An Argument on Diversity & Centering BIPOC

Why You Should Decolonize Your Bookshelf #3

Photo by Lesly Juarez on Unsplash

Last month, the second essay within my Decolonize Your Bookshelf series covered View Partiality and Hero Inclusivity. This third essay is an obvious extension of that, particularly on how the utilization of a diverse hero spectrum not only broadens the accessibility of much needed heroes for a much more diverse audience, but it, by default, holds the potential for furthering diverse co-creation between creator and audience by way of fandoms.

Whenever I hear the lazy arguments regarding we should be happy with what we currently have and how tiring discourse calling for diversifying representation in all forms of media can be, I find myself counting white protagonists and heroes upon my hands and then counting BIPOC protagonists and heroes on the same hands. Often, and as you can well imagine, counting the white ones easily and quickly surpasses my ten fingers. Alternatively, for the BIPOC counterparts, I’m often stilted below ten. Just for funsies, sometimes, I’ll be even more specific and try to count, say, Latinx protagonists and heroes or Indigenous protagonists and heroes. In these latter scenarios and other variations of the same question, it result in hardly being able to lift off of one hand.

This, I hope, only further illuminates how few BIPOC protagonists and heroes we actually have and, therefore, the reason why we should push for their creation, publication, and normalization — because the honest truth is that when we talk about equitable representation, we’re nowhere near equitable if we cannot even reach a point in which we are equal.

More Heroes & Universes Than We Can Count

Later next month, I’m releasing a recommendation for Rivers Solomon’s The Deep, and I’m considering this in relation to my covered Nnedi Okorafor’s Who Fears Death? I will have mentioned a conversation between a colleague and I where as I brought up Afrofuturism. He had lit up and mentioned whether I meant something like Wakanda. I had smiled. Yes, I meant something like Wakanda, except, imagine that there’s so many Wakandas that that singular universe ceases to hold such importance because there are so many rich and magical ones in similarity yet uniquely their own that you have a choice to select upon which you resonate.

Most, we were speaking upon these things in relation to our children and our desires as future parents to provide them visuals of themselves in ways that we didn’t receive for ourselves growing up. This gives me similar feelings to when Moana came out, and how special it was and how it trailblazed visibility for a singular Polynesian, oceanic life that never quite received representation in larger American culture. There was much to critique and discuss with Moana (and so much more with the later released Raya), but the point was that it was there, and for countless Polynesian and oceanic parents and their children, they had something upon which they could point and say that’s us.

It is interesting to me that the U.S is so diverse, yet it remains so frustratingly difficult to match that diversity in the ways in which we are represented to the world and, more importantly, how we are represented to each other. I consider all the confusing slurs, back handed comments, and racial injustices experienced, and how so much of it, in hindsight, stems from the utter lack of knowledge of who I am, what I come from, and what such a culture is actually like. And, how could they know? There’s so little that actually educates them. We’re not on the television, we’re not in the movies, we’re not in the media, we’re not in the video games, we’re not in the books, and we’re not part of the schooling.

Centering of BIPOC Folk & Stories

The creation of more heroes and universes that match the landscape of the array of cultures that all share this settler land could play the role of education. Consider allowing Latinx migrants to be the ones to tell their stories, allowing Thai women to share who they are, allowing Syrian writers to inform us upon their experiences. Imagine a world where folk have a voice and the actual platform to utilize their voice in a way that positively affects how we can know one another and therefore see each other’s shared humanities. Starting with the bookshelf is surely one of the many places we can start.

In my classes, my students are typically surprised at the content that they read because they haven’t read works like that throughout their primary schooling. Because they have no prior experience, they are always surprised. But, its towards the end of the semester when we have a bit more time to talk casually about our shared experiences in the last five months together that they generally start sharing about how they were at first aggravated, then surprised, then when their eyes started opening up as they learned about others both like and not like them at all, they generally end up asking for recommendations.

My favorite is when students tell me that they enjoyed the work but probably won’t read more because they don’t like literary things and prefer sci-fi or manga or comics, and that’s when I light up because, oh man, do I have recommendations for you. In this way, in such a quiet communal way, the readership grows; BIPOC voices, writers, narratives, and visions are centered; and most, readers leave in wonder to have realized that there is more, there is always more.

Giving Communities Opportunities to See Themselves in Literature

Sometimes, my peer group and I get together for gathering nights and we share out. Because we’re a group of decolonial academics, artists, writers, producers, and parents, the array of work shared is always far and varied. Sometimes it is a gathering of just those of us that often collaborate, but other nights, many of us bring guests, like minded artists, but more often, partners and children.

I hold memory of a specific night where I shared an ongoing narrative series of mine that brought back the mythologies of my culture. There was a mother and daughter that night — actually, a sister creator of mine that is near and dear to my heart, and the mother was teary eyed because she did not imagine a day would come where she and her daughter would be able to experience narratives of themselves together on a night like this. Her daughter shared that she knew of these gods only because her mother had told her of them, but hearing them like this, for her, was the equivalent to Harry Potter and Percy Jackson, the Marvel Universe and all of Hunger Games. For her, it was so much better, because it was our narratives, from our people, and from our ancestors, and this alone, made it so much better than all the rest.

I find that the call to action — that the work we do now is for seven generations later, is something that I’ve begun to latch on to more and more as I’ve grown older. In my earlier twenties, I feel like a lot of the work was gearing toward saving myself, validating myself and showing myself that I, and people like me, were not invisible and that there was no reason why we should be. But now, working with so many BIPOC artists, writers, and educators across this crazy spectrum of culture and from places far and wide and some only vaguely heard about, I’ve realized that we’re all here, seeing one another together. Now it’s about building those futures for our children and their children. So, as always, start with the story. Allow the story to be a book and allow that to be published and then to exist on someone’s book shelf. I’m always reminded that when the stories are there, soon enough and eventually, the people will come.

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!