Footloose: Toxic Masculinity Addition

Queer people, especially growing up, have to be especially careful about everything they do. Every action, every word choice, every joke needs to be carefully examined before its executed. For some people, this caution stems from fear of outing themselves before ready. For others, the fear stems from just being seen as an “other,” some misfit who does not belong.

For me, the latter was my main concern. A lot of people say that deep down they had always known they were gay. I, however, was not one of those people. Growing up, I believed I was straight. There was no nagging voice in the back of my head telling me that maybe I liked boys.

My mom was diagnosed with cancer right before I turned 15, and she died less than four months later. I attribute not hearing that voice to just trying to readjust to life and dealing with the trauma after her death. But, at 17, I realized I was gay, and within three weeks, I had come out to everyone in my life. It was a very short period between my own realization through me becoming open with everyone in my life.

So, what does this all have to do with the title I gave this blog post? Well, I have always loved to sing. It has always brought me joy. There are only a handful of days where I don’t start of the day humming “Good Morning Baltimore” from Hairspray (Musical) or “Provincial Life” from Beauty and the Beast (Movie). When I feel overwhelmed, I scream-sing “I’m Not Okay” by My Chemical Romance (Band) until I feel better. When I need a good cry I'm feeling sad, I listen to “People” from Funny Girl (Musical) or “On My Own” or “I Dreamed a Dream,” the latter two from Les Miserablés (Musical). Some of the quotes I live my life by come from songs. Two of my favorites, both which come from the song “Down, Down, Down to Mephisto’s Café” by Streetlight Manifesto (Band), which say “You can play the role of rebel, just be sure to know your wrong from right,” and

Way back when the prophecies began, do you think they really had a master plan, or were they merely writing fables, stories? I don’t know but it has occurred to me, the punishment that they threaten constantly, it’s only real if they can just convince me.”

 I have never been in love, but I have felt how much love can hurt someone by listening to any Adele album. This is all just a long way of saying, I love music and it has and always will be a big part of my life.

However, singing when you are in middle school and high school, especially growing up in the conservative part of California (I lived next to a place named Santee, but people referred to it as Klan-tee because of all the white supremacists living there) is not something a boy does. It’s something a “faggot” does. And this, guys, gals, and non-binary-pals, is where my tale of toxic masculinity begins.

First, what is toxic masculinity? Some on this blog have talked about toxic masculinity (see: Toxic Locker Rooms) and other have defined it (see: #MasculinitySoFragile and the Gendering of Consumer Products). I wanted to define it in my own terms as well. Toxic masculinity, to me, is any type of behavior done to ensure that one is seen as masculine, but to the determent of actor or others. This often means that the actor will avoid doing things that they or society perceive as feminine- like singing, dancing, cooking, talking about your emotions, having long hair, wearing traditionally feminine colors, etc.- even if it is something the person truly loves doing.

For me, the thing I avoided doing because it was considered feminine was singing. I never joined choir at my middle school. And I only joined high school choir my senior year, over half a year after I had come out. I was so afraid of being perceived as an “other” that I purposefully avoided something I truly loved. And I would only have been perceived as an “other” because of the patriarchy dictating what is masculine and what is feminine.

Instead of choir, I joined the next closest thing: band (I played clarinet for 9 years, and was first chair my last year of high school). I made so many good friends in band, and I cherish most of my memories from those times. But I never loved the activity. It was not something I wanted to be doing, but rather was something I was doing to get a fix. I still wanted music in my life, and band was the best, unfeminine way to incorporate it.

But it was not the same. And I look back now and am sad that I was too scared to participate in something I truly loved.

In college, I tried out for a couple acapella groups, but because of my lack of experience and training, I often was under prepared for my auditions, and clearly not the best choice. I only auditioned my freshman year, and it went terribly. I heard other auditions, those that had musical training and had been singing their whole lives, and knew I could not compare. I knew that I would never be on that level without practice, which I did not have time for. Even after shedding my toxic masculinity, I still felt its effects.

It was not until I came to law school that I started singing again. I bombed my audition with Law Capella my 1L year because I was scared. I was a 1L auditioning in front of 2Ls and 3Ls (that in and of itself should be enough explanation), but I also was sandwiched between two people I already knew could sing well. My nerves got the better of me.

Full of resolve, I tried out again my 2L year. Thanks to some help from my friends, and some practice, I was able secure a spot in the group. I have taken a solo three times now, and I will be singing at graduation. I am extremely proud of the journey that has brought me here. I just wish I had not let fear, the patriarchy, and toxic masculinity stop me from pursuing something I truly loved. What comes to mind are The Streetlight Manifesto lyrics I quoted earlier: "the punishment that they threaten constantly, it’s only real if they can just convince me." My fear, the patriarchy, and my toxic masculinity were only real because they just convinced me that I would be nothing if I did not fit the mold.

Just some ending thoughts. One, I am extremely happy with how my life turned out, so even though not joining a choir sooner is probably one of my bigger regrets, I am still extremely happy. Two, life is always better with a soundtrack, so add some music to your life. Three, do not let others define you, and do not let them limit how you live your life because, if you do, you will miss out on a lot of songs along the way.

The San Antonio Four: The conviction and exoneration of four Latina lesbians in Texas

**Trigger warning: mentions child sexual abuse and rape**

In the summer of 1994, the community of San Antonio, Texas was in shock following the violent and brutal allegations brought by two sisters aged 7 and 10. The sisters alleged that their aunt, 22-year-old Elizabeth Ramirez, and her friends Anna Vasquez, Kristie Mayhugh, and Cassandra Rivera viciously raped them during their week-long visit at Ramirez’s apartment.

The allegations against the women, all of whom were openly gay, were bizarre and constantly changing. The girls claimed one of the women had put a weapon to their heads – a knife in one telling, but later a gun, then two guns. The story also changed with each interview regarding which women did what, who was in the apartment, and whether other children were ever present. Additionally, it wasn’t just the girls’ story that was changing, but the story their grandmother, the outcry witness, gave fluctuated as well regarding how and what the girls told her.

However, these allegations by the girls were supported by the testimony of child abuse expert Dr. Nancy Kellogg, who frequently testified for prosecutors. Kellogg testified that a mark she observed on the hymen of one of the girls was a scar likely caused by painful penetration. Further, Kellogg wrote in her report and told authorities she believed the attack was “satanic.”

