The magazine’s Ethicist columnist on upholding rules of discretion in a recovery community.
We have a writing group whose members share their fiction and nonfiction with one another. One of our members attends Alcoholics Anonymous meetings and has begun to write about others who attend. She does not mention their names, but the descriptions of the members include profession, physical appearance, hobbies and other specifics that might identify them. She has not mentioned to these people that she is writing about them and does not plan to, but she would like to publish her stories for the general public. She has a degree in creative writing and notes that well-known authors have written about members of their A.A. groups, e.g. Raymond Carver. What are the ethics of writing about others in a substance-abuse support group without their consent? — Name Withheld
From the Ethicist:
What do we talk about when we talk about anonymity? Membership in an A.A. group involves a great deal of trust, and those who benefit from membership have a profound obligation to respond to that trust with trustworthiness. In general, I don’t think we should begrudge writers their inspirations, including those that come from our own lives. There’s always a chance of that when you have friendships with writers. But what’s shared in an A.A. meeting is emphatically not meant to be put to public use, and breaking a confidence is breaking a confidence even in the service of art.
And for the record? Raymond Carver, who attended A.A. meetings at least once a day over a transformative month in 1977, stated clearly that he never used the stories he heard there as source material, and indeed that he never attended meetings with this in mind. He wasn’t going to exploit this small, good thing. It’s significant that your writing-group member hasn’t told the others in her A.A. meetings what she’s doing; she evidently fears they will think of it as a betrayal. With good reason. If members of her meetings recognized themselves in her stories, whether or not they thought they would be recognized by others, they would be justified in responding with outrage.
To be sure, your colleague can’t be expected to avoid writing about absolutely anything she learns in the meetings. And it may be hard to draw a sharp line between a recognizable use of the details and a creative adaptation of them into fiction. But that’s exactly the sort of thing that, in the spirit of trust, it would be appropriate to discuss with people in the A.A. group, whose candor has been predicated on a strong norm of discretion. Alcohol isn’t the only thing that can be abused.
Readers Respond
The previous question was from a reader who learned some shocking truths about his genealogy. He wrote: “Last June, my stepfather and I visited Norway to meet paternal relatives I’ve heard about and spoken with but never met. … These relatives were so kind and loving — we hit it off like we’d known one another forever. They showed me where my great-grandfather grew up and detailed my family history all over the country. During the trip, I made plans to return. I also started taking Norwegian lessons. But when I did analyses from both 23andMe and Ancestry, my ancestry composition didn’t align with what I expected. It turned out that my paternal aunt is actually my half aunt; my dad’s dad likely isn’t my biological grandpa, and I’m likely not related to my family in Norway after all. Now I’m feeling some impostor syndrome. It feels dishonest to go back next year and not divulge my findings. What are my ethical obligations to a family I might not be related to at all?”
In his response, the Ethicist noted: “This information is obviously relevant to your relationship with these people, and it would indeed be a betrayal of trust not to share it. You may have some sorting through to do yourself. You’ve found that your paternal grandmother evidently didn’t conceive your father with the man you thought was your biological grandfather. (A result of an extramarital affair? Maybe. Or maybe the child of a previous relationship, or of an adoption that wasn’t widely shared in the family, or even of a donor-assisted conception.) So people you’re connected to through just your paternal grandfather — are there any on this side of the Atlantic? — probably aren’t blood relations. I do hope that you and the Norwegians continue to get to know each other, even if your node of connection isn’t biological.” (Reread the full question and answer here.)
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I find myself agreeing with The Ethicist almost every time. The letter writer’s family is trying to take the moral high ground while condoning the withholding of important information from people who have a right to know. There is no moral high ground in that. DNA databases are great for correcting genealogies. Even better, they can bring us new medical discoveries and treatments as well as other benefits to society. — Martin
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I have to gently disagree with the Ethicist, on the point that not revealing this information would be dishonest. This is ultimately, very private, personal information the letter writer sought out. It is up to the letter writer to decide the best way to proceed, but I think it’s unfortunate that he feels this biological information makes his connection to these relatives inauthentic. I’m not downplaying how much this must have impacted him emotionally, but I think he should really consider how much it actually changes these connections and his desire to know more about them. There is value in appreciating your family history and your place in it, even if the biological connection isn’t there. — Susanne
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I think the Ethicist is on target here. I would only add that there is more to family than blood ties. We all have families of choice and it sounds as though these lovely Norwegian folks could be part of the letter writer’s. — Timothy
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I disagree with the Ethicist’s opinion that the genetic testing results are “obviously relevant,” and I agree with the letter writer’s family members who have encouraged him to keep it to himself. Except for issues of medically necessary genetic counseling, the so-called “blood relatedness” of human beings is a social construct, and much harm has been perpetrated over the ages by disputes over it. Family relationships are built by people’s actions over time, often spanning generations, and should take precedence over the details of genetics that may or may not (these tests are not always perfect) be at odds with them. What good can come of casting doubt on or impugning the character of ancestors? The letter writer may find the information he decided to unearth uncomfortable; he has no business making his Norwegian family members, who did not agree to his genetic testing, uncomfortable as well. It would likely be an unwelcome and unkind blow to them, who welcomed him and showed him kindness. — David
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I do agree with the Ethicist’s reply. I’m Swedish, with lots of relatives in Minnesota, and I recently found two who where great — really, really distant relatives but so nice. We bonded and now call each other cousins, though like hundreds removed, ha-ha. Who cares if I should find out they’re not more than half-relatives? Blood is just red fluid. But if you find good people in this troubled world, keep them. — Jenny
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