Amy Schumer, Ann Coulter, and One Strategy For Moving Forward From Here:

A note to those who contemplate in the public eye.

By Kirsten Chen

Amy Schumer is taking a lot of heat lately. Or, she was before Donald Trump became president-elect and started hiring White nationalists to serve as his chief strategist.

I had written a piece about it — Schumer’s Formation Tribute video, plus some old, and really just blatantly bad, Asian and Hispanic jokes that were dug up — but after November 9th, it felt less relevant, less timely. Or maybe it’s just that my energy was directed elsewhere. But in re-reading what I wrote, it felt perhaps more timely than ever. The outrage that followed Schumer centered on the undercurrents of white feminism, a brand which some critics claim Schumer embodies. At this crossroads in time, we liberals should actually discuss exactly this sort of thing at its root and, more importantly, how it relates to other issues we champion.

I love comedy, and while Schumer isn’t a favorite of mine, I still have a lot of space for forgiveness and understanding with her. I think a portion of the public and the media, over the past year or so, have conflated the person that Schumer is with the insensitive “dumb blonde” she plays. But not always. For example, Amy Schumer candidly defended the Formation video (on Medium, no less: Information About My ‘Formation’), saying that it was in fact a tribute and not a character or joke. Many viewed it as a “parody in poor taste,” appropriating black culture and capitalizing on the tragedies that the original video paid homage to. It’d be difficult to not acknowledge this perspective: when a white woman sports a “Texas Bama” tee, a term historically used in a derogatory manner against black people, how else is one supposed to react? But let’s zoom out for a second. There is value in calling attention to the nuanced inequities and biases of progressive movements like feminism, for example, especially when we do so by way of individuals who tend to wield a good deal of social influence, but is it possible we’re getting too distracted too often and too intensely by these kinds of transgressions? That we become accustomed, even addicted, to reacting first and with force? Is it possible that this instinct causes us to shame the lighter transgressions with the same force we do the heavier ones? And does this scare some would-be allies away?

This is not to be an apologist or invalidate just feelings, but an effort to be strategically thoughtful as we move forward into this new social, cultural, and political landscape: we have a man who ran a campaign based on racist, bigoted rhetoric and fascist promises as our president-elect. We must consider how to move forward and fight with purpose, together. This means that while we must not normalize Trump or excuse his or his cabinet’s wrongdoings, we have to simultaneously consider how to more effectively champion liberal causes and make room for the previously apathetic and isolated Americans who are now considering civic engagement for the first time in the face of post-election uproar. Because if we don’t make room for conversations with friends and family who voted for Trump who don’t see themselves as racist or understand the complicity that comes with a vote, guess who will? And guess who won’t challenge them to change?

The challenge is the space between beliefs, and if we create an atmosphere where views-in-progress cannot progress, we’ll be making enemies where we have allies. We should continue to call out people quickly (or call in, when possible), but also forgive quickly so these discussions don’t work to thwart our progress and distract us from the real opposition like idk… Ann Coulter! What about that crazy C-U-Next-Tuesday, amirite? The point is this: let’s not lose sight of the other team in the diverted midst of taking down our own.

Here’s a personal example: an age-old micro-aggression vs. overt racism. When someone asks me, “Where are you from?” but then follows up with “No, but where are you really from?” I try to cut them off at the pass and explain why that’s offensive, with the hope I can help educate this person into becoming more aware of not just others, but themselves as well. But if someone calls me a chink, well, then all bets are off. You’ll get a very different me. My point is this: if we lay this on the spectrum of racism, one lies on a more innocent end whereas the other lies on an intentionally oppressive end. Neither is easy, which is why I try to save my effort toward those who have a heart. Just kidding. Sort of.

I’m not a comedian, but I am a writer, and so a large part of my social network is comprised of those who joke, fictionalize and contemplate in the public eye. Much of our free time is spent considering social movements, discussing progress, and yes, arguing over Amy Schumer.” Part of our responsibilities, in these roles, is that we’re supposed to think a little bit longer before we react. We’re supposed to be extra adept at exercising our ideas and tearing down false ones of mutual exclusivity. We’re supposed to be able to communicate persuasively and empathetically. We’re supposed to be fiercely compassionate while drawing attention to change. But we must make room for newcomers.

There’s a spectrum when it comes to everything in life, misogyny and racism included. Perhaps our responses, too, can lie on that spectrum.

Kirsten Chen is a NYC-based poet. She currently leads a creative writing workshop at the Ali Forney Center for LGBT youth in Harlem and founded the artist collective BTP. Her work has appeared in the Artist Catalogue, NYU’s Anamesa, Best American Poetry blog, Pank, Public Pool, The Seventh Wave, and more. Tweet me: @kir_chen