The #DiverseBookBloggers discussion was organized by Naz at Read Diverse Books and occurred via Twitter on August 12, 2016. Use #DiverseBookBloggers to view the original questions and answers on Twitter. I wasn’t able to participate because I was at work, but the questions were so in line with the things I often consider as a reader and writer that I decided to try answering them.

Note: Questions were taken directly from Naz’s original tweets and have not been altered in any way. All credit goes to Naz for creating and moderating the #DiverseBookBloggers discussion.

Q1: #ownvoices has been widely accepted as a positive movement. But are we perhaps prioritizing #ownvoices stories over allowing marginalized people the freedom to write about whatever they want?

A1: I suppose this is a case-by-case thing, but as someone who identifies as both a reader and a writer, I’d say no. After all, the same rules apply to marginalized and non-marginalized writers here: if you don’t have a good reason for writing outside your lane, don’t do it. If anything, I think the #ownvoices movement encourages marginalized writers to interrogate themselves and their writing more deeply than they otherwise might if it didn’t exist. Even if they ultimately choose not to write an #ownvoices story, I’d hope exposure to the #ownvoices movement would lead them to make this decision only after prolonged and thorough self-reflection.

Q2: Are marginalized people inherently more qualified to write about other marginalized perspectives than say, white, straight, able-bodied people from middle class backgrounds?

A2: I think it depends on how you define, “inherently more qualified.” To use race as an example, nothing about being Japanese automatically makes me more qualified than a white person to write a Black character, so by that definition, I wouldn’t say marginalized people are inherently more qualified. Sharing certain experiences with someone of a different background doesn’t cancel out the fact that your backgrounds ARE different. Marginalized people are not monolithic. You can be marginalized and utterly ignorant of someone else’s experiences of marginalization, even if you share the same axis of marginalization. I know quite well how it feels to be discriminated against as a Japanese person or an Asian person, but I have no idea how it feels to be discriminated against as a Black person, even though both scenarios are instances of racism. Unless you are willing to superimpose your own experiences of marginalization onto someone else – which seems like a colossal act of ignorance and disrespect – your own marginalization isn’t giving you any kind of leg up in writing the other. You still need to do the research. You still need to acknowledge your position as an outsider and demonstrate this awareness in your work.

In the end, I don’t think it’s about being “more qualified.” It’s about realizing your own marginalization is not a free pass to write about someone else’s – because if you’re writing about someone else, the story is not about you. And if the story is not about you, the last thing you should be spending time worrying about is, “can I do this better than a non-marginalized person?”

Originally, my answer to Q2 ended with the above paragraph. But then I remembered Daniel Jose Older’s recent article about writing the other, especially the part where he says fear of critique should not stop you from writing the other. Below is my response to this point.

Writing and publishing are different, but sometimes they get used synonymously. I’m not sure in what sense Older is encouraging writers to write the other in spite of their fear of critique – whether he means write and shelve, or write and publish. If the first, I absolutely agree. Writing is a learning process. Planning your writing is a learning process. If you don’t do any of that, you won’t grow. So, by all means, write your story about the other. Put in those hours and that effort. Pay your sensitivity readers, if you have them. Hire an editor, if you’re so inclined. Have a polished manuscript? Congrats! Now, stop.

Before you hit “send” on the query letter or the email to your agent, ask yourself the all-important question, “if I send this out into the world, will readers from this group find my work preferable to something written by one of them?” Ask yourself, “if there is only one spot on the publishing list for stories about this group, and the other contender is someone FROM this group, will I be ok with it if my story takes that spot away from them?” If you’re not ok with it, you probably shouldn’t publish that project.

But wait, you exclaim, “I won’t get any critique from which to grow if I don’t publish!” No. Let me reframe your concern. You = one person. Your potential readers if you publish = many people, including multiple people from the group you wrote about. Say you publish your book and are criticized by multiple readers, including readers from the group you represented. Sure, that criticism may help you grow as a writer,* but do you think your personal growth was worth hurting enough people that they actually wrote to tell you about it? For me, this is the potential sticking point of telling people to write the other AND publish. It is the same as saying, one person’s unpacking of their privilege/ignorance/whatnot is worth the pain of many people who suffer because of that privilege/ignorance/whatnot. It is the same as saying, many marginalized people are expected to tolerate pain as a matter of course so a few outsiders can make themselves feel better. This is the message that is tacitly upheld when outsiders are encouraged to write the other in order to learn how to do “better.” It privileges the outsiders – the ones doing the harm in the first place – over those being harmed by them.**

Just in case it needs to be repeated, I support marginalized writers. I actively seek out books by marginalized voices, especially #ownvoices works. I didn’t write all these paragraphs to hate on anyone. I just think it’s more than a bit hypocritical for us to (rightfully) call out privileged writers for misrepresenting us when we turn around and do the exact same thing to each other. If we want the industry to stop marginalizing us, we need to set truly inclusive standards for everyone to follow. This means respectful representation across the board, regardless of who creates it. This means accountability for disrespectful representation, regardless of who creates it. This means every participant self-interrogating, self-reflecting, and unpacking their privilege(s). This means listening to participants who identify with axes of marginalization other than your own. This means backing off when those participants tell you a certain story isn’t yours to tell because they need to be the ones telling it. Being marginalized does not make you immune to creating bad representation; nor should it mean your work is held to lower standards than anything created by non-marginalized writers. I realize the opportunities for marginalized writers trying to break into the industry are thin, though slowly growing. But do we really want to sacrifice each other in order to be accepted by the so-called mainstream?

