A week ago, I attended the Game Devs of Color Expo in Harlem, New York. It’s still relatively new as far as such things go—2017 was its second year running—but it was just a lovely space to be in. Developers were showing all kinds of games, and there were panels about both specific challenges that people of color face in the games industry and how some creatives go about being creative. I got to look around and see work being done by people that looked like me, work that’s engaging and entertaining and not really different from all the stuff I’ve played.
I came out of that conference feeling recharged and ready to work because there was that affirmation that I can make games, and that there are other people who look like me that are out there in the trenches, doing what they can to follow through on their own projects and their own dreams.
In the week that’s followed, there’s been a lot of discussion online (mostly on Twitter) about social spaces and who is or isn’t allowed into them, mostly in the context of Pride. There are people who are either intentionally or ignorantly asking why there’s no such thing as a Heterosexual Pride Day, and for me I can immediately see how that question leads to others: “Why isn’t there a White History Month?” “Why does there need to be a Game Devs of Color Expo?”
To me, all those questions have the same answer, and I want to talk a little bit about what that answer is for me and how I try to live by it.
I came out of that conference feeling recharged and ready to work because there was that affirmation that I can make games, and that there are other people who look like me that are out there in the trenches, doing what they can to follow through on their own projects and their own dreams.
In the week that’s followed, there’s been a lot of discussion online (mostly on Twitter) about social spaces and who is or isn’t allowed into them, mostly in the context of Pride. There are people who are either intentionally or ignorantly asking why there’s no such thing as a Heterosexual Pride Day, and for me I can immediately see how that question leads to others: “Why isn’t there a White History Month?” “Why does there need to be a Game Devs of Color Expo?”
To me, all those questions have the same answer, and I want to talk a little bit about what that answer is for me and how I try to live by it.
I’ll be up-front about this: entering into a space as a (or the) person of color is always difficult for me. When I don’t see a broad spectrum of people included in a community, I know that while I can still potentially be friends with these people, I know that some discussions we have will have a different quality. There are things that are unique to my experience as a person of color that I can explain to them, but that may not resonate with them completely. There are times where I want or need to have conversations that need that resonance.
The way I see it, minority spaces (communities, certain companies, events like the Expo and Pride, and even just conversations between minorities), exist to let minorities service that need. The world is fairly accommodating for those that are a part of any given majority—ethnic or otherwise. Acknowledgment and validation of the majority’s experiences and needs is just part of the default, and minority experience generally are not.
There is nothing wrong with validation so long as it doesn’t encourage ethnic prejudice, ethnic superiority, or other such nonsense. But the majority’s validation comes easily. It comes naturally. It happens organically. For minorities, it doesn’t. Sometimes, what I see of how the world perceives people like me scares me because I worry that I can’t go anywhere without being seen through that lens. People have died for being my skin color in the country where I live, and that always, always dwells at the back of my mind.
Minority spaces, when constructed well, relieve that pressure. I am not special or superior in a minority space, and neither is anyone else; I am not out of the ordinary, I am not the one person of my color in the room, I am not the only representation of how people of color think or behave. In minority spaces, I can talk to people like me and learn something new, I can sympathize about shared experiences, I can celebrate the work that people like me are doing in my field, and I can ask for advice about how to deal with the problems I face in the work world or elsewhere.
That’s part of why the Expo was so powerful for me. It was a space where I was reflected in the people on the panels, the developers presenting games, everywhere around me, and it was treated as normal, the way it should be in the wider world.
I see it as a mark of the Expo’s potential that all kinds of people came to see and experience the work featured there, because it proves my point that the minority space isn’t about superiority or exclusion, but validation. No one minded if you were white or black or brown as long as you thoughtfully engaged with the rules of the space. If you played the games, if you listened to the panelists, if you asked informed questions, you were helping to validate what was happening there and the developers that were presenting games.
And the space itself did not seek to assert superiority, but just to show that people of color are here too, doing work too, because the world at large forgets that sometimes.