The problem with this testimony, as the American Academy of Pediatrics explained in a 2007 report, is that “torn or injured hymens do not leave scars as a matter of scientific fact.” Variations like the ones Dr. Kellogg claimed were evidence of traumatic injury are, in fact, normal. Also, there has never been any evidence to connect Satanism to any of the four women. However, this issue was never addressed, and the testimony became a crucial piece of evidence against the women.

Elizabeth Ramirez was the first to be brought to trial in 1997. During her trial, her defense attorney was able to keep the jury from hearing speculation that the alleged attacks were “satanic-related,” but prosecutor Philip Kazen got the message across nonetheless with language about Ramirez having “sacrificed” her niece on “the altar of lust,” and told the jury she had “held a 9-year-old girl up as a sacrificial lamb to her friends.”

Kazen went farther than just mentioning satanic abuse. During his closing statements, Kazen relied on the women’s sexuality to prove motive for the assault. He also told the jury he wasn’t asking them to convict Ramirez because she’s gay, but that being a lesbian was consistent with her abusing girls.

Ramirez was convicted and sentenced to 37 years in prison.

Vasquez, Mayhugh, and Rivera were all tried together after Ramirez’s conviction. Again, the prosecutors relied on the women's sexual orientation as motive evidence to explain to the jury why these women would want to sexually assault girls in their closing arguments.

All three women were convicted and each sentenced to 15 years.

However, the convictions against the women began to unravel in early 2012 when one of Ramirez's two nieces, now in her twenties, stepped forward to say she had lied.

Stephanie Limon, the younger of the two sisters, called journalist Debbie Nathan and told her none of the abuse happened. Limon went on to explain that her family members coached her on what to tell the police because of their anger toward Ramirez's sexual orientation.

She explained her father, Javier Limon, was the one who came up with the idea and forced her to do it. In the months leading up to the allegations, Javier Limon, who had just broken up with Ramirez’s sister Rosemary, had made many unsuccessful attempts to court Elizabeth Ramirez, including asking for her hand in marriage on several occasions despite Ramirez’s consistent rejection.

In an interview for the documentary Southwest of Salem, Stephanie Limon explained:

I remember everything [Javier] coached me to say, as well as my grandmother. I’m sorry it has taken this long for me to know what truly happened. You must understand I was threatened, and I was told that if I did tell the truth that I would end up in prison, taken away, and even get my ass beat.

Javier Limon went on to have another bitter custody battle with his next partner, Carina Hooper. Hooper described Javier Limon in an interview as a “hurtful, mean, a sociopath.” Javier Limon also accused Hooper’s son of sexually abusing their daughter, and reported Hooper for neglect to Child Protective Services. Her son took a plea deal and is now a registered sex offender.

Soon after Stephanie Limon recanted her testimony, Dr. Kellogg’s testimony regarding the scar on one of the girl’s hymen was brought into focus and discredited. Kellogg herself came forward and stated she would not give the same testimony today.

Further, as media attention on the case grew, it was realized that while the sisters testified all four women were in the apartment at the same time during the sexual assault, if investigators for the prosecutor's office had actually checked the work records of the women during that time frame, they would have realized some of the women couldn’t possibly have been at Ramirez’s apartment during the assault.

With this new evidence coming to light, defense attorney Mike Ware and the Innocence Project of Texas filed for post-conviction relief to have the four women’s verdicts overturned.

Ware explained in an interview with CNN why he believes justice was not done in these women’s trials, stating:

I think the only reason that the investigation was seriously pursued, why there wasn't more skepticism about the preposterous allegations in the first place, was because these four women had recently come out as gay, that they were openly gay.

Finally, in November 2016, the Texas Court of Criminal Appeals found that, “no rational juror could find any of the four Applicants guilty of any of the charges beyond a reasonable doubt,” and exonerated Elizabeth Ramirez, Anna Vasquez, Kristie Mayhugh, and Cassandra Rivera of all crimes.

The San Antonio Four demonstrate how homophobia and bias works within our justice system to cloud the judgement of the police, prosecution, and community. The fact that these women were Latina and lesbian was actively used against them during their persecution. In fact, the jury foreman on Ramirez’s trial, Lonnie Gentry, was a minister who admitted during voir dire he believed homosexuality to be a sin. There is no way that, along with prosecutor Philip Kazen telling the jury that lesbians were more likely to sexually assault young girls than straight women, did not sway the jury.

These women spent decades of their lives in prison because Philip Kazan blatantly and unapologetically capitalized on the persistent and thoroughly incorrect notion that LGBTQ people are predisposed to sexually harming children in order to win his case. And, not only did he get away with doing this, but he went on to become a judge and ran for District Attorney in 2014.

While there is a happy ending in that all four women have now been exonerated, there shouldn’t have been a story requiring an ending in the first place.

Can we keep our culture and still be feminists?

I recently got hooked on One Day at a Time. Netflix rebooted the series based on a 1975 show: One Day at a Time.

Today's show is about a single Cuban mother who lives with her immigrant Cuban mother and her two children while her husband lives in Afghanistan. The fifteen-year-old daughter (Elena) is a bad ass feminist social justice advocate in the making. While grappling with her Cuban heritage, she tries to teach her family about sexism and environmental issues.

One of the biggest moments for the family comes when the daughter refuses to let her mother and grandmother throw her a quinceañera. The daughter looked up the history of the quinceañera and learned that this traditional "coming out" party was a way to inform the village that the teenage girl was ready to be married off. This did not sit well with Elena.

Elena was quick to explain this to her family and let them know that she would not partake in such a sexist tradition. In response, her mother pointed out that many Cuban traditions had sexist origins and if they refused to engage in everything with such origins, they would not have any Cuban traditions. She also showed Elena that, although quinceañeras have a sexist history, they no longer carry the same meaning today. To the mother, this was an opportunity to show the world that her daughter was growing up and that, as a single mother, she was raising her daughter by being able to put on such an elegant party.

This episode hit home because I often struggle with my Mexican upbringing and all the sexism in the Latinx heritage. One of the reasons I don't go to church is the inherent sexism in the bible and Catholicism. However, religion is a huge part of the Latinx culture. My mom wouldn't be my mom without her faith in God as His image has been created. Although I may not believe in the God my mom swears is our creator, I wear a gold rosary when I need to feel safe.

