Tuesday, June 16, 2015

Race Immersion (or, Learning How to See Whiteness)

My white liberal hypocrisy meter has been on high most of my life
Until the last four or five years, I thought my whiteness was neutral.

I knew violence happened towards people of color more so than towards white people, but since I didn't enact any of that physical or verbal violence, it wasn't really my problem. I thought if I didn't say any racist attitudes or thoughts out loud, they didn't exist in me. I thought proximity to people of color--in my jobs, in my personal life--meant friendship. I thought that if I was doing advocacy work for (white) LGBTQ people, I was doing social justice work for all. I thought "racist" and "racism" were major words, only to be used in extreme circumstances. And I never, ever, wanted anyone to call me a racist.

I now know that all of these priors beliefs were wrong, were screens and lies I told myself to keep myself from seeing my own racism. I was playing the part of being a "good white liberal" or a "good activist" without actually doing any of the self-work I needed to do to surface the racist attitudes and beliefs that I have been taught to have by our society, by our media, by people close to me. To begin to surface and acknowledge my embedded racism, my internalized white dominance, was the first step to dealing with it honestly.

And oh, it has been an eventful past four years! As the Rev. Dr. Jamie Washington shared last week at the Social Justice Training Institute--it can be painful when the Novocaine of societal messages and false truths wears off. It has been painful to realize I have not earned everything I have attained. That I have been hired in positions that more qualified people of color should have gotten. That I frequently ask for exceptions and special treatment and am granted them because I am white. That it is much easier for me to move in the world as a queer white woman than any of my queer and trans people of color peers. That "social justice work" without leadership from people of color, that doesn't focus clearly and constant on anti-racism, is not social justice work. That there is such a thing as "white culture," and I have grown up in it in all the predominantly white institutions and neighborhoods I have been a part of.

Attending the Social Justice Training Institute was intense and so necessary for me in my process of learning to see my whiteness. The structure of the five day Institute includes three days of "race immersion," and from morning to evening, the 50-person cohort of multiracial mostly higher ed professionals from around the country engaged in deep, passionate and painful discussions about race and racism in our lives. We did this in the large group, in groups of 6, in pairs, and in race-alike caucuses.

I am still turning over each moment of the week, because I have never before been so extendedly immersed in my whiteness. Which itself tells you something about our society and how white dominance functions--I'm guessing many of the Black, Latina/o, Mixed race and Asian people at the Institute have never seen their race or ethnicity as neutral. I'm guessing they are regularly immersed in their race, because they are forced to in a country where on the street, in their workplaces, in their friendships with white people, and in the news, they are frequently micro- and macro-aggressed and reminded very clearly about "their place" in a society where white people carry just about all of the power, money and influence, and assimilation to white culture is important for mainstream success.

Although there is still much more for me to reflect on, one major takeaway that my white colleagues at the Institute helped me understand is that especially in social justice spaces, I had been pushing away other white people and seeking to scapegoat other white people. Not only that, I was sickly delighting in white people "messing up" and saying something racially insensitive in mixed-race spaces. I now understand that that impulse is me right back in my "good white liberal" space, the very same space I know is unproductive and is itself full of white dominance. When I am competitive with other white people, trying to get more recognition from people of color, I am not doing anti-racist work. I am doing some bullshit, and just performing to be liked.

If I'm not authentic in trying to learn my role in anti-racist work, I will not be effective, I will not be a change agent, I will not be contributing to a more just society.

My commitment and my challenge to other white people is this: let's work to de-neutralize our whiteness. Let's work to see how race and racism is functioning in our lives--in meetings, in the news, in our conversations with family. In those moments where we want to say, "oh, that's not about race..." let's see what it would mean if it were about race, if it were racism that we were seeing in ourselves or others. I think in the long run, it's better than the Novocaine.

---
Image from sodahead.com

Sunday, February 8, 2015

Storming the Stage: #TransLivesMatter and #BlackTransLivesMatter

Creating Change, the National Conference on LGBTQ Equality, brings together about 4,000 activists every year to learn, make connections, and get energized and ready to go back home and do the work of gender, sexual and racial justice. The conference is in its 27th year, so some things are routine and very structured, like the opening plenary. For many years, comedian Kate Clinton has hosted, and plays jester, introducing the different speakers, getting everyone to feel good about themselves and proud that they are present.

