Intersectionality Pt 1 - What It Is

Recently, people have asked me what I mean when I used the word "intersectionality." Intersectionality is a word I have mentioned on this blog before and it comes up often in my work as a graduate student. Having spent years working to understand it, I may have forgotten that not everyone spends their weekdays nose-deep in articles. I thought it might be helpful to try to explain what intersectionality is because I believe it explains a lot regarding the way I view the world and look at sociopolitical issues. Based on a basic Google search (what did we do before Google? Read books? At libraries?), here is the definition that comes up:

in·ter·sec·tion·al·i·ty

ˌintərsekSHəˈnalədē/ <---- this is super helpful, right?

noun

1. the interconnected nature of social categorizations such as race, class, and gender as they apply to a given individual or group, regarded as creating overlapping and interdependent systems of discrimination or disadvantage.

   "through an awareness of intersectionality, we can better acknowledge and ground the differences among us"

Ok, so what exactly does that mean? As human beings, there are many (many many many) factors that come together to make us who we are and that create the lens through which we see the world and also impact the way the world sees us. Intersectionality argues that systems of oppression, also sometimes referred to or expressed as -isms (racism, sexism, ableism, heterosexism, etc.) do not exist in a vacuum. Instead, these systems intersect (see what they did there?) to create complex and multidimensional forms of oppression and discrimination.

For example, let us consider Olivia Pope. This is Olivia:

Image source]

Olivia is a lawyer and Washington, DC "problem solver." She's also (mostly) fictional and the best dressed woman in DC. Here she is in an amazing white hat:

Image source

Olivia Pope identifies as both a cisgender female and, though I don't know for sure how she racially and/or ethnically identifies, for the sake of this explanation let's assume she identifies as African American. Living in the US, we know sexism exists. We also know that racism exists.  Intersectionality suggests that, for Olivia, racism and sexism will overlap and interrelate and create systems of oppression unique to cisgender females who identify as African American. But we can't stop there because we also know that not all cisgender females who identify as African American have the same experiences with oppression; identities are more complicated and complex that just gender, biological sex and race. 

Now, when talking about Olivia, she also has several privileged identities including education (she is a well-educated lawyer), socioeconomic status (said law degree, upbringing, and general brilliance and badassery has led her to financial success. Her apartment is bonkers), sexual orientation (she has amorous relationships with the most powerful men in the world so she's doing alright for herself), ability status (she presents as physically able-bodied and does not appear to have a mental or developmental disability), and gender identity (her gender and biological sex identities correlate). These factors, in addition to many others, will impact how Olivia experiences oppression and discrimination. Now, many of these privileged identities are also shared with Mellie Grant, fellow Scandal character. Here's Mellie:


Intersectionality suggests that, even though Olivia and Mellie have many similar identity factors (both well-educated, wealthy, heterosexual, cisgendered and able-bodied), the experiences of -isms, which for the sake of this example are being focused on sexism and racism, will be different for both women. Dominant gender and racial expectations, stereotypes, misconceptions and narratives intersect, intermingle and work together to create complex and multidimensional systems of oppression that are disparate between individuals with the same gender-identity and different racial identities, as well as any other combination of identity factors. It's important to note here that intersectionality transcends race and gender identities. It has historically been applied to race and gender but I believe it can be related to all intersections of oppression (ableism and heterosexism, classism and xenophobia, etc.).

 Another excellent example and one of the moist poignant demonstrations of intersectionality to me is Sojourner Truth's "Aint I A Woman" speech. Though the exact verbiage she used has been contested, Sojourner Truth pointed out elements of intersectionality long before their time. In this speech, she is highlighting that, although she identified as a woman, the societal expectations for her, having been born into slavery, were considerably different than for white women. 

This is been a not brief and not perfect explanation of what intersectionality is. Next up, the why it's so important.

Black Lives Matter and White Accountability

For today, I had written a post on intersectionality. I had spent a lot of time on it, used a lot of references to Scandal and was excited to share it. But I won't be sharing it today because I received this email from the group Showing Up for Racial Justice this morning:

"This week Terence Crutcher and Keith Lamont Scott were murdered. Since San Francisco quarterback Colin Kaepernick began his on-field protests, at least 15 Black people have been murdered by the police. As we continue to see racist violence unfold on our TV screens and social media feeds, it is more important than ever for white people to loudly amplify the calls for justice that are reverberating throughout the country."