Q3: Why are #ownvoices narratives that are NOT about oppression, suffering, and other “issues” so vitally important?

A3: All readers deserve the opportunity to see themselves reflected in books. Just because a reader identifies as part of an #ownvoices group doesn’t mean the sum total of their life experiences equates to oppression, suffering, and other “issues.” For example, I don’t identify as someone with overbearing parents, so books about Asian Americans facing parental pressure are interesting to me but not reflective of my experiences of being Asian American. On the other hand, a book about an Asian American who loves reading, is antisocial, and grew up in a bilingual household would probably be easy for me to relate to. It’s important for #ownvoices readers to know that it isn’t wrong for them to have experiences that aren’t centered on oppression. One reason I chose to be a loner as a kid was because I didn’t see myself in the people around me. My non-Asian friends liked to exclaim over how I could speak Japanese, which was nice in the sense that I felt I could be interesting to them, but also made me aware of the gap between our experiences because most of them had no idea what it was like to be bi- or multilingual.*** My Asian/Japanese friends could relate to me in a cultural sense and sometimes knew how it felt to be bilingual, but we didn’t have much in common outside our heritages. In retrospect, I think this is why, later, many of my closest friends would be international students and/or people who had lived outside the US for significant portions of their lives. We knew how it felt to be outsiders, even among people who looked or acted like us, and bonded over our outsider-ness. As a kid, I was pretty much convinced I was an oddball, both among people who shared my interests (but didn’t look like me) and people who looked like me (but didn’t share my interests). Consequently, I spent a lot of time reading, usually books that no one else my age was reading. If I’d come across more books featuring characters like me, written by people like me, maybe I’d have made more of an effort to find people like me in real life. As it was, I assumed the friends I had were as good as it was ever going to get, so I ignored the things about them that made me uncomfortable and tried to forge ahead.

Ok, that ended up being a pretty melodramatic and self-centered story, but hopefully you get the gist. Marginalized experiences are not monolithic and the narrative of oppression doesn’t fully articulate the nuances of individual lives. When the essence of being marginalized is to be an outsider, it’s vital for marginalized people to know they aren’t alone, to be able to find support from people like them. It’s absolutely crucial to understand that you don’t have to “settle,” as I did. There are people like you out there and some of them are as confused as you are. Look for them. Introduce yourself. I promise, you’ll make friends.

Q4: Let’s say a healthy number of #ownvoices narratives are published and become successful over the next several years. What’s the next step? Are issues of representation in the publishing industry fixed at this point?

A4: Issues of representation in the publishing industry will be fixed on the day that #ownvoices stories about any given marginalized group outnumber and take precedence over outsider-written stories about that group. This will hopefully also mean the industry as a whole reflects these numbers – in other words, #ownvoices agents, publishers, reviewers, readers, etc. supporting these books every step of the way, from planning/drafting to post-publication. In this way, we can ensure #ownvoices stories are a permanent and significant part of the literary landscape.

Q5: In a distant and ideal future, is the goal for the #ownvoices movement to become obsolete? Or will there always be a need for it?

A5: In the most ideal future, the #ownvoices movement would become obsolete because it no longer needs to be a movement – because it has become the status quo. This is not the same as saying #ownvoices stories will become obsolete. For as long as there is a demand for reading material, #ownvoices stories will be part of the supply meeting that demand. There is no quota on #ownvoices stories. New writers with fresh visions emerge every day – just think of how many unpublished #ownvoices writers turned out for the WCNV contest! If anything, as we slowly start to break down and recreate the systems built and sustained by privilege, there will be a higher, louder demand for #ownvoices stories than ever before.

Answers end here.

A huge thank-you to Naz for organizing the #DiverseBookBloggers discussion! If you haven’t already, hop on over to his book blog, Read Diverse Books, for excellent reviews of books by marginalized writers. For other terrific book blogs run by marginalized readers and writers, check out some of the folks who participated in the Twitter discussion.

*For the record, there are SO MANY resources to help you with representation that are available BEFORE you even get to the publishing/submission/querying stage. So, it is entirely possible to receive critique of your work and to grow from that critique, from readers who know what they are getting into and are prepared for it. Don’t know what I mean? Google, “sensitivity reader database.”

**And no, I don’t think we will see – at least, not within the lifetime of anyone reading this post – a golden age where all outsider-created rep is good and respectful. Why? Because each person follows an individual path to unlearning prejudice and unpacking privilege. Advancing the understanding of a few privileged folks is not going to cancel out the up-and-coming generations who will need to be taught the same things. It will take change on a massive scale, occurring at multiple levels, spearheaded by various groups, for this cycle to break. Considering where we currently are with things like police violence and presidential candidates, I’m not optimistic.

***Confession time: most of my childhood friends were white or Asian. I had very few non-Asian POC friends.

Although I don’t call myself a book blogger, per se, I do enjoy seeing other people’s lists of current reads, especially if they feature books by marginalized writers. Moving forward, I plan to post monthly blog updates of what I’m reading. I realize most people post more often, but I’m a slow reader.

