Shared to Social Media on February 10, 2021
Some thoughts on Joss Whedon
Content Warning: Joss Whedon
Today, Charisma Carpenter came forward with her account of what has long been suspected and gossiped about: her treatment at the hands of once-feminist-icon Joss Whedon, including verbal and emotional abuse and termination of her role on the Angel series due to her pregnancy.
Look, I know. I KNOW.
But we can’t be surprised about this. The rumors that Charisma Carpenter had been fired over her pregnancy have been circulating since before she gave birth. I’ve seen articles for YEARS theorizing as to the nature of her character’s death.
This isn’t news, it’s context.
I know a lot of us are very attached to his work. There were characters in his shows that gave us strength and hope. Moments that have become personal inside jokes and references. Stories that inspired us. We watched one speech he gave 15 years ago and we were moved. We’ve quoted him. We’ve cosplayed as his characters. Sang songs from the Buffy musical or Dr. Horrible. We’ve built a house of meaning and emotion on the foundation of his stories.
I don’t know if it gets harder or easier every time we’re disappointed like this. Aziz Ansari. Louis CK. JK Rowling. Tina Fey. RuPaul. And and and… navigating the difficult road of how to engage with a sentimental thing created by a disappointing person has become a normal part of our lives now. I can’t give you any tips or moral imperatives on the matter. It’s heartbreaking every time. And many will sit in denial, defend this celebrity they have never met, demand more evidence before they give up their precious fandom.
But this isn’t the first allegation. It isn’t a secret. It isn’t a revelation. It’s truth doing what truth does: gaining the confidence to come out due to the combination of changing social norms, time and distance from the perpetrator, and solidarity with other survivors.
Carpenter was able to finally confirm the 16-year-old rumors of her experience on the set of Angel only after others came forward. After Kai Cole came forward. After Ray Fisher came forward. After Sophia Crawford and Jeff Pruitt came forward. After James Marsters came forward. Every time someone comes forward after years of silence, it’s questioned and doubted and picked apart. But if you’ve never been the subject of ire for a charismatic but volatile figure, you can’t imagine the inner shame and conflict with naming your abuser who has won awards for good deeds, who is friendly with all of your confidants, who is beloved by those who hold power over you.
As Amber Benson tweeted in support of Charisma Carpenter, “There was a lot of damage done during that time and many of us are still processing it twenty plus years later.” Sarah Michelle Gellar and Michelle Trachtenburg have both made oblique but supportive statements on Instagram as well. All these women who, arguably, have achieved great success due to their work with Whedon- but at the price of their well-being.
Bringing them into the conversation also clouds the issue of how to deal with these shows and movies now: because the truth is, they belong to these women who carried the shows just as much as they belong to Whedon. But the shows also represent the sacrifices they made to endure his mistreatment while making them. And while it wasn’t immediately evident to our 2003 understanding of feminism, it’s blatantly obvious now. Evident in his casting. In his storylines. In his themes.
In his infamous 2006 Equality Now speech, Joss Whedon repeatedly answers the question, “why do you write such strong female characters?” And each time he cites a different reason: his mother, his father, because it helps people, and finally “because you’re still asking me that question.” A great speech to be sure, but the moment that is most haunting is his fourth answer, played as a flippant joke: “Because they’re hot.” It’s the most honest answer he gives in the entire speech. The more I learn about Joss Whedon, the more it’s clear that his interest in “strong female characters” is in putting words in their mouths; his characters have inspired us for their strength, but they were also puppets he could project on and control.
If nothing else, Joss Whedon’s legacy has become a living allegory, a cautionary tale about making a person- any person- the spokesperson for a movement they are not a part of, the mouthpiece for an identity they do not share.
I remember, fifteen years ago, the big question was whether men could be feminists. And look, now: how many of the men who were upheld as feminist icons have been outed as abusers. It’s almost as if a theoretical dedication to a concept of justice does not automatically indicate that a person carries those concepts with them into their intimate relationships. It’s almost as if a person’s political statements aren’t an indication of their actual behavior.
The only advice I can give on processing all of this is: start with believing that it is possible to be a bad person and make good art. Once you’ve gained distance from your denial and guilt, re-engage with the work. Do you see all the cracks? All the tells? All the tropes you’ve learned to name in the past 20 years?
Are you holding on to a product you would love even if it was new today, or are you holding on to your memory of it? How does it feel to watch it, now? How does it feel to tell someone you are watching it?
Maybe some parts are worth it. Maybe you pull out the wiki page and only watch episodes with certain writers, or directors. Maybe you only read fan fiction from now on. Maybe you give it up, revile it, tell everyone who mentions it how and why you can no longer engage with it. And maybe you just… keep watching, and hold in your heart the heaviness of what was happening behind the scenes. You aren’t beholden to any one reaction. The question isn’t “what’s the right thing to do” because we all have different experiences, attachments, and associations. Someone who watched Buffy and kinda liked it has a very different relationship with the art in question than someone who met their spouse while cosplaying Firefly characters at a convention and have a tattoo of a lyric from Dr. Horrible.
The weight of growth is that it changes your relationship to everything. Becoming better educated, more empathetic, and more aware will continue to result in grappling with this question: what do I do when someone I love is an abuser? What do I do when art I love is created by an abuser? What do I do when I am confronted with complexity? When the context of something or someone shifts, and I know more now than I knew then?
I can’t tell you what to do. I can’t even tell you exactly what I’m going to do.
But the one thing I absolutely will shame you for is denying the claims of these survivors so that you do not have to contend with this inner conflict. You can decide for yourself how this impacts your relationship to a franchise that employed hundreds of people over the course of a decade, launching several careers and building a community of fans. But you can’t decide that this didn’t happen. That it’s not your business. That it’s not a big deal. Because it did happen. It’s all of our business. And it is a big deal.
Look at everything we’ve learned in the last 20 years. We all have to decide what to do with what we’ve learned, but the one option we can no longer be afforded is willful forgetting.
Charisma Carpenter deserves better than that. Amber Benson deserves better than that. Ray Fisher deserves better than that.
We all do.
Gloria Adams 