In the interest of fairness, I will begin with something that we already know: running a convention is hard. This is the one concession I will make: running a Worldcon really is hard. It’s hard in the ways that running any large event is hard, and it’s hard in a few unique ways (whose fault those are being the subject of another post). We’re all clear there.

However, we in this community—writers, artists, builders and makers of all stripes—should be very accustomed to doing hard things. A task being difficult is often a reason TO do it, to tackle it in all its complexities, to explore new techniques, to learn and take joy and fulfillment in the learning.

So why are we having this conversation again?

I attended the “Learning From Mistakes at Worldcons” panel at this year’s con in Seattle because I’m a process nerd, and because I’ve seen firsthand the struggles that cons in general and Worldcon specifically have with this topic. Institutional memory, standardization, and process adoption are not easy, and they are not automatic. I was curious to see what the current thought was regarding the gaps and ways to fill them.

What I got was an hour-long screed on how Worldcon organizers can’t possibly be expected to be perfect, how problems are all unique to the circumstances in which they occur, and how it is the responsibility of an upcoming concom or new director to know who to reach out to for assistance, based on a dense, informal social network of distributed subject matter expertise. Social media responses to convention missteps were referred to as “the mob,” and the primary problem stated by the panelists is the bizarre assertion that the social media team “isn’t seeing itself as part of the convention” and isn’t acting on the convention’s behalf. The discussion was made all the more opaque by referring to cons by their local name and number—“DenCon”, “DisCon III”—which made it very difficult for anyone in the audience to follow the chronology of what was being discussed.

Because I am a process nerd, and also a professional little shit, I raised the question, “If I’m a brand-new director, or someone pulled in last-minute, there’s no way for me to have access to this loose social knowledge base. How can we turn this social knowledge into actual knowledge, and make sure that everyone has access to it?” In response, I received platitudes about how, well, you really just have to make friends with people, you have to learn who to talk to. Oh, but there was one woman, the heart and soul of DisCon, she was so very good at meeting and introducing people and raising them up and training them, we really relied on her.

(It will come as no surprise to the reader that the panel was comprised exclusively of older white men, a makeup which was recognized aloud by the younger white male moderator. I do not harbor any of the panelists any ill will, but nor do I hold much esteem for many of their con-running viewpoints as stated on this panel.)

There is, we were assured, a Worldcon Runner’s Guide. It exists, so you can’t say that we don’t document our learnings for the future. Oh, but it’s not up-to-date. There hasn’t been any kind of quality check done on it. No one really uses it, no one really knows where to find it. But it exists! It’s there! You can’t say it doesn’t, your argument is invalid. But no, we don’t make any effort to make it actually useful.

This is, frankly, insane. This is embarrassing. And the fact that these panelists said all this with their whole chest without understanding that—that we can’t answer your questions, that we will not reflect or generalize or strategize for the future, that we cannot imagine there is someone in the audience who doesn’t know the chronology of every Worldcon, that we refuse to do this labor if there’s a woman we can trust to handle it—speaks to how deep the problem goes. You, the people responsible for this: you should be embarrassed.

(In full fairness, I believe that they are. But what we appear to be seeing is an externalization of that embarrassment: defensiveness, fighting back, saving face, self-deprecating giggles or jokes about gummies.)

Add that to the egregious mispronunciation and lack of respect for nominees and nominated works at this year’s Hugos ceremony (something for which George R. R. Martin was rightly excoriated in 2020, and yet, somehow, here we are again), never mind the entire exclusion of one are you absolutely kidding me, and the question I’ve seen asked over and over across social media is: is there something baked into Worldcon that makes it capital-L capital-T Like This?

To which, despite its bid system and decentralized nature, the answer is a clear and resounding Yes.

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Many years—we’re closing in on every year—there is a counter-programming initiative to Worldcon. This year’s Concurrent ran the starting Thursday of Worldcon with a full suite of speakers, accessibility accommodations, and respect for its participants, built on the determination to do things right. These efforts are incredibly impressive, and the people driving them work hard and think deeply about how to right these wrongs.

And oh, how I long for a world where they are not necessary.

I do not accept that Worldcon is and must always be a fuckup forever. I do not accept that we must cede one of the premier events in our field to recycled mediocrity. No matter what you think of awards, the Hugos have built up enough cachet over the decades to mean something—to booksellers, to book buyers, to news outlets, to the nominees and recipients. We can make our own, and people have (the Ignytes being a recent and spectacular example), but I do not accept that we need to leave behind what’s already been built in the hands of people who don’t even seem to respect what they’re holding. Most conventions, even those run by imperfect humans, do not have a widely-accepted “Days since the Con Embarrassed Itself” counter.

