Pub Date : 2018-07-18DOI: 10.5406/WOMGENFAMCOL.6.1.0073
Donna M. Druery, Jemimah Young, Chanda Elbert
In his quest to “Make America Great Again,” Donald J. Trump has actually made America racist and sexist again. Trump’s bid for presidency increased the division in the country and has provided a harbinger of opportunities for those on the fringes of society to take the mainstage with violence and hate-spewed vitriol, maliciousness, and fury. His campaign brought to the forefront people and organizations stoked in racism and divisiveness, such as David Duke, Milo Yiannopoulos, Jason Kessler, and Richard Spencer—all part of the Klu Klux Klan or other alt-right and white supremacist movements. According to the Southern Poverty Law Center (2016), there were almost 900 reports of harassment and intimidation across the nation in the ten days following Trump’s election. In most cases, the perpetrators were strangers to the victims. These perpetrators left their victims with written and verbal messages of hate, inappropriate comments, and damaged property, from painting graffiti on church walls and cars to painting and leaving signs on victims’ houses. Some victims reported physical violence and interactions with the perpetrators as they used Trump’s name to excuse their crimes and loss of common sense and decency. In the discussion that follows, we argue that the election of Donald J. Trump has fostered macroaggressions to replace
唐纳德·j·特朗普(Donald J. Trump)在追求“让美国再次伟大”(Make America Great Again)的过程中，实际上让美国再次出现了种族主义和性别歧视。特朗普竞选总统加剧了这个国家的分裂，并为那些处于社会边缘的人提供了一个机会，让他们用暴力和充满仇恨的尖酸刻薄、恶意和愤怒登上舞台。他的竞选活动将煽动种族主义和分裂的个人和组织带到了前台，比如大卫·杜克、米洛·扬诺普洛斯、杰森·凯斯勒和理查德·斯宾塞——他们都是三k党或其他另类右翼和白人至上主义运动的成员。据南方贫困法律中心(2016年)统计，特朗普当选总统后的10天内，全国共发生近900起骚扰和恐吓事件。在大多数情况下，肇事者都是受害者的陌生人。这些肇事者给受害者留下了仇恨的书面和口头信息，不恰当的评论，以及损坏的财产，从在教堂墙壁和汽车上涂鸦到在受害者的房子上涂鸦和留下标志。一些受害者报告了身体暴力和与肇事者的互动，因为他们用特朗普的名字来为自己的罪行辩解，并失去了常识和体面。在接下来的讨论中，我们认为唐纳德·j·特朗普(Donald J. Trump)的当选助长了宏观侵略
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Pub Date : 2018-07-18DOI: 10.5406/WOMGENFAMCOL.6.1.0069
Cécile Accilien
Perhaps the most insidious and least understood form of segregation is that of the word. (122) This endless struggle to achieve and reveal and confirm a human identity, human authority, contains, for all its horror, something very beautiful. (128) Baldwin says skin color cannot be more important than the human being. (94) Every day I think about where I came from and I am still proud of who I am. (122)
{"title":"Teaching in the Time of “Trumpism”: Reflections on Citizenship and Hospitality","authors":"Cécile Accilien","doi":"10.5406/WOMGENFAMCOL.6.1.0069","DOIUrl":"https://doi.org/10.5406/WOMGENFAMCOL.6.1.0069","url":null,"abstract":"Perhaps the most insidious and least understood form of segregation is that of the word. (122) This endless struggle to achieve and reveal and confirm a human identity, human authority, contains, for all its horror, something very beautiful. (128) Baldwin says skin color cannot be more important than the human being. (94) Every day I think about where I came from and I am still proud of who I am. (122)","PeriodicalId":223911,"journal":{"name":"Women, Gender, and Families of Color","volume":"10 1","pages":"0"},"PeriodicalIF":0.0,"publicationDate":"2018-07-18","publicationTypes":"Journal Article","fieldsOfStudy":null,"isOpenAccess":false,"openAccessPdf":"","citationCount":null,"resultStr":null,"platform":"Semanticscholar","paperid":"131902563","PeriodicalName":null,"FirstCategoryId":null,"ListUrlMain":null,"RegionNum":0,"RegionCategory":"","ArticlePicture":[],"TitleCN":null,"AbstractTextCN":null,"PMCID":"","EPubDate":null,"PubModel":null,"JCR":null,"JCRName":null,"Score":null,"Total":0}
Pub Date : 2018-07-18DOI: 10.5406/WOMGENFAMCOL.6.1.0057
A. Loiselle
Austerity poses one of the most pernicious threats to the ability of new, developing, and established scholars to engage fully and freely in their intellectual environments. Ongoing cuts to all types of high-income and wealth taxes, as well as ambivalence about tracking and collecting such taxes, have led to a shrinking of public revenues and relentless reductions in state and federal appropriations for services. This situation has pushed higher education—especially the most accessible public institutions created to foster democracy and equity—into a fragile condition. As a nontraditional (that is, old) PhD candidate in history and single woman with an unconventional career path now working as a university graduate assistant and adjunct professor at a community college, the consequences of austerity are very tangible to me. They manifest in my weekly budgeting for groceries, in the fact my clothing and kitchen items come from Savers and Salvation Army shops, in the fiddling maintenance of my fifteenyear-old car to get through another annual inspection, in the lack of full-time job postings as I begin my search, in the weekly panic at both institutions about “student numbers” and legislative budgets, in the elimination of course sections at the community college. The cutting and cutting of government funding for public higher education means that any drop in enrollment, even if cyclical or temporary, causes high-impact financial losses at a campus. A heightened sense of precariousness occurred when a distressing family problem, related to another national catastrophe, arose two years ago. I could balance all my scholarly, teaching, financial, and household responsibilities