Colin Kaepernick started his protests just 4 weeks ago. My heart is heavy and my Facebook newsfeed is packed with outrage, leading me to question what I can do. As a person who identifies as white, I am acutely aware of the intricacies and inequities involved in amplifying the Black Lives Matter movement. I cannot make the BLM movement about me, as people in positions of privilege often do in activism. I must find a way to amplify the voices of the movement without appropriating them or talking over them. And, though it pains me to say, I have benefited from the same systems the movement is fighting. That doesn't mean I don't want to fight them too. I believe in the Black Lives Matter movement because I believe that all lives matter and the systems in place in the United States do not adequately or accurately reflect that. Even though white people are more likely do drugs, people who identify as Black and African American are 3 times more likely to be arrested for drug possession. Americans who identify as Black and African American and are unarmed are 5 times mores likely to be shot by police that unarmed White Americans. These are not issues of individual "crooked" cops or crimes, these are large-scale social problems and people are dying - at least 1 every 2 days for the last 4 weeks - as a result.

So what can I do? Truthfully, I often feel overwhelmed and intimidated when faced with such an enormous and pervasive issue. That being said, to take a back seat, to be silent or go along with my everyday routine pretending I don't see and hear what is happening is an overt reflection of my racial privilege. As a white person, I experience a certain amount of safety and security - one that allows me the semi-comfort of even starting this blog. As a white person, I need to hold myself accountable for using that privilege to speak up and speak out, to amplify the voices that deserve to be heard and to educate my fellow white peers about their own accountability. In his book Between the World and Me, Ta-Nehisi Coates writes that it is not his responsibility to educate white folks about racism and white privilege. I agree wholeheartedly with this statement. It is unreasonable to expect people who are actively fighting systems of oppression while simultaneously enduring the weight of them to educate those who benefit from them and are often blind to their very existence. That being said, I've done some research and here are some resources and things you can do right now to support systemic change and educate yourself:

1. Learn about the Black Lives Matter movement. There are a lot of misconceptions about what the movement actually is and what it stands for. Educate yourself and then share that information with others around you. Saying "Black Lives Matter" is not saying "Black Lives Matter more than white lives" or "police lives." Understanding the movement is a good first step in understanding how to support the change it calls for. Knowledge can ripple out and be extremely powerful when used correctly.

2. Support organizations that are working tirelessly to influence change. The Black Lives Matter website has a whole section on ways to get involved. Showing Up for Racial Justice's whole website is structured around explaining different ways to support racial justice. If you don't want to physically get involved, donate a few dollars or share the information with others who might be interested. 

3. Listen. As a person who identifies as white, I know that sometimes conversations about racial inequity can lead to a defensive reaction. Our society teaches us that, even though prejudice and racist ideas are embedded within us due to social and cultural messaging, being "a racist" is bad and wrong and even admitting or acknowledging having experienced racial privilege is some sort of moral indictment on you as an individual. This is false and, while we are working through our feelings of guilt or shame, people are dying. There are advocates and activists who are openly telling us what they need and it's time for us to listen.

I know that most of this is not likely new information. I truthfully hope that it's not. But, as I said in my very first post, I believe that silence is compliance and it's past time for white people to stand up. That being said, I am not "Ms. Social Justice." I often feel inadequate, unprepared and insecure about my ability to support systemic change. I will say things incorrectly and make mistakes and it's possible I will do so publicly. I won't deny that speaking out can be scary and overwhelming. However, the fear of a negative response, a nasty note or confrontation from a Facebook friend or peer, pales in comparison to the risks activists are taking every day, often putting their lives on the line to pursue justice for those who have been killed. My fear and my safety are not more important than theirs and, though the risks I face are considerably and notably less dire and severe, risks are what is called for now. 

Breaking News: Rape Jokes Are Not Funny

So, it hasn't even been a week and news from the University of Richmond strikes again. This time, the issue is around an email sent by a member of a fraternity that includes derogatory and bizarrely threatening language about women. You can read more about the incident here but, to sum it up, the fraternity member ended an email promoting an upcoming party with the line: "Tonight's the type of night that makes fathers afraid to send their daughters away to school." Yuck. Also, huh? What is that honestly supposed to mean? Is this some horrifying party theme I'm not aware of? Is this actually a selling point for getting people to come to parties now? I personally prefer a heavy snack selection as a party incentive so this is a wholly new concept to me. 

