Scarlett Letters

Last night on Facebook, I found myself entangled in a political “debate” with a Trump supporter. About halfway through the conversation, after I linked to articles that proved that Trump had called Mexicans rapists and saying that women should be punished for having abortions, my opponent said that I was engaging in “gotcha” tactics that had no meaning for him. When I finally quit the argument (because it’s pointless arguing with an unarmed opponent), I went to bed, and found myself staring at the ceiling considering this idea of the “gotcha.” I went through the conversation in my head again and have come to a couple of conclusions that I must bear in mind going forward—because the election season is going to be interminable and full of this sort of hyperbole and zero-content argument.

What does it mean to make a “gotcha” argument? Apparently, for a certain segment of the population, a “gotcha” argument means that one has presented proof of one’s position in debate. Proof that your point is actually valid and has weight. They don’t like it. It’s inconvenient. I realized that those who accuse one of making a “gotcha” argument or asking a “gotcha” question, don’t actually expect that the words of the people they support will be used against them or that the listener has taken their words seriously. “So Trump said Mexicans are rapists. You really believe him? He was just, you know, saying that. I know he didn’t mean it.” It’s the only thing that can explain, from my perspective, this idea of the “gotcha.” No one expects that the truth or the record will matter in the end. We couldn’t actually expect Sarah Palin to list the periodicals she reads; it was a “gotcha” question, intended to make her look bad. The fact that she never actually mentioned anything she reads regularly doesn’t matter. It was the journalist asking the question who was at fault, not the target of the question. No one cares if she’s actually literate.

My opponent kept saying that it didn’t matter that Trump had said any of the things being reported because people liked him. I replied that someone being likeable didn’t make them competent to run a country. His response was to talk about what a criminal Hillary Clinton is. This kind of diversion is another tactic I see Trump supporters use—distract, don’t debate. When I tried to pull the discussion back to Trump, I was called a sky-is-falling liberal and told that I’d be disappointed when Trump is elected and the sky doesn’t fall.

Obviously, Trump won’t be getting my vote. I’m going to start speaking out more about what a danger this man is to our country. It doesn’t matter that the Constitution draws boundaries around the things he can actually do should he be elected; people will expect him to do what he says he’ll do, and their bigotry and ignorance have already been validated by his own. That’s why we see things like the bathroom laws in North Carolina. Such forces must be pushed back against. If Trump is elected, I will pull on my boots and start protesting as soon as I can.

Because here’s the thing: I have to take a man at his word. If a man says he’s going to build a wall or expel millions of people based on their religion I have to fight back. I have to behave as if he means it; I have no evidence that he doesn’t. This is a man who says that he’ll do what he says he’ll do. I have to believe him. Words do matter. And to behave in any other way is not only irresponsible, it’s reckless. It’s poor citizenship. And that’s a responsibility I won’t abrogate.

Tonight I went to see "Ender's Game." Because it's a movie based on a classic, and because I enjoyed the hell out of it when I read it years ago, I wanted to see how it was realized. It's about as good an adaptation of the novel as we're likely to get. And it was realized very, very well indeed. Asa Butterfield is terrific as Ender; Ben Kingsley rocks the house as Mazer Rackham. Harrison Ford is pretty one-note, and I wish they'd given Viola Davis more to do than be the Voice of Human Conscience. Nevertheless, I recommend this flick. I had a blast. I suspect that it will be nominated for a Hugo Award--it deserves it--but, for political reasons, I'd be surprised if it won. Very surprised.

I know that a lot of folks are boycotting the film because of Orson Scott Card's virulent homophobia and his support of an anti-gay agenda. I chose not to boycott the film. I have always been and always will be an ally of the gay community; this doesn't change that.

Does seeing this movie damage my ally cred? I don't think so. I hope it doesn't with my gay friends; I love and value them all. I'm not endorsing Card. I'm endorsing a work of art. And I kind of hate that seeing this film creates this automatic defensiveness in me because the author is an asshole and his politics have turned the movie into a political football and litmus test in some quarters.

Given the peculiarities of Hollywood accounting, it's unclear whether or not Card will get some percentage of the money I paid for my ticket (John Scalzi speculates on this matter pretty thoroughly over at Whatever); he absolutely did get a percentage of what I paid for my copy of the book years ago, and he's already been paid handsomely for the movie rights. He's already profited from the property's success to an uncountable degree. Whether or not I see the film has little effect in the end. There are millions of people who aren't engaged in the political discussions surrounding the film--in fact, they're probably unaware of the discussions at all; it will be successful whether or not I chose to boycott it.

David Gerrold, over on Facebook, talked about why there's been such a kerfuffle about the movie and whether or not to see it. He said, "The kerfuffle exists precisely because Card is one of our own. He's a member of the SF family. We respected and admired his work, we gave him awards. We saluted his successes. For him to make such abhorrible statements about LGBT people -- and there are a lot of LGBT people in fandom -- feels like a betrayal of an SF trope: respect for diversity. The SF community, to a large degree, feels betrayed by Orson Scott Card's anti-gay statements." And he's right.