But just as Kate Clinton took the mic at the plenary, suddenly a group of about 50 people carrying signs came into the giant ballroom, chanting. They stormed the stage, filling it with chants of "Trans lives matter! Trans lives matter!" We thousands in the audience stood up, chanting with them, not knowing exactly what was happening, but knowing it was definitely not scripted.

It soon became clear: this group of mostly trans women of color were not going to allow us to do LGBTQ business as usual.

Bamby Salcedo at the mic after the group took over the stage*
Many of the women on stage spoke passionately about the epidemic of murders of trans women of color, and the lack of urgency that the vast majority of us sitting there are guilty of. One of the groups' leaders, L.A. trans activist Bamby Salcedo read a list of demands, including that LGBTQ foundations and non-profits invest more money and resources into the survival of trans people, as well as make sure many more trans people are in leadership positions. Salcedo said with so much passion that I had chills: "If you serve us, you need to include us."

Would we cis people stand it if the life expectancy for lesbians was 30-32 years old, as it is for trans people? Would we white people sit quietly by if the vast majority of murders against LGBTQ people were against white LGBTQ people who looked like us (as is it, 87% of LGBTQ murder victims in 2011 were people of color)? I don't think we would. We have to do better, it is literally a matter of life and death.

The activists who stormed the stage reminded us so intensely that they cannot wait for the LGBTQ community to do marriage equality first and then maybe move to violence, to economic injustice, to youth homelessness, to the incarceration of trans women in male prisons or solitary confinement. And they should not have to wait if we really are a movement that is one for trans people, is one for racial justice.

This was underscored the next day, as one of the Ferguson organizers, Ashley Yates called all of the black trans people in the audience to the stage, "I want them to see y'all...Clap for them because they are beautiful" (video here, especially starting around minute 13). Because not only do we need to be specific that black lives matter (make sure you know the queer black feminist herstory of the #BlackLivesMatter movement here), we need to be specific that black trans lives matter because black trans people are some of the most marginalized, the most penalized for their identities than other groups in our movement.

The words of the black and Latina trans people who spoke on stage need to be catalysts for all of us in the LGBTQ movement. This very much includes those of us who work in higher education and say that we want to center and serve the most marginalized students on campuses. Queer and trans students of color need our LGBTQ movement, including on college campuses, to step up. To truly support them, to truly provide them resources and skills for navigating and improving a racist, cissexist world.

I've been going over and over in my mind the words of the people on stage, declaring black lives matter and trans lives matter. It's a call to action, a call to look really honestly at the work I'm doing and seeing where I am failing to fully center and support queer and trans students of color. I can do better, our campus can do better. And I feel so grateful to the student interns at the LGBTQ Center, because they were at the conference too, and they are ready to radically re-envision what it means to support black and brown queer and trans students on our campus. In fact, they were already ready. So it's on me, it's on other campus directors, it's on other white cis queer people to listen and to act.

To model that listening, I'll end with a quote from one of the black trans women who spoke from her heart on the stage (minute 19 here):
"I want everyone to take this energy with you...helping trans people is so simple. It's treating us like you want to be treated out in the streets. It's not allowing your friends or your colleagues to misgender us, to disrespect us...We shouldn't have to fight right next to you [without respect] when we've been fighting for you for so long...I hope we take this beyond this room because it's easy for us to get caught up in things liked this...but then to go home and not do anything. We all have power...we can completely overhaul this shit, we are overhauling this shit."

--
Photo credit: The Bilerico Project

Monday, January 5, 2015

Let's Require All College Freshmen to Read "The New Jim Crow"

Michelle Alexander, author of "The New Jim Crow"
Why? Because "The New Jim Crow," by Michelle Alexander, more than any other book I know of, describes our times, our predicaments and our society's greatest tensions (an understatement, really): race, the prison industrial complex, socioeconomic class, oppression, indifference, and how they are all so intertwined.