Should it be the responsibility of those harmed to repair the harm? Nope. But when the alternative is giving up something of value, no matter how complicated that value is, there comes a point when it might be worthwhile.

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In quality and risk assessment, we have “the Swiss cheese model” of risk management. (We all got a good primer on this at the beginning of COVID, but let’s recap.) Each slice on the stack will have holes; this is the grain of truth at the core of the reflexive “well, you can’t expect us to be perfect” defense. The solution isn’t, as this defense assumes, to plug the holes. It’s to add more slices.

A diverse concom, across race and gender and class and lived experience. A review process for panel descriptions. A reliable accountability system between directors of different departments so that each doesn’t become its own little feudal fiefdom. The decision to treat accessibility across the spectrum as a first-class concern, and to build a diverse team able to make that happen. A built-in hour for the Hugos emcee to go over the pronunciations of the names that have been provided to them. And, crucially, a responsive, good-faith system in which to handle the things that will inevitably still go wrong. A system’s success is defined by how it handles failure.

All of these are slices that can be added, and most aren’t even that complicated to set up. But they will not happen on accident.

And if one convention does them, but does not push the next bid to do the same, then we’re back at the luck of the draw.

Money where my mouth is: once my convention season is over, I’m planning to write in with a request to get involved in that Runner’s Guide and bring it up to modern code. After that comes the process part. The part that the individual concoms have insisted in the past can’t happen, because after all it’s completely different groups, never mind the significant overlap. How do we get this information—our expectations, our learnings, and more than that, our aspirations—into the hands of the next team, and ensure that happens every year going forward, self-sustaining, into the future, without relying on a loose social network that we know perfectly well cannot accommodate everyone (especially non-US teams, lest we forget the “WORLD” in Worldcon)?

I’m not sure yet. But I suspect it starts with sending an email.

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After all that fire and brimstone, I need to make one thing clear: I love conventions.

DragonCon 2007 was the first time I knew what it felt like to be in a sea of peers, to be able to strike up a conversation with anyone, to make instant friendships just based on what fandom we were cosplaying or what panel we were queuing for. I’ve attended over eighty and volunteered at several dozen, and I’ve kept every single badge. My longest friendships are those formed at fandom events. My convention family feels like home.

Even with all the problems above, I had a fantastic time at Worldcon 2025 in Seattle. I saw and hugged people I only ever get to chat with online, I met and shared panels with incredibly eloquent and talented artists, I got to talk at great length about my passion for costuming and the effort-to-effect ratio because someone foolishly gave me a microphone five separate times. Even when Worldcon is bad, it collects my people in one place, and there are things to love. Even people who hate Worldcon have fun at Worldcon.

So imagine a world where Worldcon was good.

Where we treated it with the respect we pretend to afford it as the site of one of our major awards, honoring the fact that it might be the most important weekend of someone’s life to date. Where announcers and organizers understood the power they wield, and pledged to wield it responsibly. Where we held ourselves and our successors to a higher standard.

And where we stopped mispronouncing people’s goddamned names.

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Edit note: the prior version of this post said that Concurrent programming was held on Wednesday rather than Thursday, because I trusted my memory and didn’t check. It can happen to you.

The official White House newsletter has posted an article titled "President Trump Is Right About the Smithsonian." It calls out some of the institution's artwork, exhibitions, programs and online articles that focus on race, slavery, immigration and sexuality. That includes works at the Smithsonian's National Museum of African American History and Culture, The National Portrait Gallery, and The National Museum of the American Latino.

The list of objectionable content comes a week after White House officials sent a letter asking eight of the Smithsonian's museums to submit their current and future plans for exhibitions, social media content and other material. The institution's director Lonnie Bunch was told it had 120 days to comply for what the administration says will be a "comprehensive review," in order to bring the Smithsonian in line with Trump's cultural directives ahead of the country's 250th anniversary celebrations.

The administration has directed the museums to replace "divisive or ideologically driven language with unifying, historically accurate and constructive descriptions."

NPR reached out to the White House asking for comment about the article highlighting the Smithsonian artists. They have not responded.