My question is, do we separate the artist from his art? Is the message of the art reduced by the artist? In this case, the artist's politics have so overshadowed his work in this community that there's little way to separate them, which I rather think is a shame, because "Ender's Game" is a powerful work. My memory, frankly, sucks, and the fact that the book has stayed with me in the way that "Forever War" and "The Sparrow" and "Among Others" have says something to me about its effectiveness.

I saw the movie, I enjoyed it, and I recommend it. Does that make me a bad person? No. It makes me a science fiction fan. I think it should be nominated for a Hugo. I don't think we live in a world where it will win, but I think there are two arguments in favor of it:

1) It's one the best SF films released this year. One of the best. I don't know if it is the best, but it's one of the top five. It's rare that the movies get science fiction right, and I think this one really does. As a film, it deserves the honor.

2) If we recognize the film on its own merits, we are recognizing the work of everyone who participated in the film, from the writer who adapted it to the actors who performed in it, from the FX people who realized the vision to the director who shaped it. They all deserve that recognition. Depriving them of it because the author is an asshole just feels wrong to me.

Card's an asshole and a bigot and I abhor his politics.

"Ender's Game", the movie, is really good and I recommend it.

I was going to make a "Five Things..." post this morning. But one of those five things was provoked by Trish Sullivan's post about sexism in SF and the Rod Rees debacle, which I still haven't been able to find anything about online; my Google-fu has failed me. But the Google brought up the Resnick/Malzberg genderfail, and it quickly overcame the other four things I was going to post about. So here's a post about the Resnick/Malzberg thing along with related ideas, and I'll post about the other stuff a little later.

I haven't weighed in on the whole Resnick/Malzberg SFWA genderfail mainly because so many others have been so much more eloquent about it than I think I can be (with thanks to jimhines for the awesome round-up). What I see as I read through the original Resnick/Malzberg dialogues and all the response they've provoked is a couple of men clearly out of touch with the social dialog on sexism and completely unaware that, generationally speaking, they're oblivious, outgunned, uninformed, and were completely unprepared for what hit them. No argument they've marshalled in their own defense addresses the complaints lodged against them because they don't understand the complaints or the history and perspective behind them. They don't get it.

And that obliviousness is something I've had to wrestle with myself a bit as I get older. Case in point: Several months ago, a writer of whom I'm enormously fond both personally and as an author posted a portrait of herself online. She's lost weight and has been working out like a queen bitch; she looks awesome. But I found myself channeling my mother when I said, "Great pic--look at those cheekbones--but smile!" and found myself scolded for telling a woman to smile. I was a little blindsided by the scolding. I had missed an entire social dialog that centered around the idea that it's not OK to tell a woman to smile because it communicates that we are worth nothing unless we are, first and foremost, decorative. The picture reflected the success of her efforts whether or not she smiled. I Got Skooled. And the people who schooled me were right to do so. And I understood why. The incident created an important awareness for me and provoked a lot of thought.

I understood why because the discussion has been taking place since my formative years and I've been a part of it. The fact that I've missed more recent discussion alarmed me enough to go and get myself more grounding. It's something of a generational discussion and the fact that I missed it freaked me out more than a little.

So there's a piece of me that understands the Resnick/Malzberg dismay and umbrage at the response to their dialogs. There's a cultural futureshock going on for these guys. Part of the trouble is that they've never been part of this particular social dialog--or at least they haven't been recently. Their injured dignity arises from this idea that they were (See how progressive we were? See how the ladies around us never objected to us?)--and even if they were, they're not now and haven't been for so long that their defenses, though apparently relevant to themselves, aren't relevant or effectively presented to those they're arguing with. Moreover, the arguments they've marshaled in their defense reflect a generational and social divide so profound that I'm not sure it will ever be effectively bridged; I'm not sure it can be. There's an element of "you young whippersnappers" about their response that undermines a lot of what they're trying to say (separate from the fact that what they're saying doesn't address the legitimate complaints lodged against them). They present a lot of their defense in the frame of, "Why, in my day..." as if their forward-thinking behavior 35 years ago makes them social paragons to be respected today.

Except it jest ain't so. Perspective that doesn't remain informed and evolve as the dialog develops is perspective that has ossified. And the fact that these gentlemen can't see that is another symptom of that ossification. Plus, the fact that they appear to have responded in a knee-jerk fashion rather than in a thoughtful way with a little reflection and research about why people objected to their perspective just made it worse.

Look: we all believe in ourselves and the righteousness of our positions. But without stretching those positions, testing them, we become stiff and movement becomes difficult. I think that one of the lessons to come out of the Resnick/Malzberg genderfail is that we must remain aware and elastic in our learning and our perspective. We must question our assumptions. We must learn from our mistakes, yea, even into our 70s and 80s. Otherwise we might end up telling the wrong person to smile. ;-)