But seriously, and unfortunately, this language and this idea are not actually new to me. In fact, something very similar happened when I was in college. Though I was disgusted and disturbed at that time, I was very aware of the negative and degrading ways in which women were written about in fraternity emails and was riding the "freedom of speech" train, and also the restorative justice train, though I didn't know it at the time. I know a lot more now and I want to make a very controversial and shocking statement: I do not find jokes or statements about rape, or any violence towards another person, to be funny. *gasp* I think they often normalize or minimize events that truly hurt and impact people on a daily basis and, frankly, I don't think that's very nice. I know that sometimes people who have experienced violence will use humor to deflect and protect themselves and I get that. I just wish that we made it easier to talk about these things so people wouldn't need such a defense against their own experiences.

I hear all the time (seriously, all.the.time), that jokes are just jokes and I'm being too sensitive or need to lighten up so I wanted to address that here. Firstly, I am a sensitive person. I cry during live performances because I'm happy for the performers that they are so talented. I'm not going to hide that fact and I'm not embarrassed by it. But, to be clear, not finding humor in jokes or statements that threaten the safety and worth of others is not a reflection on my sensitivity. I believe that the whole "too sensitive" argument is simply a way for people to deflect personal responsibility for their own stuff. It's a way to blame me for your transgression. 

Secondly, it's important to note that jokes are rarely just jokes. I have been both the target of and the audience to violent statements against people who identify with historically marginalized groups (this includes women but is not exclusive to women. Also, intersectionality exists, people.). Even though it may not be the intent of the speaker, comments, statements and quips that include elements of violence are often vaguely-to-overtly threatening and usually silence the targeted people by stripping them of their validity and sending the message that the speaker does not respect them and likely will not hear anything they have to say. To say "it was just a joke," is to deny the experience of others who are saying it is much more. It is placing the opinion and viewpoint of the speaker over those of others and is reinforcing power dynamics that have been prevalent in the U.S. since the first European ships landed on what is now called the Americas. Isn't it time we move forward from that?

Finally, and perhaps most importantly, I think it is ok, and actually crucial, to admit our mistakes. I have done and said things I regret. I have hurt people unintentionally and tried to defend myself on many occasions. I don't think this makes me a "bad" person - though I don't actually think that's a thing; but I'll get to that later. In the U.S., we live in a society where messages about power and privilege are embedded within us and sometimes come out in ways we do not intend. Even the most sociopolitically aware individuals (among whom I am most certainly not) will say that learning about social justice, equality and the ways in which oppression manifests itself in society is a continual, lifelong process. My hope is that the individual who wrote that email will learn from this mistake; not to not write things like that down, but to understand why it is harmful to others to think those things at all. It is possible that the author of that email, as well as the other people in my life who have said similar things to me, did not mean for their words to have the impact that they did. I recognize that and truly believe that there is often space to move forward in understanding and awareness instead of always placing blame. We are all going to make mistakes, hurt and offend people and I truly believe that we owe it to ourselves and others to admit it and learn from it instead of creating excuses to justify our actions. There is a lot of power in saying "I'm sorry I hurt you. I hear you and I will do better." Though it sucks to admit to ourselves that we've hurt someone, particularly when we didn't intend to, taking 5 seconds to say this, or I suppose text or Snap for all those millennials out there, can be incredibly healing and meaningful. 

Follow-Up from My First Post

I want to say thank you to everyone who has reached out to me through Facebook, text, phone call, in person, etc. about my first post. I am unbelievably grateful for the support, as well as deeply saddened by how many people reached out to tell me that their experiences were similar to my own. It's no surprise to anyone who knows me well that I cried many times over the weekend (mostly tears of gratitude) and I'm excited to channel that emotion into something that is hopefully meaningful.

