This strategy seems so self-evident that it frustrates me that it’s so often squandered. I accept that solo books with female leads have proven a hard sell for a male-dominated audience, but I don’t see why any team book with seven members should ever have only one or two women. I understand why Cap, Iron Man, Wolverine and Spidey need to magically appear on multiple teams at once in addition to their own books, but I don’t understand why all those other white people need to be there. I don’t understand why Monica Rambeau isn’t on any team at all.
The answer that editors, creators and some fans typically give to these questions about diversity is that story comes first. Story is what matters. Good stories are the most important thing.
But that’s a red herring, and such a pious one that it might be a holy mackerel. There is no binary choice between “good story” and “better representation.” The “good story” line is popular nonsense. One might as plausibly defend bad spelling by saying “we put story first.” No one has suggested that diversity should come at the expense of story, and there is no tension between those expectations. Story should come first, but, “a better reflection of the diversity of the world wherever possible” should be somewhere on the same checklist.
So right now on CBR there’s this article, which is ostensibly about how there’s “something in the air” lately that’s causing creators to leave the Big Two to push their own projects elsewhere, specifically at Image. The article does a fair enough job compiling the events that have pushed creators away from what are seen as relatively safe, cushy jobs at the Big Two and of pointing towards the increasingly more demanding contracts from those publishers that are alienating their creative teams. And then it ends on a note of hopefulness, describing the sense that there’s something building on the horizon. But here’s the thing: this is an article published on CBR, where it is currently surrounded by gigantic eyesores of ads for Before Watchmen.
It makes for an unintentionally hilarious juxtaposition between message and context, one that is given a tragic air since the piece was apparently partially inspired by the death of Robert L. Washington III, perhaps best known as the co-creator of the DC property Static Shock. As a recent piece on MTV Geek pointed out, Washington came from an era where creators were especially ill-treated by publishers like DC and Marvel and as depressing as it was to find out how poor he was at the end of his life (to the extent where he may receive a pauper’s burial), it was by no means an uncommon fact to learn about a comics creator. And in that same MTV Geek piece, Valerie Gallaher brilliantly summarizes why it is that so many comics creators wind up so impoverished when she explains “Comic creators have long labored in a bubble that they are makingComics — are engaged in a noble profession that creates the dreams and hopes and heroes of generations of the young and the young-at-heart. And it is a noble profession. But it is my belief that the good intentions and mystique and joy and magical aura around writing and drawing superheroes and funny animals have been traditionally exploited by some publishers in exchange for larger rights-shares (if they deign give their creators any rights over their creations at all), lower pay, zero benefits, zero security, and, in some cases, outright poor treatment.”
But Gallaher doesn’t quite go as far as she should, as both the CBR article and, to a lesser extent, even her own MTV Geek piece as well as a later piece of hers on Paolo Rivera’s departure from Marvel show. The fact is that there’s plenty of criticism of the practices of the mainstream publishing industry (and even of big “indie” players, like Bluewater) but so often it amounts to little more than noise. Just as creators are often afraid of burning bridges and thus stay silent when their peers are mistreated or manipulated, the critical community in comics is too often completely unwilling to step up and put its money where its mouth is, resulting in awkward juxtapositions like the ads framing the CBR article, or the flood of what were basically promotional Before Watchmen videos on MTV Geek’s main page around the time that Gallaher’s Washington piece was up. That the ads in this case were Before Watchmen-specific made things all the more confounding; from one side of their mouths, our commentators are demanding that we be better to the creators who generate content for us, while the other side demands that we go out and buy one of the most controversial uses of a property license in the history of the medium.
What that communicates, both to readers and those working within the comics industry, is that we critics are too afraid of getting cut off from Big Two publicity or ad revenue that we stop before making any real waves. Whether or not that’s true doesn’t matter, because the perception is created: we can argue it all we want, but to many readers, those kinds of contradictions are impossible not to notice. But what if we did something? What if we took a stance as a community and stood with creators, refusing to cover work that didn’t meet certain fair treatment guidelines? Or what if we refused to promote works that directly violated principles that we hold dear? What if we became more involved in the way creators are treated in the industry, working alongside those creators to get them the same kind of basic rights that are universal in nearly every other industry— things like unions, health insurance, or any other right you take for granted at your day job?
It’s something I’m personally becoming more concerned about, to the point where I can’t stop thinking about it and how to go about it. Certain aspects of the groundwork have been laid at Comics Bulletin and I really hope that we’ll be able to make some announcements soon, but I’m hoping that regardless of what we may accomplish, this continued focus on the plight of the creator in comics will only pick up more steam and we’ll see even more advancements in the fair treatment of those working in comics.