Diversity—it’s a heavy discussion that’s happening all across the world of comics, whether being decried as “change for change’s sake” or being touted as a fundamental aspect of storytelling by creators like Al Ewing. Even Dan Didio has acknowledged that comics haven’t been great for representation and that the audience for more diverse characters is out there.
I won’t say it isn’t good to hear white creatives talk about how diversity is becoming an essential aspect of mainstream comics. And the number of lead characters who are neither white nor male is growing. Representation is important—research and countless stories from fans have taught us that, and the message is finally getting through, sort of.
Representation isn’t just about the characters who star in those books. It’s also important to note whose names get to sit on those covers. Marvel’s newest book announcements (pre-SDCC) illuminates the disconnect between the excitement for “increased diversity” for characters and the reality of what that means for creators who might be themselves diverse. It’s not a problem that’s unique to Marvel, of course, but it is illustrative.
As soon as the All-New, All-Different Marvel fall titles and their creative teams were released/leaked, commentary started: people were happy to see their favorite women characters were staying on board, but unhappy that many of those solo titles had all-male creative teams (Spider-Gwen, for example, hasn’t changed hands from Jason Latour and Robbi Rodriguez).
It would be fine if these specialty lanes eventually merged into working on other titles, meaning diverse talent was working on a broad spectrum of books. But it doesn’t seem to be the case. This is my particular critical dilemma with underrepresented minorities behind the scenes—I welcome the fresh air of reading women characters written by women (Kelly Sue DeConnick’s Captain Marvel, for example). I love that a Muslim woman is writing Kamala Khan, and I would love to see black creatives working on a title like Ultimate Avengers or a new Black Panther book. What I wouldn’t give for Marvel to hire its first black woman to pen a Storm series. It’s important the these stories not always be told by white, straight, men, that our heroes are given “authentic voices.”
But sometimes it feels like I’m then complicit in this segregation when I advocate for DuVernay to take on Black Panther or when I tweet about wanting a woman director to helm Captain Marvel. It’s not that I want minority creators to only “write what you know” stories. But it feels like those stories are our best chance to see oursevles both in the panels and on the cover. If there were already black women writing and drawing Marvel books, then it wouldn’t feel so lousy reading that yet again Monica Rambeau was going to be handled by anyone else. As with story-telling: if the cast are diverse enough, a black character no longer becomes a stand-in for the whole race’s representation in that story. If you have enough women, some can be evil, some can die, some can be heroes, and no one has to shoulder the whole gender.
But if you only have one black woman on staff, maybe you need her to take on the only book about a black woman? If you have eight out of ninety women working on books, then maybe you’d prefer they take on that burden.
Critiquing behind-the-scenes staffing inspires a certain kind of defensiveness—can’t white men write about The Other? Isn’t it good that they’re not “writing what they know?” Didn’t you fall in love with that character when she was written by a dude? Aren’t these men good at their jobs? Should they have to give them up for some PC ham-fisted affirmative action?
A recent Blunt Instrument column examines whether the “time of the white male author” has passed and answers, “You can and should respond to this shift [in demographics], but I don’t think the answer is to stop writing.” Instead, she suggested that white male literary authors who feel they’re privileged by the publishing industry should consider taking a step back on certain topics, and focus on amplifying marginalized voices.
I think the idea of being mindful of your choices and examining whether yours is the best voice to be amplified for certain stories is a good one. However, the recent kerfluffle around Mark Waid and J. G. Jones’ Strange Fruit really illustrated the insecurity surrounding simply suggesting that minority creators be prioritized to tell their own story and the inability for some white creators to take a step back and consider that maybe their voice shouldn’t be prioritized.
The discussion around critique of Strange Fruit—if suggesting white men take a step back on certain stories will scare creators away from including a diverse cast, if it’s a step back for the industry and is too divisive—shows that many people are quick to praise diverse content, but defensive when it’s suggested that diverse content creators should be prioritized to tell these stories right now. Not that they should be the only ones telling these stories (see my trepidation about pigeonholing minority creators), but just that sometimes the answer to “Should I be telling this story?” can be “No” (note how I didn’t say “should always be”). Wanting to increase diversity doesn’t mean I don’t enjoy comics by white men. It just means that I’d like more choices.
I’ll admit, as a kid, America Chavez the character would probably be more meaningful to me than America Chavez the comics writer. But as an adult, the latter would get me really excited. That appeal of self-recognition doesn’t mean that the character is the end of the fight for diversity in a homogeneous industry. Now, it’s hard not to wince at books populated by people who look like me and my friends that are written by the cast of Friends, you know?
Where’s the Internet campaigns for getting a black woman to direct a Spider-Man film about a white Peter Parker, is what I’m trying to say. It’s easy to get excited about characters that look like you, that you want to cosplay as, and that finally provide a friendly face. And if you’re white, there’s nothing lost—Steve Rogers and Peter Parker still exist as Sam Wilson and Miles Morales take on the mantle. No one has to make sacrifices or turn down work. It might be easier now, as a white creative, to take the accolades and believe you’re pressing onward to the future when you manage to make waves by conceptualizing queer/non-white/women characters where there used to be none. But is it enough that Brian Michael Bendis created Miles Morales if that narrow opportunity for a black writer to get a step up in mainstream comics and write him never opens up?
Maybe it’s time for folks with industry clout to move beyond just All-New and All Different superhero teams. Sure, Strange Fruit is earning accolades, but the door for that story only opened to write creators; when Michael Davis pitched a similar story to Vertigo it got rejected. Beyond who should write whose stories, he says:
What’s not there is the acceptance of these characters and creators as A-listers. When DC or Marvel creates a Black superhero it’s embracing diversity, so when David Walker writes for DC’s Cyborg, that’s really diversity because David Walker is a hotshot, talented Black writer.
DC has been pulling up more minorities into their books’ creative teams. And Image’s new titles boasted about seventeen Women and/or POC out of forty-nine creatives, so maybe the tides are slowly, slowly turning (not to mention, Image and other publishers aren’t without their own diversity problems). And of course, there are smaller and independently published titles, artists, and writers out there. But it would be nice to see legacies step aside, even just for a storyline, to open some doors to people who are in fact out there doing the work.
The only current all-women team is on Angela, and it’s good to see women writing women-centric books. But that highlights the problem of expectation: fans are disappointed when they don’t see women working on women-centric and women-marketed books. But where’s the outcry that no women are on All-New All Different Avengers? The push from fans for diverse creators is limited to having minority/women creatives only on minority/women-centric book. That can be seen with the fan excitement for the possibility of Ava DuVernay directing Black Panther. Personally, I thought she would have made a great pick for the film (especially if she brought her frequent collaborator, Bradford Young, on board to handle cinematography), but I would love to see her handle any other Marvel hero, too.