A professor at my college has proposed it to be the incoming first years' required reading book for multiple years now, and I am hopeful his advocacy will be successful this year, and that the incoming class of 2018 will all read Michelle Alexander's searing, brilliant, researched-to-a-T book. Especially given everything that has happened in Ferguson, in Staten Island, and in other towns across the country--Alexander, writing in 2012, shows us exactly how and why the lives of black men like Michael Brown and Eric Garner are so devalued.

I want all white first year students to take in this paragraph:
"...[T]he drug war could have been waged primarily in overwhelmingly white suburbs or on college campuses. SWAT teams could have rappelled from helicopters in gated suburban communities and raided the homes of high school lacrosse players known for hosting coke and ecstasy parties after their games. The police could have seized televisions, furniture, and cash from fraternity houses based on an anonymous tip that a few joints or a stash of cocaine could be found hidden in someone's dresser drawer. ... All this could have happened as a matter of course in white communities, but it did not. Instead, when police go looking for drugs, they look in the 'hood. Tactics that would be political suicide in an upscale white suburb are not even newsworthy in poor black and brown communities (p. 124, emphasis mine)."
Perhaps the student readers would do as I did--smile a little at the absurd visual of SWAT teams dropping into the white 'burbs to break up high schoolers' parties or busting down frat doors for small amounts of marijuana. And then perhaps, as I did, they would re-read the paragraph and realize--well, that it is exactly what is happening regularly in low-income brown and black neighborhoods. The same list of Drug War "interventions" that are absurd, unreal when applied to white middle and upper class communities are exactly the norm in poor black and brown ones.

Although white people are more likely to use and sell illegal drugs in the U.S. (data here, here and here, for examples), our country imprisons a greater percentage of our black citizens than even South Africa did during apartheid (p. 6), mostly for drug-related crimes. And these are not the heads of drug cartels, they are often first-time offenders and overwhelmingly non-violent crimes.

The statistics that Alexander shares throughout the book are astounding, but (as the title of her book indicates) more powerful still are the clear patterns and connections she reveals, showing how our criminal justice system is most of all, a tool for the social control of black and brown people. She lays out her argument historically:
"Any candid observer of American racial history must acknowledge that racism is highly adaptable. The rules and reasons the political system employs to enforce status relations of any kind, including racial hierarchy, evolve and change as they are challenged. (p. 21)"
For although the criminal justice system is on paper "race neutral," it functions in just the same way as past forms of racist social control, like slavery, sharecropping, and the Jim Crow Laws, just with a new tune: "A new race-neutral language was developed for appealing to old racist sentiments...demanding 'law and order' rather than 'segregation forever.' (p. 40)." People with criminal records of any kind--even when they serve no jail time and immediately go to parole, even when their crimes are non-violent--are deeply oppressed in our society, not even eligible for public housing! "Criminals...are the one social group in America we have permission to hate. In 'colorblind' America, criminals are the new whipping boys (p. 141)."

And who makes up the vast majority of America prisoners and parolees? Who makes up the vast majority of the people we are allowed to hate and legally discriminate against? Alexander demands that we as a nation need to talk frankly about the answers to these questions. Who better to delve in than incoming college students, our supposed future leaders?

What's particularly important for college students (and all of us, really) to discuss that Alexander so brilliantly writes about, is that racism can occur even when people honestly don't think they are being racist. And if it weren't a library book, I would have underlined this sentence multiple times because it comes up in so many of my conversations about race with white students:
"The widespread and mistaken belief that racial animus is necessary for the creation and maintenance of racialized systems of social control is the most important reason that we, as a nation, have remained in deep denial (p. 182)"
Rather, "This system of control depends far more on racial indifference...than racial hostility (p. 203)." It is the avoidance of talking about race and racism that allows systems like the criminal justice system to function, thrive and grow. Alexander's book (in addition to the other resources she provides here) is one tool in the long fight ahead, so if you're with her, let's promote her book. I know many of you work in colleges and universities. Can you propose it as summer reading to your Dean of Freshmen or Dean of Studies? Can you incorporate it into a workshop or class that you teach? Can you read it with a group of your friends and discuss?

