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Star Wars, queer representation and the mainstreaming of slash

Suddenly, the media has woken up to something that fans have known for a long time: there is a whole world of explicit and implicit relationships beyond what we see on screen.

A few days before Christmas, I saw a headline that, to someone like me, felt like it came straight from the Onion. “Online Support Grows for Potential ‘Star Wars: The Force Awakens’ Romance”, it read, and went on to report that the internet had been ensnared by the chemistry between Finn, John Boyega’s reluctant Storm Trooper, and Poe Dameron, Oscar Isaac’s most-charming-pilot-in-the-Resistance. “Some fans have – rather inevitably – interpreted its subtext and devised potential romantic pairings, known commonly as ‘shipping’,” the author writes, which is as good a definition of shipping as any, despite its faint tone of scepticism. Beneath some Finn/Poe fanart is a clip of Boyega, Isaac, and Daisy Ridley, who plays the film’s lead, Rey, on The Ellen DeGeneres Show. DeGeneres asks the trio if we will see any romance between the three in future installments, and Isaac replies: “I think it’s a very subtle relationship that’s happening…At least I was playing romance.”

Why did that feel like a satirical headline to me? Because for many fans, “Online Support Grows for Potential [insert media property here] Romance” is the story of our lives. There are a huge variety of ways to be a fan, and to identify as one: you can collect facts, for example, or experiences, or material objects, or a whole host of other things. But for a lot fans – and this corner of fandom tends to be pretty heavily female-dominated – being really into a book or film or television show is about collecting emotional capital, spending a lot of our time thinking about fictional characters, or fictional relationships, or, best of all, potential fictional relationships. That’s the act of shipping, and we’ve got it down to a science.

The notable thing about the aforementioned article wasn’t its existence, or any of the words it contained, or the inevitable idiocy in the comments about “Tumblrinas” signalling a death knell for culture. It’s notable because it was one of many: a media narrative brewing in the final days of 2015 that went something like, “People discover slash shipping via the biggest film of the year, and it is somehow news”. It was the capstone in a year that saw increasing mainstream attention for – and confusion over – slash shipping. A few months prior, when the Captain America: Civil War trailer was released, fan reaction generated a similar set of headlines, with a bit more hand-wringing about “making everything gay” or “making everything about emotions”. (I don’t know what trailer those guys saw, I watched a solid two minutes of a tortured angsty love triangle between three male characters with a couple of extraneous explosions tossed in.)

Slash, for anyone unfamiliar with the term, is about ships, short for relationship, between male characters. (Female-only ships are usually called “femslash”; heterosexual ships are shortened to “het”.) Though we often use the shorthand “pairing”, ships – much like their real-life counterparts – aren’t limited to two characters. Nor are they bound by the stated sexual and romantic preferences of those characters in the source material. Shipping runs the full gamut of human interaction, from gentle flirtation to full-on explicit sexual acts, and in practice, it’s what the shipper makes of it. Maybe it’s a desire to see characters kiss onscreen, or maybe it’s a desire to put that kiss down on the page yourself, in fanart or fanfiction. Shipping is as straightforward as rooting for Ross and Rachel to get together; it’s as complex as reading between the lines in Victorian literature, searching for the queer subtext and desire coded in that language.

Some outlets reported on the Finn/Poe romance; others speculated that Poe might be Star Wars’s first openly queer character, perhaps based on his lip bite and roguish once-over of Finn on the tarmac, or Isaac’s playful comments on Ellen or a combination thereof. If you’ve been a slash shipper for a long time – hell, if you’ve been any kind of shipper for a long time – this new sort of media attention might catch you off guard. Many of these articles are summaries, screenshots of search results at the fanfiction site Archive of Our Own, fanart embedded from Tumblr, and lists of the sort of subtextual clues that fuel most slash ships. They are on every mainstream entertainment website, from MTV to EW. Many are characterised by fumbling inaccuracies about the language of fanfiction (and more than a few attempt to mansplain the language of fanfiction, which is delightful). And they stand in stark contrast to only a few years ago, when the romantic side of fannish desire was the butt of every mainstream media joke. (And then, a few years before that, when slash was never spoken of in mainstream coverage.)

That slash dialogue we’ve seen in the media in recent years – one that’s part mockery, part confusion, part revulsion, underscored above all by anxiety – hasn’t gone away. Talk show hosts still offer up fanart for actors to gawk at, and comments sections are still full of angry people disparaging slash fans for “making everyone gay”. (I won’t go near the erotic fanfiction that was written about the Oregon “militia” over the past few days – I’m still learning to take a joke, OK?) But somehow along the way, slash has become something for news outlets to bank on. This is partly the result of huge strides in the culture in a relatively short space of time. The Force Awakens, with its multi-racial, female-led cast, has been at the epicentre of a new skirmish in the culture war in the past month. Its fictional universe still has an abysmally poor record with explicit queer representation – but why shouldn’t we talk about what’s implicit?

