There's room for speech, but no space for 'othering' people or denying their rights.
One night, back when my nephews were still kids, Harry Potter hype came to my town.
My nephews were visiting from their home in Colorado Springs for a few days that summer, and the sixth book in J.K. Rowling's seven-book series was set to drop at 12:01:09¾ one Friday night. The boys were still pretty young then; and, still living with a mother who routinely goes to bed before the 10 o’clock news, they were not yet accustomed to late nights or teenage sleeping schedules. Going out after midnight seemed an adventure to them. I was working at the paper then, routinely getting off work after 12, so the late-night event seemed fun and doable.
The party was at a downtown children’s bookstore. The store organized games and offered treats, and a whole bunch of kids, though not my nephews, came in Hogwarts-related costumes. We got our cookies and butter beer and waited in line for the witching hour when we would be able to get the much-anticipated book; those last 9¾ seconds were excruciating.
Jack, the younger of the two at barely 12 years old and excited beyond reason, got the second book sold, a feat worthy of the Battle of Hogwarts. And then, with that 652-page book held tight against his chest like an elusive horcrux, we went home. All-in-all, we were probably out for maybe an hour and a half, but nearly 20 years later it’s still an important life moment — for all of us, I think — and a sweet memory.
From the beginning, Harry Potter has been important to my whole family. When my brother first discovered the boy wizard and the hype hadn’t yet gathered steam in the U.S., impatient, he would scour the internet for ways to buy the British versions of the book, just to get a jump on the adventure. When we took his daughters to Alaska, a few weeks after “Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix” dropped, his older daughter, 13 at the time, would hole up in a closet to read the book by the glow of a flashlight, and the 10-year-old went home with a “Hairy Otter” T-shirt. That 15-year-old who accompanied me and his more excited younger brother to the bookstore bash, grew up to throw Potter parties of his own and to paint Potter quotes on the walls of his early grown-up homes. I have a cousin who sold wands to wizard wannabes at the Wizarding World in California, and my sister names her dogs after Potter characters.
In the first weeks of the pandemic, when we were all locked down in our houses, my dad, 91 at the time and working on a beard like Dumbledore‘s, watched all eight movies with me, one after another, even though we’d both watched them numerous times before. Even now, sometimes, when I come across a Potter film on TV, I stop scrolling and watch.
So, yeah, I was a little disconcerted when I heard that Hogwarts creator and author J.K. Rowling had decided to use her considerable celebrity and gigantic platform to take aim at the transgender community.
About four years ago now, Rowling took exception to the use of the term “people who menstruate” in an online opinion piece about the threat of COVID in the developing world. Rowling mocked the phrase in a surprisingly childish and sarcastic Tweet, which, as anyone could have predicted, drew the ire of many thousands. That was followed by other tweets and other angry responses and then a lengthy essay in which she tried to make unfounded concerns seem sensible.
She made a point of drawing distinctions between trans activists and transgendered people. She said she wanted transpeople to be safe, had friends who had transitioned, had talked to trans teens who were “adorable.” She was empathetic to the struggles, she said, and was aware of the heightened risks of violence that transpeople suffer at the hands of intimate partners and strangers. She worried about her daughter having fewer rights than she had as a young woman (although she didn’t explain how she thought the trans community would lessen those rights) and said she was concerned about free speech and cancel culture.
But she didn’t walk back the vitriol and hubris.
I think most people were inclined, at that point, to extend her the benefit of the doubt — if she had just let the rhetoric end there.
I know I was.
But she didn’t, of course. More tweets followed in which she purposely misgendered people, mocked those who disagreed with her, said a trans journalist was “cosplaying a misogynistic male fantasy of what a woman is” and accused a musician of supporting “rape and death threats” when he suggested she further educate herself. In the fall of 2023, she said she would rather do two years in jail than use someone’s preferred pronouns. In December 2022, she opened a rape crisis center that excludes services for trans women and prohibits trans employees.
In a recent controversy, Rowling was called out — rightfully — for denying that Nazis burned books and destroyed research on transgender health.
This week she is under fire, yet again, for her outspoken opposition to new legislation in Scotland designed to curb hate crimes based on protected characteristics such as age, disability, religion, sexual orientation and gender identity. The law took effect April 1 and Rowling marked the occasion by misgendering activists and public figures and taunting police to arrest her if they thought her posts about the new law were criminal. (They did not.)
And now I feel betrayed.
Don’t get me wrong. I believe J. K. Rowling has a right to speak up. I believe absolutely and completely in the First Amendment — and whatever the equivalent is in Scotland and everywhere else in the free world. I believe a free press and citizens who use their right to speak keep us safe from government overreach and oppression. If you see a flawed law that will result in deleterious consequences or deprive people of their rights, I believe you should work to stop or change it. I believe a law that threatens to punish speech — no matter how heinous or hateful that speech — is dangerous and should not stand.
I don’t, however, believe you get to a better place through hate.
You can make your point without mocking your opposition or resorting to ugly stereotypes and sarcasm. You can build people up without dismissing or diminishing or denigrating others. You can seek understanding through education and empathy. You can protect your own freedoms by championing other people’s rights.
As the great wizard, Albus Dumbledore, himself, said in J.K. Rowling’s second book “Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets”: “It is our choices, Harry, that truly show who we are …”
I keep thinking about the little kids who read the Harry Potter books, who loved them, who loved Harry and Hermione and red-headed Ron Weasley. Some of them were smart, curious, well-adjusted kids, like my niece, who found romance and gallantry in the story of a boy wizard defeating evil. Some of them, like my nephews, had an affinity for the books because they, like Harry, were growing up without their father. Some of them were kids seeking escape from troubled homes or abuse or confusion about their sexual orientation or gender identity, afraid of the bullies who come in the guise of parents, politicians, preachers and playmates, and paralyzed by nightmares about a future alone.
