The white working-class and middle-class minorities

I remember turning off the TV and hoping that when I woke up the results of the 2016 election would somehow be different. I remember the weather reflecting the mood of New York City the next day - grey, cold, hopeless. I remember crying with my co-workers, wondering how we were going to face our kids, all low-income minorities, later that day.

I remember realizing that no matter what atrocities this administration committed, due to some of my privileges, I likely would not be affected.

When I read defenses of poor, rural white folks - be it a New York Times think piece, portions of Bernie Sanders' campaign speeches, or in this case, Professor Pruitt's keynote address to Toledo College - some form of inner turmoil takes place. Professor Pruitt used the tweets of progressives to demonstrate the type of disparaging remarks that liberals launched toward white working class voters before and after the 2016 election. And while these people may vote Republican, there is no question that the current GOP absolutely does not have their best interests in mind. It probably isn't fair to call them all anti-intellectual or racist. But it is hard to cut them some slack when their racism is (indirectly) pointed at me.

My grandparents are all Mexican immigrants who came to the United States under the braceros program. Through a mixture of my parents' hard work and my own luck, I grew up in a middle-class, predominantly white suburb. I had a more than adequate public school education and access to the types of activities that looked good to the elite private college I was eventually accepted to. My citizenship, middle-class status, ability, and education are all privileges that have made my life easier. They also shield me from the current racist, sexist government that I have some reason to fear, because through all of my privilege, I am still a Mexican woman.

In high school and college, I had a lot of white friends. They were not all well off (though in college, most were), so growing up, I knew that even as a Mexican woman, I had advantages that some white people did not. For a while, I cut most white people some slack. I knew they had problems too; I didn't even hate Hillbilly Elegy quite as much as some of my liberal counterparts. But then white people chose Donald Trump - a man who started his campaign by calling Mexicans racists and murderers, and who continues to vilify Latinx immigrants with his "Angel families" and mad insistence on a border wall. Over 50% of white people watched him campaign on these things, and then thought, this is fine, he can represent me and my interests. I still have white friends. I still know they have their own problems, and that not all of them are racists. But I don't know what to do when I am asked to cut the white, rich and poor alike, people who have done some, at the very least implicitly, racist stuff like voting for Donald Trump, slack.

But I wonder if helping white, rural folks see the light and forgiving their sins is my job? On the one hand, I am part of the audience that the above pieces are trying to reach. I am liberal, a member of the chattering class, and just so mad at them. These pieces are intended to promote understanding and reconciliation between subsets of the country that are fundamentally misunderstanding each other lately. I feel for the rural white women that are facing less job security, and more intimate partner violence, in theory. But, this may be the one time that learning more about a person's thought process and life story does not bring out my typical empathy. Tracie St. Martin has problems too, but she leaned toward voting for a man who hates my beloved grandparents for their crime of wanting a chance at a better life. Racial bias may not be the reason she grew to dislike Obama, or is willfully deaf to Trump's clear distaste for anyone with brown skin, but I cannot disentangle it. And every time I try to, I see the face of my Alita who passed away last year, whom would likely have never been given the opportunity to tell the United States media about her concerns, and how current policies hurt her. I have the duty to speak for her and people like her, because my life experience and education have granted me the ability to do so in a way that is palatable to white folks.

As middle class minorities, another subset of which people either forget about, or to be honest, assume is comprised of mostly Asians, there is no one right way to handle the situation. We can, and should be, forgiven for not enthusiastically taking every opportunity to educate white people, nor trying to understand them. For one, they might not really listen or care, and also, it is just plain exhausting. But we also may be in a better position to explain why the things Trump has been saying are so harmful. Either, I would argue is a valid course depending one's personal circumstances, as well as the context and person. As for me, I will work harder on being understanding, but will keep women of color at the forefront of my mind.

Combatting the hypocrisy inherent in scrutinizing politicians

In the historic November 2018 midterm election, 100 women won seats in the House of Representatives. Until this election, the number of seats women held in the House of Representatives never exceeded 84 out of the 435 seats available. To many, this monumental victory provided a glimmer of hope in what seemed to be a grim time for women’s rights and advancement in politics. The women who won seats in the House of Representatives came from diverse backgrounds and crafted their political agendas around pivotal issues such as providing better health care, thereby promising a fresh and relevant perspective. As Jen Cox, founder of political activist group PaveitBlue aptly noted, it is now time for women to have a “say in changing the face of politics.”

