You’ve probably seen news reports that the Hugo awards handed out last year at the world science fiction convention in Chengdu were rigged. For example: Science fiction awards held in China under fire for excluding authors.

The Guardian got bits of the background wrong, but what’s undeniably true is that it’s a huge mess. And the key point the press and most of the public miss is that they seem to think there’s some sort of worldcon organization that can fix this.

Spoiler: there isn’t.

(Caveat: what follows below the cut line is my brain dump, from 20km up, in lay terms, of what went wrong. I am not a convention runner and I haven’t been following the Chengdu mess obsessively. If you want the inside baseball deets, read the File770 blog. If you want to see the rulebook, you can find it here (along with a bunch more stuff). I am on the outside of the fannish discourse and flame wars on this topic, and I may have misunderstood some of the details. I’m open to authoritative corrections and will update if necessary.)

SF conventions are generally fan-run (amateur) get-togethers, run on a non-profit/volunteer basis. There are some exceptions (the big Comiccons like SDCC, a couple of really large fan conventions that out-grew the scale volunteers can run them on so pay full-time staff) but generally they’re very amateurish.

SF conventions arose organically out of SF fan clubs that began holding face to face meet-ups in the 1930s. Many of them are still run by local fan clubs and usually they stick to the same venue for decades: for example, the long-running Boskone series of conventions in Boston is run by NESFA, the New England SF Association; Novacon in the UK is run by the Birmingham SF Group. Both have been going for over 50 years now.

Others are less location-based. In the UK, there are the British Eastercons held over the easter (long) bank holiday weekend every year in a different city. It’s a notionally national SF convention, although historically it’s tended to be London-centric. They’re loosely associated with the BSFA, which announces it’s own SF awards (the BSFA awards) at the eastercon.

Because it’s hard to run a convention when you live 500km from the venue, local SF societies or organizer teams talk to hotels and put together a bid for the privilege of working their butts off for a weekend. Then, a couple of years before the convention, there’s a meeting and a vote at the preceding-but-one con in the series where the members vote on where to hold that year’s convention.

Running a convention is not expense-free, so it’s normal to charge for membership. (Nobody gets paid, but conventions host guests of honour—SF writers, actors, and so on—and they get their membership, hotel room, and travel expenses comped in the expectation that they’ll stick around and give talks/sign books/shake hands with the members.)

What’s less well-known outside the bubble is that it’s also normal to offer “pre-supporting” memberships (to fund a bid) and “supporting” memberships (you can’t make it to the convention that won the bidding war but you want to make a donation). Note that such partial memberships are upgradable later for the difference in cost if you decide to attend the event.

The world science fiction convention is the name of a long-running series of conventions (the 82nd one is in Glasgow this August) that are held annually. There is a rule book for running a worldcon. For starters, the venue is decided by a bidding war between sites (as above). For seconds, members of the convention are notionally buying membership, for one year, in the World Science Fiction Society (WSFS). The rule book for running a worldcon is the WSFS constitution, and it lays down the rules for:

• Voting on where the next-but-one worldcon will be held (“site selection”)
• Holding a business meeting where motions to amend the WSFS constitution can be discussed and voted on (NB: to be carried a motion must be proposed and voted through at two consecutive worldcons)
• Running the Hugo awards

The important thing to note is that the “worldcon” is *not a permanent organization. It’s more like a virus that latches onto an SF convention, infects it with worldcon-itis, runs the Hugo awards and the WSFS business meeting, then selects a new convention to parasitize the year after next.

No worldcon binds the hands of the next worldcon, it just passes the baton over in the expectation that the next baton-holder will continue the process rather than, say, selling the baton off to be turned into matchsticks.

This process worked more or less fine for eighty years, until it ran into Chengdu.

Worldcons are volunteer, fan-organized, amateur conventions. They’re pretty big: the largest hit roughly 14,000 members, and they average 4000-8000. (I know of folks who used “worked on a British eastercon committee” as their dissertation topic for degrees in Hospitality Management; you don’t get to run a worldcon committee until you’re way past that point.) But SF fandom is a growing community thing in China. And even a small regional SF convention in China is quite gigantic by most western (trivially, US/UK) standards.

My understanding is that a bunch of Chinese fans who ran a successful regional convention in Chengdu (population 21 million; slightly more than the New York metropolitan area, about 30% more than London and suburbs) heard about the worldcon and thought “wouldn’t it be great if we could call ourselves the world science fiction convention?”

They put together a bid, then got a bunch of their regulars to cough up $50 each to buy a supporting membership in the 2021 worldcon and vote in site selection. It doesn’t take that many people to “buy” a worldcon—I seem to recall it’s on the order of 500-700 votes—so they bought themselves the right to run the worldcon in 2023. And that’s when the fun and games started.

See, Chinese fandom is relatively isolated from western fandom. And the convention committee didn’t realize that there was this thing called the WSFS Constitution which set out rules for stuff they had to do. I gather they didn’t even realize they were responsible for organizing the nomination and voting process for the Hugo awards, commissioning the award design, and organizing an awards ceremony, until about 12 months before the convention (which is short notice for two rounds of voting. commissioning a competition between artists to design the Hugo award base for that year, and so on). So everything ran months too late, and they had to delay the convention, and most of the students who’d pitched in to buy those bids could no longer attend because of bad timing, and worse … they began picking up an international buzz, which in turn drew the attention of the local Communist Party, in the middle of the authoritarian clamp-down that’s been intensifying for the past couple of years. (Remember, it takes a decade to organize a successful worldcon from initial team-building to running the event. And who imagined our existing world of 2023 back in 2013?)

