The phenomena that has blighted the live literature world over the last ten years could be classed as a ‘stooshie’ – or ‘a big commotion’, in Scots. Indeed it feels rare for any books-based event or literary festival not to provoke one these days. Differing in both scale and seriousness, the last decade has seen a huge increase in fractious warring in the world of books, driven in no small part by the use and abuse of the powers of social media by certain activist-writers.
In my experience as a writer and former events organiser of two decades in Scotland, there has been a rising intolerance amongst a significant minority of often mid-career or even debut authors who, while not household names, are nevertheless powerful activists. They rail against the very idea of the live literature world platforming reasonable discussions about contentious political or cultural issues. Additionally, these are activist-writers extremely concerned with ‘association’ and ‘community’, thinking of themselves less as the solitary writers of old, than as ‘workers’ within a sector they therefore feel they can make demands of, given it is ‘their’ workplace.
Such a mindset about literature and the role of a writer leads to activism focused less on discussion and persuasion but disruption and cancellation.
Even where there is no obvious settled agreement amongst the public on certain contentious issues, such activist-writers respond with unbridled antagonism to the idea that writers, whether imaginative or research-driven, might have an important role to play by attempting some nuanced debate about complex, divisive subject-matter. Such discussions may make them ‘unsafe’. The literary ‘workplace’ must provide metaphorical bandages and fire extinguishers.
Such a mindset about literature and the role of a writer leads to activism focused less on discussion and persuasion but disruption and cancellation. Targets may be individuals, institutions or anyone ‘associated’ with them. An urgent letter may be sent to various ‘departments’ that comprise the ‘literary workplace’ (institutions, publishers, festivals, book stores) to clear out some desks and update their code of conduct accordingly. But, alongside this burgeoning literary-activism, writers of a liberal and democratic standpoint from across the political spectrum have slowly started to come together to register our growing disquiet. Whether left, centre or right-leaning, those of a liberal bent sorely miss a literature scene where we could argue together well.
I was heartened last summer, for example, when a diverse group of writers signed a public statement against the hugely damaging campaign from the group Fossil Free Books (FFB). FFB’s stated aim was to urge all literary festivals to cut ties with long-time sponsor Baillie Gifford if it did not promise to ‘divest’ from investment in companies with even the most nebulous of ties to Israel or companies who had even a smidgen of investment in fossil fuels. Poets and writers bemoaned having to be associated with such sullied funds after being booked to appear.
Several commentators, notably Alex Massie, pointed out that what the writers of FFB were asking for was not just impossible, but that Baillie Gifford was a ludicrous target. FFB’s signatories were steadfast, however: ‘If our demand is not met, we reaffirm our commitment to take action through disruption and by withdrawing our labour.’
Many column inches have been devoted to Fossil Free Books. It is not the particulars of their omni-cause claims that concern me most, but their tactics. For some writers last year – who like me were opposed to the campaign group – this was the first time they had been put under personal pressure by their peers. For me however, as I watched dissenting colleagues be accused by FFB writers of not caring about Gaza or loving climate disasters or – as I was told myself by one FFB supporter – being a ‘genocide-enabler’, all of these absurd smears and accusations felt wearily familiar.
I’ve spent the last few years focused on highlighting the illiberal harms being meted out to women who oppose gender identity ideology and its activism. In the literary world this has included targeted harassment campaigns, demands for no-platforming of feminist writers and the subsequent creation of a cultural atmosphere of deep fear at being ‘associated’ with any woman branded a ‘terf’ (trans-exclusionary radical feminist). There may not seem to be an immediate link between the issue of women being egregiously hounded for their opposition to self-identification laws –an insistence that ‘trans women’ are not biologically female – and the work of FFB. But there are similarities in the style of tactics and demonstrable crossover between the writer-activists involved.
As much as I feel instinctive empathy towards those targeted by such campaigns, institutions like literary festivals have – particularly in the ‘gender wars’ – routinely failed to stand against this new illiberalism. They have become a mirror of, rather than a powerful antidote to, the obvious culture of silencing and ‘No Debate.’
