Editors and Ethics: How Do We Tell Someone Else’s Story?
As editors, we essentially have permission to shape and refine our collaborator’s words. But it’s important to know where the line is, especially when language barriers can blur that line.
“Does it matter who tells the story, as long as we like the story?” my creative writing teacher once asked the class and expected an answer, but our uncertain selves let the question hang rhetorically. “Yes, it does,” she answered, nodding her head earnestly. Then she spoke about the “own voices” movement, and I wondered about how the responsibility of supporting the collaborator’s voice ethically might parallel this movement.
I recently worked with an RMIT photoimaging student, Stella, on her photo book where I was initially tasked with finding the narrative across the photos and editing the captions for her. Throughout the this process, I gained significant insight into the intricacies of collaborating through language barriers and unfamiliar perspectives. This has reinforced my understandings of an editor’s ethical obligations to the author when making substantial edits.
For an industry keen to promote diversity, we still have a long way to go.
There are plenty of opportunities for fluent English speakers in Australia to build their platforms. The same cannot be said for those who speak English as a second language. In a 2015 study conducted by Macquarie University where 1000 Australian book authors were interviewed, only 2.9% said English wasn’t their first language. For an industry keen to promote diversity, we still have a long way to go.
Editors ultimately are responsible for facilitating the journey that brings their collaborator’s vision into reality. This is especially the case when working with collaborators creating projects beyond their native language, and this is something I became aware of throughout the course of this photo book project.
It goes without saying that Stella placed a lot of trust in me. She requested that I write the introduction and captions from scratch, rather than just edit them. She believed that, given English is her second language, the photo book would be best served if she took charge of the photography, and I managed the written portions. But I was working with a fast turnaround, so there was no opportunity to communicate back and forth before sending the captioned photo book back to her. Moral dilemmas lingered: did I really consider Stella’s voice when I wrote her captions? How effectively did I cater to her intended audience when I myself am not part of that audience?
The trust works both ways. During the brainstorming process to find the narrative, I had my first glimpse of the photos of Vic Market that Stella had taken. They were beautifully dynamic, and she was clearly a talented photographer. Then I suggested to her a narrative that I believed would appeal to a broad audience: following the vendors’ typical workday. I thought this could provide great insights into the contemporary relevance of the markets to Melbourne’s CBD. Stella politely rejected this idea, and now I’m glad she did.
The “own voices” movement is about creating a space for marginalised voices that haven’t always had a platform in the past to showcase their artistic endeavours to the world. While this movement mostly refers to writers, all artistic mediums can benefit from this initiative. Stella, who is an international student, saw Vic Market from a tourist’s perspective, whereby its laid-back atmosphere (relative to markets in China) was both unique and intriguing. Naturally, she wanted the photo book’s narrative to reflect the interests of a tourist’s visit to Vic Market.
My original idea wouldn’t have served Stella’s touristic audience well. I also realised the magnitude of the story being told here: this was a narrative that should highlight how and why Stella was so immediately entranced by the markets directly below her apartment. Her eyes would become the voice of all tourists interested in this piece of Melbourne CBD’s culture. Exploring the markets from this perspective meant prioritising a non-Australian point of view for non-Australians, so I created a narrative focused on the rich history surrounding the markets, hoping this would elevate the overall appeal of the markets to people unfamiliar with them as a whole.
But the seeds of doubt remain. I am learning that this is part of the editorial process — the constant questioning of whether I did enough to fulfil my moral obligations. When editing in tight timeframes, sometimes extensive input from the author is just not possible, and if they haven’t provided much of their own text, some of their voice will be lost. Without the support of a translator, I wrote what I could to capture the intended audience’s attention, and hoped I was honouring Stella’s vision by doing so. When she texted me her approval of the captions, I had to be content that I’d done the best that I could.
I’m now aware of how easy it is to unintentionally inflict my own biases onto a project.
Having now experienced editing for someone whose first language isn’t English, I know firsthand the ethical considerations behind editing the kind of voice that has historically been underrepresented in Australia. Most importantly, I’m now aware of how easy it is to unintentionally inflict my own biases onto a project. You can never be too careful, nor too considerate. Moving forward with future projects, I am conscious of preventing this from happening by establishing a relationship early on in the editorial process to get a strong sense of my collaborator’s voice.
There also exists an opportunity for university institutions to uplift students from non-English speaking backgrounds. Currently, international students at RMIT can expect to pay over $22,000 (more than double their domestic counterparts in a Government subsidised place) for a Diploma in Photography and Photoimaging. Some of these funds could surely be put towards better access to translators for all international students, should such services be required.
Working with creatives who don’t have the support of traditional structures, be it publishers or universities, is a privilege. Indeed, who tells the story is just as important as knowing what the story is. It is vital that editors strive to tell stories with their collaborators, rather than telling stories for them.
