Somewhere, out there, there’s a TV writer, sitting with their notepad and pen. Netflix has given them the go ahead — finally. This one, this one’s going to be it, they think. It’s ticked all the boxes.

LGBTQ+ character? Check.
Black character? Check.
Surface-level mention of social issues? Check.
Dialogue about how rich, white men evade justice? Check.
Misogyny? Mentioned.
Racism? Mentioned.
Minorities? Represented…sort of.

Writers — it’s time to burn the list. Your fear is showing, and we’re tired. This isn’t progressive and meaningful storytelling— it’s performative progressiveness. It’s what I call ‘checkbox liberalism’.

Why checkbox liberalism kills storytelling

Checkbox liberalism is the practice of including diverse characters or social issues purely to meet expectations — not to serve the story.

Cutting finely through the BS — modern TV and film are suffering from a shallow form of progressive politics. I coined the term checkbox liberalism after watching Season 5 of You, a Netflix favourite that perfectly encapsulates the disconnect I feel with contemporary storytelling — a disconnect also present in Disney’s controversial live-action Snow White remake (but that’s a whoooole other mess).

There’s a pattern at play here: Creators are adding diversity for optics, not out of a genuine desire to portray the lived realities of underrepresented groups. Often, creators gesture toward social issues with good intent — but the result is buzzword dialogue and surface-level symbolism. Gaslighting, misogyny, incel — you’ve heard it all.

You know the saying show, don’t tell? Yeah, that’s what I’ve been screaming at my TV. And when writers fail to show — when they rely on labels and buzzwords rather than stories — they kill empathy, the very foundation of human connection and the power of storytelling.

Show, don’t tell — and mean it

The identities within TV and film don’t just need to be included — they deserve to be deeply and thoroughly represented. Let’s take You as an example.

I don’t know what it feels like to be a Black gay man living in New York (Teddy Lockwood) — so show me. Show me in a way that sets my empathy on fire, not just to tick a box, but to inspire me to do better.

That’s what it means to be progressive in writing. It’s not about appearances and what you mention. It’s about embodiment and what you show. And that’s where storytelling holds real power.

In Season 5 of You, we’re told who characters are. Joe Goldberg’s brother-in-law, Teddy Lockwood? Backstory told through overt dialogue. Brontë, Joe’s love interest? Self-descriptions delivered via cringey monologues. The show doesn’t trust its audience to interpret or infer — it spells everything out with a big red marker.

Characters are written as walking tropes: the mean blonde girl (Joe’s sister-in-law), the manic pixie dream girl (Brontë), the girl boss (Kate). Gone are the complexities, the ambiguities. Previous seasons made us question ourselves — Why am I empathising with a serial killer? This season? All clean, cut lines and crystal clear morals. No mess? No magic.

Adolescence got it right

Contrast that with another Netflix hit: Adolescence. We follow Jamie Miller, a young boy accused of murdering a girl. At first, we’re gripped by the mystery: Did he do it? By the end, we realise — that was never the point.

What drew us in were the nuances. The heartbreak. The shifting perspectives. The subtle treatment of social issues like incel culture and the rise of misogyny, not shouted but whispered. We weren’t told who Jamie was — we discovered it. We weren’t told the message — we felt it.

That’s what great storytelling does.

Your moral righteousness is showing

Storytelling is the sword that writers should wield — it is their power. And I can’t help but feel that they’ve failed their duty every time they’re too afraid to do so much as pull the sword from its sheath. They’re afraid to be ‘cancelled’, thus they tip-toe around at the mercy of moral righteousness. The result is formulaic, risk-averse media that sacrifices originality for safety.

And so, we end up with characters that feel like diversity checkmarks. Themes that feel like buzzword vomit. And underneath it all is a truth no one wants to say: art shouldn’t preach — it should challenge.

Real art is messy. Risky. Imperfect. It’s in that space — the uncomfortable, honest space — where true connection happens. That’s where creators say: I trust my audience to understand my intention. That’s how great art moves people.

Checkbox liberalism is a form of artistic censorship

Today, many creators are painting inside the lines and writing within the checkbox. They’re afraid of controversy, afraid to get it wrong and worst of all — afraid to say sorry. But we know better than this. Growth requires failure. It demands humility. In truth — all powerful art is a little tragic and confronting.

To be in the arts is to reflect the times. And right now? Our art reeks of fear and moral superiority. Of a deep-rooted distrust between creator and audience.

So, here are my questions:

– When does progression become performance?
– When does representation become tokenism?
– When does fear eclipse truth?

Freedom of speech doesn’t mean freedom from consequence — we know that. But sometimes, the consequence is just… growth. If your intentions are in good faith, trust yourself to send the message and above all, trust your audience to get it.

We need to talk about our trust issues

Somewhere along the landscape, we lost the dance between give and take. The creator-audience connection has never felt so strained. And like two lovers who once engaged in the dance, it came to a sudden halt when distrust seemed to creep in. We forgot how to be imperfect and human. We became too concerned with how white and pure our dress was.

But the truth is this: we’ve all said stupid things. We’ve all held flawed views. We’ve all been humbled. And that’s as human as you can get. We evolve, and we grow.

Cancel culture often implies that humans can’t change — but evolution is literally in our DNA. And art is the landscape for where that evolution plays out.

Can we just stop pretending?

The arts needs progression — but it has to be done right. It has to be authentic, confronting and deep. So, writers — stop clutching to the checkbox for safety. Stop trying to people-please and, inevitably, please no one. Stop reducing real identities to quotas. Stop using buzzwords instead of exploring real issues.

Stop being safe and start being true.