I even drag my partner along to posadas (a reenactment of Mary's and Joseph's search for lodging in Bethlehem performed several days in a row leading up to Christmas) come Christmas time, not because I like to pray the rosary and reenact the night Jesus was born, but because these posadas were a happy and consistent part of my childhood (I remember dressing up as Mary on more than one year). And while I did not have a quince because we could not afford one, I would have loved to get all dressed up, make it to the church and dance all night. Even as a child, I knew that quinces were sexist, especially because I saw no male equivalent.

So what does this all mean? Am I doing feminism wrong by wanting to partake in some of my culture's historically sexist traditions?

This discussion reminds me of Roxane Gay's Ted talk, Confessions of a bad feminist. Her work helped me understand that I can still consider myself a feminist and engage in Latinx traditions. However, there is still a part of me that doesn't know how to reconcile the history of many of my cherished traditions with my feminist identity.

One of the solutions I created is to offer to plan quinceañeras for any sons I have. And if I have the honor of planning a quinceañera for a boy, we can make it as "traditional" or non-traditional as he wants!

Quinceañeras aside, what do I do about church? I want my children to be baptized, mainly out of fear of the consequences of not being baptized my mom has told me about. So, if my children are baptized and have quinces for the sake of holding on to my culture, does that say anything about my feminist values?

And what about marriage? Do people who get married renounce part of their sense of gender equality? Many people would yell, "No! Of course not! The meaning of marriage in today's society has changed!" And that is true.

But what if I want to do a whole Latinx wedding? What if I want to have a ceremony at a Catholic church (assuming my partner and I would be allowed) where a priest lectures us on the importance of marriage and the values we should hold on to until we die? What if I want a loved one to embrace my future spouse and me in one of those huge rosaries that are made for weddings? What if I want to respect the meaning of wearing a white dress no matter how sexist it is and wear an off-white dress to the ceremony? Am I not a feminist?

The other question that pops into my head is: Or is American feminism racist? Although marriage in the United States has changed, in many Latinx countries, religion is a complex area where machismo and sexism are still very much alive. So, although I can have an American wedding and be fine, could I have a full-on Mexican wedding and still be considered a feminist?

I don't feel that I am sacrificing my values for engaging in cherished cultural practices, but Elena's confrontation with her mother and grandmother regarding a quinceañera's sexist origins raised powerful identity questions for me. It was also meaningful to watch Elena ultimately decide to have a quince to honor her mom and provide her mother the opportunity to demonstrate to the world what a great job she has done in raising her as a single parent.

While I do not have the answers for many of these questions, I appreciated how this episode helped me untangle my own thoughts around my Latinx identity, feminism and religion.

Performing gender as an “out” lesbian

When I went to college I decided to come out and try to pretend like it wasn’t a big deal. I had been in the closet all of high school, despite having a long-term girlfriend and knowing that I was gay since age 13. During the year after starting college and coming out I struggled with how to visually demonstrate my gender and sexual orientation while developing a style that felt comfortable for me.

There are plenty of stereotypes about what lesbians and queer women look like. For example, people think of masculine presenting / butch women, flannels, vests and practical shoes (think Birkenstocks), among other things. When I started college I had long hair and wore generally feminine clothing, although I was never one to wear dresses, heals, or makeup.

Despite my “tomboy” nature, I imagined myself as being a femme-presenting lesbian. Because of this, I felt invisible to the queer community. Having never had any sort of queer community before, I had a desire to both fit into that community and be visually identifiable as queer.

Over the course of my freshman year I intentionally sought out clothing and styles that I associated with stereotypes of what lesbians were supposed to look like. I bought a flannel and a vest, and I always wore a rainbow bracelet as a silent but clear signal to anyone I met that I was part of the queer community. While to most people wearing a simple cloth bracelet might not be significant, to me, and I imagine to others in the queer community, it was a powerful and necessary way of finding other queer people in a world that assumes heterosexuality.

The summer after my freshman year I took it a step further – I cut my long hair short. The act of cutting my hair short made me visually queer. This act of making myself visually queer was a reflection both of what I imagined queer women to look like and the stereotypes that both the queer community and heterosexual community had placed on us.

For a period of time after cutting my hair I had anxiety that my gender expression was not matching with my gender identity. I don’t mean this in the way that I looked like a boy and I felt like a woman, but to use lesbian terms, I self-identified as being more femme, but all of a sudden was presenting more butch.

Over time this anxiety dissipated as I explored my style, met more queer people who expressed their gender and sexuality in a wide range of ways, and became more comfortable exploring my own self-expression. The simple act of cutting ones hair from a longer length to a short length had an immense impact on my life as a woman and a lesbian.

My experience with the visual expression of my gender and sexuality relates to Judith Butler’s 1990 book Gender Trouble which argues that gender is “performative.” Butler argued that gender is something that is done and performed by the individual, that each of us takes on a role and that we are acting in some way.

While my anxiety about my gender expression, or as Butler would say, gender performance, dissipated over time and I found my own individual style and way to perform my queerness, I periodically consciously over-perform my lesbianism. For example I will attempt to “look gay” when going to Pride events or to clubs that cater to queer women. For me this is a combination of a fun way to visually display my queerness in a safe space and to signal to other queer women that I am not straight.

When I had short hair, I didn’t have to perform my queerness as much as I do now that I have long hair again. I now find myself intentionally outing myself to new people by mentioning my female partner so that I am never in a situation where I am assumed to be straight.

Pride & Folsom: Revisiting Sexual Practices

A few years back, I attended Folsom Street Fair (Folsom), an event that aims to “unite adult alternative lifestyle communities with safe venues” in SF, while raising funds for charities. I've described Folsom to my friends as a NC-17 version of the larger Pride event that takes place about a month before Folsom. But that’s an oversimplification. While SF Pride (Pride) brands itself as “a celebration of diversity,” the diversity it celebrates is distinct from and privileged relative to the diversity Folsom embraces.

Admittedly, I enjoy Pride because it celebrates sexual and gender diversity. And what kind of self-hating joto (queer) would I be if I repudiated an event that welcomes other press-on nail wearing queers with open arms! Yet, I find Pride to be a politically sanitized event because it fails to acknowledge that folks are stigmatized not only based on sexual orientation, but also according to their sexual practices. Instead, Folsom is relegated the heavy lifting on that front.  