Here’s what I’m reading now and plan to be reading through September:

• 風光る 10 – 渡辺 多恵子
• Midnight Taxi Tango – Daniel Jose Older
• My Heart and Other Black Holes – Jasmine Warga
• Starfang: Claw of the Clan – Joyce Chng
• The Book of Phoenix – Nnedi Okorafor
• The Obelisk Gate – N.K. Jemisin

I’ll probably start other books after I finish these, possibly before October, so keep an eye on Twitter, where I post pics of my most current reads!

Note: Titles in Japanese indicate books I’m reading in Japanese.

If you follow me on Twitter, you know that I rant about the lack of diversity and inclusivity in my workplace on a fairly regular basis. If you don’t follow me on Twitter, well, I rant about the lack of diversity and inclusivity in my workplace on a fairly regular basis. Today I’m discussing some thoughts about making my workplace more inclusive.*

Fair warning: This is a long post, mostly full of my opinions on things that are fairly specific to my situation, so maybe don’t read it if you’re looking for sweeping statements about social justice in general. (Actually, if that’s what you’re after, my blog is probably not the right place for you. But check out the Resources page for other great folks!)

Part I

As a bit of relevant background, my actual job description contains no explicit role related to inclusivity. I don’t work in the diversity and inclusion department – actually, we don’t even have one – the entire burden, on paper, is on one of my few nonwhite colleagues, who is our diversity and inclusion manager. Nothing in my day-to-day responsibilities includes the active creation and/or enforcement of inclusive policies.

That said, since I believe inclusivity should be a given in any environment, I try to be mindful of how I interact with the people around me. Based on my own experiences of frequently being in the racial minority, I try to be especially attentive to the other nonwhite people in my majority-white workplace. By “attentive,” I don’t mean striking up conversations about what microaggressions they’ve encountered lately – there’s nothing wrong with this, but not all nonwhite people are equally comfortable talking about racism in such explicit and personal terms, so I avoid bringing it up until the other person initiates the discussion – but rather, trying when possible to have conversations with them that go beyond the usual (and generally uninterested), “hi, how are you?”

As an introvert and hater of small talk, I’m really not good at starting or maintaining conversations in which I have no interest. (Similarly, I also don’t believe in blogging if I have nothing to say, hence the long gap between this post and the last one.) At the same time, thinking back on all the times I’ve felt hyper-aware of being in the racial minority, I know it would have helped me immensely if another nonwhite person in the same situation had reached out and let me know they were there. It doesn’t mean we have to become BFFs or even interact at all outside of work. It just means showing someone else that you get it, you’ve been there, you ARE there, and they aren’t alone. But how, exactly, do you demonstrate this?

I haven’t been at my current workplace for very long – less than six months, I think – but I’ve already met most of my nonwhite colleagues. Yes, there are very, very few of us. Less than ten from what I’ve seen, out of a total of probably 150-200 employees. Ironically (or not, considering the people making the decisions are almost always white), all of the new hires I’ve seen in the last few months are white. There was one South Asian man who was hired around the same time I was, but he no longer works here.

Having so few nonwhite colleagues is disappointing, but it does mean I see the same faces more often than I might otherwise, which has allowed me to get to know these people relatively quickly. In the process, I’ve realized the ways in which nonwhite people build community and solidarity often depend on the personalities of the people involved. For example, the diversity and inclusion manager, who is one of my favorite colleagues, is completely receptive to frank, open discussions about racism and other forms of discrimination. I feel absolutely comfortable telling her about microaggressions and other experiences I’ve had with racism, without mincing words and without worrying I’ll be judged for what I say. Even though we come from different racial and cultural backgrounds, we have bonded over our shared experiences of being nonwhite in mainstream (white) US society. She has also offered me invaluable professional advice, based on her own experiences as a Black woman in our workplace, and is the first nonwhite colleague in any of my workplaces to offer me this kind of support.

Another colleague, a Latinx woman, has told me a bit about her interests outside of work, but we have never discussed or alluded to racism in our conversations. I do, however, know she is a reader, and we’ve chatted a bit about the book recommendations I’ve posted on my office door. I’m not sure if she’s noticed that all the recommendations I post are by nonwhite authors, as she’s never mentioned it, but I hope she continues to find my lists interesting. It’s so nice to discover a fellow reader, especially a fellow POC, at work!

The third colleague with whom I’ve conversed at some length is a Chinese man. We’ve talked about our experiences as East Asians in Portland, especially the ups and downs of trying to find Asian communities of the types we knew in our previous cities of residence. He’s lived in Portland many more years than I have and often recommends good Chinese restaurants and reliable Asian supermarkets to me. Occasionally, we also talk about our families. Although we’ve never explicitly catalogued our similarities and differences, I’ve gathered that we share many life experiences, including being bilingual, having family who immigrated to the US at different times, having family outside the US, having roots in the Asian communities of California, and viewing food as a cultural anchor. We’ve touched on racism a few times, though not very explicitly, but I feel we’ve exchanged enough personal anecdotes to understand that we have some common ground regarding our experiences with race.

Although the conversations I’ve had with these three colleagues cover a range of topics, no matter what we discussed, or how, each conversation was a way of building connections. With each successive conversation, I felt a little less racially isolated. I don’t know what thoughts, if any, my colleagues had about race while talking with me, but I hope they at least enjoyed the opportunity to chat about things beyond superficial niceties – and I especially hope they will see me as a safe conversation partner if they ever need to talk about something difficult like racism.