Representation and shipping is tricky, though. And for all of those basic Star Wars explainers, there were dozens more articles that made efforts at wading into the sort of dialogues that slash shipping communities have been having for years, about queer representation in the media, and whether a ship might become “canon” – when desires are reflected back and affirmed by the source material, something rare for slash ships but not unheard of. (The most famous example is probably The Legend of Korra, which ended with its popular ship, Korrasami, coming to canonical fruition in 2014.) When I first started reading and writing slash a decade and a half ago, the idea of my fanfiction coming true, of my favourite male characters shrugging off their default heteronormativity and embracing in the halls of Hogwarts in the books, was laughable. But as a culture, we’ve moved on. We finally have a black Hermione; why not a gay one? It’s 2016: there’s no reason she can’t sneak off with Luna Lovegood to the Room of Requirement.

This is a hard conversation to join even when you’re deep in slash fandom, because the desire for queer representation and the urge to ship same-sex characters is sometimes connected, but sometimes not. There are plenty of shippers out there who want to see their characters in an officially-sanctioned relationship, to be sure – and for many queer fans, the personal stake in representation is vitally important. And plenty of shippers don’t engage with fanfiction or fanart at all – shipping for them is purely about looking directly onscreen, and hoping for more.

But for a lot of people, shipping and transformative works like fanfiction and fanart aren’t about seeing your desires reflected back in the source material – it’s about making them your own. The best thing I read on the subject in the past few months was in the wake of the Captain America backlash, in response to a frustrating article that encapsulated this confusion over shipping, and what that desire means. “We never expect our ships to become canon,” Charlotte Geater’s response begins, speaking from the place that I and many other fans occupy, in which slash fanfiction is a way to wrest control of a media narrative, fracture it, and rebuild it in the image of our desire. We actively resist any validation from creators of the source material, because a ship is ours, and ours alone. There is a power in the gaps in the story, particularly the emotional and romantic ones, and in filling them in yourself. “The subtext doesn’t stop being there if the couple doesn’t get together at the end,” Geater writes. “If the loop doesn’t close.”

There are, of course, plenty of people who want both: many more canonically queer characters and relationships, and the right to queer your own reads on characters, regardless of what you’re given on the page or the screen. And it’s in this dichotomy that we see the trouble with conflating shipping and representation: they are separate acts, and we need them both in equal measure. The world that I joined when I started reading slash was one built on decades, perhaps even centuries of subtext and coded readings; our media is slowly – and at times, it feels painfully slow – making that subtext text, and allowing characters to be queer from the start.

Earlier this week, a journalist tweeted about a forthcoming interview with John Boyega, in which the actor says that any Finn/Poe romance that was played onscreen was entirely one-sided, the choices of Oscar Isaac alone. I’m bracing for the inevitable “sorry fans, there goes your ship” responses from the same media outlets that seem to have newly discovered slash. But Boyega’s read on these characters doesn’t have to affect Isaac’s, nor does it have any effect on whether Poe Dameron will be made canonically queer – despite doubts at Hollywood’s ability to catch up to the general populace, we have another pair of films to wait for.

But perhaps most importantly, it means nothing for the ship itself: ships are fictional, and rest in the hands of the shipper, and sail on no matter what creators do or say, even when half your pairing gets married to someone else, or is tragically killed (and then the other half gets tragically killed as well – yes, I am speaking from personal experience and no, I am not over it close to a decade later). The joy of shipping is that it’s an act that rests in the hands of fandom, or the individual fan. But despite all the misunderstandings I’ve seen in the past month, it’s undeniable that the changing perceptions of slash – and what we’re seeing, one might even argue, is the mainstreaming of slash – is an incredible thing: we are working towards a place where the full spectrum of human desire and expression is validated.

Elizabeth Minkel is a staff writer for The Millions, and writes a regular column on fan culture for the New Statesman. She is on Twitter @ElizabethMinkel.

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If the SNP truly want another referendum, the clock is ticking

At party conference in Glasgow, I heard Scotland’s governing party demand a future distinctly different from the one being sketched out in Westminster. 

Nicola Sturgeon described Glasgow as the “dear green city” in her opening address to the SNP party conference, which may surprise anyone raised on a diet of Ken Loach films. In fact, if you’re a fan of faded grandeur and nostalgic parks, there are few places to beat it. My morning walk to conference took me past chipped sandstone tenements, over a bridge across the mysterious, twisting River Kelvin, and through a long avenue of autumnal trees in Kelvingrove Park. In the evenings, the skyline bristled with Victorian Gothic university buildings and church spires, and the hipster bars turned on their lights.

