By: Leigh Ann O’Neill and Brent Morden
Published: Oct 12, 2023
It’s Fall, and writers are submitting their best stories, essays, and poems to literary journals, which have reopened after the summer break. The readership for many of these journals may be small, but they are powerful gatekeepers for aspiring poets and literary authors. Many journals receive hundreds, or even thousands, of submissions every month, from which they typically select only a few pieces for publication. Of the works they publish, they nominate only a handful for prestigious prizes—such as the Pushcart, the O. Henry, and the Best American series—which can launch a young writer’s career.
In apparent violation of federal anti-discrimination law, a growing number of literary journals across the United States are openly discriminating based on race or ancestry in setting the fees they charge to writers submitting their work. By following the current trend toward race essentialism, literary journals are establishing an ominous precedent, while flouting the fundamental principle of equality under the law, regardless of skin color.
Submitting work to journals is easier now than it once was. Gone are the days of mass postal submissions and stamped self-addressed envelopes. Most journals have transitioned to electronic portals such as Submittable.com to manage submissions; and they often charge hopeful authors a submission fee to defray their operating costs. All you need to do is upload your piece, pay your money, and keep your fingers crossed. A single story or poem might be rejected dozens of times before it finds a home.
Even though these fees are typically quite low—five, ten, or twenty dollars—they can start to add up, especially when one considers that the payment for published work offered by these journals is often nominal. Historically, journals have been mindful of the hardship their fees can impose. Harvard Review, Yale Review, and many other prestigious publications offer need-based fee waivers or fee-free submission periods in the case of authors suffering financial hardship.
Recently, however, many journals have taken a different approach: They are assigning fee waivers on the basis of applicants’ skin color and ethnicity. At Ecotone (affiliated with the University of North Carolina), for example, “historically underrepresented writers” may submit earlier than others, and are exempt from fees entirely, regardless of financial need. A similar policy was implemented at Indiana Review (Indiana University Bloomington), where “Black, Indigenous, and Person of Color (BIPOC)” writers were automatically exempted from fees. (Non-BIPOC writers were required either to pay, or to request fee waivers on an individual basis.) At Black Warrior Review (University of Alabama), those who are a “Black, indigenous, or incarcerated writer … may skip the Submittable process and email your submission directly to the editor … for no fee.”
These race-based fee structures violate Title VI of the Civil Rights Act, which prohibits discrimination based on race, color, or national origin by universities and colleges that accept federal funding. In the case of public universities, race-based fees also run afoul of the Equal Protection Clause of the Fourteenth Amendment. And yet, this sort of overtly race-based treatment has continued largely unnoticed and unchallenged.
At the Foundation Against Intolerance & Racism (FAIR)—where the two of us serve as managing director of legal advocacy, and managing director of FAIR in the Arts, respectively—we’re actively working to change that. And we’ve already had some success.
Perhaps these developments should not come as a surprise. Literary journals are simply exhibiting the fixation on racial and ethnic identity that has become a mainstay of academia and mainstream publishing. But trying to atone for past discrimination by imposing differential race-based treatment on citizens isn’t just illegal in many cases; it also serves to stereotype non-white people as poor, beleaguered, and victimized. And it serves to overlook those who do need assistance because of disadvantages they’ve suffered in life, but who don’t possess the immutable characteristics considered to be an indicator of struggle and strife.
Moreover, these practices foster societal division by elevating superficial differences over all the elements we have in common. This undermines the sense of empathy, imagination, and intellectual freedom required to create compelling literature; and deadens the unifying, inspiring, and humanizing effect that art can have on us.
In the grand sweep of things, the submission policies of small literary journals may not seem to be an important issue. But it represents yet another challenge to our liberal values—and a harbinger of what kind of racially Balkanized society awaits us if we allow unconstitutional race-based policies to become the new normal in American cultural life.
Leigh Ann O’Neill is managing director of legal advocacy at the Foundation Against Intolerance & Racism (FAIR). Brent Morden is managing director of FAIR in the Arts.
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probably time for this story i guess but when i was a kid there was a summer that my brother was really into making smoothies and milkshakes. part of this was that we didn't have AC and couldn't afford to run fans all day so it was kind of important to get good at making Cool Down Concoctions.
we also had a patch of mint, and he had two impressionable little sisters who had the attitude of "fuck it, might as well."
at one point, for fun, this 16 year old boy with a dream in his eye and scientific fervor in heart just wanted to see how far one could push the idea of "vanilla mint smoothie". how much vanilla extract and how much mint can go into a blender before it truly is inedible.
the answer is 3 cups of vanilla extract, 1/2 cup milk alternative, and about 50 sprigs (not leaves, whole spring) of mint. add ice and the courage of a child. idk, it was summer and we were bored.
the word i would use to describe the feeling of drinking it would maybe be "violent" or perhaps, like. "triangular." my nose felt pristine. inhaling following the first sip was like trying to sculpt a new face. i was ensconced in a mesh of horror. it was something beyond taste. for years after, i assumed those commercials that said "this is how it feels to chew five gum" were referencing the exact experience of this singular viscous smoothie.