Attending Folsom is a visceral reminder that homosexuality is a recent social construct, a product of modernity. Indeed, homosexuals haven’t existed throughout history, even if there have always been individuals who’ve engaged (exclusively) in homosexual sexual behavior. Only when homosexuality became an identity, could individuals identify as gay. Today’s Catholic Catechism illustrates the distinction: the Church welcomes homosexuals, but repudiates and admonishes homosexual sexual practices. Under this “love the sinner but not the sin” logic, individuals who are exclusively homosexual and would, presumably, engage only in homosexual sexual practices are “called to chastity.” Notably, the church categorizes homosexual sexual practices as “sins contrary to chastity,” alongside masturbation, and pornography. Folsom, too, reminds us that perhaps what matters, and merits destigmatization, are folks sexual practices, and not only their sexual orientations or gender identities.

The last time I attended Folsom, it was a packed event. My friends and I had to jostle about the crowd to see the exhibits, which are meant to be educational, and pleasurable for the instructors/participants—and some spectators. There were exhibits on BDSM, Shibair/Kinbaku, pup play, erotic wrestling, and latex/rubber play, among others. On that day, Kink.com, a fetish porn studio that promotes consent, accountability, and inclusiveness in adult entertainment, dominated the main stage. My friends and I were instantly amused by the spectacle of a naked, leashed, and handcuffed, man in his 30s, and on his knees, being humiliated by a petite brunette dominatrix wearing a pencil skirt and stiletto heels. She directed the naked man to call her “mistress” throughout the performance, and demanded that he lick her heels as she walked him across the stage. She also asked the hundreds of spectators and passersby to humiliate the man by having them collectively shout “bitch” at him several times throughout the performance.

My friends and I were entertained and puzzled by the events unfolding on stage and rippling through the audience. I wondered: had onlookers gone from being mere spectators to active participants in a public sex act? After all, the onlookers followed the dominatrix's command, and contributed to the leashed man’s humiliation, from which he, apparently, derived sexual pleasure. Besides blurring/queering the line between intimate and public sex acts, and the acceptable and the fetishized, the show reminded me that the social progress associated with sexual practices among consenting adults has not kept pace with social progress in the gender and sexuality fronts. It’s not surprising, then, that Folsom is a smaller event that even some Pride attendees would, ironically, regard as perverted. 

In short, while Pride embraces all sinners, it doesn’t do nearly enough as Folsom does to subvert the sins according to which many Pride attendees continue to be judged by. And this should concern feminists because the right to fuck whichever consenting adult one wants should not be (morally) superior to fuck however one wants. 

On MSM, Femininity, and Fags

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What might the first female American President look like?

Donald Trump’s victory over Hilary Clinton in last year’s American presidential election came as a huge shock to many feminists both in the US and beyond. Like many around the world, I found myself consumed by this fascinating and controversial race. Had Hillary been elected, she would have been the first female President of the US. 

Despite the disappointment that some liberals and feminists felt at the result, it seems to be largely taken for granted among women I meet that there will be a female (liberal or conservative) in the White House someday. This has led me to wonder what kind of future female President would prove a good role model for women both in America and around the world. 

As an Irish person who, before August of this year, had never been to the US, I cannot claim to be an expert in American politics. My perspective therefore is merely that of a respectful “outsider looking in,” and is based on experience and knowledge of my own country, Ireland.

In Ireland we can claim some pedigree when it comes to women Presidents. Two of our last three Presidents have been females, Mary Robinson (1990-97) and Mary McAleese (1997-2011). Of course, unlike America, Ireland is no superpower. Our international profile could never equal that of the US. Irish Government also works differently to here. Our Presidents are more figureheads than politicians, with the political role kept separate and played by the Taoiseach (Prime Minister). This is very different to America where the President combines both the figurehead and political functions. All this makes comparisons between the two offices neither easy nor always reasonable.

Nevertheless, I feel that Ireland’s two past female Presidents merit at least some consideration as good role models for feminists and any future, aspiring American woman President. Both Robinson and McAleese played pivotal roles in transforming Ireland into a more liberal, peaceful and inclusive society. In their own different ways, too, each showed examples of compassion, courage and sincerity that, to my mind, ought to resonate with all women. 

On a personal level, I initially came to admire Robinson because she was the first Head of State of any country to visit my own native West Belfast. This was an area whose people had been devastated by the Irish ‘Troubles’ of the 1960s to mid-90s and which had become deeply embittered by decades-long marginalization and repression. In the teeth of establishment outrage, Robinson went into West Belfast and publicly praised the spirit of its long suffering community. She also, on her visit, met with and shook hands with the community’s then infamous elected representative, Sinn Féin’s Gerry Adams. It was a vital and key first step in the Irish peace process.

Likewise, Robinson challenged traditional Irish nationalist shibboleths by becoming the first Irish President both to visit the United Kingdom and to meet, at Buckingham Palace, a British monarch, the present Queen Elizabeth II. On foot of this, she welcomed senior members of the British royal family, most notably the Prince of Wales, to her official residence in Dublin, Áras an Uachtaráin. These were bold moves that dramatically changed the face of existing Anglo-Irish relations.

For me, though, the most compelling example Robinson gave us of a great female Presidential role model came in 1992. She was one of the first world leaders, at that time, to highlight publicly the horrors of famine and genocide in Somalia and Rwanda. After personally visiting, over 3 days, thousands of sick and dying refugees across the region, a visibly tearful and shaken Irish woman President stood before the press cameras and famously declared:- 

“I’m sorry that I cannot be entirely calm speaking to you, because I have such a sense of what the world must take responsibility for.”

Her words and demeanour on this occasion shamed the West into action and led to the first concerted international humanitarian response to the Somalian and Rwandan crises.

Robinson’s successor, Mary McAleese, during her time in office, worked tirelessly to address issues of sectarianism and violence in the north of Ireland through an openly declared policy of “building bridges”. Picking up the mantle of her predecessor, McAleese invited Britain’s Queen Elizabeth to make a first ever state visit to the Republic of Ireland in 2011 – a move that initially discomfited some Irish Republicans but ultimately helped open a new door - not necessarily of agreement - but certainly respect and understanding between them and the British Royal Family. 