Part II

In a previous post – or maybe it was on Twitter, I don’t remember – I mentioned my workplace has an “Allies” network intended to promote a diverse and inclusive environment. Employees complete a single online training course and receive a certificate or sticker, which they can display in their office to indicate they are a member of the network. I’ve discussed this system with the diversity and inclusion manager and we both feel it is highly problematic, so for the time being, I’ve refrained from joining the Allies. The diversity and inclusion manager mentioned the possibility of starting an organization specifically for marginalized employees, a safe space where we can devise ways to make our workplace more inclusive as a whole. I let her know I would definitely be interested in such an organization, but I also noted that, due to the small number of self-identified marginalized employees at our workplace to begin with, we might not have enough interest – so, we’ll see how that goes. Suffice to say, we both realize there are not many “official” channels through which we can engage our workplace on issues of inclusivity.

As someone who prefers to work within the rules where possible – I’m opinionated, but I’m not the right person to spearhead redesigning the system – I’m frustrated by my workplace’s limited, almost nonexistent policies regarding inclusivity. The diversity and inclusion manager has put in countless hours trying to develop inclusive policies, but very few of her suggestions have been put into practice by the (white) people up top. My own position gives me zero authority to assist her, save for informal suggestions on the projects she chooses to discuss with me (and yes, I’m keeping an eye out for openings in her department). So far, all I’ve really been able to do is offer my opinion on how “diverse” or “ethnic” events are advertised around the office, such as the Chinese New Year celebration. My colleague has been very receptive to my feedback on these, but I would certainly love to do more.

To this end, I started my book recommendations list. My self-imposed rules are – I will only recommend books I’ve actually read and enjoyed (this seems like a given, but people ask me this sometimes) and I will only recommend books by nonwhite authors. The list lives on my office door and gets switched anywhere from once every 30 days to once every few months.** I recently decided I would also make an effort to curate book lists for racial/ethnic heritage months, as well as LGBTQ+ month and disability awareness month.*** While I’m not a fan of the white, heteronormative, cisgender, ableist thinking which causes these months to be viewed as “novelties,” I do see these months as benchmarks for diversifying my reading list. A quick survey of my bookshelf shows I read mostly East Asian writers, both Asia-based and diaspora, but very few writers from other racial/cultural backgrounds. Since I recommend three books per list, this means I will read a minimum of three books a year by every marginalized group for whom there exists a celebration month. If I’ve already read a lot of books by the group in question, I commit to reading at least one new book per year by that group – for example, I have a backlist of Asian American titles to recommend, so for 2016 I will commit to reading at least one new book by an Asian American writer. By contrast, I believe I currently have zero titles by nonwhite LGBTQ+ writers on my to-recommend list, so I will be reading at least three this year. I also make an effort to seek out a range of voices within each marginalized group, including looking beyond the nonwhite writers whose names constantly pop up on Twitter, as well as voices from marginalized groups not represented by celebration months (for example, some of my recs for AAPI month may be from Asia-based and/or non-US-based Asian writers).

Book recommendations might seem like a small gesture, but for me, they combine three great things: my passion for reading, my commitment to making my workplace more inclusive, and my interest in finding work-appropriate ways to raise awareness. In an age of activism where even individuals with the same goals sometimes inadvertently silence or speak over each other, I find it vitally important to seek out my own ways of making a difference.

Part III

While I’m quite satisfied with how my book recommendations are working out so far, I think I need a more visible way of letting nonwhite colleagues know they can talk to me. So, my next goal? Decolonizing my office.

Here’s what I have to work with: a small, square-ish room with one big window, walls painted dingy white, and overhead lighting.

Right now, the biggest thing on the wall is a bulletin board, where I pin work-related stuff. I also have a calendar, a couple more work printouts pinned above my desk, and two very colorful paintings given to me by a white male colleague. I don’t mind the paintings – I like colors – but I have no idea who the artists are and the styles aren’t really to my taste. I’d like to replace the paintings, as well as fill up the remaining blank wall space, with items which will indicate my commitment to inclusivity without being too overtly political.****

Since art tends to be more expensive per piece than a book, this will be a long-term project, but my current plan is to buy from marginalized artists I’ve encountered online, as well as from a couple of artist friends. My hope is to choose pieces which will spark conversations – and maybe additional business for the artists – about cultures, identities, languages, nationalities, races, and more. Again, this project will combine a passion of mine – art – with my commitment to making my workplace inclusive without exploding heads.

I’m also considering three-dimensional décor, like small sculptures or figurines, also created by marginalized artists, but since my usable surfaces are limited, I have to balance this with preserving a decently sized workspace. I do regret not buying the Koro-sensei figurine I saw at Kinokuniya, even though it was thirty bucks. It would have been a terrific addition to my desk.

Once my office redecoration is complete, I’m not sure where I’ll head next, but I’m confident I’ll come across more ways of bringing inclusivity to my workplace. I’d especially like to work on something more large-scale and long-lasting with a team of nonwhite colleagues, but I’ll have to do some more personality-reconnoitering before deciding if this is a possibility. In a majority-white workplace like mine, I can’t fault fellow nonwhite people for wanting to fly under the radar, even if I disagree with them.

