Can We Only Write What We Know?

Buckle up, dear readers. This is a long one.

I’m sure many of you have heard about, and are likely following with some curiosity, the tensions that have arisen due to the announcement of Darren Criss’ successor in the wildly popular Maybe Happy Ending.

In case you haven’t heard, it was recently announced that Andrew Barth Feldman (a Caucasian actor) will be taking over the role of Oliver, currently played by Darren Criss (an actor of Filipino descent). Since this news broke, many have criticized the choice, seeing it as rolling back an important, and highly visible, moment of representation for the AAPI community (with Telly Leung pointedly calling the move “erasure”), while the Writers themselves have defended the move, saying that the roles should be “comfortably performed by anyone, anywhere - yet distinctly set in Korea.” It should be noted, however, that to this point only Asian actors have been cast as the Helperbots in the show’s two productions of note (for those looking for a deeper dive on this, I highly urge you to check out Daniella Ignacio’s breakdown in American Theatre).

This conflict over casting is only the tip of the iceberg when it comes to representation, however, as was clearly pointed out in one of my recent TheaterMakers Mentorship calls. The topic of Oh, Mary! came up, and along with it a frustrated opinion voiced over the fact that only a certain sector of the artistic community could get away with writing such a lampoon without being absolutely pilloried. Which is likely true. Cole’s vision is uniquely born from their identity and experience, and someone from outside that perspective would likely be seen as punching down, rather than up (punching up being one of the key elements of successful satire).

And then the dreaded question reared its ugly head:

“Am I really only allowed to write about people who reflect who I am?”

I’m not going to lie. I hate this question. Why? Because I don’t think there’s any good one-size-fits-all answer.

What I can do is lay out how I perceive two (of likely many) sides of the argument, and where I (mostly) stand on the matter, personally.

On the “write whatever you want” side of the argument, it’s easy to say that “people are people” and that we should have the freedom to write whomever we want as characters within our work. A story about falling in love is “universal,” one might argue, and thus populating the story with people from many backgrounds is natural and exciting, and may not run you into any social or cultural roadblocks (though not running into social or cultural questions on the theme of love likely means you’re only scratching the surface, but I’m getting ahead of myself…). The positive of this argument is that even white cis het Writers (like myself) can continue to have their artistic worlds inhabited by a wide spectrum of characters whose experiences and identities inform the story and allow us to represent a vision of the world at large. Cause let’s face it: a story only populated by characters that reflect me would be reeeeeeeeeal boring (and mostly just be about whiskey and comic books).

When an author does their due diligence to properly construct characters outside of their bubble (providing them with depth, insight, and respect), this argument holds water. When they fail to rise above the level of trope or caricature (or just straight up get the representation “wrong”) then the argument falls apart and we end up with “art” that is at best poorly-informed and at worst offensive and regressive. Needless to say, it takes hard work, a strong dramaturgical support system, and a deft hand to make this argument work.

There’s also, as Daniella Ignacio points out, the double standard of “universality.” MHE’s authors’ intention is that the tale is universal, and thus should be able to transcend the race of the performers. However, what we perceive as being “universal” is most often coded from a white perspective, assuming that others can share in the experience. If MHE is truly universal, what harm comes from retaining the roles for the AAPI community? Surely everyone would still be able to see themselves in the story, regardless of the fact that Asian actors are performing a show set in Korea?

On the flipside of the authenticity issue is the argument that writing outside of your bubble is disingenuous, and perhaps more importantly, taking opportunities away from those whose voices have not, historically, been heard. There is a sense of simplicity and clarity that comes from saying that only black writers can write black stories, or that trans women can only write about trans women. They know the experience, they know the issues, they know the voice. Everything about this situation will likely end up in a piece that is authentic and speaks to their community. It also gives the community ownership over the stories told about them, and literally allows them to shape the cultural narrative.

I have to admit that I more often than not find myself leaning on this argument. The absolutism of it bothers me, however (and is perhaps the biggest argument against it being applied universally) - the implied dictate that I can never write such a story does, admittedly, make my white cis het hackles raise. But then again, that’s my privilege talking. The “how dare you tell me not to?” reaction is selfish and demeaning when put up against the extraordinary lack of true inclusion and diversity at the professional level in our industry (similar to a white actor bemoaning no longer being able to get away with playing Othello… Othello is a great role, but my dude… there’s thousands of roles written for you… stay in your lane). My righteous indignation is nothing compared to thousands of Writers, designers, and performers who have been blocked from telling their own stories.

To poke holes in this argument, I guess folks can point toward any time that a white cis het Writer managed to “get it right” (though I’ll be honest, I’m having a tough time coming up with a bulletproof example… Let me know if you got one). Additionally, the idea of “staying in your lane” is boring. Isn’t art about risks? Absolutely. But should I take my artistic “risks” at the expense of someone’s identity?

So… I’m conflicted. And I think there’s likely a middle ground between these two arguments that allows for sensitive, honest, representation regardless of the author’s identity. I just don’t know what that truly looks like in today’s society.

I will say, however, that I brainstormed a piece that I thought was going to be really powerful and exciting, but then I took a step back at what was being represented, whose story it was, and I put it away because it’s a story better told by that community. Yes, it’s a great story, and yes I might have done a halfway decent job telling it. But I feel it’s not mine to tell. I’m going to leave room for others, because, at the end of the day: there’s a thousand other stories I can be telling. Ones that don’t assert myself into the narrative and leave room at the table for everyone else to be heard.

And to go back to the original conflict… I think Andrew Barth Feldman is a delightful talent, and I’m sure he’ll be wonderful in the role. The fact that he and Helen J Shen are real life paramours makes the meta narrative of the show that much more delicious. Do I still wish that such an acclaimed role in such a beautiful show continued to be held exclusively for the AAPI community? Right now, yes, because the need is there.

What I hope for, though, is that we have a future where so many diverse stories are told and diverse performers hired all the time to perform fulfilling and meaningful roles that speak to them that “losing” one role to a white actor doesn’t feel like such a crushing blow.

That’s the “Maybe Happy Ending” I want…

Write on,

Eric Webb