Early in her Presidency, McAleese also incurred the wrath of the then powerful, male dominated Catholic hierarchy in Ireland by accepting communion in an Anglican church. Although a devout Catholic herself, McAleese saw the move in the context of Ireland’s long history of religious conflict. For her, respecting and representing Irish people of different religious traditions was a core, and hugely important, responsibility of her office. 

It was a similar sense of duty that impelled McAleese, as President, to call for the complete deconstruction of homophobia in Ireland. In a broadcast from Áras an Uachtaráin (Ireland’s equivalent to an Oval Office) McAleese endorsed the Irish LGBT rights campaign and praised campaigners for working to bring fully to fruition the country’s founding Proclamation that “all the children of the nation shall be cherished equally”. In 2010 she signed into law the state’s first legislation recognising the validity of same sex relationships (civil partnerships). Within 5 years of this, attitudes to LGBT people in Ireland had changed so dramatically that the country, by popular referendum, voted to amend the Irish constitution to allow for same sex marriage. The extent of the shift in Irish social attitudes that McAleese helped bring about is no better testified than by the appointment, just last June, of Ireland's first openly gay Taoiseach (Prime Minister), Leo Varadakar. It is an extraordinary change in a country formerly dominated by the Catholic church.

It seems to me, then, that in order to become a great role model for women in the US and across the world, the first American woman President should consider becoming a transforming President, at least in the spirit of Robinson and McAleese. Ireland is, of course, a tiny country. But perhaps women from even a great country, like the US, who aspire to great political office, like the American President, can sometimes look towards a small country and draw some inspiration? Perhaps too, that first American woman President, when she takes office, might be able to connect, in some way, with the thoughts of Mary Robinson, after she was elected Ireland’s first woman President:-

“I must be a President for all the people, but more than that, I want to be a President for all the people. Because I was elected by men and women of all parties and none, by many with great moral courage, who stepped out from the faded flags of the Civil War and voted for a new Ireland, and above all by the women of Ireland, mná na hÉireann, who instead of rocking the cradle, rocked the system. And who came out massively to make their mark on the ballot paper and on a new Ireland.”

Queer signaling and femme invisibility

Is there a "right way" to be queer? Queer theory advocates subversion, transgression, destabilization, and volatility in the face of dominant hetero-patriarchal norm. It supports those who fall outside the boundaries of "proper sexual desire, gender performance, and anatomical form." It is, essentially, anti-essentialist. As a result, one could argue, it cannot/does not require any particular set of attributes, behaviors, or beliefs. However, I find myself questioning that conclusion.

In 1995, queer theorist David Halperin complained: “There is now a right way to be queer ... to invert the norms of straight society." His implication was that queerness had been commodified and distilled down to a particular image. Consider, for example, the image of an impeccably dressed and groomed fit gay man (later commodified for straight men as "metrosexual") or the image of an androgynous L.A. lesbian (think Shane from The L Word with her transgressive short haircuts and masculine or agendered clothing, or even Ellen Degeneres).

While the ethos of queer theory suggests there is no "right way" to be queer, the reality is that a large contingent of queer culture has adopted its own signaling practices and image standards. It is difficult to identify as queer based solely on sexual identity or desire. Rather, one must “perform” as queer in a manner that not only identifies you as queer for the outside world, but indicates to the queer community that you are "one of us."

This system, of course, has ramifications for those that don't choose to perform or conform to queer identifiers. I can speak specifically from my perspective as a queer woman who generally presents heteronormatively (on the more feminine side of the spectrum... aka a "femme"). I have never had short hair, I like getting my nails done and wearing makeup, and I frequently wear heels and dresses when I go out or to formal social events. I am generally only identified as (or suspected to be) queer when I am with an obviously queer partner or engaging in transgressive activities (for example, when I played rugby, a decidedly "non-feminine" sport, in college). These choices aren't made for convenience's sake. I am not actively trying to "pass" in straight society. While I am aware that my preferences are largely shaped by gender expectations of the society I grew up in, they are still my preferences, and I have no desire to "queer up" my look.

Not presenting as outwardly queer has obvious benefits. I am allowed a pass in spaces where visible queerness might be a profound social or professional obstacle – or even where it might be dangerous. It's easier for me to find clothing that reflects my own personal style and is made with women's curves in mind. I can use the women's restroom without being questioned or yelled at (a sadly common experience for my past girlfriends). However, this choice comes also comes with challenges. "Looking straight" means I must constantly "come out" to people – people at my job, people at school, to men who are interested in dating, and in just about every other social situation where I am meeting individuals for the first time. It means being asked to explain and justify my sexual identity to clueless people who assert "you just don't look gay." At the same time, without outward queer identifiers, I find I am also invisible to or discounted by other members of the queer community (a phenomenon identified as "femme erasure"). As a result I often find myself uncomfortably straddling the line between heteronormative culture and queer culture, feeling part of – yet also apart from – both.

Another challenge faced by queer women who present as femme is that they remain subject to dominant or toxic masculinity, not just from cis-men, but from members of the queer community who have retained or adopted practices that subjugate the feminine. When I dated more androgynous or butch women, others often assumed that I was the passive partner in the relationship. Restaurant bills would be put in front of my partners. While car shopping, salesmen first approached my partner who came with me. Past partners were invited by men to participate in activities that excluded or marginalized femme women (think strip clubs, cigars, golf), or were treated as inherently more intelligent, driven, or professional, simply as a result of their having a more masculine presentation.

Misogyny percolates into dating and relationships between femmes and other queer women too. Femmes are often expected to play the traditional feminine role, which involves taking on a disproportionate amount of housework/cooking or doing the majority of the emotional labor in the relationship. Some past partners assumed that if the relationship progressed I would be comfortable with my career taking a backseat, that I would take my partner's last name, or that I would spend more time at home with any kids that might enter the picture.

This is not to say that femmes are by and large dismissed as pariahs in the queer community, but it is interesting to see how sexism persists even in a movement that purports to reject patriarchy, gender barriers, and other expressions of heteronormativity. However, an increased movement among queer folks to make the community more inclusive of and welcoming to femmes heartens me. In fact, the butch community (the other end of the spectrum) has produced some of the femme community's strongest allies. I look forward to seeing how this movement plays out and evolves within the greater queer community over time.