That’s all the Expo wanted to achieve, and it did so spectacularly.
The way I see it, minority spaces (communities, certain companies, events like the Expo and Pride, and even just conversations between minorities), exist to let minorities service that need. The world is fairly accommodating for those that are a part of any given majority—ethnic or otherwise. Acknowledgment and validation of the majority’s experiences and needs is just part of the default, and minority experience generally are not.
There is nothing wrong with validation so long as it doesn’t encourage ethnic prejudice, ethnic superiority, or other such nonsense. But the majority’s validation comes easily. It comes naturally. It happens organically. For minorities, it doesn’t. Sometimes, what I see of how the world perceives people like me scares me because I worry that I can’t go anywhere without being seen through that lens. People have died for being my skin color in the country where I live, and that always, always dwells at the back of my mind.
Minority spaces, when constructed well, relieve that pressure. I am not special or superior in a minority space, and neither is anyone else; I am not out of the ordinary, I am not the one person of my color in the room, I am not the only representation of how people of color think or behave. In minority spaces, I can talk to people like me and learn something new, I can sympathize about shared experiences, I can celebrate the work that people like me are doing in my field, and I can ask for advice about how to deal with the problems I face in the work world or elsewhere.
That’s part of why the Expo was so powerful for me. It was a space where I was reflected in the people on the panels, the developers presenting games, everywhere around me, and it was treated as normal, the way it should be in the wider world.
I see it as a mark of the Expo’s potential that all kinds of people came to see and experience the work featured there, because it proves my point that the minority space isn’t about superiority or exclusion, but validation. No one minded if you were white or black or brown as long as you thoughtfully engaged with the rules of the space. If you played the games, if you listened to the panelists, if you asked informed questions, you were helping to validate what was happening there and the developers that were presenting games.
And the space itself did not seek to assert superiority, but just to show that people of color are here too, doing work too, because the world at large forgets that sometimes.
That’s all the Expo wanted to achieve, and it did so spectacularly.
So when people ask why there isn’t a White History Month or a Heterosexual Pride Day or what have you, I point to that feeling of belonging I got at the Expo, and I say: That feeling I experienced is what white people and heterosexual people experience in most of the places they go. The main difference is that it’s not conscious. It’s just there.
White History Month isn’t a thing because most of the history that is spoken of tends to be about “white history”, and because we see it represented by default almost everywhere. Heterosexual Pride Day isn’t a thing because heterosexuality is viewed as the default for a large portion of society. Because these things are the default, people collectively tend to not really think about what falls outside of that unless they are consciously looking for it, and even then sometimes the default view of the minority is just “one story”, to quote Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie. History Months and Pride Days all exist not to say “we are special snowflakes” but “we are human too, we are here, and though we are all different people in this community, we are bound by similar experiences”.
If I had to ask anything of anyone reading this, it’s to remember two things: asking for recognition isn’t the same as proclaiming you’re superior or declaring that something else is inferior, and that this world is big enough that recognition isn’t a competition.
White History Month isn’t a thing because most of the history that is spoken of tends to be about “white history”, and because we see it represented by default almost everywhere. Heterosexual Pride Day isn’t a thing because heterosexuality is viewed as the default for a large portion of society. Because these things are the default, people collectively tend to not really think about what falls outside of that unless they are consciously looking for it, and even then sometimes the default view of the minority is just “one story”, to quote Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie. History Months and Pride Days all exist not to say “we are special snowflakes” but “we are human too, we are here, and though we are all different people in this community, we are bound by similar experiences”.
If I had to ask anything of anyone reading this, it’s to remember two things: asking for recognition isn’t the same as proclaiming you’re superior or declaring that something else is inferior, and that this world is big enough that recognition isn’t a competition.
A big thank-you to the Brooklyn Gamery for hosting the Game Devs of Color Expo. If you'd like to check out the panels and talks that were at the Expo, go here.