The risks authors face, and why we must speak louder

Dear Readers,

If you’ve noticed fewer author events lately—fewer book tours, fewer panels, fewer names on convention guest lists—you’re not imagining it.

And no, it’s not burnout. It’s not laziness. It’s not just the cost of plane tickets.

It’s fear.

And for some of us, it's a question of survival.

But for those of us who aren’t targeted—for authors like me, a cishet white man—the fear is not a reason to stop.

It's a reason to lean in harder.

Why Travel Is Dangerous for So Many of Us

 In today’s political climate, authors whose stories challenge the dominant narrative—LGBTQIA+ authors, BIPOC authors, disabled authors, immigrant authors—are being flagged, silenced, erased.

We’ve seen it happening already. People denied re-entry to the U.S. based on old tweets. Detainees deported because an AI flagged them as ideologically “hostile.” Artists and professors losing funding because their work didn’t reflect the “correct” values.

There’s no clear rulebook anymore. Just a new loyalty test—one you didn’t know you were taking until you fail.

If you’ve written critically about white supremacy, or police violence, or queer joy, or feminist rage, or anti-capitalism… you might already be on the radar.

So what do you do?

You stay home. You protect yourself. You wait for it to blow over.

But it’s not blowing over.

What About Those of Us With Privilege?

 Here’s the uncomfortable truth:

 If I stop writing these stories—if we stop, those of us whose faces and identities aren’t likely to get us pulled into a secondary screening line or dropped from a school visit—then the pressure campaign wins.

Yes, I am a cishet white male author. These stories aren't “mine” in the sense of lived experience. But they are mine in the sense of responsibility.

Because backing off now?

 Saying “that’s not my lane”?

 Letting marginalized authors do all the heavy lifting alone while we protect our careers?

That’s not allyship. That’s surrender.

Our job isn’t to center ourselves in others’ struggles.

 But it is to stand beside them—and amplify those voices with our own, especially when they’re being silenced.

Why We’re Staying Home—and Still Speaking Up

 Authors are canceling travel not because they don’t want to connect with readers, but because TSA surveillance, facial recognition, and AI monitoring are already flagging activists and writers.

Authors are staying quiet online not because they’re suddenly apolitical, but because contracts get delayed, grants get pulled, and libraries get defunded when our names are tied to “inappropriate” ideas.

And still—still—we write.

Because someone has to.

Because someone always has.

Writing Is Resistance

 If you’re privileged enough to be “safe” right now, use that safety.

Use it to keep writing queer stories. Disabled stories. Brown, Black, Indigenous stories. Loud stories. Angry stories. Healing stories.

Use it to protect those who can’t. To echo what they’re saying. To hold the door open even when the powers that be are slamming it shut.

We may not all be equally at risk.

But we are all responsible.

Stay safe. Stay loud. Stay writing.

— A storyteller who refuses to shut up