That being said, there are a few points I want to make about my previous post. Firstly, I wrote that from my perspective and my experience. As a White, cisgendered, heterosexual female, I recognize that issues around interpersonal violence, consent and autonomy over one's body are not limited to the scope of my personal perspective. These issues are not experienced equitably among all identities and I want to be sure not to suggest that they are all the same for everyone or reinforce White-centric, heteronormative or transphobic ideas. Feminist history is laden with messages that do not adequately address diversity in the context of equality (i.e. equality does not equal sameness). A great piece that touches on this is here. Though I do believe that interpersonal violence is a gendered issue, I think it's important to note that gender and power manifest themselves in a variety of ways. To highlight how deeply interpersonal violence impacts individuals who identify as LGBTQ, people of color and people living with physical and mental disabilities, I've included some information below (A note: I am aware that it is possible to claim many and/or all of these identity factors. Unfortunately, intersectionality doesn't currently play a prominent role in research of this type). While it's important to me to share my story and my perspective, I think it is crucial to recognize and talk about equality and oppression in a way that does not assume sameness or place my story and my experience above those of others.

Finally, I am interested in your feedback. I have lots of ideas of things to talk about and want to hear from you (aka my family who will likely be the only ones reading this...) about what you want to see.  Send me a message, leave a comment or just tell me in person if there's something you'd like to see discussed or you'd like me to research.

Regarding interpersonal violence and individuals that identify as LGBTQ, the CDC's National Intimate Partner and Sexual Violence Survey found:

• 44% of women who identify as lesbians and 61% of women who identify as bisexual experience rape, physical violence or stalking by an intimate partner, compared to 35% of women who identify as heterosexual.
• 26% of men who identify as gay and 37% of men who identify as bisexual experience rape, physical violence, or stalking by an intimate partner, compared to 29% of heterosexual men
• 46% of women who identify as bisexual have been raped, compared to 17% of women who identify as heterosexual and 13% of women who identify as lesbians.
• 22% of women who identify as bisexual  have been raped by an intimate partner, compared to 9% of women who identify as heterosexual.
• 40% of men who identify as gay and 47% of men who identify as bisexual have experienced sexual violence other than rape, compared to 21 percent of heterosexual men
• Among transgender racial minorities, 24% of transgender American Indians, 18% of transgender people who identified as multiracial, 17% of transgender Asians, and 15% of Black transgender respondents experienced sexual assault in K-12 education settings – much higher rates than students of other races. Transgender women respondents experienced sexual assault more often than their transgender male peers.

Source: http://www.hrc.org/resources/sexual-assault-and-the-lgbt-community

Regarding women of color*:

• An estimated 29.1% of women who identify as African American are victimized by intimate partner violence in their lifetime (rape, physical assault or stalking). 
• Women who identify as African American  experience intimate partner violence at a rate 35% higher than that of females who identify as White, and about 2.5 times the rate of women of other races.
• In an Asian and Pacific Islander Institute on Domestic Violence survey, 41-60% of API respondents reported experiencing DV (physical and/or sexual) during their lifetimes. 
• Project AWARE’s (Asian Women Advocating Respect and Empowerment) 2000-2001 survey of 178 API women found that 81.1% reported experiencing at least one form of intimate partner violence in the past year. 
• According to the National Violence Against Women Survey (NVAWS), 23.4% Hispanic/Latino females are victimized by intimate partner violence (IPV) in a lifetime, defined by rape, physical assault or stalking.
• 48% of Latinas in one study reported that their partner’s violence against them had increased since they immigrated to the U.S

*This does not address all racial and ethnic identities. I am aware of this and will hopefully be able to find more information in the future.

Source: http://www.doj.state.or.us/victims/pdf/women_of_color_network_facts_domestic_violence_2006.pdf - NOTE: This information is from 2006. Though I'm sure more recent information is available, I wasn't able to find it.

Regarding people living with disabilities:

• Domestic violence is considered to be the #1 issue nationwide
• 80% of women living with disabilities have been sexually assaulted
• Rates of abuse for both men and women living with disabilities have increased from 31%-83%

Source: http://www.bflnyc.org/about-us/domestic-violence-disability/

A Response to CC Carreras and the University of Richmond

I've been sitting on this blog for a while and I've convinced myself more times than not that I shouldn't do it. Though those who know me know I have a lot to say, and I'm not often apologetic about that fact, there is something strangely intimidating about writing it down and putting it out there. It's very exposing. But the accounts shared by CC Carreras about her experience with a sexual assault case at the University of Richmond  (first here and then here) have pushed me over the edge. I believe that to be silent is to be complicit with those in power, with the dominant narrative, and often leaves those who are speaking up left out to dry. I can't do it any more so here it goes.