Of course, "The New Jim Crow" is no panacea. But if people of all races who care about social justice could work to share language, to see through assertions of colorblindness, to share understandings of our country's racist history, and to challenge ourselves to learn more and do better, we will be in a stronger position to make it even a little better, a little more just, for the next generation.

---
Michelle Alexander's NYT 11/26/14 op-ed on Michael Brown's death: "Telling My Son About Ferguson"

Sunday, November 16, 2014

Women, Sports and Power

I <3 Maggie Ruden of Fury (photo credit: USA Ultimate)
Some of the times I have felt most powerful in my life have been on an ultimate frisbee field. Faking out my defender and sprinting hard to the endzone for the score. Marking up against a fierce competitor and frustrating her with my ever-presence on her cuts. Locking eyes with a teammate who knows just where to cut for my forehand huck, and then completing the play perfectly together. It's a full-body feel-good feeling, like electricity starting in my chest and surging outwards to my fingertips, to my toes.

This weekend I was reminded of all that, playing with a small and scrappy alum team at our alma mater's tournament (winning the tournament, of course). It was two days, six games of playing against various college teams from the northeast, and each game I was thinking how wonderful it was that there were six teams of women completing against each other. The players ranged from first year students who had only touched a disc starting in September, to seasoned seniors with beautiful throws and impressive vertical skills, to some of us who have continued playing after school on elite club teams and have lived and breathed ultimate for up to a decade.

The community of women this weekend brought me so much joy. To see all of us out there, with no men in charge, was glorious. Because, how often does that happen? In our workplaces? In our local and national government? In our schools' senior leaders? Rarely, rarely, rarely. Yet there is so much value in complete self-determination for women, as when we are playing on a women's sports team. You have complete control over your body, and this is no small thing, when we live in a culture where women's bodies are policed, critiqued, picked apart by the media, by passerby, by families, by friends. On the field, my body is completely mine.

I bow at the feet of the women's groups who not only got Title IX to Congress's door, but fought for it once it was passed but being poorly instituted. Despite being passed in 1972, the federal Office of Civil Rights was not enforcing the law, and it took lawsuits and advocacy until a full 15 years later, women's rights groups were victorious in passing the Civil Rights Restoration Act of 1987, which made Title IX stronger, clearer, and more enforceable (sources here).

The gains have been huge. According to the Feminist Majority Foundation's fact sheet, before Title IX, girls represented just 7% of the students playing sports in high school. In 2001, girls made up 41.5% of students playing sports in high school--from 300,000 to 2.7 million girls playing. That translates to 1 in every 2.5 girls playing in high school in 2001, versus just 1 in every 27 girls playing prior to Title IX.

In college, women represented just 2% of student athletes prior to Title IX, whereas women made up 43% of college athletes in 2001.

Me playing for NYC's Bent v. TX's Showdown, Nationals 2013*
But let's not get complacent. Taking the micro example of the ultimate frisbee world, many women join in college, but after their four years in school, never play again. Most women's club teams, who compete regionally and nationally (and are very badass, I can tell you from experience--one example here), know that part of their work is improving the pipeline to get women to keep playing. We--like most women's sports--have not hit the critical mass that men's divisions of the same sports have. There are so many men who play ultimate, that for example, the co-ed winter league I played in in San Francisco accepted all women who signed up, but always cut a good number of men purely because the ratio of men to women who wanted to join was so skewed.

This is not a matter of, 'oh well, men just like ultimate frisbee better!' It means that many good and excellent college women ultimate players have not gotten the encouragement or the opportunity to keep improving out of college. There are not women's teams in every city, so many women have to play in co-ed leagues or on co-ed teams if they want to keep playing. But when you are a woman playing in a co-ed league game and a man calls another man a "pussy" when he messes up; or a co-ed team and you get constantly looked off on open cuts you are making; or when men dominate the email chains a co-ed team is using to fire everybody up (all of which I experienced just in the last couple of weeks), the incentives for women to stay playing get fewer and fewer. (And don't even get me started on the impact of "professional" men's frisbee teams having women cheerleaders at their games. The short version: the impact is that girls and women watching get the message 'your place is not on the ultimate field.' This is a huge detriment to the development of particularly girls playing ultimate, and if you're a man on one of those teams--you need to realize you are part of the problem, and you have the power to change that. Men on teams with all-female cheerleaders and all-male players should refuse to step on the field until their manager promises there either will be no female cheerleaders or there will be female players on the field. Preferably the latter.)