In closing, I’ll reiterate that this post is in no way any kind of authoritative text on how to be nonwhite in a majority-white workplace. It is reflective only of my personal opinions and experiences and should not be considered representative of anyone else. Thanks for reading!

*Note: This is in no way intended to be a how-to guide of any kind. I’m really just thinking aloud (on paper) about my own experiences.

**I feel this is a reasonable amount of time to give people a chance to peruse the list, considering the rate and frequency at which people cycle past my office door.

***If it is a month like January, which has no celebration associated with it, I will recommend a list of three books by assorted nonwhite writers.

****In other words, I don’t want to end up giving Racism 101 lessons to the entire HR department if my office décor impinges too heavily on white fragility. Even the idea is exhausting.

Lately, I’ve been thinking about my white friends. More specifically, I’ve been thinking about how the experiences and opinions I document on this blog relate to my having white friends. Even more specifically, I’ve been considering the following question: should there be a line between friend and teacher? In case that’s confusing, I’ve added the missing descriptors below:

Should there be a line between (nonwhite) friend (of white person) and (Racism 101) teacher?

I imagine nonwhite people will have a range of responses to this question. I’m here to talk about my response only.*

My answer: yes, there should be and is a line. In my case, I draw the line at explicit teaching. Fellow nonwhite people will probably have a good sense of what I mean by this, but I’ve outlined some of the key points below. Keep in mind, the list is not comprehensive.**

Questions I will not answer:

• Do you think [x] is racist?
• Is it ok if I do/wear/use/write about [x]?
• Do you think I am racist?
• Have I ever been racist to you in the past? If so, can you tell me how?
• Have you ever had [x] experience with racism?
• How do you think I demonstrate my white privilege?
• Will you teach me how not to be racist?
• Why won’t you spend more time teaching me about racism?

Topics I will not discuss:

• Identifying and explaining the ways in which you have been racist toward me
• Identifying and explaining the ways in which you are/aren’t like other white people
• Explaining how/why it is wrong for you to justify [x] by telling me that other Japanese/Asian person said it was ok
• That time you or someone you knew studied Japanese or went to Japan (or studied a different Asian language and went to a different Asian country)

Long story short, I am not here to be anyone’s racism arbiter. I will not be the “token POC” friend or the face of Japan or the JA community. I am not interested in reliving and dissecting painful experiences to prove racism is real or to make you feel better about your whiteness. I give no prizes to people for treating me like a human being.

So. If those are the things I won’t talk about with white friends re: racism, what will I talk about? Well, all the things everyone talks about with their friends. Nonwhite people are people first, not [insert race/ethnicity/culture] first. We talk about any topic humans talk about. The key is how the discussions are framed.

In my experience, the most aggravating and harmful aspect of discussing race with white people is that, at some point, the discussion becomes personal. At some point, I am asked – or it is demanded of me – to give real-life examples to prove or justify something that, to the white interrogator, is difficult to grasp. I am expected to cite unpleasant personal experiences in order to satisfy white curiosity and “instruct” white ignorance. If I don’t, if I offer remarks only in the abstract, or cite external rather than personal examples, my perspective is discounted. I am talked down, dismissed, silenced. Why? Because it is easier to discount words (abstract) than actions (tangible). Because white privilege always looks for the quickest way to reassert control. Because if the discussion has already gone to this place, then the people asking the questions have no real interest in effecting change.

In my ideal world, every white person would sit down with a roomful of nonwhite people to discuss racism. One white person – the only white person – and every other face in the room, nonwhite.***

In the real world, the opposite is more often true. It’s fantastic to see nonwhite people volunteering to educate white people about race – and by extension, opening themselves up to white fragility, white tears, and white privilege at its most defensive. But when that educator is also the only nonwhite face in the room, or only one of a handful in a room of a hundred – has there really been a shift in the power dynamic? Can the nonwhite person’s role as educator versus the white people’s role as students transcend the sociocultural framework of systemic oppression? Do the numbers even matter, as long as the framework is in place?

Speaking again from personal experience, no, sometimes the numbers don’t mean anything. I can have a 1:1 conversation about racism with a white person and we won’t be on equal footing. Why? Because I am trying to explain histories and experiences that have largely been written out of the dominant US cultural narrative. Because, for all or most of their life, the white person I’m talking to has probably been exposed to ways of thinking and acting underlined – subtly or not – by a, “white is right” mentality. Because if I’m the first or one of only a handful of nonwhite people to have this conversation with this white person, my words are probably being weighted unfairly. In other words, most white people don’t know where to toe the line between, “you’re just one nonwhite voice, so I’ll dismiss you because you make me uncomfortable” and, “I will take your word as the be-all, end-all on racism because I can’t see past the color of your skin to understand that nonwhite people are not monolithic.” Both concepts sound fairly ridiculous when written in so many words – and yet, the majority of my discussions on racism with white people have culminated in one of these two ways. And always, always, the discussion cycles back to whiteness, whether it be defensiveness or entitlement to being taught. Not the most rewarding result for a situation that is already putting me under a lot of stress.

So, that said – where does it leave us?

