J.K. Rowling
I, like almost every other child of my generation, was raised on Harry Potter. My love affair with the series began all because of my older brother, Cam. He owned each of the seven books, in hardcover, and parts of his childhood bedroom wall looked like an HP merch store — lined with movie posters, bobbleheads, and memorabilia. It was only per his advice that I read the books in the first place, soon easily becoming engulfed in the wizarding world myself.
I think it was that very origin story with the series, along with memories of piling in the car with my family to see the final film on premiere night or the magical realism of walking through Diagon Alley inside Universal Studios for the first time, that made J.K. Rowling’s recent harmful acts and subsequent “cancellation” so initially hard to digest. And I think that sentiment was (and still is) widely shared.
In the very end of 2019, Harry Potter author J.K. Rowling started trending on social media, and not because of any sort of positive publicity. Very much the opposite, Rowling had shared a tweet in support of Maya Forstater — a British researcher who lost her job at non-profit think tank after publishing a series of tweets that were criticized as transphobic. However, this show of support by Rowling was not the first time she had been accused of holding trans-exclusionary radical feminist (or, ‘TERF,’ an acronym coined by trans activists) views, liking tweets for years prior that appeared transphobic to many but hid under the guise of “advocating for women’s rights.”
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Then in June, almost half a year later, Rowling penned an open-letter for her website, in which she wrote “about her reasons for speaking out on sex and gender issues” on Twitter. In the letter, she discussed five reasons “for being worried about the new trans activism,” among them that she “is interested in freedom of speech” and is “concerned about the huge explosion in young women wishing to transition and also about the increasing numbers who seem to be detransitioning (returning to their original sex), because they regret taking steps that have, in some cases, altered their bodies irrevocably.”
In the wake of Rowling speaking out, she faced a flood of backlash online. The hashtag #RIPJKRowling quickly went viral. Trans activists like Charlotte Clymer responded to Rowling’s tweet by validating trans people and expressing feelings of heartbreak. LGBTQ+ non-profit GLAAD made a statement against Rowling and shared resources to help support Black trans people. Life-long Harry Potter fans expressed their outrage and disgust with Rowling’s views. And two stars of the Harry Potter movies, Daniel Radcliffe and Emma Watson, quickly made their own statements online in support of the trans community, speaking to the millions of now confused and numb HP fans.
In many of these instances, people were speaking out against “the big guy,” a successful, millionaire author, in defense of the trans community — one that has faced violence, been discriminated against, and been brutally delegitimized and disenfranchised for decades. In that way, Rowling’s “cancellation” was a powerful show of activism and advocacy on behalf of trans people everywhere.
And, still, simultaneously, Rowling also received messages of support from followers and friends, who shared her views and were “thankful” that she spoke out — showing that there can be multiple sides to each “cancellation.” As for every one person who speaks out against a celebrity, you can usually find one speaking up in support, too.
However, perhaps the most interesting and thought-provoking aspect of Rowling’s “cancellation” goes back to how difficult it was, for me and many others online, to initially process it. How could someone we once admired, who was capable of producing such powerful work, disappoint and frustrate us? It brought questions back up that many have surely been pondering in the aftermath of the terrible acts and accusations, and consequential “cancellations,” of some once-renowned artists and creatives like Johnny Depp, Harvey Weinstein, or Bill Cosby. Can we distinguish an artist from their views or actions? Is it okay to like the art previously made by a terrible person? Can we really separate the art from the artist? And, if so, how do we grapple with that in the midst of a cancel culture storm?
I’m here to say that, of course, I don’t have all the answers. In fact, I barely have any. But, I do think it’s important to lay out both the two most commonly-held responses to this series of questions and the most-commonly defended “sides” in this debate. That way, as cancellations of problematic celebrities continue to occur (and they will), perhaps we will be better equipped to understand them and accept them. So that we may, instead, more easily let go of any personal attachment or nostalgia held toward these celebrities, trying to move forward past their misactions in an ethical and justifiable way.
On one hand, there is an argument to be made for not allowing the art to live alone from its artist. Because, any piece of art will inherently be reflective of its artist, often inspired, imagined, and carefully crafted by the creator’s past lived experiences, desires, or beliefs. For instance, Rowling even cites that her interest in researching trans issues originated “because [she’s] writing a crime series (Cormoran Strike), set in the present day, and [her] fictional female detective is of an age to be interested in, and affected by, these issues herself.” In that way, at least in this case, there seems to, at minimum, be a correlation between Rowling’s work and the culmination of her views. So, to separate the art from the artist would just completely deny any sort of conscious or unconscious influence here.
Yet, are we often tempted to take this side in the debate because it allows us to continue enjoying the work we innocently love, while simultaneously separating us from immoral acts and actors? Is it merely a way to reduce our own cognitive dissonance?
On the other hand, a number of scholars and everyday art lovers alike argue that it actually is possible to continue cherishing the past work of “cancelled,” objectionable people. Though we may choose to not associate ourselves with a certain creator, we can still value the life lessons and memories associated with their art. Harry Potter, though originating from her brain, does not only belong to J.K. Rowling. In a way, we, as readers and watchers and fans, are said to have the ability to reclaim their work as our own, work full of merely personal meaning and significance. On a more logistical level, though, we can also refrain from giving these creators royalty payments for the replays or republishments of their work, enjoying only the work we already own, buying second-hand, and not making any public shows of support for the art’s artist.
While partaking in this debate is not as cut and dry as picking one of these two binary sides, I think they are both worth thinking about. Because the force that is cancel culture, especially in the world of the celebrity, is capable of some monumental effects — like leaving millions of fans bewildered over whether or not they can (or should) continue liking and engaging with certain art.
In the case of Rowling, tons of Harry Potter fans have revoked their support. Harry Potter sales went markedly down in June, in the immediate aftermath of Rowling’s statements. But, now, almost two years after those initial tweets, the choice is still up to each of us, individually, of whether we want to jump on the “you’re cancelled” bandwagon, or disassociate ourselves in a somewhat different way.