what's worse is that we knew our mother would hate that we wasted so much vanilla extract. so we had to make it worth it. we had to actually finish the drink. it wasn't "wasting" it if we actually drank it, right? we huddled around outside in the blistering sun, gagging and passing around a single green potion, shivering with disgust. each sip was transcendent, but in a sort of non-euclidean way. i think this is where i lost my binary gender. it eroded certain parts of me in an acidic gut ecology collapse.
here's the thing about love and trust: the next day my brother made a different shake, and i drank it without complaint. it's been like 15 years. he's now a genuinely skilled cook. sometimes one of the three of us will fuck up in the kitchen or find something horrible or make a terrible smoothie mistake and then we pass it to each other, single potion bottle, and we say try it it's delicious. it always smells disgusting. and then, cerimonious, we drink it together. because that's what family does.
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Melissa Chen: I Came to America for Freedom, but Now It’s Looking More Like the Country I Left
I grew up in Singapore, where I felt first-hand what it was like to live in a society where free speech is restricted. Social harmony is prioritized over civil liberties in Singapore's multi-cultural society, fomenting a culture of fear and self-censorship on top of legal prohibitions.
I moved to America for college when I was 17. I wanted a challenging education and a social milieu that valued the free exchange of ideas because I knew that was the only way to grow intellectually and cultivate emotional resiliency. It wasn’t until I was in graduate school that I realized that the America I had sought was increasingly resembling the conditions in which I grew up in in Singapore.
Across town from me in Boston, Harvard University had disinvited a record number of speakers, for reasons including their views on topics like immigration, Israel, and sexual orientation. Harvard’s guidelines banned “behavior evidently intended to dishonor such characteristics as race, gender, ethnic group, religious belief, or sexual orientation.” This guideline was nearly identical to what was law in Singapore.
But even worse than that, an intolerant ideology that promoted collective guilt and racial essentialism had begun to emerge. I noticed my white and male classmates were not being allowed to express opinions that addressed issues related to people of color or women. Phrases like “check your privilege” became a part of everyday conversation. This was something that I never witnessed in Singapore, a nation that was prosperous despite its faults because of its focus on the equality of all people.
After university, I co-founded an organization named Ideas Beyond Borders, where we translated and digitied texts about Enlightenment ideas into Arabic for free. We worked with translators who lived in places like Libya, Syria, Egypt, Iran and Iraq. My exposure to so many failed states led me to see the common denominators that undergirded societal dysfunction and civil conflict; many of these places were severely dogged by extremism, intolerance, and sectarianism.
Even more than my life in Singapore, this provided me with an intense appreciation for the freedoms we have here in America. Why were the students around me so focused on the problems with my white male classmates and teachers, while they largely ignored the injustices I was witnessing around the world?
And since I’ve graduated, it seems like these trends have spread through our nation far beyond the reaches of academia. While so many were focused on American culture wars, including for example asking Disney to fire Gina Carano for supposedly offensive tweets, few were paying attention while Disney made deals to film with the government in Xinjiang, China, where Uighur Muslims were being held in concentration camps.
This way of looking at the world has a goal of raising awareness of racial injustice. That’s laudable. But within this conception of the world there is also a simplistic and reductive understanding of power dynamics in which oppression must always come from people seen as white, male, western, heterosexual, cisgender, or ablebodied – and be inflicted upon those seen as marginalized – people of color, colonized or indigenous people, women, LGBT, or the disabled.
This lens ignores the struggle against real repression globally, including what I have witnessed in Singapore and the Middle East. In doing so, it empowers illiberal, authoritarian forces, from China, to Russia, to the stirrings of Islamist groups eager to rebuild their caliphate.
All around the world, from pro-democracy activists in Hong Kong to feminists in Egypt, countless people seek the freedoms that we in the West take for granted. Meanwhile, we are undoing the ideas that have made the modern West the most progressive place on the planet, while shielding the world’s most brazen abusers of human rights from criticism.
If you care about justice for oppressed people, it’s incumbent on us to push back against bad ideas. America has problems, and we need to improve, but the center of the struggle for human dignity isn’t here. Please, let’s keep America the country I wanted to come to.
I’m Melissa Chen. Join me in defending pro-human values at FairForAll.org.
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The other primary explanation for our abandonment of civility as a first-principle is that we've turned our political views into our identity. We're more likely to intentionally surround ourselves only with those we find ideologically and politically aligned with our tribe. We're less likely to break ranks and be seen talking to the other side, let alone give any consideration to their point of view. When we turn our politics into an integral facet of our identity, every disagreement or criticism of our party feels like a personal attack.
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First, take responsibility for what you let into your psyche. This doesn't mean you shouldn't stay informed about politics. But once you recognize that 90 percent of the news media–including the outlets who support your team–is designed to keep you scared and angry, you can choose to opt out. You can stay abreast of important current events without internalizing the dire messages that political candidates, cable news, and many pundits are selling.
How to bring civility back to our politics - FAIR
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