Un joto femenista!

In México, joto is a masculine word that denotes a homosexual male, and pejoratively connotes an effeminate gay man who is a pasivo—sexually receptive rather than insertive. Moreover, the word’s breadth and potency as a pejorative is colored by regional influences: joto in metropolitan Guadalajara—Mexico’s Castro—connotes something different than it does in rural Michoacán. I have yet to find an English term that aptly captures the meaning of joto, so nuances are bound to get lost in translation. The same can be said of “queer,” which translates to raro in Spanish, which, in turn, translates to “rare” in English.  

I tell my English-speaking friends that I’m queer only if they are familiar with the term. Otherwise, I simply say that I’m gay. But with my Spanish-speaking friends, I vacillate between joto and gay. And sometimes I queer joto by upending the gender and calling myself a jota, even if it’s grammatical nonsense. Jotas don’t exist, but lesbianas (lesbians) do!

To add to my already complicated identity, I am also a femenista, and I have been one since before I knew what the term meant. Life steered me in its direction.

Due to my father’s trek to el Norte, my abuelita, tías, and mom raised me. They taught me early on that despite seemingly fixed gender roles, mujeres (women) deserved the same respect and treatment afforded to men. I also witnessed how poverty and an indifferent labor market gave these mujeres the impetus to practice feminism. Indeed, when my mother and I reunited with my dad, she let him know that she, too, would have to work because a single service-sector paycheck was not going cut it.

My father too agrees that men and women deserve to be treated equally even if he doesn’t grasp what femenismo (feminism) is. In fact, his trek to el Norte was also a journey into feminism, because it forced him to grapple with the fact that there isn’t, as former President Obama notes, a “right way and a wrong way to be a man.” When my father arrived in this country he had to cook, clean, and take on service sector jobs despite his traditional upbringing. Immigration forced him to confront domesticity and the untenabilty of strict gender roles. And he learned that, just like women are expected do, men of color in this country have to compromise in order to survive. In short, although my father didn’t seek out feminism, feminism found him.

Personally, as my lexicon grew, I learned to articulate what I had grown up observing, and I began calling myself a feminist. In fact, I became a hyphenated feminist. Throughout several semesters of undergraduate study, I identified as a queer-intersectional-feminista. This was not because it was trendy do so, but because I felt compelled to ask mainstream feminism to make room for an immigrant joto like me.

I wholeheartedly believe that “the personal is political,” and that feminism must continue to hear, incorporate, and reflect upon others’ her/hi-stories, including those of men. Indeed, Adichie’s comment that masculinity is a “small hard cage, [where] we put boys inside,” highlights the fact that gender norms also bedevil men. Thus, feminism should actively strive to fold more men into its ranks. 

In spite of the challenges confronting feminism, I admire feminism’s bent toward reflexivity and its willingness to critique itself. I take comfort in knowing that feminism is capacious enough to embrace jotos, individuals who identify as queer, and others whose identities may be morphed or partly lost in translation.

How to Respond to this Election - Part II "Get Legal!"

In part I of this post, I showed a great amount of my chagrin and sorrow about the election. I still doubtless feel those things, but at this point, it's more important for me to discover avenues of hope and empowerment. In order to do so, I look to the women that I love.

There are a few women I know that are nearly unperturbed by this election. It has impacted them, but they have not missed a beat. In fact, their urgency to work hard is only rising. I was curious as to how these women could be so stalwart; how they could be so disappointed in the election, but resist feeling disheartened. Then something occurred to me. These women have the most faith in the US legal system of all the women I know. I wanted to find a door into the Church of Legal Faith, myself. So here goes.

When in need of legal-lady-power, I often look to one of my heroes, Ruth Bader Ginsburg. She must be particularly aggravated with the fact of our new President Elect, whom she deems inconsistent and egotistical —I second that motion, Justice Ginsburg, and despite your graceful apology, we all know where you stand— but in the aftermath, she continues to be a rockstar on the bench and off. Perhaps this is because RBG originally became interested in the law during a time I liken very much to the milieu of our nation today: the Red Scare (there is some agreement about this comparison). In a heartfelt interview with NPR's Nina Totenberg (podcast version on What It Takes), Justice Ginsburg spoke of an undergraduate constitutional law research assistantship at Cornell in the early 1950's. For her RA position, Justice Ginsburg was tasked with reading transcripts of hearings before the House Un-American Activities Committee and the Senate Internal Security Committee. She told Totenberg:

"[F]rom those transcripts I saw that there was no one standing up for these people reminding our Congress that we have a 1st amendment guarantee of freedom of speech and we have a 5th amendment guarantee against self-incrimination. So I thought that was a good thing to do; that a lawyer could have a professional career, could have paid job . . . and also volunteer services in hard times to make things a little better. That’s when I had the idea that I would like to be a lawyer."

Amen, Justice Ginsburg. These are definitely hard times. I therefore intend to look to the lawyers who, in the face of a Trump Presidency, are planning to do exactly what inspired RBG to become an attorney: make things a little better. Here are my heroes of the day:

1. The Southern Poverty Law Center: SPLC has been doing amazing work lately, particularly around the surge of hate speech and violence that has arisen in the wake of the election. In their publication Ten Days After: Harassment and Intimidation in the Aftermath of the Election, they urge the President Elect to "do everything in his power . . . to reach out to the communities his words have injured" as opposed to "feign[ing] ignorance." They have also been collecting extraordinary amounts of data: observing that 867 hate incidents have occurred nationally since Trump's election. In addition, they continue to fight hate through impact litigation such as Southern Poverty Law Center, Inc. v. United States Department of Homeland Security, et al. where their complaint argued that Department of Homeland Security and ICE violated the Freedom of Information Act by withholding information on raids that targeted over 100 women and children in Texas.

2. California's likely new Attorney General Xavier Becerra, who recently tweeted: "#DREAMers are some of the most courageous people I’ve ever met. We stand with you & are ready to fight for you", says he intends to fight to retain California's liberal clean energy, environmental, criminal justice and immigration policies. If he does so, he might lead California into being "the tip of the spear for state-based resistance to Trump and the Republican party’s inhumane vision for our country."