The winning team this weekend--Boxing Nuns Alums!
And none of this is trivial. There are countless, proven benefits to women and girls persisting in sports. Women and girls who play sports have higher grades, lower drop out rates, lower pregnancy rates, and lower drug usage rates than those who don't. They also are more likely to graduate college, and sports significantly increase women's self-esteem and confidence. The next studies I want to see are the impacts of women playing sports past college. I would posit that women playing sports are more confident at work, ask for raises more, and are more willing to speak up when something unjust is going on in their workplace and in their relationships. I know sports has instilled all of that in me.

So women readers, I ask you--when was the last time you did something with only a large group of women? And what did it feel like?

--
*Second photo credit: William "Brody" Brotman

Wednesday, August 20, 2014

Who's Afraid to Talk about Michael Brown?

Michael Brown
This afternoon I decided I needed to take some time and click on every Facebook link I could about Michael Brown, his murder, and the aftermath in Ferguson, Missouri. I decided I needed to do that because I am white. Because I don't have a black brother or cousin or best friend or partner, I can disengage from thinking about unprovoked violence against black bodies. I can decide the moments that I want to learn about the black experience in American and the times I don't. I can choose to hear short updates on NPR about the National Guard being called in, and decide that that can suffice for my knowledge of what's going on.

As Janee Woods so poignantly put it in her piece this week, "Becoming a White Ally to Black People in the Aftermath of the Michael Brown Murder":
"I am challenging white people to consider carefully whether failing to speak out or act because of... [their] fears is justified when white silence and inaction mean the oppression and death of black people. Let’s talk about an active role for white people in the fight against racism because racism burdens all of us and is destroying our communities."
It's not acceptable to check out of the outrage, the sadness, the fear, the conversation that Michael Brown's murder has brought if I or any other white person ever wants to think of ourselves as doing anti-racist work. If you have ever said or thought to yourself, "I'm not racist," then tell me, what have you been doing this week? I am not saying this to mock or shame anyone, but really truly asking myself and my white friends, what have we been doing? How many more young black people have to die before we are ready to admit that if black people and other people of color are less valued in this country, that inherently means we white people are more valued in this country. And the legitimacy and value given to our bodies and our voices means that we must, we MUST be loud, active voices in the fight for racial justice. Which is also called justice.

Since Michael Brown's murder on August 9th, I have learned a lot from my friends on Facebook. But true to Janee Woods' point, they were almost entirely my black friends. They linked to videos of reporters getting tear gassed and the terrifying use of police force, and militarization of local police forces. They cited the silence of celebrities who love to appropriate black culture for their financial gain, but have nothing to say about the violent realities of being black every day. They shared Melissa Harris-Perry's tribute to Michael Brown, Oscar Grant and the hundreds of other unarmed black people killed by police. (One shocking statistic she shared: "From 2006 to 2012, a white police officer killed a black person at least twice a week in this country.")

Renisha McBride
I am ashamed to admit that today, I had to stop reading and watching footage after just 30 minutes. It was painful. But that's the point, right? It IS painful and terrible and unacceptable that black people can be killed so callously and so frequently. We white people need to find ways to hear and see and feel the pain that is the reality for people of color in our country. If I walked up to a stranger's house to ask for help, no one would ever shoot me in the face like Theodore Wafer did to Renisha McBride, murdering her in November 2013. But black and brown parents all over this country have to deal with the reality that their child could be shot in the face if she asks for help, and that their unarmed child could be shot six times including twice in the head like Michael Brown.

So that is why I'm writing here. I want to hold myself accountable for going back to the news (especially non-mainstream), to social media, to people in my communities, over and over to learn and speak up and figure out what role I can play. I am committing to educating myself, my white friends and my white students on these particular series of events yes, but also the larger contexts that contribute to the unchecked murders of people of color in this country. I am asking all white readers to also reflect for yourself, how can you not be silent too?