[My original letter was posted May 31, 2013 and was, alas, lost when the sharknado hit my website. This is a copy of the Google cache, which can be found here. Comments remain if you wish to follow that link; I've closed comments here.
I posted a follow up to this letter in early 2014: Dear SFWA, the Second.]
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Dear SFWA,
I’m leaving you.
Oh, not for another writing organization, please don’t think it’s anything like that. I wasn’t one of those girls who dreamed of hooking up with a professional writer’s organization, because I actually always found my best way outside of groups. I always have. Maybe ours was not a pairing that was ever fated to be—do we believe in fate? It feels like speculative fiction, doesn’t it? But let me tell you a true story, first.
It began with issue #200 of the Bulletin—all right, #199 if we want to get technical. It began with the Resnick and Malzberg Dialogues, a long-time feature of the publication. It began when two men sat down to have a dialogue about editors and writers of the female gender. How fantastic, I thought, because I, being a writer and an editor and female, had a keen interest in such things. I love reading anthologies such as Women of Wonder (and its sequel) and seeing how women impacted and contributed to this forward-looking and -thinking genre I love. I hoped they might include the women who inspired me and introduce me to many I hadn’t yet discovered.
That’s not what I found. I found a dialogue that seemed more focused on how these “lady editors” and “lady writers” looked in bathing suits, and that they were “beauty pageant beautiful” or a “knock out.” I am certain no condescension was intended with the use of “lady,” but as the dialogues went on, I felt the word carried a certain tone—perhaps that was a fiction of my own making. As I listened to these two men talk about lady editors and writers they had known, I grew uneasy. Something wasn’t right.
I posted excerpts of the dialogue to my friends on Twitter. Was I imagining the whole thing? Was I taking it wrong? Maybe I had made a poor conclusion—after all, the cover of issue #200 was a woman in a chain mail bikini. Maybe the issue was intended as a look backward (a step backward), toward the group we used to be.
But no.
My friends were surprised, and appalled, and outraged. They ran to their mailboxes to read the entire piece themselves.
Great conversations took place on the SFWA forums—wherein members debated the merits of issue #200. Or, where they tried. As part of the bunch who were complaining about the content, perhaps my outlook remains skewed. We were told by other members (chiefly male, it should be noted) that we were overreacting. That there was nothing in that issue to take offense with.
The editorial staff (headed by a woman) vowed to improve, to seek more membership input. Issue #201 was little better—it included an article, written by another man, that told women to emulate Barbie, to “maintain our quiet dignity as a woman should.” I could not believe those words—yet there they were, in black and white. I asked my friends again—was I mistaken? Was I simply taking these words out of context? They were surprised, appalled, outraged. First at the idea that someone felt such a thing, and next at the idea that SFWA published it in the magazine which is part of our public presence. (I talked about Being Barbie, too.)
Issue #202 was on the horizon. A dear friend sent me an email, telling me not to read it. While amused, I was also dismayed. What had happened now? Had things really not improved? After all the debate and conversation?
Things had not improved.
Issue #202 brought with it a “rebuttal” from Malzberg and Resnick, in which they used the words “censorship,” and “suppression,” and “ban.” In which they said those who complained about their article were anonymous to them, that the SFWA forum had become “the arena for difference.” Was it members who objected to “apparent sexism,” or was it a larger, darker, more hostile and threatening thing that wanted to suppress their dialogues?
In all the complaints that were voiced, there was never a call for censorship. There was never a call for suppression. There was a call for respect.
There arose the notion that women are people too; that, in a piece focusing on editors, one might speak of editing ability, of anthologies and magazines assembled, and not how one looked in a bathing suit. Surely such content didn’t belong in a piece about editors? Were these such radical thoughts? What year is it?
There arose the notion that SFWA might consider its membership—its whole membership—when assembling an issue of the Bulletin. That SFWA might take in to mind that perhaps a good portion of its membership would be offended and insulted by content that tells them to keep their quiet dignity as a woman should.
And now, apparently, we who voiced complaint are having another finger leveled toward us, saying how dare we? How dare we voice a contrary opinion—surely we want to silence all thoughts that are unlike our own! Surely we want to strike these men and their dated notions from all records!
Because we ask to be respected and have our point of view respected does not mean we wish to obliterate the point of view of another.
Because we ask to be treated with the same thought you would give a person of your own gender, a person of a different gender, a person of a different religion, a person of your own religion, a person of your own race, a person of a different race, does not mean we seek to tear down anything you believe, follow, or espouse.
Because we ask to be called “editors” and “writers” and not be singled out, determined, judged, praised, looked down on, or slighted because of what sexual characteristics our bodies may display does not mean we hate what we are. We are writers. Period.
SFWA, I loved you. I loved the idea that I could sell stories (a thing I always wanted to do), and join your ranks. I loved the idea that I could log into a forum and talk with authors and editors I admired. I loved getting an SFWA sticker on my convention badges and meeting other members at the table in the dealer’s room. You took great care of me the year I could not afford to pay my dues. I loved so many things about you—but your apparent willingness to overlook constant and continued sexism in your own publication and ranks I do not love.
I am leaving you, not for someone else, or for another group, but for me. I am leaving you because your publication and certain members have made me feel unwanted and unwelcome more than once. I have grown uncomfortable speaking my mind in the forum because based on prior incidents, someone may likely tell me I’m being silly for feeling the way I do. No one should make another feel that way.
SFWA, I loved you, but part of this dialogue concerning respect must contain my respect for myself. That’s why I have to go.
Sincerely,
E. Catherine Tobler