John Green

It’s actually not too often that I take to Tumblr to get on my soapbox. I save that work for the classroom, or the pen, or in late night conversations with friends. 

But then I was scrolling tonight and read a post from @fishingboatproceeds detailing why he perhaps will have to change the way he uses this website–because of cowardly comments from people, as he rightfully attests, stealing the language of social justice to degrade and humiliate. 

I am an educator–degree in Theatre Education and English Education. I see every day the need for books that are representative, that speak to the concerns and lives and experiences of young people. I have cried myself to sleep at night because, too much of the time, I am required to force students through texts that they have no connection or relation to. 

There is a reason why John Green is so popular within this audience. It is not because he is perfect as a person. (I’m going to assume he’s not.) It is not because his writing is perfect. (It’s not.) But his books have caught the attention of an audience because, more than anything, they capture the wild joy of being young. His characters are self-centered, pseudo-intellectual, completely wrapped up in their own little worlds and problems. Just like every. single. teenager. I have ever worked with as a teacher, director, or mentor. 

His characters can be problematic–teenagers can be problematic. 

If you don’t appreciate his writing–an honest critique would be welcome. Engaging with the literature of your time and in particular the literature that represents your demographic is a fantastic 

But this post wasn’t about his writing. It accused John Green of writing with malicious intent to somehow…?????…Trap young girls? Another post I recently saw accused him of everything from being transphobic to racist to sexist to blah blah blah blah blah. 

…What? Let’s dial back the crazy a bit, shall we? 

There are real predators out there. Actual people who want to prey on young women. Go find them and fight them. John Green is not one of them. 

There are actual racists out there. People who with violence or law would create and continue a society where racial minorities are second class citizens. THERE ARE PEOPLE OUT THERE WHO WANT TO DO PHYSICAL HARM TO THOSE OF A DIFFERENT RACE. Go find them and fight them. 

John Green is not one of them. 

There are actual misogynists out there. People who with violence or law would create and continue a society where women are second class citizens. THERE ARE PEOPLE OUT THERE WHO BELIEVE THAT WOMEN SHOULD LIVE THEIR LIVES SUBSERVIENT TO MEN. THERE ARE PEOPLE OUT THERE THAT CONDONE AND COMMIT ACTS OF SEXUAL VIOLENCE AND ABUSE. 

Go find them and fight them. 

John Green is not one of them. 

John Green, as an author, is not perfect. There are plenty of social and literary critiques that can certainly be applied. 

He also has said and done many things that have promoted education and tolerance and has continued to help many young people read more and think more and engage with the world more. 

If you are mistaking this man for your enemy, you are fighting the wrong fight. 

In short, you may not agree with everything John Green says and does, you can dislike his writing, but for fucks sake, you are on the same side. Place your anger where it is deserved, where it’s needed, and stop making such idiotic accusations. You are not social justice warriors when you are so enraged by everything that you can’t tell the difference between an enemy and an ally. 

If by chance you read this, John, know that I am saddened that you have to change the interaction with your fan base here on Tumblr–but I fully support your decision to do so. You should not for one second have to take a word of that kind of pathetic vitriol, and I can only imagine how sad it must make you feel to have such vile things spouted at you. Do what you have to do for your own happiness, mental health, and safety, and remember that you have a fan base who are loyal, who are clever, and who don’t give a second glance to hate and stupidity. 

I’m shocked that this person doesn’t understand jack shit about why many people are angry about John Green, considering they’re being an ableist ass without actually physically harming disabled people or calling for their subservience (in so many words)--which to them, doesn’t qualify as ableism and shouldn’t be criticized or inspire hatred.

#Sarcasm. I’m not shocked at all. OP, you need to understand some shit about racism, sexism/misogyny, ableism, and other oppressive structures and cultures before you start designating who the real enemies are. Fun fact: they’re parts of ourselves and people we like too, even if we think we’re/they’re “the good ones”. Do not encourage an anti-criticism culture that will stagnate someone’s’ bad feminism at bad and/or a culture where everybody should be scared to criticize or dislike famous people cos some think they’re “better” than the other famous people (and some take it too far with death threats and the like--I’m sure some did, because some always do, though more so with marginalized people).

John Green isn’t the worst, there’re almost always worse people to point to and WRONGLY be like “No, THOSE people are Actually Oppressive”, but learn this: people can criticize/even hate whatever privileged white dude (who stepped over his bounds and was a shitty feminist [ally] in a way they feel harmed them) they want to without having ableist slurs and “Bad SJW! You’re hurting allies!” crap hurled at them, k. Learn that and then stop.

‘how to be a non shitty middle aged white man' by misha collins and mark ruffalo

"How dare you insult this poor, defenseless, privileged, white, able bodied, cishetero actor when he says shitty things! I can’t believe this! I’m sick of people being offended when he consciously says offensive things or doesn’t think about what comes out of his mouth! It’s horrible that he has to deal with this kind of abuse from a small percentage of people on the internet whose words will never even reach his ears! I don’t care if they have to deal with the effects of bigoted mindsets like his every day, he shouldn’t have to deal with the fifteen minutes of vitriol from his supposed fandom! God, why are people such inconsiderate, rude assholes? He should be able to shirk any sense of societal responsibility he holds in order to express his opinions, even if they are shitty!"