The list of artists and content seems to be drawn from art that was highlighted in a recent article in The Federalist. The conservative online magazine argued that the Smithsonian's National Museum of American History, for example, was filled with "wall-to-wall, anti-American propaganda."

The Smithsonian's press office declined NPR's offer to comment on the White House list. In June, it sent out a statement saying the institution is committed to remaining "free from political or partisan influence."

While some of the artists and scholars NPR spoke to said they fear being further targeted, others said that being called out by the White House is a "badge of honor." Some referenced other times, in the U.S. and around the world, when art provoked a strong political response; and some said they fear that Trump's call for "anti-woke" art will have a chilling effect on artists, museums and galleries.

Rigoberto A. Gonzalez

The White House newsletter singles out a 2020 painting by Rigoberto Gonzalez, titled "Refugees Crossing the Border Wall into South Texas," which was a competition finalist for The National Portrait Gallery in 2022. It depicts an immigrant family descending a ladder propped up at the U.S.-Mexico border wall. The mother holds a baby, and next to her is the father and their other son, who step onto an American landscape filled with "dangers they encounter now that they've arrived in the United States," Gonzalez says: a discarded fast food container symbolizing "an overindulgent American diet," a Victoria's Secret ad representing "oversexualized consumerism," a crumpled iPhone case that depicts "social media addiction."

The White House newsletter spotlights Gonzalez' artwork for "commemorating the act of illegally crossing" the Southern border.

Gonzalez denies that his painting promotes border crossings; rather, he says, it depicts realities. His painting is currently housed at the Varmar Private Collection.

The artist, born in Tijuana, is an American citizen whose work often explores the border region at the southern edge of Texas, where he lives.

Gonzalez says, at first, he was shocked to see his name listed by the White House. "But then I was a little bit glad," he says. "My work is political, and that painting in particular was questioning the anti-immigrant sentiment of the time. So I'm glad that it got a response from a presidency that is very clearly going anti-immigration."

Gonzalez says the White House list reminds him of the "degenerate art" exhibitions in 1930s Germany. "The Nazis gathered modern artists they deemed to be not within the context of their ideals," Gonzalez says, adding that he believes the current Trump administration "has an agenda, and clearly they do not see it in my work."

The thought of getting a visit from Immigration and Customs Enforcement is a concern for many immigrants, even if they are in the U.S. legally. Gonzalez says he's not fazed or intimidated; he's now thinking about doing a painting about the current ICE raids that are rounding up, imprisoning and deporting immigrants.

Ibram X. Kendi

The White House newsletter calls Howard University history professor and writer Ibram X. Kendi a "hardcore woke activist." 

The author of the book How to be an Anti-Racist says he's not surprised. "Those of us who study racism, who engage in rigorous research to try to explain what racism is have been typically described as activists, as opposed to what we are: scholars and intellectuals using research and analysis to try to present the truth," he says. "So it's a way to discredit me and distract from my scholarship and to continuously try to make me into this boogey-person who should not be taken seriously. Because, frankly, I could see this White House not wanting their supporters to take my work seriously, because I think if they did, they wouldn't take the White House seriously."

Kendi's book has been featured at the National Museum of African American History and Culture. In it, Kendi guides readers to "actively deconstruct racism, unlearn racist ideas and recognize racial equality."

"That type of transformation and learning is in direct conflict to an administration that's trying to convince the American people, particularly white Americans, that they are under attack or that they are being harmed or that racism doesn't exist, or they're the primary subject of racism," says Kendi.

He says his work teaching about the history of racist ideas and practices and policies in the U.S. has made him a target.

"I've been on lists like this for years, particularly over the last five years," he says. "They don't want white people and others to actually read my work… so that they won't be transformed by it."

Kendi says the White House actions remind him of the Jim Crow era, when segregationist politicians and leaders "were firmly against our public museums presenting an accurate picture of slavery, or the Civil War, of civil rights activism." Even before then, he says, some leaders tried to present slavery as being "good" for African Americans. "There were efforts to downplay or downgrade the level of horror and torture and terror that the Black people faced," says Kendi.

Amy Sherald

Last month, before she was listed in the White House newsletter, painter Amy Sherald canceled her upcoming show at the Smithsonian's National Portrait Gallery.

Sherald is known for her painting of first lady Michelle Obama, and the canceled exhibition would have included her painting of a trans woman with pink hair and a blue gown, holding a torch. It's called "Trans Forming Liberty."