In late December 2024, the writer and journalist Helen Joyce announced that she would be appearing at this year’s Oxford Literary Festival in April, in a session chaired by feminist writer and campaigner Julie Bindel. It is Joyce’s first ever book festival booking.
Both Joyce and Bindel are amongst the best-known UK writers branded as ‘terfs’ – the assignation of which has meant quiet cancellation from consideration for book festival events for years. This is despite Joyce’s 2021 book ‘Trans: When Ideology Meets Reality’ being an instant bestseller, a courageous and much-needed dive into one of the biggest cultural and legislative schisms of our times.
The booking has caused the usual consternation amongst writer-activists also programmed by the festival. Four have so far deplatformed themselves, releasing statements on Bluesky, Twitter or via their websites outlining their reasoning. Anyone familiar with the ‘gender wars’ will know exactly the type of claims made in these statements before reading them. They lack originality, relying instead on tired tropes about Joyce being ‘anti-trans’, a ubiquitous but persistent misreading of Joyce’s views, as well as the absurd claim that her views are somehow powerful enough to affect a trans person’s ‘right to exist’. The statement by writer Hesse Phillips appears to me to be a classic of this genre, containing the hyperbolic statement that Joyce’s attendance would cause a risk to ‘safety’ for any trans-identifying author. That simply not attending Joyce’s event seems not to be an option. (They can’t attend, of course. The event sold out swiftly.)
The idea of demanding an entire festival programme shares one worldview is mind-bogglingly arrogant.
By merely being in the same brochure – not the same room, not the same event, not the same date and time – Phillips says they and Joyce would be under the ‘same banner’, associated together. Author AJ West, who has also pulled out, stated on Bluesky that he did so due to wanting to show ‘solidarity’ with trans writers, lending credence to the suggestion that Joyce – who, in full disclosure, I have both met and admire – is somehow a dangerous individual, armed with something other than words, wit and a willingness to discuss the most tricky of subject matter.
One might think that these writers deplatforming themselves while a festival holds firm in booking not one, but two prominent feminist writers is at least some progress. That the event sold out swiftly is testament to savvy programming and a recognition that, whether activist-writers like it or not, the general reading public are hungry for such events and are tired of writers like Joyce and Bindel being sidelined. Nevertheless, this new ‘self-cancellation’ trend – popularised by FFB last summer – is highly manipulative.
It is illiberal activism dressed up as righteous self-sacrifice. It is designed to put pressure on all other writers to do the same – or risk guilt-by-association. It is aimed at disrupting the programme so much that the festival may feel no choice but to give in to activist demands, lest their entire operation become unviable. As much as FFB’s campaign encouraged all festivals to fear mass disruption should they fail to suitably berate their main sponsor, it is also to signal to other festivals that they will face similar action should they dare programme a ‘gender critical’ author.
This is ‘cancel culture’ at its most extreme. While in the past some writers may have quietly backed out of panel events where they were appearing alongside someone with opposing views, the idea of demanding an entire festival programme shares one worldview is in my view, mind-bogglingly arrogant. Seeing how these writer-activists operate, some overly-cautious programmers just don’t want to risk booking writers such as Joyce, even where they may feel her views perfectly reasonable. As a former live literature programmer, I can sympathise, albeit with a tut at the cowardice.
For many years, these illiberal writers have been ‘winning’ their campaigns through instilling fear, rather than actually changing minds. Many of these activist-writers have been given a false belief on a wide range of issues that they are a) correct and b) that their tactics against their opponents are remotely compatible with democratic values, or acceptable in a healthy, diverse, literary sector.
The only way to stop these tactics being successful is to actually stop these tactics being successful. Gatekeepers, programmers, curators: it is not 2018 anymore. Most writers, alongside the public, are more opposed to this illiberalism than ever. Excuse my bias, but ‘gender critical’ feminists have also been proven to have more than a smidgen of a point with our arguments. May the Oxford Literary Festival hold firm and 2025 be the year that other festivals find the same vertebrae.