Speaking for myself, I want and expect my white friends to acknowledge their white privilege. This does NOT mean I don’t expect them to slip up. Microaggressions will still happen and when they do, I’ll say something. I will not, however, necessarily provide the full background for why something is racist. I might – if I have time and feel so inclined – but I might also say, “you know, I think it’s better if you look into this yourself.” Whether they do or not is entirely up to them – personally, I think it’s a good way to identify who is willing to walk their talk and who is not. It also clearly sends the message that no white person, regardless of their relationship to me, is entitled to Racism 101 lessons from me. Let me say that again: no white person is entitled to Racism 101 lessons from me.

Lest someone raises the protest, “but a REAL friend would explain –!” – if that is your response after reading this far in this post, you have completely missed the point and I am not here to explain why or how.

For any white friends reading this, yes, we can still talk about racism – I’m merely saying, the conversation is not going to be in the form of you asking questions and me answering them. If you read an article or follow a blog or see a Twitter discussion and you think we could or should talk about it, by all means, let me know.**** If you want to talk about racism but aren’t sure where to start, I definitely recommend either looking up the folks I follow on Twitter or checking out the blogs/websites on the Resources page. As with many other topics, conversations about racism tend to be most productive if everyone involved has some amount of background knowledge.

Before I wrote this post, I considered approaching each of my white friends 1:1 to discuss racism. But then I realized – there’s not really a reason to do this apropos of nothing – and if racism isn’t already something they’ve been thinking about, they might not respond in a way conducive to future discussions. So, instead, I wrote this post. If and when racism comes up in conversation, I’ll ask my white friends to start by reading this post.

In closing, I’ll reiterate that this post reflects only my opinion on the line between friend and Racism 101 teacher and should not be assumed to apply to other nonwhite people’s views on the matter. Additionally, I am pretty much always willing to discuss race/representation with fellow nonwhite folks – just @ me on Twitter. Thanks for reading!

*I don’t speak for other nonwhite people. Nor am I interested in speaking over nonwhite people who may disagree with my perspective. If you’re interested in seeing what other nonwhite people have to say about “teaching” Racism 101, please check out the Resources page and/or the folks I follow on Twitter.

**Hint: If your approach to the list is to read it and search for loopholes, you are completely missing the point. Also, stop centering whiteness (which is what happens every time a white person tries to circumvent racism).

***If you’re white and the idea of doing this scares you, you might want to think about why.

****I will not, however, engage in racist-bashing with you; in other words, if you want me to read something that you know is harmful, so we can engage in shared righteous indignation about it – no thanks. To paraphrase some of my Twitter folks, I don’t need to know about every racist thing happening to Japanese/Asians – and I don’t want to know. I already encounter plenty of harmful material in my regular social media activity – I don’t need any more.

If you follow this blog, you’ve probably noticed I use the term “#ownvoices” to refer largely to nonwhite people writing their own cultures. This is because these are the stories I am personally most interested in reading and supporting, especially in light of ongoing, harmful (mis)representations of many nonwhite cultures by white writers. My life experiences have been and are directly impacted by stereotyped, insensitive representations of Japanese culture by white people. Any and all countermeasures in the form of Japanese (especially diaspora Japanese) speaking up for ourselves goes a long way toward dismantling the white-is-right ideologies I’ve been bombarded with for most of my life.

When #ownvoices started, I was still relatively new to social media. Seeing a highly visible movement supporting nonwhite people writing ourselves helped me realize how social media can create communities across socioeconomic, cultural, and geographic borders. While #ownvoices is now “old” by Twitter standards, I continue to discover and learn from other nonwhite folks who use it – and to find out about upcoming #ownvoices releases.

My above reasons for supporting #ownvoices and the way I choose to utilize the term on this blog are NOT the same as saying these are the only stories which qualify as #ownvoices writing. For those unfamiliar with its history, #ownvoices was actually created by a white writer, Corinne Duyvis, who writes about disability from an #ownvoices perspective.* Below is a screenshot of a screenshot (haha) from Duyvis’s website:

I am grateful to Duyvis for starting #ownvoices. While I can’t say someone else wouldn’t have created a similar hashtag if Duyvis had not, the fact remains Duyvis did create this one and it has proven enormously useful to many nonwhite people, including me.

#ownvoices is at its heart about the importance of people writing stories based on their own experiences, including but not limited to experiences with race, disability, sexual orientation, gender identity, religion, and intersectionality. These lived experiences can never be fully replicated or “known” by an outsider. In other words, #ownvoices stories are inextricably linked in some way to the identities of their writers.

In several discussions on book reviewing, I’ve seen arguments for evaluating a book without evaluating its author. I don’t believe this is possible. In terms of semantics, yes, we can leave an author’s name out of a review, or avoid directly attacking the author’s character – in the world outside of that review, though, the book did not spring into being by itself. Someone wrote those words. Someone made decisions about which words to use, and when, and how. Books are human creations – it is impossible for them to exist without humans standing behind them. The words an author chooses to put on a page open up questions, not just about the book, but about the person who created it. While the reader cannot know an author’s personal beliefs and history merely by reading their work (unless the work explicitly cites these things), the reader can question the author – directly or indirectly – about why the author made certain choices in their work. Readers should ask these questions, especially if the work in question contains harmful representations of a group with which the reader identifies – and authors should respond.**

