that way, I quickly see how they might qualify as controversial or dangerous—even when, honestly, I’m talking about faeries, not about different human ethnicities. I also see that I am not going to be able to answer these questions definitively, nor should I. In fact, it scares me a little, the idea of tackling themes like this, as they could easily be taken the wrong way or given interpretations I would never intend. But people say that if a project scares you, you’re probably on the right track, so I’ll keep tussling with this island and its turbulent relationships. 

The one-word theme guiding me, which I hope will keep me out of too much trouble, is “harmony.” Because that’s the only conclusion, the only goal, I can truly get behind: we are a world becoming more mixed and more mobile every day, and yes, that stirs up turbulence, not to mention it disturbs the natural ecosystem. But I can’t help believing that we can handle this; we can find a way to live together in harmony, and honor the land rather than possessively own it. 

Mind you, there are still some swamps and forests and volcanoes where highly treacherous fae live, and we might not be able to change their behavior, so you might just want to go on avoiding those.

Visit Molly Ringle here.

Tweet with Molly here.

Connect with Molly here. 

DFA.