existential crisis, take two.

As an instructor I am many things: feminist in politics, casual in presentation, strict in policy, detailed in assignments, sometimes funny, sometimes flip, sometimes focused in discussion. I like to think that I’m a good teacher. I can summarize difficult arguments in brief and clear language. I try to make space for students who wouldn’t normally speak to be heard. Though it is cliche and sentimental, I genuinely believe something powerful can happen in the classroom. I believe that people change how they think, or begin to change how they think about the world. And I generally perceive that change for the better.

This week, I was something in my classroom that I have never explicitly been before. This week, I spoke to my students not as an informed and (inasmuch as possible, objective) instructor, but as a Palestinian who had lived under occupation; as someone who approached the topic from a specific political perspective, with ideas grounded in theory as much as feeling, and with definite opinions regarding action and change. I have never done this. I have never been a Palestinian first. While I am unclear on how to describe that position in concrete language, I suppose the closest I can say is that to my students I stood in for Palestine. For many, I was likely the only Palestinian they had seen in person, or with whom they could converse. For many, I was the only indication that something like Palestine existed, that it was populated by real people, and that it was under occupation.

I feel incredibly conflicted about holding this position. I was clear when I began my sections that I would be happy to pursue our regularly scheduled activity. I was clear that if this was undesirable or unproductive, we could move on. And while it was productive and interesting for many of my students, I could tell that one student in particular was not comfortable, was not OK. While I wouldn’t characterize her posture as hostile, I would say that it was defensive. Now, 24 hours later, I still can’t shake the feelings of vulnerability and anxiety I felt in the classroom. What a curious effect of oppression, that in acknowledging your own personhood, you might feel guilty. Guilty to take a “biased” position, guilty to claim space, guilty to make those who would support your oppression feel at all uncomfortable. I know that this guilt is obviously complicated by the fact that I am her instructor, and we exist in a relationship that is unequal. And while I prefaced and reiterated multiple times that I was speaking that day primarily as a person with a clear position, rather than facilitating discussion and underlining concepts with no position other than conveyor of course materials, I feel so…icky. Did I do something wrong? Was this the correct course of action? Should I have stuck to the lesson plan? Isn’t it OK sometimes to be honest, to be me, to be Palestinian? I know that neutrality is a farce. I know that even when I play instructor, my personhood and politics don’t disappear, but neither are they as explicit as they were yesterday. I am afraid that I have alienated her. I am afraid that I was too transparent. I am afraid that the room will be altered irrevocably after this. I am afraid of my anger at feeling afraid in the first place. I am afraid I am not cut out for this job. I am afraid that now that I have been a Palestinian first, I will not be able to lie to myself– I was one always, throughout all things. I am afraid to be Palestinian. I am afraid to be.

::facepalm::

Today a student told me that if we took all the violence out of sex, sex would be boring. I think that pretty much speaks for itself. Sigh.

in which i am inappropriate

Remember Charlie Horse? That student who talked about his sex life on the first day of class, and then attempted to explain how conjoined twins undermined the sex binary? I may or may not have accidentally told him he needed to watch more porn. Well. What? The words just flew out of me.  If you’re been there, you’d understand. Really.

We’re talking about trans folks, because I am a woman obsessed, apparently. And I pose my standard question as people get all up in arms about transmen having babies “So, like, why does it bother you? Why do you care if someone out there is having kids of hir own flesh but identifies as male?” Because really, how is Charlie Horse affected by Thomas Beattie negatively, you know?

And Charlie Horse tells me “Well, you know, it’s like, if I meet a lady, and we’re you know, like connecting or whatever, and she ain’t a she, well, then, it’s like damn. I mean, as a heterosexual, I just don’t think heterosexuals are wanting to see any of that.”

To which I say “You need to watch more porn.” Because truthfully, nobody loves a tranny like the straight male porn industry loves an MTF. I mean for reals. Trannies is all up in straight porn.