The organizers appear to have panicked.

First they arbitrarily disqualified a couple of very popular works by authors who they thought might offend the Party if they won and turned up to give an acceptance speech (including “Babel”, by R. F. Kuang, which won the Nebula and Locus awards in 2023 and was a favourite to win the Hugo as well).

Then they dragged their heels on releasing the vote counts—the WSFS Constitution requires the raw figures to be released after the awards are handed out.

Then there were discrepancies in the count of votes cast, such that the raw numbers didn’t add up.

The haphazard way they released the data suggests that the 911 call is coming from inside the house: the convention committee freaked out when they realized the convention had become a political hot potato, rigged the vote badly, and are now farting smoke signals as if to say “a secret policeman hinted that it could be very unfortunate if we didn’t anticipate the Party’s wishes”.

My take-away:

The world science fiction convention coevolved with fan-run volunteer conventions in societies where there’s a general expectation of the rule of law and most people abide by social norms irrespective of enforcement. The WSFS constitution isn’t enforceable except insofar as normally fans see no reason not to abide by the rules. So it works okay in the USA, the UK, Canada, the Netherlands, Japan, Australia, New Zealand, and all the other western-style democracies it’s been held in … but broke badly when a group of enthusiasts living in an authoritarian state won the bid then realized too late that by doing so they’d come to the attention of Very Important People who didn’t care about their society’s rulebook.

Immediate consequences:

For the first fifty or so worldcons, worldcon was exclusively a North American phenomenon except for occasional sorties to the UK. Then it began to open up as cheap air travel became a thing. In the 21st century about 50% of worldcons are held outside North America, and until 2016 there was an expectation that it would become truly international.

But the Chengdu fubar has created shockwaves. There’s no immediate way to fix this, any more than you’ll be able to fix Donald Trump declaring himself dictator-for-life on the Ides of March in 2025 if he gets back into the White House with a majority in the House and Senate. It needs a WSFS constitutional amendment at least (so pay attention to the motions and voting in Glasgow, and then next year, in Seattle) just to stop it happening again. And nobody has ever tried to retroactively invalidate the Hugo awards. While there’s a mechanism for running Hugo voting and handing out awards for a year in which there was no worldcon (the Retrospective Hugo awards—for example, the 1945 Hugo Awards were voted on in 2020—nobody considered the need to re-run the Hugos for a year in which the vote was rigged. So there’s no mechanism.

The fallout from Chengdu has probably sunk several other future worldcon bids—and it’s not as if there are a lot of teams competing for the privilege of working themselves to death: Glasgow and Seattle (2024 and 2025) both won their bidding by default because they had experienced, existing worldcon teams and nobody else could be bothered turning up. So the Ugandan worldcon bid has collapsed (and good riddance, many fans would vote NO WORLDCON in preference to a worldcon in a nation that recently passed a law making homosexuality a capital offense). The Saudi Arabian bid also withered on the vine, but took longer to finally die. They shifted their venue to Cairo in a desperate attempt to overcome Prince Bone-saw’s negative PR optics, but it hit the buffers when the Egyptian authorities refused to give them the necessary permits. Then there’s the Tel Aviv bid. Tel Aviv fans are lovely people, but I can’t see an Israeli worldcon being possible in the foreseeable future (too many genocide cooties right now). Don’t ask about Kiev (before February 2022 they were considering bidding for the Eurocon). And in the USA, the prognosis for successful Texas and Florida worldcon bids are poor (book banning does not go down well with SF fans).

Beyond Seattle in 2025, the sole bid standing for 2026 (now the Saudi bid has died) is Los Angeles. Tel Aviv is still bidding for 2027, but fat chance: Uganda is/was targeting 2028, and there was some talk of a Texas bid in 2029 (all these are speculative bids and highly unlikely to happen in my opinion). I am also aware of a bid for a second Dublin worldcon (they’ve got a shiny new conference centre), targeting 2029 or 2030. There may be another Glasgow or London bid in the mid-30s, too. But other than that? I’m too out of touch with current worldcon politics to say, other than, watch this space (but don’t buy the popcorn from the concession stand, it’s burned and bitter).

UPDATE

A commenter just drew my attention to this news item on China.org.cn, dated October 23rd, 2023, right after the worldcon. It begins:

Investment deals valued at approximately $1.09 billion were signed during the 81st World Science Fiction Convention (Worldcon) held in Chengdu, Sichuan province, last week at its inaugural industrial development summit, marking significant progress in the advancement of sci-fi development in China.

The deals included 21 sci-fi industry projects involving companies that produce films, parks, and immersive sci-fi experiences …"

That’s a metric fuckton of moolah in play, and it would totally account for the fan-run convention folks being discreetly elbowed out of the way and the entire event being stage-managed as a backdrop for a major industrial event to bootstrap creative industries (film, TV, and games) in Chengdu. And—looking for the most charitable interpretation here—the hapless western WSFS people being carried along for the ride to provide a veneer of worldcon-ness to what was basically Chinese venture capital hijacking the event and then sanitizing it politically.

Follow the money.