An Open Letter to TV Showrunners

(Spoilers for The Walking Dead, Sleepy Hollow, and Game of Thrones.)

Let me start by saying that I don’t actually watch The Walking Dead.  I never have, even though people whose TV tastes match up well with mine have recommended it.  That’s because, as I’ve said before, zombies freak me the hell out.  I was able to get through World War Z (for the sake of Peter Capaldi) by doing some serious multitasking while it was on.  I was able to see/love In the Flesh because a) it’s extraordinary, and b) it really helped that, in that show, getting bitten doesn’t turn you into a zombie.  I was able to handle Warm Bodies because it was enough of a comedy to get me through.  But that’s it.  I am nowhere near ready to handle The Walking Dead.

All that said, despite the massive deterrent, there are exactly two things that made me even consider watching that show.  The first is the good stuff I’ve heard about Michonne (I loved Danai Gurira in The Visitor,) and the second is the good stuff I’ve heard about Glenn.  And now… well, if you’re reading this, I imagine you know what happened to Glenn.  I’d heard some of the worries and speculation floating around after the season 6 cliffhanger, and on Monday morning, a post on the blog Angry Asian Man decompressed after the brutal season 7 premiere, so I know what happened.

And even though I haven’t seen a single episode of this show, it saddened me.  Obviously, it’s rough for anyone who loved the character, but I especially felt for the Asian viewers who valued Glenn as some much-needed representation and now don’t have him anymore.  In some ways, it echoed how down I felt about the season 3 finale of Sleepy Hollow, which will forever be known as The Night Those Dickwads Killed My Abbie.  Once again, not as strongly, since I didn’t know Glenn as a character myself, but within the pop culture landscape, I still recognize this character death as loss – much more of a loss than, say, Ned Stark on Game of Thrones.

I’m reminded of a passage from I Know Why the Caged Bird Sings, a chapter in which all of Maya’s neighbors are gathered at the store to listen to a Joe Louis fight on the radio.  In a desperate moment, when it looks like Louis could be finished, Maya thinks, “This might be the end of the world.  If Joe lost we were back in slavery and beyond help.”  Now, in that time and place, society had a lot further to go than it does now (even if we’re still not nearly as far as we should be, ) so everything is heightened, but that mindset is important to remember.  Whether you’re talking about race, sexuality, gender identity, or disability, representation matters.  It’s why I’m very worried about what the next issue of Jughead will hold, because I need my asexual Jughead and am terrified that Derek North will mess with my representation.

So, showrunners (really, writers in general, but it feels most relevant with TV,) this is what I want you to think of with your Asian characters, your Black characters, your bisexual characters, your trans characters, your Deaf characters, your characters who use wheelchairs.  There are viewers out there who are hungry for characters who look like them, who need to see some semblance of themselves reflected back at them in pop culture.  They don’t have many of those characters, and probably even fewer that are written in a way that feels honest and complex.

When straight, white, able-bodied characters die, there are hundreds upon hundreds left to choose from, left to relate to.  When a character who’s a minority – any type of minority – dies, there might only be a dozen or so left.  These characters matter so much to people.  There isn’t representation to spare.

I’m not saying don’t kill off characters who are PoC/LGBTQ/disabled.  I’m not putting a moratorium on it, honestly.  That doesn’t make sense, and it’s not fair (not to mention, sometimes these choices are dictated by an actor leaving the show rather than narrative plans.)  I’m just saying that, when you think about killing a character who belongs to one such marginalized group, think about how much that character means to people.  Think of what that character’s loss will mean.  Think about how mind-blowingly amazing the story you write would have to be in order to counteract the gut-punch of that loss.  If the story you have in mind isn’t as incredible, as impactful, as meaningful as it would need to be?  Maybe go back to the drawing board to give that character an exit worthy of how much they matter to people, or even think again about whether killing them is really in your show’s best interests.