3. National Center for Lesbian Rights: NCLR has updated its blog several times regarding the election, including informational posts about Transgender Rights, consoling its constituents that marriage equality will hold strong due to stare decisis, and campaigning against Jeff Sessions' nomination. In addition, NCLR continues Equality Utah v. Utah State Board of Education, the case they filed on October 21st, 2016, challenging state laws that ban positive speech about LGBT people in Utah public schools.

Read more here: http://www.fresnobee.com/opinion/article118333013.html#storylink=cpy

4. The American Civil Liberties Union: There was very little that buoyed me up on the days following the election, however, the ACLU's homepage made me smile every time I clicked. Trump's face was plastered it with bold words hanging in the air beside him: See You In Court. The ACLU leveled up from that rallying cry, calling the President Elect a "one man constitutional crisis" and, wasting no time, released a 27-page brief entitled the "Trump Memos" that brilliantly displayed the unconstitutionality of Trump's policies regarding mass deportation, large-scale surveillance, profiling, and attempts to overturn Roe v. Wade. Yesterday, the ACLU lived up to its promise and joined with the Center for Reproductive Rights and Planned Parenthood. They filed simultaneous lawsuits concerning unnecessary abortion restrictions in Alaska, Missouri, and North Carolina. Their message was clear: "we'll see [people like] you in court" before you even take the Presidential Oath, Mr. Trump.

I may still be a Legal Faith agnostic, I can't lie. But these warriors of the legal system have encouraged me, and more than anything, reminded me why I am am joining the Profession. Thank you, SPLC, the State Government of California, NCLR, ACLU, Planned Parenthood, and Center for Reproductive Rights. I'm grateful. 

In my gratitude, I'll leave you with the words of NCLR Executive Director Kate Kendell:

"Together, we fight on and we fight back. We must harness our grief, fear and outrage and serve justice. Onward. . ."

How to Respond to this Election - Part I "Everyday Activism"

The results of the 2016 election of Donald Trump had been affecting me for over a week before I found a way to articulate my sentiments about it. “Found a way” is incorrect; my emotions, one day, spilled out of me in a torrent of words that rushed like a river ice-floe. Along with many others in this country, I had been alternating between grief and helplessness, between anger and resentment, between despair and hope for seven days and then, finally, I spoke.

Though it was just to my partner Ben, alone in the car, what a relief it was to say:

“I’m despondent to live in a country who has elected a leader that, despite his feeble arguments to the contrary, has indicated that misogyny and sexual assault of women are more than OK with him. I’m terrified that my beloved compatriots from marginalized racial and ethnic groups can now be openly discriminated against and that all our efforts to reform police racism and ethnocentrism may be slowed. I'm sad that queer people might soon struggle to see same-sex partners in the hospital. I'm anxious for the future of our environment. And . . .” There were tears in my eyes now, “Last Tuesday I woke up believing that a woman could ascend to the highest position of power in this county. On Wednesday, I found, to my disbelief, that she can’t. Not yet. And perhaps she never will in my lifetime. I feel like women will be second-class citizens for much longer than I expected.”

I couldn't believe my own words, but there they were sitting between us as we speed around the curve of the 101 North into the Mission district of San Francisco. When we got to the Mission, I looked around at the brilliant multi-faceted community of that neighborhood. I thought of all the aspects of humanity that I love there. My thoughts went something like:

LGBTQIA folks of the Mission remind me that love and relationships can reach beyond prosaic boundaries. Thinking about them, I hear the opinions of Trump nominees like Steve Bannon and Jeff Sessions echoing around my head. Rich cultural traditions bring amazing art, food, spirituality, and diverse thinking to the Mission. My stomach turns when I think of the sheer panic that many immigrants will now live in. The variety of race, skin tone, ethnicity, and background in collaboration makes the Mission a space of kinship and appreciation across differing experience. I am filled with anguish about the highly racist environment our president-elect seems to be vivifying. According to recent scholarship, American Latinas (the Mission is a highly Latino and Chicano community) have "rapidly surfaced as prominent contributors to the educational, economic, and cultural wellbeing of not only their own ethnicity, but of American society and the consumer marketplace." Despite the dynamic, impressive contributions that Latinas make to my world every day, all I can think of is how to respond to the devastation those women must feel.

Ben and I sat at dinner in sullen silence that night in the Mission, depressed about our nation.We'd chosen a lovely little restaurant to eat at, but we could only stare out at the vibrant neighborhood that we love, which suddenly felt under siege.

Over the next few days, I had the luck to be researching for a Mediation paper. The research largely focused on the work-arounds, negotiations, and maneuvers women have used to navigate the age-old imbalance of power in a "man's world". In my research, I discovered Professor James C. Scott, a political scientist who argues that everyday forms of resistance "are an integral part of the small arsenal of relatively powerless groups." He gives examples such as "foot-dragging, dissimulations, false compliance, feigned ignorance, desertion" and more that can act as potent negotiating tactics for those out of power.

I loved this idea! While I cannot deny Donald Trump's impending presidency because it's happening whether I like it or not, suddenly, I realized I could respond to it. I could respect our government, but at the same time, I could find my own "everyday forms of resistance" in keeping with a long female tradition of doing so. I was heartened to see that Jill Filipovic in Esquire, Matt Taylor in Vice, Jaya Saxena in the Daily Dot, and staff at Seattle's The Stranger have all been publishing hope along similar lines.

So, I intend to use this blog post and my subsequent post to recommend some ways that those of us who feel powerless, who feel overwhelmed --who believe in our government, but not in the hatred and small-mindedness that it seems to be sanctioning-- can react and respond.

Part I "Everyday Activism"

Here is a small list of the #smallacts that have gained traction. Perhaps our small acts can make meaningful, loving, large ripples.

1. Consider donating to Planned Parenthood in Mike Pence's name, as 50,000 people have done.
2. Learn how to talk to children about hate speech, as this new Equal Justice Society guide recommends.
3. If you live in California, consider volunteering/being an ally at one of the UC's AB540 offices, such as the Undocumented Student Center here at UC Davis.
4. Contact your senators to oppose Trump nominations and appointments of people who have disgraceful civil rights records (for example).
5. Support mayors who intend to keep their cities Sanctuary Cities.
6. Keep apprised of Trump's intention to scale back environmental regulation, and perhaps volunteer with orgs like the American Lung Association to raise awareness about clean air.
7. Remember that women all over the world are being oppressed, and may struggle with much greater persecution than people of female gender here in the US. Consider supporting women's rights in Rwanda, in Nigeria, in Bangladesh, and all over the world.

