A recent article in the WSJ narrarated the journalist’s experience at Duke University, one of the many campuses across America where Senator Barack Obama garners an unprecedented amount of support (70% to Senator Clinton’s 30%) that crosses the lines of color, gender and class. “But after classes — and after the occasional Obama rally — most black and white students on college campuses go their separate ways, living in separate dormitories, joining separate fraternities and sororities and attending separate parties.”
Voting for Obama is an easier choice, a student interviewed said:
“When you’re actually trying to change your behavior, you are putting more on the line compared to voting in the privacy of the booth,” he says. “There are millions and millions of people voting for Obama. In no way are you sticking your neck out.”
I was struck by this article because it rather reminds me of the clash that occurs when the topic of racism and segregation in the publishing industry–the romance genre in particular–is raised. Everyone is whipped in a lather, and the trite phrases: “I don’t see color,” “I have friends/lovers/relatives of all different races,” or the doozy: “I just want a good book” are trotted out, despite evidence to the contrary. For a brief moment in the discussion, everyone is on the same page, patting their backs over having raised awareness of the situation and for their perceived tolerance and love for diversity.
Then along comes the “I shouldn’t be forced to read black romance novels” battle-cry, which signifies righteous anger against attempts to make one feel “guilty” (definition: “Responsible for a dishonest act“). The tide turns and suddenly, the participants trot out any variation of the “Author X writes minority characters and is successful” argument. As though ugh, it is your fault you’re not as successful as Author X, stop trying to pin the “blame” on me. The conversation generally dissipates by then, hackles raised and nostrils flaring, the haves pitting on the side against the have-nots. Then it withers away and a lot of folks feel the last sentiment is justified and go back to ignoring the issue.
And this has happened um…how many times? With the same non-result? Yeah…insanity (definition: “extreme folly; senselessness; foolhardiness.”).
The romance genre closes ranks when outsiders sneer at it and it is ignored by the mainstream, yet within, a group is marginalized and ignored. [x]
And dare I even go as far to wonder why sexuality trumps race within the genre? Very interesting how readers and writers will fight tooth and nail against anything regarding non-vanilla types of sexuality as abhorrent, yet crickets chirp when the lack of color (and even non-WASPs)–and no, those fetishized and offensive “savage Indian” romances, billionaire shiekhs, and Greek tycoons don’t count–is questioned. Or a more realistic scenario: no one even questions the “whiteness” of the genre.
I can go to bat with the best of them. If you were a frequent visitor to AAR, you’d see that 99% of my 500+ posts are just about books and reading, so I can never be accused of failing to put my “race” aside to discuss my enjoyment of the romance genre. But I do however, feel obligated to be conscientious about the dynamics that are in play within this stratified society.
One can say that the online romance community makes up a small percentage of the general romance reading public and has no effect on buzz, but the presence of a review quote from Dear Author (a site but two years old!) on the cover of Meljean Brook’s upcoming novel tells otherwise. If this online community possesses readers who delve deeper than sighing over cover models and gobbling romances indiscriminately, readers who are on the cutting-edge of the genre, why is this issue, a powerful issue, deemed out of our hands?
