Why I withdrew my book from an LGBTQ+ literary prize

The Guardian

a day ago

Last week, I withdrew my nomination from the longlist for the Polari first book prize. The awards had become mired in controversy due to the nomination of the Irish author John Boyne, best known for The Boy in the Striped Pyjamas, for the main prize for his novel Earth. Four days before the longlist announcement, Boyne had written in the Irish Independent, celebrating JK Rowling 'as a fellow terf' and saying of women who had 'pilloried' her for her gender activism: 'For every Commander Waterford, there's a Serena Joy standing behind him, ready to pin a handmaiden down as her husband rapes her.'
I think such a viewpoint is abhorrent, but Boyne is free to hold whatever views he wants. What was unacceptable was a statement from the Polari prize addressing the backlash, emphasising its commitment to 'support trans rights and amplify trans voices', but defending Boyne's inclusion on the grounds that submissions are assessed purely 'on the merits of craft and content' and that 'within our community, we can at times hold radically different positions on substantive issues'.
I immediately withdrew upon reading it, after the resignation of judge Nicola Dinan, who won the prize last year, and withdrawal of fellow longlisted author Mae Diansangu. Since then, a further judge has withdrawn and at least 16 authors across both lists have excused themselves from consideration. It was not a difficult or painful decision – I felt misled about the principles underpinning the organisation and I no longer cared to be awarded by it. I have, in the past, been shortlisted for my work alongside writers whose views I did not agree with. But in those instances, their positions didn't undermine the stated values and politics of the prize. This isn't a matter of differing views, but of an institution properly and accurately representing itself.
The prize has always been for the entire LGBTQ+ community, as evidenced by previously shortlisted, and winning, entries from trans writers. And so it is a contradiction to include someone who is trans-exclusionary (terf stands for trans-exclusionary radical feminist). The prize claims that it does 'not eliminate books based on the wider views of the writer'. But a prize claiming to be a celebration of LGBTQ+ inclusion should know that the condition of trans people isn't reducible to a debate in which people are simply holding 'different positions' – they are a minority group facing unprecedented levels of harassment and political antagonism.
Not all of my fellow longlisted authors have chosen this path; some have, while affirming their commitment to trans rights, stated their intentions to remain. Avi Ben-Zeev (the only trans author nominated) stated his reasoning as, 'If I walk away, I'm erasing my trans story' and regretted that 'transphobia has shifted the conversation away from the celebration of LGBTQ+ literature', while emphasising the solidarity between longlisted writers regardless of their decision.
I can understand such a position, but I think it undermines collective solidarity, rather than being an example of it. I think there is significant power in authors acting as a collective bloc. I was particularly moved by the example of the US writers who withdrew from the PEN America literary awards last year, in protest against the institution's lack of criticism of Israel's actions in Gaza. And to me, the real celebration of LGBTQ+ literature has come not from the prize, but from the community that has rallied behind the withdrawn authors. Our withdrawal has been followed by a 800-strong petition to remove Boyne from the longlist. That is not about him per se – he is obviously suffering great personal upset at this situation. It is, once again, about the stated aims of the organisation.
We have, of course, been subjected to the usual name-calling: described as the 'Trans Taliban' and 'Queer Isis' by Julie Bindel; accused of being proponents of 'radicalised', 'totalitarian' politics by Canadian novelist Allan Stratton. Some have accused critics of bullying Boyne, and compromising freedom of speech and expression. But we have not called for his books to be pulped, and evidently he has, and continues to be, more than free to share whatever views he likes and write as many books as he wants.
Boyne has since issued a statement outlining his views on trans rights and calling on the writers who have withdrawn their nominations to restore themselves to the longlist, writing that he has 'shelves full of awards at home' and that while he would not withdraw, he would ask the judges not to shortlist him. Perhaps some writers will take up this offer. But from where I stand, the response is not for Boyne to propose, as this action is not specifically about him – it is about Polari as an institution.
Where does it go from here? This year's prizes are still going ahead and a 'shortlist' will still, somehow, be forged from the depleted pool of authors (PEN America, under similar circumstances, had the good sense to cancel its awards). Polari has also said it will be 'undertaking a full review of the prize processes', to avoid the 'hurt and anger' caused by this year's awards. I do wonder what that will look like. Poring through the public statements of all authors to ensure that nothing offending has been said? I can only hope that whatever processes are put in place will be sufficient to secure the confidence of the queer writers who have found themselves having to weather abuse and hostility for taking a public stand.
Mostly, though, I think – with or without Boyne's nomination – Polari needs to figure out what it wants to be. If it wants to be a prize that is inclusive of trans-exclusionary views and writers, it is free to do this and must accept that large swaths of the community will find this intolerable and disengage.
I suspect that this reluctance to commit is exactly because of that. As the response to this boycott has shown, the swell of public support is behind those who are supportive of the entire LGBTQ+ community. At one time, Polari seemed to recognise this: Bindel herself has noted that in 2021, after 'the trans train had chugged into town', she was told by its organisers that her presence at an event would cause 'a major pushback'. Polari finds itself at another crossroads, called upon to tell us what kind of organisation it is and where it really stands. Perhaps bridges will be rebuilt and the community will return, or we will go off and build something else.
Jason Okundaye is an assistant newsletter editor and writer at the Guardian. He edits The Long Wave newsletter and is the author of Revolutionary Acts: Love & Brotherhood in Black Gay Britain
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