These are just small things, but they have helped me keep my chin up. I hope they help you too.

Stay tuned for Part II "Get Legal" !

Young M.A.: Queer, Female, and Spitting Game

Feminism's clash with rap is not a new phenomenon (as highlighted in this previous post), but the talented artist Young M.A. and other queer women are claiming the genre for themselves and challenging our conversation on misogyny in rap music.

Young M.A. first gained popularity when her song "BROOKLYN" (Chiraq Freestyle) was released in 2014 and her song "OOOUUU" from the summer of 2016 has reached over seventy million views on YouTube. As this recent article pointed out, when listening to her lyrics for the first time two things will likely jump out to you as the listener: that she is woman rapping about other women. For example, the music video for her song "Summer Story" depicts scenes of Young M.A. singing while holding on to another woman, and the song itself contains lyrics such as:

 I’ma ride for my bitch, do or die for my bitch
Fucked around a few times on my bitch, woah
She said I don’t have no loyalty
Just cause the pussy just be calling me
And she don’t think I love her even when I say I love her

These lyrics also show how Young M.A.'s music does not depart from the objectification of women, violence, and the hustle that other street rappers are known for. For this she has not escaped from criticism, most notably from a social commentator Dr. Boyce Watkins who said in a Facebook post the he wonders "what kind of trauma has this society imposed on this poor child to make her think this is normal behavior?" and that he "would encourage her to use her talent in a way that will empower her". Yes, Young M.A. has undoubtedly suffered trauma that informs her song lyrics, but who are we to say that her music as it is now isn't empowering for her? And empowering other queer women of color who do not see themselves represented in rap?

In an interview with The BoomBox Young M.A. told the interviewer how when she first started out in the music industry she tried to be more feminine because of "how the game was, there was no dyking, none of that". Unhappy being told to be someone she wasn't, Young M.A. left the music industry until the passing of her brother, when she used music as a coping mechanism, and this time rapping and representing herself the way she wanted. Staying genuine to who she is has not come without scrutiny and hatred from the public, and she says that people often comment "What is this he-she?" In fact, while googling her upcoming album, google showed people also asked "Is Young M.A. a girl?" In the face of criticism and the weight of being an out lesbian rapper in the industry, Young M.A. brushes negative comments off, to her "its like a splinter, it doesn't affect [her] at all." 

Young M.A. finds her self in the company of other queer female hip-hop artists who are breaking out on the scene, and providing a new voice in music. While her music may perpetuate the violence and objectification of women that hip-hop and rap has been criticized for, it cannot be denied that she is pushing the boundaries of rap music. Young M.A. describes sex and relationships from a queer women's perspective, and represents herself as a strong woman that does not conform to the music industry's presumption of how a woman should dress or act. Her next album that is slated to drop is fittingly titled Herstory, and will hopefully give us a deeper look into Young M.A.'s life and the unique voice she brings to rap. 

Word Reclamation Part II: Are Any Words Okay to Reclaim?

A few months ago I self-identified as queer in front of my family. My aunt and grandma immediately questioned my use of the word. “Isn’t that offensive?” “Can we say queer?” “Does everyone use this term?” “Why would you want to call yourself that?”

I couldn’t answer their questions in any sort of articulate way, but I felt strongly that “queer” is and was a good term.

When I started writing this blog I was 100% certain that “queer” was the all-encompassing term that defied my resistance to word reclamation. I am now less sure. However, I think I will continue to use the word because I believe it allows for the inclusion of all genders and sexualities.

Queer is different from other, more etymologically offensive words. The dictionary definition is, "differing in some odd way from what is usual or normal." In our normative culture, some might contend that this definition is in and of itself, offensive. But maybe there is something empowering about using identifying words to embrace our differences. Perhaps this is why queer has had the rare opportunity to become reclaimed. People who identify as queer are embracing their “differentness.”

It’s a term that both expresses that the identifying individual is different, while at the same time, is inclusive within the queer community. Queer is inclusive. It recognizes all genders and sexualities. However, despite its inclusivity, some commentators have argued that “queer,” is a privileged term used mostly by white, educated, upper middle class folks. I don’t yet know if I agree with this. And if it is a term limited to those with privilege, I don't know how this impacts the discussion over word reclamation.To me, it seems like the power of queer as an insult has dissipated as the usage of the word has become more widespread.

I’m having trouble identifying any other words that have had similar renaissances. Some have argued that “slut” has been reclaimed, at least partially, through recent sex-positive movements like SlutWalk movement. In 2011, a Toronto police officer commented that “women should avoid dressing like sluts in order not to be victimized.” In response, a group of activists protested at the first ever “SlutWalk.” Since then, SlutWalks have occurred across the world drawing thousands of women marching in solidarity to sex-positivize messages. SlutWalks attempt to “reclaim the word ‘slut,’” and “to redefine what it means to be called one.”

This post has also challenged me to think about whether a word can be partially reclaimed. Words like “slut,” “bitch,” “fag,” and “dyke” are still used to perpetuate oppression. Can this oppressive usage be disconnected from a self-liberating usage? I would argue that they can’t. That using them in a positive way doesn’t strip them of their oppressive power.


There is a discernable difference between the literal definitions of queer versus the definitions of the many of the other insulting terms people have attempted to reclaim. No matter how hard individuals and communities attempt reclaim “bitch,” the underlying meaning remains derogatory. Whereas queer, the meaning itself of being different from what is normal, could potentially be embraced.

Mara Keisling, the executive director of the National Center of Transgender Equality, has voiced opposition to word reclamation in any capacity. “Words like ‘tranny,’ ‘faggot,’ ‘dyke,’ ‘illegal,’ ‘retard,’ and ‘lame’ are often used to stereotype and marginalize people,” she explained. “Some people who are the targets feel that they are hateful, cruel words. That's enough for me [not to use them].” I think I agree with Mara Keisling. Words that are still used to stereotype, marginalize and disparage should be avoided at all costs.

But maybe queer is different. Queer has evolved to embrace its very definition, and for me, that might be enough to use it.