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
The End.
So, wow, this is really it. You and I have gone so far together. And look at you now; you've grown so much since you've opened the first page of my story. But now, you know what to do. It's time.
Please don't cry. Just remember all of the good times we shared. Like in Chapter 7, on that private beach two hours out from my house. The way you grinned at the pages when I was finally learning how to swim after all of those years I spent afraid of the ocean. Or Chapter 11, when I reunited with Brooke. We all know you wanted that to happen. We could all hear you screaming in joy.
Yeah, we had our bad times together. From the beginning to now, we've walked a rocky road. You laughed. You cried... cried a lot, actually, and I didn't know what to do. I wanted to reach out and touch you. I wanted to hug you tight and shoot circles into your back. To tell you it was going to be alright when you were so convinced it wasn't.
Like now. You're in tears.
We all knew how this would end. Books only last for but so long, no matter how many sentences, paragraphs or pages you reread. By the time this chapter ends, the book will be over and I'll disappear. And it's okay. It's meant to be this way.
Hey, maybe that author up there will decide if I get another story. Then, maybe, we'll get to be together again.
Oh my God, I'm so sorry for making you cry. You tried, you really did. But all things come to an end. I'll be gone when this all ends. But I'll still be with you in your heart.
It's the last page. Just a couple more sentences before this beautiful thing between us is all over. God, you're so gorgeous and amazing. I wish I could hold your hand, at least, so you know that I'm gone, but not forgotten. I'm going to miss you so much. I... I love you.
Thanks for being there each page of this journey. I'll miss you. So long.
The End.
**OR: I read a Tumblr post that broke my heart where a character in a book gradually falls in love with the reader and then they have to part with said reader at the end of the book.
©SelfTitled, 2017