Unfortunately, the growing presence of women in politics only augments the level of scrutiny they face. In particular, the new wave of women of color politicians face the brunt of this heightened criticism. Rather than focusing on their policy platforms and political agendas for change, media outlets and male politicians quickly jump at any opportunity to criticize women of color politicians’ clothing, statements, and conduct.

For example, Eddie Scarry, a writer for the Washington Examiner, recently scrutinized Representative Alexandria Ocasio-Cortez’s wardrobe. Scarry tweeted a photo of Representative Ocasio-Cortez with the caption “that jacket and coat don’t look like a girl who struggles.” Although Scarry claimed that he posted the photo to complement Representative Ocasio-Cortez’s dressing style, it is quite evident that Scarry meant to question the authenticity of Representative Ocasio-Cortez’s working-class background. Regardless of Scarry’s true intent behind the tweet, it is highly unlikely that reporters would ever subject male politicians to such belittling criticisms.

Representative Ilhan Omar faced a similar type of scrutiny when she tweeted “It’s all about the Benjamins” in response to a reporter’s tweet mentioning the contributions that the America Israel Public Affairs Committee gives to members of Congress. Specifically, her tweet insinuated that this pro-Israel lobbying group paid off right-wing members of Congress. Given the outrage that Representative Omar’s statements sparked, male Republican politicians immediately criticized Representative Omar and called for her resignation, despite her issuing an apology.

President Donald Trump, one of Representative Omar’s harshest critics, called Representative Omar “terrible” and stated that “she should be ashamed of herself.” President Trump deemed her apology inadequate and emphasized the need for Representative Omar to resign from Congress entirely or at least “certainly resign from the House Foreign Affairs Committee.” Similarly, Vice President Pence called Representative Omar’s statements a “disgrace” and stated that she should “face consequences for [her] words.”

The most infuriating part about this whole debacle is the hypocrisy embodied in President Trump and Vice President Pence’s criticisms of Representative Omar. On numerous occasions over the past few years, President Trump made similar anti-semitic comments without anyone calling for the drastic consequences of resignation or removal. For example, in 2015, President Trump made statements that perpetuated stereotypes of Jewish campaign donors being “political puppet masters” and “ruthless negotiators.” Although the Republican Jewish Coalition failed to construe President Trump’s comments as directly attacking their Jewish faith, they recognized that others may interpret President Trump’s statements in that manner and urged him to publicly clarify the intent behind his statement. However, President Trump neither outwardly expressed his true intent behind making those statements nor publicly apologized for the negative insinuations that arose from it.

Instead, President Trump continued to make additional comments in subsequent years that mirrored these anti-semitic views. For example, in 2017, after the white nationalist rally took place in Charlottesville, President Trump stated that “there were very fine people marching among the Neo-Nazis shouting Jews will not replace us.” Later that year, President Trump also denounced his Jewish advisor on the National Economic Council Gary Cohn by referring to him as a “globalist”, an anti-Jewish slur commonly used in far-right political groups. Time and time again, President Trump exposes his bigotry through his outright racist statements. Yet the only calls for his impeachment arise from his alleged misconduct during his presidential campaign.

This rampant disparity in the treatment of female politicians and male politicians sheds lights on a gut-wrenching reality. No matter how much success women achieve, it is very difficult for them to establish themselves as a force to reckon with. It is difficult for the public to look at anything beyond their appearance or the mistakes they make. Despite demonstrating intellectual prowess and strong leadership skills, women predominantly receive attention for everything but their political agendas for change.

Thus, the question still remains: What can we as a society do to alleviate this disparity in treatment? Would changing perceptions of women on an individual level be sufficient or can equality only be achieved by a broader upheaval of society’s perception of women? Regardless of what the right answer is, it is evident that statements of the same caliber must be scrutinized in an identical manner, whether made by a male or female politician. The unjustified disparity in treatment of male and female politicians only creates additional barriers in the path to equality.

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.

On co-ed sports teams and the lack of respect for female athletes

Sports have long been a space that exacerbates, and even celebrates, the gender divide. From recreational youth leagues to the Olympic circuit, men and women are separated into their respective teams. Women and men often practice separately, compete separately, and in some cases, there are even modified rules within a sport depending on gender (e.g. baseball versus softball, men's versus women's lacrosse, and even the differing events in mens and women's gymnastics). While a few sports have become more co-ed (e.g. curling, mixed doubles tennis), the fact of the matter is, when it comes to sports, we are comfortable with keeping men and women apart.