White guys are so proud of their ability to be not offended. When one of them tells a rape joke or uses a racial slur, they wink and pat themselves on the back and give endless attaboys for their superior skills in being not offended. They decry the “politically correct” society they find themselves in and look down on anyone who has the lack of fortitude to be offended by anything.

Of course, what allows them to be not offended at rape jokes and racial slurs is that they are not targeted at them. For white guys, these are fun toys to play with; while for much of the rest of the world, they are tools of violence and oppression. Not just relics of the past, but very much alive and well today. So, then, the magical quality that allows these guys to remain so aloof and above-it-all is, quite simply, privilege.

And if you want to watch hypocrisy and cognitive dissonance in action, simply bring up privilege to these not offended white guys and see how fast and hard they become offended. Privilege is a concept so simple and obvious that most social scientists take it as axiomatic, but the mere mention of it gets these guys worked up into a rage. They’re so proud of their ability to be not offended by oppressive language and stereotypes, but they’ll be damned if you point out why. Funny. It’s almost as if they are the beneficiaries of systems of oppression and want to subtly encourage those systems so as to continue benefiting, while simultaneously stifling all mention of those systems, so as to mollify their fragile egos and underused consciences. 

But by all means; continue to congratulate yourself on your superior ability to be not offended by oppression and cruelty. 

why people who tell me they don’t get offended and are super proud of that fact make me roll my eyes.

Yeah, basically. Which is why if you say “white guys” or “white people” those same white guys (and white girls, let us not forget) will get super mad and say it’s racist.

someone on datalounge who I cannot quite disagree with (via aliapenny)

I just need that entire comment on my blog:

“It’s just a bullshit PR campaign, nothing more. Telling kids to put up with bullying until they leave school is not constructive advice. It’s cruel. School boards, school administrators, teachers, etc., need to have zero tolerance policy for bullying. It’s not uncommon for teachers to bully unpopular kids themselves. That’s where the changes need to be made. But that requires action, and it requires standing up to conservatives who fight anti-bullying campaigns tooth and nail (often claiming that bullying gay people is a christian right). The reason “It Gets Better” caught on with politicians and celebrities is because it’s great PR and it requires absolutely NOTHING from them in the way of real action.

It’s cruelty to tell a kid to tolerate bullying. And to whom is this campaign even directed? The fat gay kids that Savage makes fun of himself? It’s a campaign aimed at good looking white boys with great bodies and upper middle class families. Yes, THEY will do better once they start hitting the gay bars. But for most average looking kids from working class families, they will find a gay community that’s often very much like High School, with cliques and teasing and rejection. Gay kids need to get support from society, and the kids that need that most are the kids that Savage himself would mock and demonize; kids of color, working class and poor kids, fat kids, kids with acne, and kids who are otherwise marginalized in society AND in our community.

Even when you look at the videos on YouTube, you see politicians who’ve come out against marriage equality, sports teams that would never accept a gay person in their ranks, and celebrities who just want some good press. The gay kids who participate are often great looking white boys, who you know will be accepted in the gay community, and are already leading charmed lives. It’s a campaign for the people Savage likes…sexy white male teenagers with athletic bodies who will be greeted with open arms.

I’ll take the campaign seriously when Savage speaks out on behalf of marginalized gay kids, and criticizes the gay community for iots racism and other prejudices. But he’s the biggest bigot and bully of the bunch, and that’s been proven from his many years as a “columnist.” I often couldn’t believe how conservative, prejudiced, and intolerant he was in those columns.”

(via davyjonesing)

Also trans people. 

Dan Savage doesn’t care about the T, and he’s been actively, grossly cissexist on many distinct occasions. 

(via misterstibbons)

Not to mention asexuals, women, lower-class people, etc. Let’s face it kids, Dan Savage is the most hypocritical douchebag in the queer rights movement.

But yes I agree with everything that has been posted above. 

(via daelhorhota)

don’t forget that he thinks bisexuals in general need to “make up their mind” and that male bisexuals are essentially unicorns

(via freakingdork)

I once had an extended argument over when he was glitter-bombed because he’s a huge hypocritical transphobe. You can’t claim to be a trans* ally and then hurl transphobic slurs at your enemies. There’s no complicit-by-ignorance-and-stupidity argument to be made there - that’s just straight up transphobia. He is not an ‘activist.’ He is making a great living by essentially capitalizing on the intersection of his hegemonic identities and a burgeoning pinkwashed economy.

(via trungles)

liking all the commentary here, and yeah that’s always bugged me about the “it gets better” campaign; it should be made better for kids NOW, not just waiting for them to get older and for their life to stop sucking

(via pentapod-monster)

This is powerful.