So yeah. I am inappropriate with my students. And one day I’ll probably get in trouble for it. But hey.  At least i made Charlie Horse speechless. Teaching win.

The Road to Hell…

is paved with baked goods. That’s why it’s so easy to go to there.

I have been terribly neglectful of ye ol’ blog. I’m sorry to the three people who maybe read this. One of my new year’s intentions was to blog weekly. I’m going to try harder. The problem, of course, is that there are blondies to be baked, and Freaks and Geeks to be watched.  And sweet essays to be read. It’s all very distracting. But here we are, and I would love nothing more than to share with your the most recent classroom hooplah now that we’ve started the Winter semester.

Day 1 of Race, Gender and Sexuality: I ask my students to introduce themselves, giving their name, class standing, major, and an interesting or funny fact or anecdote about themselves. And one of my new students, who I hadn’t known for more than 20 minutes, decided to tell me and his classmates that his interesting story involved getting a charlie horse in his leg during sex. And I quote “I was getting it like, ‘uh…uhhhh’ and all of a sudden ‘ow!’, my leg was killing me.” Really? REALLY? Two things: 1. You are not sixteen, you do not need to affirm your masculinity by stating that you have recently had sex. 2. That’s the most interesting thing about you? I fear, D, that you are boring. BORING.

Day 2 of Race, Gender, and Sexuality: We are discussing Sex and Gender, namely the faultiness of a two-sex system. I ask “What flaws or problems does the two sex system have? Or, what could pose a threat or question to the two sex system.”  Charlie Horse, from the previous blurb raises his hand and offers this juicy scenario:

Him: “What about Siamese twins?”

Me: “What about them?”

“One could be male and one could be female?”

“Actually, that’s impossible, but even if it were, isn’t that just still two sexes?”

Another student: “Well, like ,what if they shared a brain? or hormones or chromosomes or soemthing? What then?”

Me: and also ::head shaking:: and furthermore ::face-palming::

Oy vey. It’s going to be so so so interesting this semester.

Verbal Spankings and the People Who Love Them

There is perhaps nothing more satisfying as a teacher than when students say something asinine, and rather than having to respond, other students, students who actually get it, respond instead. This happened to me yesterday and I’m still completely overjoyed about it. I think the joy is two-fold. One, I didn’t have to  respond and get read as a biased responder because I teach the course and two, some of the students that I’m teaching are actually on the right page! They are being thoughtful and critical, even of themselves. Here’s what happened.

We were talking about gay rights, and specifically, Kenji Yoshino’s book Covering, where Yoshino argues that gays are allowed to be gay, but asked to cover (hide or tone down their gayness). Through personal experience and an examination of numerous court cases, Yoshino argues that while gays are protected as gay, they are not protected when they “act” on their gayness. Or when they “flaunt” it. When they take their gayness to “the extreme”. Of course, these acts of flaunting, these extremes are often broadly interpretted as any affirmation of the previously mentioned and supposedly protected gay identity.

So I asked my students what it meant to be “extreme” in your gayness. One student claimed she felt Gay Pride Parades in which men were naked but for body glitter was an example of extreme gay behaviour. She felt that kind of over the top behaviour ultimately hurt the gay rights movement because conservatives would see such events and it would affirm to them all the stereotypes of gayness they held. Before I was able to respond, a slew of hands went up. One woman suggested that gay pride parades specifically were not about sending a message to straight communities or trying to win support from conservative groups. Rather, they were a celebration of gay community, a moment where one could be queer and entertain the possibility of happiness, rather than be constantly faced with the dangers of being openly gay in a homophobic society. Another woman responded by saying that the notion that one could be extreme in their identity seemed ultimately ridiculous. If that were the case, she could be extremely black, or too black. I followed up by asking if she felt that when older folks wore stereotypically old folks clothes, like pantsuits, they hurt the battle against ageism. Of course not.