Every time I come across a story like CC's, one in which an institution, most often a college or university, fails to appropriately and adequately address issues of sexual, romantic or interpersonal violence, it breaks my heart and makes me incredibly angry. When I read CC's story, I was devastated and honestly speechless (a rare occurrence for me); not because I couldn't believe it, but sadly because I could. Though every story like this is atrocious and infuriating, CC's experience transported me back to my own experience in undergrad. I loved the University of Richmond and I left with some of the closest friends I'm likely to ever make and some of my best and favorite memories. That doesn't mean it was a perfect experience. The general disdain for women and the silent but powerful rape culture on campus was palpable and prolific. I have too many memories of women I love, cherish and respect (including myself) crying because something happened that they did not want or consent to and they didn't know what to do. I remember feeling powerless because I didn't know what to do either. I remember being told, after one particularly horrific instance, that if I continued to talk about it in a way that negatively depicted the perpetrators, I wouldn't be allowed into frat parties. I'm embarrassed to say that, at the time, that was enough to pressure me into silence, not so much because of the party thing, but more because I wanted to protect my friends and didn't want to put everyone's social lives - something that was fairly fragile at a school as small as Richmond - in jeopardy. It sounds trivial now but it demonstrates to me how easy it can be to pressure someone into silence, particularly when that person is already dealing with shame, guilt, and embarrassment. I knew that the social and cultural aspects of Richmond were riddled with sexist, as well as racist, classist, ableist and heteronormative, messages and it angers me to no end to see that this culture extends to the University's leadership. 

I can say firsthand that the messages received from experiences like college, or any institution that emphasizes both formal education and social learning, stick with a person. It has taken me a long time unpack some of the residual shit left behind from my college experience and I believe it is the responsibility of a university to support, advocate for and honor the safety and well-being of it's students. I know that doing so is complicated, complex and that there is always more than one side to every story and experience. However, if a student like CC feels as victimized, unheard, unseen and disrespected as she states, something is seriously and dangerously amiss. As I wrote in a letter to the school's administration, "by neglecting to honor Ms. Carreras' narrative, and dismissing her experience on account of a male's need to 'finish,' you are teaching your students important lessons that will stay with them forever; lessons about the meaning of consent, the value of their bodies and the societal discrepancies between both men and women and those of perceived value versus those without. I'm sad to say that the lessons you are teaching, and the messages you are reinforcing, are dangerous, pervasive and harmful." 

Ultimately, the point I want to make is that the University, though in a unique position to address and confront these message head-on in a way that directly impacts the lives of those involved, is not the only one sending these signals. The way we as a society talk about, or don't talk about, sexual assault, rape, consent and issues around autonomy over one's body, specifically women's bodies in this case, is important. It's not a coincidence that Brock Turner blamed alcohol and Stanford's party culture on his actions. He likely believed that was at fault because that is what he had been told and shown. I know firsthand, as do many people who went through the stereotypical college experience, that alcohol can and does influence actions and we may make decisions under the influence that we would not make otherwise . But there's a big difference between eating an extra-large pizza by myself and sexually assaulting an unconscious woman behind a dumpster. Some of that bad decision might be related to alcohol consumption, but the root of it, the part of the brain that indicates that it's ever ok, is most certainly and decidedly not. We live in a society (US to be specific) where people are taught that "no means no" but are not taught that silence does not equal consent, where women who report sexual assualts often still have answer, in explicit detail, questions about what they were wearing and prove they were not "asking for it," and where perpetrators of violence truly believe they are not at fault because they are told time and again that they are more valuable than the survivors of their actions and that what they do, say and think is excusable for a variety of reason. I've been saying for a long time now that it is time to change the dialogue, though even I couldn't get myself to speak up outside of my intimate social circle. Though it is scary to share my views in this manner, I can confidently say, I don't give a shit about going to your frat party and I won't be quiet anymore. 

In closing, I'd like to say a final thank you to the University of Richmond for providing me with the education and the language to excoriate you on the internet and via email. So thanks for that.