The Kids Don’t Stand A Chance: For those who think I rant about the patriarchy and misogyny too much

queen-gertrude:

thelittlekneesofbees:

To the guy in my medieval literature class, who lent me one of Camus’ plays and showed me around the library.  Who wants to use his French education not to escape to the West, but to go back to his third-world home country to teach at its eight-year-old university.  Who I admired until he asked me what my American boyfriend had thought about me coming to Paris, until he demanded to know why I didn’t have one (a boyfriend, that is), until he asked if it was required that I marry an American.  Who reached out and touched my earrings, without asking, the next time he saw me.  Who won’t take a hint. 

To the PhD student who tried to take me up to his apartment after a five minute conversation, when I had just wanted to get lunch, who said there’s a first time for everything.  Who told me that we were university students, living in a 21st century democracy, and that relations between men and women were different now, so what was I so scared of?  Who recoiled in shock when I told him that I had friends who’d been raped, and by other university students, at that.  Who does not have to think about rape on a daily basis.  Who insisted on paying for my lunch, because “it was a matter of honor.”  Who then physically prevented me from handing my money to the cashier, when I was trying to make it clear that this was not a date.  Who didn’t believe me when I said I didn’t want a boyfriend, five times.  Whose number I blocked the moment I stepped on the metro.  Who has called me three times since.  Who told me he wants to go into Senegalese politics.  Who, I can only hope, will listen to the women of his country better than he listened to me.

To the delivery guy on the red motorcycle idling outside of the apartments on Avenue de Porte de Vanves, the ones I walk past every day, who said bonsoir and who, because I said it in return to be polite, followed me to the metro as I walked, head twisted down, pretending that I didn’t understand the language I’ve studied for eight years.

To the two men Thursday night in le Marais, swaggering drunk toward me, ignoring the male friend standing by my side, who leered at my chest and slurred, “Bonsoir, comme tu es mignonne,” as I shoved past them, trying to sound angry, not afraid.  Who left me feeling fidgety and panicked, so when I took the night bus in the wrong direction and found myself alone with two other strange men at a bus stop at 2:30 A.M., I let the cab driver fleece me out of 25 euro just to take a taxi home.

To the group of teenage boys loitering on the corner by my apartment, who decided to sound a siren at my approach because I was wearing a knee-length dress and a bulky sweater.  Who made me regret forgoing tights because I had wanted to feel the spring air on my calves for once.  Who will never have to wear an itchy pair of pantyhose in their entire lives.  To whom I said nothing, because I still have to walk past that corner twice a day for the next three-and-a-half months, because there were five of them and one of me. 

To the three men standing on the corner of the periphery five minutes later when I was crossing the street.  To the one who motioned for his friends to turn and look at me, quick, and then left his wolf-whistle ringing in my ears, shame like sunburn covering my face.  Who didn’t care that it was broad daylight.  Who made me wish that I could swear a blue streak back in French, without my accent betraying that I am American, which is another word for “easy” here.

To the two men at sunset on the bridge by Saint Michel, in the middle of tourist central, who made skeeting noises at me, like a pair of sputtering mosquitoes, to get my attention.  Who laughed when I flipped them off, and who kept hissing at me anyway.  Who forced me to keep checking over my shoulder, all the way to the metro, to make sure that I wasn’t being followed.

But also to the French friend who blamed my problems with French men on my university in the northern suburbs, a Parisian synonym for emeutes, gang violence, and immigration.  Who insisted that if he brought me to his upper-crust private (white) university—where the French elite reproduces itself into perpetuity—I would meet nicer French guys.  Who forced me to defend the men who’d harassed me against his barely-veiled, racist critique.

And also to the American friend at home who nearly rolled his eyes as he half-listened to my stories, who said, “Oh god, it’s hard being so attractive, isn’t it?” as if I was being vain.  Who laughs and does not understand why I always duck out of the frame of photographs, who knows nothing of what my body means to me. 

And that’s just two months in Paris. 

To all the Italian men who made me wish I had dyed my hair black before studying in Florence, who kept me from going out dancing because I got sick of feeling them creeping up behind me, sneaking their hands around my waist (and lower) when I’d already said NO three times.

To the six-foot-something Georgetown student who prided himself on protecting the girls from being groped on the dance floor.  Who chose to write about the rape of the Sabine woman for that week’s assignment.  Who described the way her breast slipped free of her tunic when she fell, as if he was writing a porno, not a rape scene, who had the woman fall in love with her Roman rapist the next morning, after he spun her a tale of the coming glory of his country. Who said “in a fit of passion, she thrust herself upon his member” and was not joking.  Who ended the story with the titular character saying to her children that she had been raped, but only at first.

To the seventh-grade boy who told my younger sister that he could rape her, if he wanted to.

To the gang of twenty-five year-olds in the Jeep who hollered at her as they drove past, leering at her thirteen-year-old body dressed in sweat pants and a tank top.  Who made my sister, fearless on the soccer field and in the classroom and in the karate studio, run home crying. Who were the reason she became afraid to walk the dog by herself in our “safe, suburban” neighborhood.

To my father, who said, “What white male privilege?”  Who was not being ironic.