We spend a lot of our lives being told that we’re not good enough. (Enough for what, the obvious question, doesn’t come up nearly as often as it should.) You don’t get to do X–sorry, you just don’t meet The Qualifications. Thirteen women met or exceeded NASA’s requirements for the Mercury program, except that NASA required experience as a pilot. The women started pilot training. NASA changed the rules to require experience piloting military aircraft, and the military at the time didn’t let women fly. See how neat that is? Sorry, we’d love to qualify you for spaceflight, but it’s these requirements, see?
And the truth, then and now, is that a lot of The Rules are bullshit, and are there to keep the “wrong sort” out. Therein lies a bit of the genius of Doctor Who, by the way: the Doctor is a trickster figure, who isn’t always bound by rules, who has the power to distinguish the sensible rules from the bullshit ones. The Doctor has invited princesses and hooligans aboard the TARDIS, and he’s treated them the same. That’s a powerful message. There’s no entrance exam. You don’t need experience piloting any sort of aircraft. You’re companion material just as you are. Not just inclusiveness, but radical inclusiveness. Not only Hollywood-anyone, but anyone-anyone.
It makes me think of the least defined and most overlooked house in Harry Potter, Hufflepuff. Nobody seems to know much about Hufflepuff for the first few books; they’re just sort of… there, unlike Gryffindor (brave!), Ravenclaw (smart!) or Slytherin (inbred elitists!). It isn’t until book five that we finally find out what the organizing principle behind Hufflepuff House is:
Said Slytherin, “We’ll teach just those
Whose ancestry’s purest.”
Said Ravenclaw, “We’ll teach those whose
Intelligence is surest.”
Said Gryffindor, “We’ll teach all those
With brave deeds to their name.”
Said Hufflepuff, “I’ll teach the lot
And treat them just the same.”
Catch that? Hufflepuff isn’t the house of last resort; it’s the only house that deliberately eschews bullshit entrance exams. Because fuck them; there’s no guarantee that they’ll produce a better wizard or whatever–it’s the Hogwarts curriculum and the student’s own work ethic that determines that–and every indication that they both raise meaningless walls between people who really should be working together and create feelings of inadequacy in at least some of the students in them. You don’t have to prove yourself, in Hufflepuff. You want to learn? That’s all that matters. Pull up a chair and let’s do magic.
And that, in the face of a relentless onslaught of stories about the chosen one, the special one, the one marked by destiny to do great whatever, is a radical notion. One that Doctor Who, thanks to its trickster hero, is uniquely qualified to propagate. And that’s why my fondest hope for a companion is an unlikely one–one unlike companions of the past, maybe one selected by the Doctor before s/he has a chance to prove him/herself.* Because you know what’s bullshit? It’s our stories telling people who are female/Black/Native/Asian/queer/disabled/whatever that the best they can hope for is to be inspiration and help to the people who really matter to the story.
It’s time for us to call it bullshit, loudly, and say that everyone matters. No more tests. No more proving yourself. You’re fine. You’re exactly what the Doctor ordered, not despite whatever’s slowing you down, but because of it.
(Continued at Radical Inclusiveness 2: or, Dear Mr Moffatt.)
* It’s true that some past companions have stowed away–I mean, “self selected”. But, as I’ll discuss when I finish my piece on Tegan, the show never really explored the ramifications of this, and I’d really like it to.