An Argument on Partiality & Heroic Inclusivity

Why You Should #DecolonizeYourBookshelf: Second Thoughts

A whole month into this practice, and I have to say, I am not dissatisfied with the course of things. The second in this #decolonizeyourbookshelf series, I wanted to bring up the next two gains in this type of practice after our first essay on Utilizing Empathy & Reader Imagination. This time around, I’d like to focus on View Partiality and Hero Inclusivity.

This series is a dedication to revealing the positive gains a reader receives when they perform this praxis, which we’re defining the act of diversifying our bookshelves via decolonizing efforts and reframing what we center on our shelves in terms of the stories worth being engaged with and normalizing “othered” narratives as part of the center. By extension, this also advocated for diversifying publishing practice in American’s publishing landscape that has historically privileged white voices and continues to be controlled by gatekeepers that, unfortunately, continue exclusive practices that bar BIPOC voices from entrance and therefore publication, and therefore readership, and therefore potential normalization of their stories as part of the fabric of representing the American experience.

While there have been some shifts and changes within the field, by and large, it is moving too slowly to match with the needs of this nation. A reminder that Asian American literature only began to boom in the wake of hate crimes against Asian Americans in wake of covid19 and publishing houses were rushing to put Asian voices in forefront only after realizing that they had very little and needed to scramble to bring in more voices. Further that it was only after the deaths of George Floyd and Breonna Taylor that they made an appropriate push toward highlighting more Black voices.

Admitting to the Partiality’s of Our Own Views

Honestly, one of the first steps of healing is admitting to the truth of one’s faults or shortcomings. This is where View Partiality comes into play. It is another topic that I cover in my academic courses as a foundational seminar before we even begin to reckon with diverse subject matter. It’s part of deconstructing prior modes of practice that, at its foundation, have already othered BIPOC voices based off of their proximity or relation to the white experience, which is held at the center of our understanding of what American literature is. View Partiality asks us to engage with our own personal knowledge and imagine the creation of roadmaps in which we can navigate individualized, future practice.

As you can well guess from my prior essays on Why I Don’t Read White People Anymore and Utilizing Empathy & Reader Imagination, this is another term that is not necessarily official, but well serves the purposes as to how I generally disseminate this type of information.

Partiality, simply enough, is one’s limitations. If you google this definition, it’s a bit more stringent, leaning toward an unfair bias or favoritism, which is certainly true, but I think another way of reckoning with bias and favoritism is to lift off of the negative connotation and realize that it is, in actuality, one’s limitations, whether active or passive, that dictates how partial one’s view is. We are incapable of moving beyond our limitations because we do not have enough information to make a stance that isn’t constricted by the boundaries of critical thought practice, which is exactly why we need to exercise and challenge it — it allows us, as individuals, to expand.

Owning Our Partiality Creates Room for Growth

Understanding the partiality of one’s perspective, viewpoint, or worldview determines how we’ll interact with the world around us. It goes without saying that if we actively and regularly engage with stories that don’t necessarily align with the same ideals and beliefs as those of our own perspectives, we’ll be forced to reckon with vision that literally sees beyond and differently than us.

At its most simplest sense, consider: historically, texts portray the male gaze. Because of this privilege, men and women alike have comfortably interacted with stories that see through the eyes and experiences of man. To be even more specific, historically, texts portray the white man’s gaze. Because of the ample stock of this story perspective, most of us are well acquainted with white male narratives, which is only further reinforced by the massive amount of television and media also centered and privileged the experiences and eyes of white men. Sherman Alexie, in an interview speaking on the cultural boundaries of the American landscape, mentioned to his interviewee that “I know a whole lot more about what it means to be a white man in America than you know about what it means to be an Indian in a reservation.” It’s hard to challenge this — it goes back to story access, who’s stories get to be told, and how often they get to be told.

Extend this thought to the gender divide, and what we know based off access and amount, that while woman regularly read work by and about men, men engaging with work by and about women is far more limited. And, we can continue down this trail. After that excessive amount of stories written by white men about white men, the next more available story is that of the white woman. We, as readers, hold a comfort level with their stories just based off of the sheer fact of availability and proximity — there is nothing to shock, scare, or destabilize us in these stories — we have known them for centuries.

As we move down the line, going with Alexie, how often do we read work by Indigenous writers speaking about reservation life? How about nonbinary Muslims navigating familial relations? Or, the reasons why some mothers in Central America choose to send their children North despite the dangers? I will laugh loudly if you even consider that these stories and perspectives are not being written. They, of course and quite surely, are, and have been throughout the decades. The real question is whether or not those stories ever make it into mass circulation, which, regrettably, we already know that they don’t.

Traditional American publishing just doesn’t publish “that kind of work” except on very rare occasions, and while Indie Presses are certainly trying to challenge this dearth, they simply do not have the manpower or resources of the longstanding powerhouses that are gobbling everything up in their path anyway. Now that we know this, we can begin to challenge in large and small ways — in our choices as quiet as choosing what we put on our bookshelves.

Engaging with the “Other” Heroes

This is a concept that I love. Let’s continue thinking of the gaze we see through. I recently recommended Nnedi Okorafor’s Who Fears Death, centered on a teenage girl’s journey through a pan-African fantastic journey. In this fantastical novel, we see through: a woman’s eyes, a teenager’s eyes, an Africana eye, an “othered” eye, and an oppressed eye. I won’t go too much, but the important part here is that we gain give perspectives that are not centered by default of not being a white male gaze. The closest proximity we get is the female gaze, but to take on an Africana teenage girl’s gaze will be as far unlike a white woman’s gaze as it gets.

The point here is that we engage with a protagonist and hero that we would normally not receive. The only problem that exists with Black Panther is the fact that there is only one of him in existence when Black heroes should be so numerous we can’t keep track of them on our fingers. For this, Who Fears Death? is a great contribution whether it crosses into popular fandom or not.

Now, if you think about this novel and its perspective in relation to my previous essay on Ling Ma’s Severance, which has a Chinese-American pregnant female protagonist, the two are completely unalike the other. And this, honestly, is exciting! We should be excited for this — to envision the world, their circumstances, experiences, and responses as uniquely their own from which we can imagine with empathy! Now, imagine if the amount of interaction with such diverse texts were equal to the amount of story and text we receive about white men. This gained familiarity would be decolonization at work.

How Both Lend to Decolonization as Gain

To end, who lives in the center? For centuries, it has been the white man. Arguably, it is still the white man. However, we know that the world over is not white alone and that is a truth that we have been loudly and painfully reckoning with within the last century though surely this has existed much longer.

Beyond fostering empathy and imagination, we can own our partiality and shifting toward an engaging practice interacting with protagonists and heroes unlike ourselves. In this way, we decenter our lives, decolonize our perspectives, and learn to navigate our relations, not just with books and stories, but the world at large.

I look forward to penning the newest essay installment next month. Once this mini series is done, I’ll begin a series on Required Reads for decolonization as an extension of the #decolonizeyourbookshelf series as well as a sister series to the Recommending Reads I publish monthly.

Mabuhay, I’m EA Garcia, and I’m a thriving eater of story. I reflect on all my reads across genres, forms, and categories. Since I only read BIPOC work and prioritize small, indie, and micro press work, you might find a new read! I also write on academia, publishing, & decolonization, ftw.

Feel free to recommend things in the comments below! I LOVE recs: particularly books, dramas, manga, & webtoons! Try to keep it BIPOC and marginalized ❤

Read about WHY I only read BIPOC folk, get a taste for my stance on decolonizing bookshelves, or look at some funky reviews of storywork!