The hunt for author Kate Clanchy was a merciless witch hunt | Sonia Soda
A A few years ago, when I was still dreading the vagaries of Twitter, I inadvertently participated in a bunch of social media. Someone well known said something stupid and I liked to tweet to that effect. But when she shared how upsetting she found the attack, I was forced to confront my unwitting small role in a collective act of bullying. There was nothing wrong with my tweet per se, but having hundreds of people yelling at you feels like abuse in a way that a single review doesn’t and the virtual nature of social media makes harder to tell when you’re complicit in some form of mob. Justice.
Things have gotten worse since then and I often come back to this idea of proportionality, most recently in the case of author Kate Clanchy. Last week it was announced that she and her publisher, Pan Macmillan, had parted ways “by mutual consent” and would “cancel rights” and cease distribution of all her work.
The book that prompted this is Some Children I Taught and What They Taught Me, her memoir of a 30-year teaching career. Rave reviews and an Orwell Award resulted in mixed reactions from readers: some loved it, others thought she used racial and ableist stereotypes to describe his diverse students. Among readers of color I know, reactions were equally mixed: some found his descriptors offensive, others thought they were correct, especially in the context of his honesty about his own naivety and prejudice.
After an apology and back-up inquiries were demanded on their behalf, a group of Clanchy students wrote of his “unequivocal care and support for us…as poets and as people”, noting the “flaws and imperfections” of the book, but drawing attention to it “empowering methods of supporting and promoting the poetry of young people…from underprivileged backgrounds”. criticism of the author’s description of her “almond-shaped eyes” as offensive; another wrote of the “unimaginable” positive impact Clanchy had on her life.
It is true that Clanchy reacted badly to criticism, denying that the sentences in question were in his book. Defensiveness is a flawed but common response when you’re accused of something you hate. But she and Pan Macmillan apologized for the offense caused by the book, and her publisher announced that she would rewrite it to address concerns. You would think that would have drawn a line, allowing the industry to move on to the problems of its lack of diversity, which Clanchy did more than many of its detractors to address.
He does not have. Pan Macmillan was further chastised for giving her the opportunity to redeem herself by rewriting. After his editor, Philip Gwyn Jones of Picador Imprint, rightly said he wished he had been clearer about his support for Clanchy and his rights, while condemning online abuse and trolling by his critics, he issued an apology for causing further injuries which read like a hostage note: “I now understand that I need to use my privileged position as a white middle class caretaker with more awareness. ”
Clanchy seems to have been thrown beyond pallor, where there is no room for nuance. But it appears from the testimonies of those who know her that she has done a lot of good, defending young people that society too often ignores. His students have addressed the UN, been commissioned to write poetry for the BBC and had their poetry set to music by acclaimed composers.
How to give meaning to his ostracism? Some people are desperate to see the world in black and white. Clanchy’s worst crime is not fitting into that mould. Of course it doesn’t: none of us can rise above the imperfectly human. Look around her and it’s obvious she’s done more good than most. This is why the anti-racist school of thought that is obsessed with the blame and shame that all white people should bear for structural discrimination is so corrosive to the common cause and understanding. White people who do nothing to challenge racism are terrible, but white people who stumble trying to do something about it are even worse. The societal misogyny that infects this movement means it views older white women as the worst of all. Any expression of distress is the weaponization of “white women’s tears.” The witch has no right to have feelings; they divert attention from its role as a lightning rod for anger against all the ills of society.
The lack of diversity in the edition makes it vulnerable to witch hunts. It’s notoriously chic and white; When someone unknown comes along saying something is so offensive it should be erased from the record, editors assume they’re speaking for all people of color, as if we’re a uniform mass of thought. .
Pan Macmillan’s overreaction has caused enormous collateral damage – he will no longer publish a new anthology of Clanchy student poems – and is no substitute for diversification work. “Sensitive readers”, those who comb through manuscripts looking for what is potentially offensive, are a crude development: it disempowers and plays on the idea that if a book has the potential to offend, it does not should not be published.
What happened to Clanchy is a sad story for our times. No individual is to blame: it’s the product of fragile and loose institutions, and the collective social media frenzy that takes precedence over heads on a platter of change. But what I don’t understand is Pan Macmillan’s lack of humanity. One of its authors writes that he feels suicidal, as Clanchy recently did, and, rather than offer his support, he leaves.
Despite all our differences of opinion, our eagerness to speak out about good and bad, the one thing we must never allow the digital age to allow us to forget is the duty of care we owe ourselves as human beings. humans.