I think about the little transkids who sought solace in the pages of the Potter books, kids who found safety in that imagined world, kids who felt validated by characters that were themselves outsiders and misfits, kids who felt seen, maybe for the first time ever, by fellow readers and fans.
J.K. Rowling and her ugly rhetoric betrayed those kids. She failed them in word and deed when she made it clear that she didn't think they were worthy of safe spaces or inclusion, even self-creation and identity.
In the novels, Harry Potter had to grow up without his parents, a wizard in a muggle world, raised by relatives who neither loved nor understood him, lost and lonely, until he created a new family with people who accepted — even embraced — his otherness.
That’s the whole point of each of the seven books, of all 4,100 pages of them.
J.K. Rowling, in her mean-spirited quest to “other” the trans community, betrayed Harry Potter.
“It matters not what someone is born,” Dumbledore said in “Goblet of Fire,” “but what they grow to be.”
It is a betrayal of immense proportion that J.K. Rowling doesn’t believe her own words.
The Pie: Spiral Veggie Pie
One thing we can all agree on is that vegetables are good for us. And some people don’t like them, particularly children.
There are, of course, ways to convince your kids — or your picky adults — to eat their veggies. My mother liked vegetables a lot and at times kind of hovered around vegetarianism, but my father was not really a plant lover — and neither were their children. So my mother became pretty adept at knowing which vegetables we would eat. To get her family to consume veggies, my mom used to feed us salad and some variety of potato at almost every meal, grate carrots into pasta dishes and, on special occasions and holidays, cover cauliflower or broccoli with zippy cheese sauce. My former sister-in-law would serve crudité for kids or, more simply, raw vegetables with dressing. Betting on the fun of dipping, she was a big proponent of ranch. Other parents — maybe all parents at one time or another — would get the vegetables into little bellies by insisting that no one leave the table until all the plates were clean.
I found this recipe in the New York Times food section, a contribution from designer Laura Kim. The accompanying story said Kim’s mother used to make this savory pie to entice her stubborn children to eat their vegetables. They called it a pinwheel pie, but it doesn’t look much like a pinwheel to me — more like a spiral or, if you’re the whimsical type, a giant blooming rose.
When I explained this pie to my niece, a fine cook in her own right, she likened it to lasagna. And, with the ricotta cheese and paprika, she was right. It is similar to a veggie lasagna — but lighter and earthier and, you know, kind of prettier. It is made with a colorful variety of squashes and carrots. I used eggplant, butternut and zucchini squash, and orange carrots, but you can use whatever satisfies your taste buds (or your kids’) and whatever you can find in your local grocery or farmers market.
The recipe
Crust
1½ cup all-purpose flour
Pinch of salt (about 1/8 teaspoon)
½ cup cold butter, cut into cubes
5 tablespoons ice water, more as needed
To make the crust, combine flour, salt and butter, cutting together with a pastry cutter until crumbly. Add water, one tablespoon at a time, and knead by hand until all the flour is moistened and can be gathered together in a ball. Be careful when adding the water as you don't want the dough to be too sticky. Work quickly so the dough doesn’t get too warm. Form a ball and wrap in plastic. Refrigerate for 30-60 minutes.
Filling
7 ounces of ricotta cheese
1 teaspoon salt
Paprika to taste
1-2 small-sized zucchini
1 medium eggplant
1 butternut squash
1-2 large carrots
Grated Parmesan cheese for topping
A small bowl of olive oil, about ¼ cup, infused with thyme and rosemary sprigs. (Infuse for at least an hour, but the longer the better.)
Preheat oven to 350 degrees.
Grease a round, 10-inch tart pan. On floured surface, roll out the dough. Lay the dough into the pan, pressing it to the bottom and around the sides. Trim crust so that it does not overhang the pan and the edges are basically even. (A rough edge gives the pie a rustic vibe, so don’t worry about being too precise.) Refrigerate the crust for about 10 minutes to cool.
Line the crust with parchment paper and fill with pie weights or beans. Parbake for 15-20 minutes. Allow to cool to room temperature or return to refrigerator to cool. Remove pie weights and paper.
To make filling, mix ricotta with about half the infused olive oil. Stir in salt, pepper and paprika. Set aside.
Cut veggies into thin strips with a mandolin or sharp knife. Trim strips so they are approximately the same height. If you are using butternut squash, you may want to trim off the peel so that the pretty orange flesh is visible when you construct the spiral.
Depending on the veggies that you use, some may need to be pre-cooked until softened before putting them in the pie. This will allow for even baking. For instance, carrots and butternut squash should be cooked until soft and pliable, about two to three minutes on high in the microwave. Zucchini, yellow squash and eggplant don’t need to be pre-cooked.
Lay vegetable strips on a flat surface. Season with salt and pepper.
Preheat oven to 375 degrees.
To construct pie, spread seasoned ricotta on bottom of prebaked crust. Starting at the inside edge of the crust and working from the outside in, layer standing veggie strips in a circular direction, mixing colors and veggies as you go. Keep layers tight, and continue until pie is filled and a little rosebud forms in the center. Brush top with extra olive oil and season with more salt and pepper.
Cover with foil to prevent veggies from browning too quickly. Bake in preheated oven for about 20 minutes. Remove foil and continue baking for another 25-35 minutes.
Top with grated parmesan. Serve warm or at room temperature.
Leftover pie can be kept in the refrigerator, covered, for three to four days. Reheat in medium hot oven (about 350 degrees) for 45 minutes or until hot.
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