The infamous Universal FanCon is in the books, but the event is not going down in history as the co-founders had hoped. As can be gleamed from the hashtags and social media chatter, the event didn’t actually happen. Rather, the April 27-29 date was postponed indefinitely, putting would-be convention goers’ time, money, and patience in limbo until the organizers decide on a new date that may as well be the 12th of Never.
If you’ve gotten lost in the chain of events, Universal FanCon was/is (?) a convention that put focus on marginalized groups often left out of fan events: namely folks with disabilities, LGBTQ+ folk, black and brown people, and anyone that may identify across any of the aforementioned categories. Yes, white folks could come too, but it was an event that didn’t assume that would be the norm.
The project was funded by a Kickstarter campaign two years ago, surpassing the original amount requested and dashing through stretch goals like a magical robot unicorn. And then it went to Heck one week before the event was due to take place in Baltimore, Maryland when hotel rooms for participants were canceled abruptly and the organization sent out the first in a series of emails explaining that the con was postponed and there would likely be no refunds, sorry.
Sigh.
Fortunately, local and international communities rallied to find solutions. Groups were formed so that vendors and panelists could recoup some costs and meet-ups were established. Like the Grinch trying to stop Christmas, FanCon still came without artist alleys or dealer’s rooms. Articles have been dissecting the events of that week, the convention’s very core from the board members to the actions of the co-founders, and there have been some interesting and painful conversations stirred up in the wake of this disaster. But why did any of it matter? FanCon is hardly the first geek convention to go up in flames; it’s not even the only convention focused on accessibility and marginalized groups.
If you get into some of the conversations and hurt that is still processing, a big part of the pain stems from who’s name was attached to the project: Black Girl Nerds, as headed by popular black nerd blogger Jamie Broadnax, was the public face of the group for better or for worse. As Broadnax acknowledges, a lot of fans were coming solely because her name was attached and the trust built there has been destroyed. What has also been destroyed is BGN’s branding as the organization comes apart from the inside. That’s a conversation for another week.
But beyond all that, it’s fairly simple: the power for change is so rarely placed in the hands of the people who are oppressed. Sure, sometimes it’s shoved into our hands when the dominant class is done screwing things up and they tell us to fix it before retiring off to the Land of Oz. That happens all the time as seen with youth culture and the evolving gap between Baby Boomers, Gen X/Y, and Millennials. But this was a time where power was actively seized and marginalized folks put their money and time into making a tangible difference.
There were donations coming from people that had no plans to attend because they believed in the nature of the project so much. This was the chance to prove that conventions for us, by us could prosper. The fact that it didn’t work out (to say the least) is incredibly painful and darkens the future of inclusive fan events. Those of us on the margins are only given half a chance to screw up and this was pretty bad. There is a real fear that we may never get another opportunity.
I’m a frequent con goer. During the summer and some of the fall, I can be seen at just about every convention in Nashville and a few out of state. Sometimes I’m alone and sometimes I roll deep, but no matter what I feel safe. I feel wanted. One thing I have never lacked for is People That Look Like Me. I won’t say everything is perfect, but the black ‘n brown contingent of my local nerd community is very strong and I almost never have to worry about being the only nonbinary person, only trans, only brown person in a space. But unfortunately, a few of the conventions I go to could do better in terms of disability access. It seems like you can’t have everything sometimes and that’s unfair.
Universal FanCon was supposed to be the ultimate in inclusion. The implication was that most of the time you can feel included due to one factor or another but not all of them: this convention was going to handle it all! And if not this convention, then no convention. Advertising preys on that concept quite often and here we see it in action. Here we see a convention promoting it as the only place for People Like You to converge, to hang out, to exist in a space where you feel wanted and where you belong. If not us, then who? But we’ve always had the power to build our own communities and that’s what has been missing from this thus far. People are already out there doing the work and have been for years. Bigger and smaller conventions and groups out there that have done the work. Especially for those people new to fandom events, it’s important to show them that what happened with FanCon is the realm of science-fiction and NOT par for course.
Universal FanCon may be in the dust, but there is plenty to take from its implosion. We still need accessible spaces and that includes inclusion of black and brown folks, people with disabilities, lower income folks, LGBTQ folks, and so much more. It is not impossible and there are groups out there doing the work. The failure of FanCon is going to set us all back but it can’t be the final boss of the inclusive fandom experience. Now is the time to boost smaller conventions you see out there doing the work, shine a light on the entire community, and push harder now more than ever for our spaces to do and be better.
Photo: c_sherm/Creative Commons