In between these two walks, I heard Scotland’s governing party demand a future distinctly different from the one being sketched out in Westminster. Glasgow’s claim to being the UK’s second city expired long ago but I wonder if, post-Brexit, there might be a case for reviving it.



Scottish politics may never have looked more interesting, but at least one Glasgow taxi driver is already over it. All he hears in the back of his cab is “politics, fitba and religion”, he complained when he picked me up from the station. The message didn’t seem to have reached SNP delegates at the conference centre on the Clyde, who cheered any mention of another referendum.

The First Minister, though, seems to have sensed the nation’s weariness. Support for independence has fallen from 47 per cent in June (Survation) to 39 per cent in October (BMG Research). Sturgeon made headlines with the announcement of a draft referendum bill, but read her speeches carefully and nothing is off the table. SNP politicians made the same demands again and again – devolved control of immigration and access to the single market. None ruled out these happening while remaining in the UK.

If Sturgeon does want a soft Brexit deal, though, she must secure it fast. Most experts agree that it would be far easier for an independent Scotland to inherit Britain’s EU membership than for it to reapply. Once Article 50 is triggered, the SNP will be in a race against the clock.


The hare and the tortoise

If anyone is still in doubt about the SNP’s position, look who won the deputy leadership race. Angus Robertson, the gradualist leader of the party in the Commons, saw off a referendum-minded challenger, Tommy Sheppard, with 52.5 per cent of the vote.

Conference would be nothing without an independence rally, and on the final day supporters gathered for one outside. A stall sold “Indyref 2” T-shirts but the grass-roots members I spoke to were patient, at least for now. William Prowse, resplendent in a kilt and a waistcoat covered in pro-indy
badges, remains supportive of Sturgeon. “The reason she has not called an Indy 2 vote
is we need to have the right numbers,” he told me. “She’s playing the right game.”

Jordi McArthur, a member for 30 years, stood nearby waving a flagpole with the Scottish, Welsh and Catalan flags side by side. “We’re happy to wait until we know what is happening with Brexit,” he said. “But at the same time, we want a referendum. It won’t be Nicola’s choice. It will be the grass roots’ choice.”


No Gerrymandering

Party leaders may come and go, but SNP members can rely on one thing at conference – the stage invasions of the pensioner Gerry Fisher. A legendary dissenter, Fisher refused this year to play along with the party’s embrace of the EU. Clutching the
lectern stubbornly, he told members: “Don’t tell me that you can be independent and a member of the EU. It’s factually rubbish.” In the press room, where conference proceedings were shown unrelentingly on a big screen, hacks stopped what they were doing to cheer him on.


Back to black

No SNP conference would be complete without a glimpse of Mhairi Black, the straight-talking slayer of Douglas Alexander and Westminster’s Baby of the House. She is a celebrity among my millennial friends – a video of her maiden Commons speech has been watched more than 700,000 times – and her relative silence in recent months is making them anxious.

I was determined to track her down, so I set my alarm for an unearthly hour and joined a queue of middle-aged women at an early-morning fringe event. The SNP has taken up the cause of the Waspi (Women Against State Pension Inequality) campaign, run by a group of women born in the 1950s whose retirement age has been delayed and are demanding compensation. Black, who is 22, has become their most ­articulate spokeswoman.

The event started but her chair remained unfilled. When she did arrive, halfway through the session, it was straight from the airport. She gave a rip-roaring speech that momentarily convinced even Waspi sceptics like me, and then dashed off to her next appointment.


Family stories

Woven through the SNP conference was an argument about the benefits of immigration (currently controlled by Westminster). This culminated in an appearance by the Brain family, whose attempt to resist deportation back to Australia has made them a national cause célèbre. (Their young son has learned to speak Gaelic.) Yet for me, the most emotional moment of the conference was when another family, the Chhokars, stepped on stage. Surjit Singh Chhokar was murdered in 1998, but it took 17 years of campaigning and a change in double jeopardy laws before his killer could be brought to justice.

As Aamer Anwar, the family’s solicitor, told the story of “Scotland’s Stephen Lawrence”, Chhokar’s mother and sister stood listening silently, still stricken with grief. After he finished, the delegates gave the family a standing ovation.

Julia Rampen is the editor of The Staggers, the New Statesman’s politics blog

Julia Rampen is the editor of The Staggers, The New Statesman's online rolling politics blog. She was previously deputy editor at Mirror Money Online and has worked as a financial journalist for several trade magazines. 

This article first appeared in the 20 October 2016 issue of the New Statesman, Brothers in blood