My fictional story opens in a “progressive” world which believes religion of any kind is the root of all evil. It’s the First World in which Lyra, my protagonist, grows up, and the one in which she naturally accepts the anti-religious views of her culture. All evidence, especially the horror of the religious terrorist attack she survives, supports her opinion. Then she’s thrust into a different world, the Second World, where some people vehemently and passionately believe in religion. Lyra wants to stamp out any possibility that those people can make it to her country–or better yet, to make sure that those people never influence her people again.
It’s her mission.
Only, she meets Second World religious people–and they don’t seem all that violent or demented. In fact, some of them seem much more emotionally balanced than the non-religious, homegrown terrorist who had been Lyra’s boyfriend–the one who blew up her school and killed her whole family.
How Lyra reconciles her ingrained anti-religious beliefs with what she encounters is the heart of my novel.
Now replace “religion” for “Muslim”.
Scary, isn’t it?
When I started working on this novel three years ago, I imagined a First World, Second World and Third World as an extension to our own world’s gradual move toward integrated economies. I (naively) expected we’d continue on that path and I simply extrapolated, for the sake of storytelling, that it wasn’t simply economic integration, but cultural integration that evolved, leading to only three separate countries on Earth.
Then, in the real world, along comes Donald Trump and his legion of supporters who voted him in as president of the U.S.
Then along come Donald Trump’s executive orders which effectively bans Muslims (at least from seven predominantly Muslim countries) from entering the U.S., tearing apart families, hopes and dreams.
Then along comes a Canadian shooter, two days later, who targets Muslims and kills six of them at a mosque in Quebec City.
I don’t believe in religious extremism–of any sort–and, as much as the next person, I want to stop religious terror. The attacks my characters perpetuate are not meant to be accepted, but rather, understood for the disillusionment from which they stem. It’s not an excuse, but instead a plea for understanding. Condemn the actions of the killers, absolutely, but learn from the hatred to which they clung so we can find ways to stop (or at least mitigate) the hatred that leads theses killers to what they believe is their fate in the first place.
More importantly, tarring everybody of one religion (or any religion) with the same violent, untruthful brush is a horrific blight on the values we–I–hold dear.
Therefore, if my novel is fortunate enough to see the light of day, if only one reader who otherwise thinks he or she can do nothing about the raging world events, will realize that by acknowledging our individuality, we can see the good that is truly in this (and Lyra’s) world, then I will have done my job as a storyteller. Who are we, as writers and artists, if not mirrors of our own world that we can hold up for others?
Often I get bogged down in the minutiae of writing–what verb is the strongest? Is my description clear? Does my character’s reactions make sense?–and I enjoy that process (ok, most of the time… ok, some of the time… ok, when it’s actually working for me…), but recent world events have reminded me my work fits into a broader purpose.
Whether multitudes of readers will have the opportunity to judge me on my success in that purpose is out of my control–publishers and literary agents will accept or not accept my manuscript for a variety of reasons–but whether the novel is published or not, whether it remains only to be read by my friends and family, I’m pleased with my efforts to promote empathy for the “other”.
Whoever the “other” may be.
Even if that includes trying to understand–without condoning–Trump supporters themselves.
