Should writers be able to write characters of other races and nationalities?
Should they be able to? Heck yes. I have no doubt that people definitely have the capacity to write characters of other ethnicities or cultures.
But should everyone be writing people of color that they themselves are not?
Yes and no.
Firstly, I say yes because as a woman of color I have grown up reading novels upon novels and watching many movies and shows with protagonists which are so different from me, both culturally and racially.
Nothing would make me happier than to see characters that look like me, talk like me, deal with cultural problems like me. Indian-Americans, such as myself, have fought the daily struggle of deciding if you’re too Indian or too American, or just trying to convince your very Asian parents that just because you had fun yesterday doesn’t mean you shouldn’t have fun today.
I want, no, I demand, that writers take it upon themselves to branch out of the usual cookie cutter and please add in more culturally inclusive main characters. Not side characters or minor characters because you don’t want to do the research required. Main characters.
But I say this with a word of caution, which brings me to all the reasons I have to say no.
While I would love to see more cultures represented on T.V., I will NOT stand for misrepresentation. Like, please, please, please do your damn research.
I’m sorry, but not every Indian I know has a thick accent like Raj from Big Bang Theory. Not all of us do yoga on Saturday mornings or wear a bindi. Not every Asian is smart. Not all of us want to be doctors or engineers. No, I don’t speak “Indian” and I am not “a Hindi”.
Please figure out the difference between Hindi and Hindu. Understand the fact that Indian people don’t speak Indian. Rather they speak Hindi, English, Hinglish (a recent development), Tamil, Telugu, and so much more. Because your poor writing will show. And I promise you, it’s not only rude to the people you’re writing about but it’ll reflect the poor research on your part.
And maybe it’s more convenient for you to write characters which resemble yourself. I know it’s ten times easier for me to write an Indian-American character than a Vietnamese one. But that doesn’t mean I shouldn’t. What it does mean is that I’m going to buckle down, research the heck out of a nation’s history, interview close friends who may belong to particular groups, and figure out everything I need for my story to work.
So if you’re going to feed into stereotypes and promote biased, negative views of specific cultural or ethnic groups, hold off on writing people of color all together. But if you’re willing to do your research, understand the culture, come to know why certain things are the way they are, then by all means, please write a character from whatever group you want!
“We could get arrested for this you know.”
“Duh. Why else do you think we’re doing it?”
“I thought you wanted to piss off your dad.”
“Exactly.”
“You make no sense.”
“Just shut up and follow me!”
“Of course. Because that totally doesn’t make me an accomplice to the crime.”
“Are you serious? Okay, you know what? You can be my hostage. Does that sound better?”
”...fine.”
“Then it’s all good. Now just get in the car.”
“Where are we driving to?”
“The highway.”
“Ok but like where from the highway?”
“The highway.”
“Whoa wait... you’re gonna crash the car aren’t you?”
”...Amy?”
“Of course not. We’re just going to speed a little.”
“Oh right speed a little in a cop car with your best-friend-hostage sorta situation. How could I not see this coming?”
“Because you’re a dimwit with barely enough braincells to put on a seatbelt.”
“My seatbelt is on just fine- DID YOU JUST TURN ON THE SIREN?”
“Oops.”
“Oops? OOPS?! That’s what you have to say to this?”
“Musta accidentally hit the button. What’s the big deal?”
“I swear I am going to strangle you the second- JESUS FUCKING CHRIST WOMAN DID YOU JUST DRIVE OVER A ROAD SIGN?!”
“Hey stop it! No distracting the driver.”
“Just let me do the damn steering before you kill us both.”
“Don’t worry! All the cars keep making room for us!”
“BECAUSE YOU TURNED ON THE SIREN ON A STOLEN COP CAR.”
“Chill ok? And quit the damn yelling. We’re just borrowing the car, anyways.”
“You. Don’t. Just. ‘Borrow’. Your. Dad’s. Car.”
“Don’t worry your pretty little head about anything. The real police should be here soon anyways.”
“Well they can’t get here fast enough! You’re gonna make the car crash at some point I know it.”
“No I won’t. I got this-”
“SHIT.”
“Ok. Fine. I admit it. You called that.”
“Chris?”
“Are you ok?”
“Chris??”
“I swear on everything that is holy, if your dad doesn’t kill you, I sure as fuck will.”
----
HUGE shoutout to the little kids that decided to play pretend around the library and state the line, “You can be my hostage!” to inspire this piece.
I don’t drink anymore
and trust me
it’s not because I want to be sober
I could go the club anyday
but it’s the only one here
and I know what I would find
you, dancing with him,
treating what we had together
just like another of your lies
So that’s why I’m at home
staring at the champagne bottles
left untouched in your cabinet
knowing that somehow
being drunk would hurt more
than being sober
stripes
the tattered stripes
limply hang from the pole
a billowing breeze rushes past
tangling it's stars and it's stripes
till it makes one big knot
it isn't till a gentle ephemeral breeze
gently knocks through
undoing the damage little by little
the rising sun illuminates the edge of pole
a bright new dawn that shines upon us
a new chance to amend the tatters
so the stripes can come together once more
united not apart
Dipping Into the River of Time
Time’s an Ancient River,
Flowing by my door—
Bringing friends, plus odds & ends,
Like wishes, fish & chores.
Einstein & Newton
(Often swimming by)
Tease protons & electrons,
Bumble-bees & flies.
But in the distant future
Randomness of space,
Galaxies & black holes
Will spiral out of place.
Then my Ancient River,
Dried up into dust,
Reveals her under-belly
Of skeletons & rust.
Goodbye, dearest River ...
Thank you for the times,
You brought to me, like tender leaves,
Of poetry & rhymes.