A different student suggested that “extreme” gayness, for her, was when people wore rainbow or triangle pins, buttons, or pathches on their clothing, hats, or bags. I responded by asking if she felt that Christians wearing crosses would be flaunting their Christianity by wearing a cross. She said no. Then, other students chimed in. One addressed the speaker specifically, saying “You have on a specific football team’s hat, and I really hate that team. I’m so sick of seeing those logos. It’s really disgusting that you would flaunt that.” He then pointed to his shirt, which had an action movie hero on it, and apologized to his classmates for his shameless flaunting of his action movie love. Another student said that she couldn’t believe that she had made these kinds of demands of people her whole life, and only now realised it. She said that if someone had made the demands of her that society routinely makes of queers and other minorities, she would be livid. She actually owned her part in making covering demands.

It was kind of amazing; the whole last 30 minutes of class were. It was an extremely rewarding teaching moment and there are so few, that I felt the need to share and document. So yay! students. You’ve restored my faith and my enthusiasm for doing this, at least for the time being.

Silly rabbit

Today in my class we watched a documentary called Killing Us Softly 3, featuring Jean Kilbourne and directed by Sut Jhally. In this documentary, Kilbourne argues the advertising’s and media’s potryal of women is harmful to not just women, but also men. She claims that advertising objectifies, silences, devalues, infantilizes, and hypersexualizes women. As a result of these processes, women are subject to violence, discrimination, and disempowerment. That violence can be physical as in the case of battering, or emotional, as in the lack of self esteem or the development of eating disorders.

After watching it, I ask students whether or not they continue to see similar ads and messages in the media today, and if so, what kind of affects these ads have. While most students recognize the obvious correlation between gender socialization, the devaluing of women and femininity, and the problems both create, a few students will obstinately claim that they, personally, are exempt from the message. That “society” can say these things, but it doesn’t have to mean one must take it seriously or let it change how one behaves of feels. They are exempt from over 3000 images a day telling them what women should be and how they should be treated. That indeed, each person has a choice to allow these advertisements to affect them, to choose to believe, buy into, or perpetuate the messges and ensuing violence.

Silly me. All this time I didn’t have to feel bad about about being chubby? All this time, I’ve been waking up and deciding to hate about my stomach, or my chin. All this time I didn’t need to care that my face was broken out or that my hair looked stupid. How ridiculous I’ve been. How utterly weak.

Let me say this. I do think we have agency. We can choose what we watch, with whom we assosciate socially. We might even be able to filter out half of the negative messages we recieve that tell us we are not pretty enough, thin enough, smart enough. That we are not enough, and contraditorily, we are too much. That would leave us with 1500 messages from one source alone, not to mention the various other influences on our psyche. What person is able to control every aspect of how they feel? If telling myself I was beautiful were enough, there wouldn’t be a billion dollar weight loss industry. There wouldn’t be countless self help books and psychotherapy. There wouldn’t be eating disorders or catty “OMG Look what she’s wearing” conversations. It is not enough to make a personal choice, though that might be a good place to start.

We live in a society that devalues women. And though we might be good feminist ladies and gentlemen, we cannot choose how people respond to us and percieve us in the world. It is not enough for me to say “As a woman, I am choosing not to accept passivity and submission” because those values are expected and desired from me not just in personal relationships, but professional ones as well. I might be “immune” to the negativity, but we live in a great big world, and somewhere, someone out there believes and stands by the ugliness of the beauty myth, of victim blaming. That someone might be in your classroom who admittedly took the class to “meet chicks”. If, as a viewer and a member of a class that talks about equity and social justice, a person cannot see how his or her choices affects the world outside them, and how the larger “society” affects thier personal life, then feminism is in a scary place.

And I’ll add, that when posed with the question of “What if this documentary were about negative portrayals of racial minorities?” a person repsonds, “well, that’s different.” then we are dealing with sexism plain and simple. It is impossible to suggest that you can choose to disregard messages about violence against women and have no choice but to take seriously the violence advertising inflicts on men and women of color.  In that moment, all that’s really being said is that sexism is OK, but racism is not.

