Content Warnings Got Me Like…
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For those who don’t have this controversy on their radar, a content warning (also called trigger warning) is a statement a writer would put on his or her work to warn readers that the story contains possibly disturbing content, such as violence and gore, or sexual content, or depictions of self-harm.
As a participant of numerous writing contests, I see the topic of content warnings come up often. And most often, it’s brought up by participants for whom whatever content warning system is in place is not enough — they want more extensive warnings because they were “triggered” by something in a story.
These types of warnings are the same as what you see on movies or TV shows, letting you know why the show is rated the way it is, and if movies and TV shows have such warnings, it makes sense that books and stories would as well. So why is the topic controversial?
Perhaps because there are two camps at opposite ends of the spectrum who feel so strongly about their position that it has become a hot topic, argued until the cows come home and everyone is blue in the face, and the fat lady has not yet sung, and the sun has not yet set.
Back in my day
My opinion on the matter is what it is because I am old enough to say, “Well, back in my day … .” I am also someone who has been an avid reader as long as I can remember, and as a child I often read books that were written for adults.
And here it is, the opinion that will get me lots of hate: I think trigger warnings on books and other pieces of writing are ridiculous.
Let me add a caveat: I understand putting content warnings on stories meant for children and teens. That way parents can be better informed about what they’re adding to their children’s bookshelves. I have a content warning on my first book, Sitting on Top of the World, for that reason.
But I believe that adults should absolutely be able to come across something “triggering” in a piece of writing and handle it, well, like an adult. Personally, I do not like copious amounts of gratuitous cursing in what I read. Do I need a content warning about it? No. I can choose to stop reading the book or story, or I can continue to read it and maybe it won’t be my favorite read of the year. I will move on.
When watching movies or TV shows, I have a strong negative reaction to depictions of sexual assault. During such scenes, I tend to avert my eyes, tune it out, or leave the room. But when the scene is over, I am fine to continue watching. The Shawshank Redemption is one of my all-time favorite movies, but that scene where Andy Dufresne is sodomized by the brutal prison gang is excruciating. I cringe and close my eyes, but that’s it. I’m okay. It is fiction. Realistic fiction, sure, but fiction nonetheless. Entertainment. My mental stability is not going to be ruined by entertainment.
My husband and I recently binge-watched all the seasons of Orange is the New Black, every episode of which is full of violence, sex (especially lesbian sex), and extremely vulgar language — all things I don’t care to watch. But the characters and their stories were so interesting and the plot lines so suspenseful that I actually loved the show. When there was a scene that bothered me, I complained, maybe averted my eyes. Then I lived my life. Entertainment.
Reading is no different. If there is a part that I do not care for, I can skip it. Or — hear me out — because I am an adult, I can read it, perhaps even be “triggered” by it, and still be okay.
But, but, but—
The other side of the spectrum will counter that “you may be okay after watching or reading something triggering, but not everyone can handle it. Everyone is different.”
So I wonder when we became so coddling as a society that we must warn everyone of anything unpleasant they may encounter in a story. Have we raised generations of people who do not have the emotional capacity or the mental strength to handle disturbing twists in a tale? Have we become so concerned about “mental health” that we’re damaging our ability to recover when confronted with something unsettling? Based on the comments I’ve read in online threads on the topic of content warnings on stories, I believe the answer to these questions is a resounding yes. So my follow-up questions are how and why?
Perhaps it began back when some members of society spread the idea that everyone should get a trophy, no one should be allowed to fail, and everyone should be invited to a party so as not to hurt anyone’s feelings. We must protect the feelings. Know what happens when you always protect the feelings? People don’t learn how to regulate, respond, and recover when their feelings are hurt.
The idea of content warnings on fictional stories also smacks of the idiocy of warning labels on product packaging, like “Do not eat wrapping” or “Do not put box in oven.” Because if you’re reading a murder mystery, of course there is going to be murder in it, perhaps even gory murder. If you’re reading a romance, of course there is going to be sex in it, maybe even raunchy sex. It’s up to us as individuals to take care of our own mental health needs when reading a book or story — if we encounter something upsetting, should we not be able to handle that? If someone is too mentally damaged to handle something upsetting in a fictional story, I hope that reader is getting all needed counseling and support, but as I am not a mental health counselor, the onus is not on me as a writer to provide that support.
That being said, as a writer of teen fiction, I do feel I have a responsibility to alert my young readers and their parents of anything in the book that may be problematic. My content warnings appear on the online sales pages, but not in the actual book.
But when I write for adults, in adult writing competitions, I should not be held responsible for how other adult readers may or may not feel when reading my stories — fictional stories, meant for entertainment. Adult readers should be able to regulate their own emotions. And as a reader, it would not be fair or reasonable for me to require society to cater to my personal insecurities.