On both the professional and the recreation level, however, this is beginning to change. In the 2020 Olympics in Tokyo, the International Olympic Committee has approved several new mixed-gender events including mixed doubles table tennis, mixed swimming relays, a mixed triathlon relay, and mixed athletics (track) relays. At the recreational level, intramural college teams more often than not have a mixed league, as do adult sports leagues. While older players seem to have gotten on-board with coed sports, a proliferation of mixed gender teams has yet to arise among children and youths. Co-ed sports teams are often lauded as movement toward gender equality (by news outlets, and by some vocal male athletes that have spoken to me on the subject).

But while co-ed sports may facially promote gender equality, in practice, they are not as equal as they appear. In my experience - as a competitive soccer player who played from age four through to college - co-ed sports aren't all that they're cracked up to be in terms of gender equality.

I distinctly remember playing for a weekend co-ed team in college (an additional team I played for on top of being a starter for the university's women's team). I started the game as our left midfielder (largely because there always had to be at least one girl on the field at any given time, a stipulation I will delve into later in this post). I was the only girl on the field. Right before the game started, a player from the other team yelled out, "No need to defend her, guys!". Everyone, even my own teammates, laughed.

On another occasion while playing for an adult league in Davis, which also had a minimum number of girls on the field rule, I played the full 90-minute game and intentionally received the ball from my teammates maybe two or three times despite being open on countless occasions. Instead of passing me the ball, my teammates took on two, three, sometimes even four defenders on their own. Apparently one guy against four defenders has a better chance of succeeding than one girl in open space.

These are just two of my experiences on co-ed soccer teams, although I have plenty more. In reality, co-ed sports teams for women aren't as "co" as advertised. More often it feels as though women are there to meet the quota. Once we're on the field and accounted for, it becomes a guy's only game.

Co-ed sports presents the quintessential backdrop for the sameness/different frameworks of feminism. Under a sameness analysis, mixing men and women on teams embraces the idea that women are just as talented and capable as men. We can "keep up with the boys"! This in itself is problematic because it promotes male athleticism as the ideal standard of play, but I digress. But, it is true. There are incredibly talented women in every sport that rival the skills, speed, and athletic intelligence of a male athlete. But, no matter how good a woman is, she can still walk onto a pitch and immediately be discounted because of her status as a woman, like what happened to me.

But, the difference framework does little more to help solve this problem. In emphasizing the differences between the sexes - men's general advantage in strength and speed - women again are marginalised as athletes. Furthermore, rules meant to offset or account for the differences either (1) are inherently belittling, or (2) do not help at all. Some examples of these rules are, as previously mentioned, requiring a certain number of women on the field (and forcing teams to play with less players if they cannot field enough women), and mandating that women be involved in a play in some way before scoring (or the point does not count). Neither rule integrates women into the game. In fact, the rules are premised on the fact that we need to somehow "find the space" for women to fit into a man's game. Both rules are unsuccessful at promoting equality in sports.

Neither the sameness nor difference framework support women in sports. What is lacking from co-ed sports are not rules mandating female involvement, or opportunities for women to play at the same level as men with men (again, this is inherently problematic - why are male athletes our benchmark?). What is lacking is respect from male athletes. In my experience, male athletes simply do not look at female athletes as their equal. While I may be able to "impress" them by making a decent play every now and again, my actions are just that, a one-off fluke. My participation on the field is dependent on men agreeing to give me chance.

So what are the solutions to this problem?

For one, men can start supporting female athletes on and off the playing field. More men need to support the U.S. Women's National Soccer Team as they play this summer in the World Cup. This shouldn't be too hard considering the Women's Team is the U.S.'s only hope at World Cup success this cycle because the Men's Team failed to qualify. But outside of soccer (which I have selfishly focused on because it is my sport of choice), men need to witness the incredible athleticism displayed by women in all sports at the same frequency as they consume men's sports.

Secondly, and this goes hand in hand with increased viewership, female athletes need to be paid the same as male athletes of the same sport. The pay disparity reflects how we value women in sports versus men in sports. If we want to garner greater respect for female athletes, we have to start compensating them equally for their athleticism. Although this focuses on professional athletes, I believe the impact of mutual respect will be felt at all skill levels.