I’m going to make a radical claim. Neither is OK. Heterosexism, ableism, classism, sexism, racism, and all the other ISMs disguised by names like “family values” and “rugged individualism” are not OK. We are not OK and this is no utopia. This world is dangerous and unforgiving. It is scary and difficult and exhausting. If you choose to pretend otherwise, then I can only say you are choosing, openly and without regret, to pit yourself against freedom and equity. You are choosing to perpetuate hierarchy and discrimination, probably because you benefit from it in some way, or because you don’t want to recognize that we are all repsonsible for the world in which we currently reside.

We are all repsonsible. You and me and them and that person over there, checking MySpace. We all have to rethink gender, sex, race, class, sexuality, and ability. We all have to reckon with our inner demons and at the same time, reckon with those demons outside of us who would deny us jobs and healthcare, abuse our sisters, beat our “sissy” boys, or insult our heritage. I’m ready and willing to have these discussions, call a person out when s/he tells a racist joke, or refuse to partronize establisments that support violence (American Apparell, America’s Next Top Model, and McDonald’s: I’m looking at you). This is not a game or a joke to me. It is not a differnce of opinion, a to-ma-to, to-mah-to situation. This is serious. This is survival. So stop playing and take an honest look at the world and your place in it. Own your privilege and your sexism and your racism. Grow up. Even General Mills knows that tricks are for kids.

what grief is

Someday, you will be teaching Race, Gender and Sexuality during the Spring semester. You will spend two weeks talking about the social construction of gender, and more importantly, the social construction of sex. You talk about how biology is flawed, how a two-sex system is a myth, how bodies themselves are never so simple as male or female. You will try to convince your students, at least if they won’t agree, to at least think: think about the possibilities–think about what it would mean to deconstruct this system, to be free of it. 

You will move on in your discussion to talk about sexuality, race. You will draw parallels between the constructions in these “truths.” You will explain that while “God said so” might work for your pastor, it is not a well-reasoned argument in the classroom. You will talk about discrimination, privilege, inequality, hate crimes. You will make jokes with your students about Kanye West, the “gay” agenda, abstinence only education. 

Then, two days away from the end of a class you feel is going really well, a class in which you have tackled serious issues, and have succeeded, at least sometimes, in helping students discover a new perspective and reconsider what they knew to be true, you will casually mention Thomas Beatie, a pregnant transgender man. 

You are unprepared for the repsonse, the sheer hostility such a figure provokes. You are caught so off guard that your breath is literally knocked out of your lungs, and you can feel, if someone says one more hateful thing, you might scream, or worse, cry. You rally as best you can, trying to remind students what you’ve been doing for the past six weeks. You remind them to question their knee jerk reactions, probe as to why they feel as they do. What are they afraid of? What is motivating them? What are they trying to protect? You try your very best to be level–to avoid “going off” or responding out of sheer pain and rage, because you know that such a repsponse is immediately discredited. You remind them they cannot possibly understand what it means to be Beatie–that his life has very likely not been fun and fancy free. That he probably didn’t just wake up one morning and decide he didn’t like boobs or periods and decided to take care of that. That he didn’t later decide he wanted to go back to “being a woman” by having a kid. That he doesn’t just get to have whatever he wants, whenever, how he wants it: as though being a transman and carrying a child is for kicks, just to show he can do it, or worse, just to piss you off. You can’t know, you tell them. 

When I got home, I wanted to call you. I wanted to say:

Today, today I fought for us. I fought for you. I do this all the time, but today I felt you with me. Today those tears unshed were yours. Today the control I exerted was for you, for me, for what we had, and what I hope we can have again. I don’t mean this to say I was fighting for our relationship, because that is over. I mean to say I was fighting for a world where people like you and I could be in love and have a life and just fucking be. 

And when this happens, when this day happens, and I come home, and I cannot call you, I realize this fight, this fight that I have fought a 1,000 times and will fight a 1,000, 000 more–I am losing this fight, as I lost the one for our relationship. In this, as in myself and us, I have failed.