In April, Sherald talked to NPR about how Trump's rhetoric was affecting her work. "We're talking about erasure every day," she said. "And so now I feel like every portrait that I make is a counterterrorist attack … to counter some kind of attack on American history and on Black American history and on Black Americans."

Hugo Crosthwaite

In 2022, the Smithsonian's National Portrait Gallery commissioned artist Hugo Crosthwaite to create a study of Dr. Anthony Fauci, former director of the National Institute of Allergy and Infectious Diseases and chief medical advisor to President Biden.

Crosthwaite animated 19 drawings he made, depicting Fauci dealing with the HIV/AIDS crisis and the COVID-19 pandemic.

"Dr. Fauci didn't want the idea of a painting of him with a big shield fighting a virus or something like that. He didn't even like the idea of a portrait of himself," says Crosthwaite. "But I thought I could do this stop-motion animation that basically tells the narrative of his 50-year career."

The animated Fauci portrait remains on the National Portrait Gallery's website and on YouTube. Crossthwaite reckons that the White House singled it out because it depicts someone who promoted the technology and creation of vaccines — a once apolitical issue that has become increasingly partisan.

"It seems like they just came up with the idea, 'oh, this is about Fauci. So then we hate it now,'" he says. "And they probably haven't even seen it."

Still, Crosthwaite says the attention he and the other artists are getting now isn't all negative.

"I was kind of honored to be included in the list of great art pieces celebrating diversity," says Crosthwaite, who was born in Tijuana and lives in San Diego. "They're trying to censor artwork. But I always feel that it always kind of backfires; it usually draws more attention to it, which I think is wonderful."

Patricia Cronin

Brooklyn-based artist Patricia Cronin's bronze sculpture "Memorial to a Marriage" is part of the National Portrait Gallery's permanent collection. Her 2002 work depicts two women (herself and her now-wife) embracing on a bed.

"You see hardly any LGBT monuments in our public spheres anywhere in the United States, so it was very subversive," she says. "It was a poetic protest when I made it – before same sex marriage was legal – and when [it] became legal, it became more of a celebratory icon. Now, it's starting to veer back into the poetic protest status, given the culture that we're in right now."

While "Memorial to a Marriage" is not on the White House's list of objectionable art, Cronin fears it could be in the future. She says that kind of threat alone gives pause to many artists. She says going after the Smithsonian could end up silencing other museums and galleries.

"Part of this whole censorship is to erase our history, but also erase our lives," says the Brooklyn College professor at the School of Visual, Media and Performing Arts. "If we're not allowed to be in public, or museums aren't showing the American story in its fullest complexities, it's going to be terrible for many artists who are making work that reflects their human experience. And I'm terrified. Absolutely."

She says the current political climate is daunting, and during dark times, people look to the artists to respond. "I'm here to tell you the artists are always doing the work," she says. "But do the gatekeepers let you see the work?"

"People are definitely scared," she adds. "And other museums are cancelling exhibitions. I've had exhibitions canceled. Institutions are scared. And yes, it's very dire. And it's exactly why art matters."

Fears of self-censorship

Art historian, and Stanford University Professor Richard Meyers says the White House messaging about the Smithsonian has him confounded. "I've never seen a list like this," he says. "I mean, it does remind me a bit of McCarthyism."

He says calling for a review of the Smithsonian museums seems to have a "strategic vagueness." He adds: "Is it some sort of 'enemies list'? Does it mean the works will be removed from the public?"

"It's becoming very difficult to know exactly what is happening, who is making these decisions, how the art is being treated and at what point is it censorship?" he asks.

Meyers says this current movement is less clearcut than the U.S. culture wars of the late 80s and early 90s. Back then, there were political fights over Robert Mapplethorpe's homoerotic photographs that some considered "obscene" and over Andres Serrano's 1987 photo "Piss Christ," showing the figure of Christ on a cross in a pool of urine. Both works led to a crusade by then-Sen. Jesse Helms against the National Endowment for Arts.

President Trump has called for the elimination of the NEA, and has begun cancelling the agency's grants.

Meyers, director of the American Studies program at Stanford University, wrote a book called "Outlaw Representation, Censorship and Homosexuality in 20th Century American Art."

He says art censorship has always provoked strong responses. "Sometimes it's lawsuits, sometimes it's protests," he says, "and some of those responses are going to be other artworks."

Meyers says he fears that up-and-coming artists will begin censoring themselves — which he calls the worst kind of censorship, "because you never see the work or it's never made."