If you follow online discussions about “diverse” books, you probably know the above sentiments are often directed toward people writing outside their lanes. However, the same principle applies to #ownvoices stories: you cannot evaluate the book without evaluating the author. The very essence of #ownvoices precludes this – the point of having #ownvoices stories is about HOW the identities of the people writing them SHAPE the work itself. This is not to say #ownvoices writers restrict themselves to purely autobiographical work. Rather, I’m saying who wrote the book matters as much as what was in it.***

Here’s a personal example to illustrate:

Whenever I pick up a book pertaining to Japanese culture, written by a Japanese person, my mindset shifts into one different from the one I’m in when I read other books. Before I even turn to page one, I’m already wondering how many cultural markers I’ll find inside – words, turns of phrase, aesthetics, ways of thinking – which will make me smile and think, yes, this person knows. If the book is in English and the author is bilingual, I’ll pay extra close attention to how they present Japanese terms, ideas, aesthetics, etc. I’ll also look at whether the author spent the majority of their life inside or outside Japan (again, diaspora Japanese v. Japan-based Japanese are different, etc, etc). If the book is in English and the author does not appear to be bilingual, I’ll still pay extra close attention to the things I listed above, but I’ll also see if I can discern whether/how the author’s diaspora experiences shape their writing.**** If the book is in Japanese, I don’t generally wonder about finding cultural markers – the author’s use of language often speaks for itself – but I do pay attention to how the author handles any US or English-language references, if they even appear. Always, I’m looking for authors whose backgrounds closely parallel mine. I live for the moments when I find something in the text that makes me go, THIS – this is me – this is us.

By contrast, when I read non-Japanese, nonwhite people***** writing about Japan, my mindset is not the same as when I read #ownvoices work. Before even picking up the book, I look at the author’s background. What is the nature of their connection to Japan? How did they prepare for this work? What are the chances I will get hurt by reading their work? If the chances seem high, I don’t read it. If I do start reading, I pay close attention to how the author presents Japanese terms, ideas, aesthetics, etc. I also consider the author’s background in relation to their representations of Japanese culture – if something seems jarring, I try to see where they might have been coming from. This isn’t a foolproof method and sometimes I still get hurt, but sometimes I also learn about how other nonwhite cultures intersect with Japan.******

When I read these works, I am not expecting to find myself in the pages. I am not expecting to have moments where I go, this – yes, this is me, this is us. I doubt the non-Japanese author expected their work to be a mirror for Japanese readers in the first place. Also, I do not expect someone without the lived experiences of being Japanese to utilize, much less be aware of, the cultural markers I find in work by Japanese writers. Some things cannot be learned. I do expect non-Japanese, nonwhite authors to put in the work necessary for respectful, nuanced representations of Japanese culture, just as they ought to expect any outsiders writing their cultures to put in the necessary work – but even so, I will never approach these works in the same way I approach #ownvoices Japanese work.

#ownvoices matter because research is no replacement for lived experience. Writers cannot wholly remove themselves from their work. Even if they choose to adopt an alternate “persona” while writing, the choices they make in the creation of said persona will inevitably reflect their own life experiences. People writing outside their lanes don’t and won’t have the life experiences of insiders. This is not something that can be changed. They do, however, have life experiences of their own, from which I’m sure they could craft some kickass #ownvoices stories – but for some reason, they choose to imitate other people’s perspectives instead.*******

The level of arrogance commensurate with this choice – especially by those folks who claim to write so [insert race/ethnicity/culture] readers will see themselves represented – staggers me. Either these writers truly (and wrongly) believe they are capable of writing these stories as well as or better than #ownvoices writers – or they understand their work will never take the place of #ownvoices and do it anyway. I won’t waste time calling the BS of the first reason. The second is just – why? If these writers truly believe their readers from [insert race/ethnicity/culture] would be better served by #ownvoices stories – then where does their own work fit in? If these writers truly believe #ownvoices stories should be elevated above their own – why are they bothering to write their versions in the first place? I fail to see the logic from either a moral or capital perspective. If these writers truly believe #ownvoices stories should be privileged above their versions, are they truly encouraging readers to buy #ownvoices books over their own? Are they truly calling for their sales to decrease? If so, sure, that’s fine – but then why write a book for publication in the first place if they’re just going to discourage people from buying it? Or are they just saying #ownvoices stories should be elevated but secretly believing their versions are interchangeable with #ownvoices? – in which case, I cite the abovementioned BS.

I’ve also seen outsiders trying to write insider stories because “diversity is the real world” or some such reason. Ok, sure – but newsflash: in the real world, you are YOU, not someone from [insert race/ethnicity/culture]. I find this reasoning much more believable – even if I still approach these works with caution because you don’t need to inhabit someone else’s POV in order to create a harmful representation of them – if the POV is #ownvoices but the world is populated by characters of varied backgrounds, i.e. white writer writing from white POV but including nonwhite characters. I’d like to think that writers who understand the difference between “diverse” worlds and “diverse” POVs are at least a little less arrogant and prone to creating harmful rep than writers who jump headlong into a POV that isn’t theirs and splash around in it because it’s pretty or exotic or trendy or moneymaking.