I'm not confident these two suggestions will fix everything, but they are a start towards ameliorating the lack of respect given to incredibly talented, capable women. Until then, I will seek comfort in all- female teams. I continue to be wow-ed, inspired, and strengthened - physically and personally - by the women I have been honoured to call my teammates over the years. My all-female teams and leagues have been a source of intense competition and challenge as well as friendship for me. I will continue to play and celebrate within my gendered sphere. And when I'm feeling up to the challenge, I will get back on the field with the boys, ignore them shouting, "No need to defend her!", and go and score a goal anyways. That's exactly what I did the day I played left-midfield for my college co-ed team, and I will do it again.

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.

Sexual Assault and Identity Revised, Part 2: Identity Subversion

This is a continuation of my last post. Here I will be examining more in-depth the situations introduced there. Again, I begin with a trigger warning. In this post I recount graphic jokes involving sexual assault and rape that will be dissected for their unintentional contribution to a discussion on how people subvert parts of their identities to better help communities of which they are a part, and some structural fixes to help survivors of sexual assault.

I pass no judgement about the experiences of those talked about in this piece; they were all put into an impossible situation and did what they thought was best at the time. I cannot fathom what I would do in that situation.

The first situation Kathrine Ryan addresses discusses actors who were relatively unknown (here meaning not famous), black, and female, in the context of their sexual assault by a famous, black, male actor, Bill Cosby. These assaults occurred in the 80s and 90s, a time when sexual assault victims were less likely to be believed. Because they were rarely believed, many did not report, and the two phenomena were in a feedback loop. drastically aggravating each other.

In this situation, multiple identities are at issue, and some were subverted for the benefit of others. Bill Cosby exerting his power over women ties into his identities as both famous and male, while the sexual assault he inflicts ties into the survivor's identities as unknown actors and as women. Additionally, these women said that they did not want to hinder Cosby's career because he was paving a way for black actors. These women essentially saw their identities as women as being at odds with their black identities. So, they subverted their identities as women to better serve their other identities, to benefit other constituencies. These victims did not want to feel like they were betraying the black community. That became a factor in them deciding not to report. Another prominent factor was the time the women were living in.

The second situation Kathrine Ryan addresses is an imaginary one that involves herself, a comedian who is famous, white, and female, and Tina Fey and Amy Schumer, two comedians who are both white, female, and arguably much more famous than Katherine. Fey and Schumer have also likely trailblazed the way for more women to be invited into comedic community.

This situation does not have the same race implications as the first situation, and also does not feature a subversion of identity. But, Ryan, albeit jokingly, says that she would keep quiet about a sexual assault by one of these women because of all they have done and are doing for women. In her hypothetical, she still seems willing to subvert her individual trauma for the betterment of her community, which is here aspiring female comics.

The last assault involves Kesha, a musician who is a white woman, and the trauma she experienced at the hands of Doctor Luke, a music producer who is white and a man. While this is mentioned only in passing (“Free Kesha”), it evokes a well-documented assault and legal fight involving Kesha and Dr. Luke. Kesha’s incident is completely different from the first two for two reasons.

First, Kesha reported her assault, in contrast to the first two situations I have described. Kesha even and even sued Dr. Luke for the harm he had caused her.

Second, Kesha was willing to give up her music career in order to get justice for her assault. She was willing to subvert her identity, her career, as a musician in order to try, with no guarantee, to get justice for the sexual assault she experienced because she was a woman. She was willing to subvert her needs as a musician to seek justice. This is the only situation where the assaulted survivor gave her identity as a woman primacy over her other identities.

So, what can we learn from this thought experiment? No one should be forced to choose between parts of their identity. We as a society should be doing everything in our power to remove the barriers to reporting sexual assault. If we do that, women will not be forced to subvert their needs to help others, for some apparent greater good. Two possible solutions could help.

First, in the first and second situations, better racial and gender representation on television would have given the attackers less power. In the first situation, if Bill Cosby had not been one of only a handful of black actors on television, his career and reputation would not have been as important to the black community. In the second situation, if the dearth of female-driven comedies and writer’s rooms did not exist, Kathrine would not have felt the need to make the joke about her not to be willing to report her imaginary sexual assault. Both instances show the real-world impact of diversity in media. The more diverse we make television and entertainment industries more broadly, the less power those in that industry wield.

Second, in the first and second situations, social stigma was cited as a barrier for survivors deciding not not to report. We can remove this barrier by believing survivors when they come forward. This would lessen the stigma surrounding the experience of surviving a sexual assault, and that would surely empower survivors.

If we look at both these issues, the first being cultural and the second being structural, then we can make it less likely sexual assault will occur. When it does occur, we will have made it easier for survivors of sexual assault to report their assault and get justice.