The Fault in Magical Morals
Nitya Kakade
FY B.Sc. (2024-2028)
Reading time – 6 minutes
Magic has a way of revealing truths we’d rather not face. Beneath the spells and enchantments, some stories expose uncomfortable realities about power and prejudice. While Harry Potter celebrates triumph over prejudice, it feels like its own story stumbles over the pitfalls it warns against.
The author of Harry Potter, J.K. Rowling has faced significant backlash recently. She is most infamous for her views on gender and trans rights. She tried to justify her views through an essay in 2020, but it only perpetuated harmful stereotypes. For example, she suggested that allowing trans people to access gender-affirming spaces endangers others. Her views have been disproven by trans activists, who emphasise that this rhetoric directly contributes to violence against trans people. In fact, trans people are much more likely than cis people to be the victims of violent crime. Despite widespread condemnation, JKR has refused to reconsider her views and is only doubling down on her statements. It’s especially damning because the whole plot of her biggest franchise is the win of the marginalised against systems of oppression.
To provide a little background, Harry Potter takes place in a system where everyone is put into boxes – purebloods, half-bloods, and muggle-borns, in that order. Purebloods are those born into magical families, muggle-borns are those born into non-magical families, and as the name suggests, half-bloods are half and half. You can see where this is going. In a magical society, such a distinction creates a clear hierarchy where those without a magical heritage are at the bottom. In short, a person’s birth determines their social status. The power imbalance keeps growing over time, and eventually, the ones in control declare war to eradicate the muggle-borns.
Many other instances reinforce the theme of fighting against injustice. It is briefly mentioned that wizards are prejudiced against other magical creatures with human-like intelligence. Exactly like what we’ve seen in history, a supremacist believes that their race is better, even though intelligence is not determined by race. The books also touch on the issue of slavery: rich families like the Malfoys and Blacks keep ‘house elves’, who are abused, overworked and unpaid. The story frames this as a systemic issue so deeply ingrained into society that the house elves themselves see nothing wrong with this arrangement. Even well-meaning characters like Hermione Granger who wants to liberate the slaves do not understand the depth of this indoctrination, failing to realise that it takes more than one person for change to take place. However, this topic is not well-developed in the storyline. While the fourth book (The Goblet of Fire) talks about how Hermione tried to bring about change in society and raise awareness around the problem of slavery, it is never brought up again after a few chapters and remains an unresolved subplot. Meanwhile, the movies do not mention it at all.
Even though Rowling’s books centre around the marginalisation of minority communities, she still struggles with proper representation. One example of this is that all her main characters are white. Of the few who are not white, none have a significant role or character arc. This might be excused with the argument that she wrote the books in the late 1990s/early 2000s when diversity in the UK was much lesser than what it is today – at that time, it simply wasn’t relevant enough. Even if that is a valid reason, this is a bigger issue because her posthaste attempts at diversity are falling short of being meaningful. Take, for example, the casting of a black woman for Hermione, who has been continually portrayed as white in all previous content. JKR explained this decision by saying that her race isn’t integral to the character. And she’s right, it isn’t, but it is still quite superficial. “She was the best actor for the role” would have been a good enough reason to cast a black actor, but the additional reasoning that “white skin was never specified” is just blatantly false. Every other black character in the series is explicitly specified as such (Dean Thomas, Kingsley Shacklebolt, etc.) whereas Hermione’s skin has been described multiple times as pale and white. Rowling’s response to the criticism only addresses representation on a surface level but avoids going into the deeper issues. Rather than changing the race of an existing character, a better approach would have been to create new characters for young children to look up to, offering an authentic portrayal of diverse backgrounds. This problem of tokenistic representation has also extended to other communities – most notably, her post-publication revelation that Dumbledore was gay. This part of his character is not shown as important to the story at all, and it is barely explored in Fantastic Beasts where it has some significance. Representation is important because it shapes how individuals see themselves and others in society. For underrepresented groups, having characters and stories that reflect their experiences can provide a sense of belonging and pride in their identity. Representation fails in Harry Potter because J.K. Rowling keeps restricting the identities of minority characters to be shallow, irrelevant traits and not a meaningful part of the character.
Many readers who once found solace in her themes of love, acceptance and resistance against prejudice now feel excluded and betrayed. Her insensitivity towards these communities has not only tarnished her legacy but also degraded the safe space her work once provided. This alienation raises a difficult question: can we separate the art from the artist? While it may seem intuitive that the art can be appreciated while still criticising the artist, supporting the art still supports the artist. And is that really worth it? To separate the art from the artist requires us to acknowledge the tension between personal interpretation and the author’s influence. Rowling’s actions have forced her audience to deal with the uncomfortable reality that consuming her work contributes to her platform and the resources she uses to spread harm. At the same time, art often grows beyond its creator. Harry Potter is a symbol of resistance and solidarity for countless individuals, independent of the person who wrote it. Part of loving a story is to recognise and accept that it isn’t as perfect as we used to believe. The audience can reclaim the narrative as their own, choosing to focus on the positive impact of the work while still rejecting the beliefs of the artist – but that is a privilege the ones directly affected by her words can’t have.
An artist has the responsibility to create an inclusive narrative, building a community that thrives on growth and acceptance. It’s just as important to nurture this community by giving it what it needs. Would you feed your plant with fire instead of water? In the same way, why would you fuel hateful comments within your community, instead of spreading love? Artists are accountable for how they engage with the real world. Someone as influential as Rowling should know that, but maybe it doesn’t matter to her because she’s already earned her billions.
The moral for us readers here is to learn to engage with the content we’re consuming critically. There are limitations to each story, and when we identify these we can understand how the author’s biases have shaped their world. Those biases might even reflect broader societal issues. For example, an author might unintentionally or deliberately portray certain groups in stereotypical ways, omit certain experiences, or privilege one worldview over others. But what does it mean to love a flawed story? Harry Potter was a formative experience for many people, and reconciling its impact on us is more personal and complicated than just discarding the story altogether. That doesn’t imply that we should completely ignore its shortcomings. Reconciliation means acknowledging that the story’s message of hope and acceptance is bigger than its author’s. It means that the story belongs to the readers as much as the creator. Perhaps, we can ensure that the lessons it teaches are just as transformative as the magic it contains.