So, why did I just take a giant tangent to rant about outsiders taking on POVs that aren’t theirs and the issues therein? Well, I do think these writers should deeply consider the problems inherent to writing outside their lanes, but more importantly, the existence of these problems is yet another reason why #ownvoices is so relevant to today’s writing scene. #ownvoices writers are already part of the communities they write about. They already understand ways of connecting with #ownvoices readers. They have the background and the experiences to create yes – this is me – this is us moments for #ownvoices audiences. They don’t have to craft a POV from scratch – sure, their work may not be autobiographical, but their real-world experiences help lay the foundation. They know their own preferences re: representation and can choose how to place them in dialogue with their community’s perspectives. In short, their lived experiences as a member of the group being represented inform their representations of that group at macro and micro levels, in ways outsiders will never access or understand.

As a kid, I learned early – so early I only remember knowing it, not actually learning it – to be wary of non-Japanese representations of Japanese culture. It probably helped that I spoke Japanese from the get-go and grew up in a household strongly influenced by beliefs and practices my mom brought with her from Japan, as well as the diaspora Japanese beliefs and practices of my dad’s side of the family. I knew the correct pronunciations of sushi, Tokyo, karate, samurai, etc. – but I didn’t think of them as “correct” – I thought of them as “the pronunciation” because they were what I learned first. I still remember hearing westerners say those words in English and not understanding what they meant because the pronunciation was so badly butchered. I remember a white classmate thinking my last name (my real name, not the one I use here) was pronounced the same as a country in Africa. I corrected him and he asked if he could keep using the name of the African country because it was easier to say. Given this and many other experiences, I’ve never really had faith in the ability of outsiders to get anything “right” about Japan or Japanese culture because they have demonstrated time and again that they can’t – and they don’t care.

Looking back, I wish I had had more exposure to #ownvoices media by diaspora Japanese during my school years. I had plenty of exposure to #ownvoices media by Japan-based Japanese – in fact, probably just as much as I had to western (white)-based media – but I also knew from my time in Japan that Japan-based Japanese relate to Japanese culture very differently than diaspora Japanese. The only diaspora Japanese books I remember reading during that time were Yoshiko Uchida’s books and Shizuko’s Daughter by Kyoko Mori. (There were probably a few others, but I don’t recall the titles.) I was dreadfully disappointed when I realized the writer Lensey Namioka was Chinese, not Japanese – because her books were the first ones I found in English that even came close to showing some understanding of samurai culture as I knew it from Japan-based media – and I so badly wanted Japanese people to communicate this information to western audiences, instead of the stereotyped representations I saw by non-Japanese. For the record, I’m still a Lensey Namioka fan, but I’d also love to see diaspora Japanese create something similar to her Zenta and Matsuzo series. A collaboration between diaspora Japanese and Japan-based Japanese on this topic would also be super awesome!

Suffice to say, there are a lot of reasons, both personal and more wide-reaching, that I support #ownvoices stories over outsider representations. If you’re interested in other perspectives on #ownvoices, I recommend checking out the Resources page. As always, I speak only for myself on this blog, unless otherwise stated. My views aren’t representative of the Galactic Federation of Japanese, or Asians, or nonwhite people, etc, etc. Thanks for reading!

*For the record, I do not hate all white people. While a great deal of harm has been done by white people attempting to represent nonwhite cultures, especially my own, I appreciate how some white people have spoken against such acts and demonstrated awareness of their own privilege. We still have a long way to go re: decolonization and respectful representation, but seeing even a few white people with the potential to work with us toward these goals gives me hope. While it would be nice to see fellow nonwhite people fully in charge for once, short of supernatural means I don’t see us dismantling white hegemony without at least some cooperation from white people. This is not to say I condone white privilege and racism. I do, however, believe in not ignoring white people who indicate via their words and actions that they support equity and inclusivity for nonwhite people. (Note: This is not the same as “diversity” and I give no cookies to white people merely for treating nonwhite people like human beings.)

**If you have chosen to be a published author, don’t pretend you live in a vacuum every time a reader addresses your work, ESPECIALLY if the reader says, “your book hurt me.” Any author who refuses to acknowledge AND make amends for any harm they have caused to readers through their work does not deserve the privilege of having their work circulated to the public.

***#ownvoices writers should also be prepared to respond to readers, if they choose to circulate their work to any audience other than themselves. If an #ownvoices work hurts you, the reader, and you also belong to the group represented, I’m sure the author wants to know so they can do better next time (I know I would, at least). Readers always have the right to speak up about books that cause harm to them. I hope my fellow #ownvoices writers feel the same way about receiving critique from #ownvoices readers. It helps none of us if we made it this far, only to cut ourselves off from insights that are very likely more useful and nuanced than what we might receive from outsiders.

****I have yet to meet a Japanese person who has spent all of their life in Japan but can speak/understand only languages other than Japanese. If they exist, I’d be interested in talking to them, though.

*****I don’t currently read white people writing about Japan. I’ve explained why in other places on this blog, so I won’t elaborate on it here.

******As a Japanese person, I believe there is value in hearing non-Japanese perspectives on Japan, especially with regard to topics like Japanese imperialism. For example, I feel it is absolutely relevant for me to have some understanding of Chinese and Korean perspectives on Japanese imperialism when interacting with my Chinese and Korean friends. Not because we’re necessarily discussing Japanese imperialism, but because, if some passing reference is made to historical tensions between China and Japan, or Korea and Japan, knowing something about Chinese and Korean experiences may reduce the chance I accidentally hurt my friends with a comment from my Japanese perspective.

*******I am referring specifically to outsiders who write from the perspective of something they are not, i.e. white writer writing from Japanese POV.