I see there are already multiple people busy Motte N Baileying you. Don't you like goodness and light, gatvol? Why don't you like progress, gatvol? Why? All we're asking for is good. What's wrong with good?

Oh! Well human "progress" may stop. Because progress is directed and has a goal.

Whose progress now?

Evolution, like human culture, is not directed, but an emergent status quo.

I bet we'll keep having those.

By listening to other people's experiences?

Well... yes. The main work described in the article is a work of fiction. i.e. a work of imagination, which means the author listens to his own inner muse. The protagonist is fiction, his experiences are fiction, his story is fiction. Lies, simply, but (if we're lucky) entertaining lies. The author is under no obligation to listen to others (especially their 'truths',) and may in fact harm his work by listening to others rather than trust his own sense of story. If he's an obligation to anyone, it'll be to the buying (and reading) public who'll decide the fate of his work.

Oh please. They also posted an interview with George Dawes Green[1] where he talks to Nick Gillespie (PHD in post modern literature) about his new book and has good things to say about interacting with a sensitivity reader despite his initial reluctance. Reason Magazine has a perspective but isn't just one thing. Kat Rosenfield the author of this piece has her own particular perspective, and is specifically writing about the manias of Young Adult fiction, which is notorious for moral panics and circular firing squads.

[1] https://reason.com/podcast/2022/08/05/george-dawes-green-why...

I guess we learnt all we needed to know about the native central north american experience by watching the Hollywood depiction of Tonto?

No need to to better, in your mind at least?

In answer to your second question: no, not really. The only thing to learn is that, like a certain North Pole elf, Tonto is a work of fiction. As is the Lone Ranger. As are all the bad guys they hunted, the sheriffs they met, the girls they wooed. Even the silver bullets came out of someone else's imagination.