{"title":"Austerity Undermines Every Effort at Equity and Justice","authors":"A. Loiselle","doi":"10.5406/WOMGENFAMCOL.6.1.0057","DOIUrl":"https://doi.org/10.5406/WOMGENFAMCOL.6.1.0057","url":null,"abstract":"Austerity poses one of the most pernicious threats to the ability of new, developing, and established scholars to engage fully and freely in their intellectual environments. Ongoing cuts to all types of high-income and wealth taxes, as well as ambivalence about tracking and collecting such taxes, have led to a shrinking of public revenues and relentless reductions in state and federal appropriations for services. This situation has pushed higher education—especially the most accessible public institutions created to foster democracy and equity—into a fragile condition. As a nontraditional (that is, old) PhD candidate in history and single woman with an unconventional career path now working as a university graduate assistant and adjunct professor at a community college, the consequences of austerity are very tangible to me. They manifest in my weekly budgeting for groceries, in the fact my clothing and kitchen items come from Savers and Salvation Army shops, in the fiddling maintenance of my fifteenyear-old car to get through another annual inspection, in the lack of full-time job postings as I begin my search, in the weekly panic at both institutions about “student numbers” and legislative budgets, in the elimination of course sections at the community college. The cutting and cutting of government funding for public higher education means that any drop in enrollment, even if cyclical or temporary, causes high-impact financial losses at a campus. A heightened sense of precariousness occurred when a distressing family problem, related to another national catastrophe, arose two years ago. I could balance all my scholarly, teaching, financial, and household responsibilities","PeriodicalId":223911,"journal":{"name":"Women, Gender, and Families of Color","volume":"1 1","pages":"0"},"PeriodicalIF":0.0,"publicationDate":"2018-07-18","publicationTypes":"Journal Article","fieldsOfStudy":null,"isOpenAccess":false,"openAccessPdf":"","citationCount":null,"resultStr":null,"platform":"Semanticscholar","paperid":"114271174","PeriodicalName":null,"FirstCategoryId":null,"ListUrlMain":null,"RegionNum":0,"RegionCategory":"","ArticlePicture":[],"TitleCN":null,"AbstractTextCN":null,"PMCID":"","EPubDate":null,"PubModel":null,"JCR":null,"JCRName":null,"Score":null,"Total":0}
Pub Date : 2018-07-18DOI: 10.5406/WOMGENFAMCOL.6.1.0047
Judy Rohrer
It’s 8 a.m. on November 9, 2016—the morning after. Like so many others, I want to stay in bed and maybe never get up. Instead, I’m sitting in silence with one of my students in my windowless, wood-paneled office in a midsized public university in the rural South. We meet early because he is carrying a full load, working 50-plus hours a week and caring for a family of five. He is an African immigrant who (in his spare time) has been trying to put his education to use organizing against systemic employment discrimination of his community, Swahili-speaking African refugees and immigrants. He is one of the first students to sign up for the social justice minor I created, and I’ve had him in two associated courses. This nontraditional student is a man of few words, and those are often soft-spoken but heavily weighted. That morning he tells me his young son woke up, and his first words were, “Who won?” Hearing the news, his son asked, “Are we going back?” His dad probed as to why he would think that. His son said kids at school said that, if Trump wins, he and his family would have to “pack their bags.” Neither my student nor I knew what to do in that moment. We had no way of knowing all that was coming, but we felt the weight of it through the questions of his young son. Many of my students were students of color, immigrants, first-generation, queer, working. I felt the weight of their anticipated questions that morning as well. In the weeks that followed, I was repeatedly disappointed by, but not surprised by, the response of institutions and some colleagues.
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Pub Date : 2018-07-18DOI: 10.5406/WOMGENFAMCOL.6.1.0118
Kisha C. Bryan
The past year and a half has been quite interesting, as it has been filled with extreme ups and downs that I never imagined I would face in academia and while parenting. When I completed my PhD in curriculum and instruction in 2012, I had no doubt about my ability to prepare teachers for the classroom. I had no doubt about my ability to engage preservice and in-service teachers in critical yet thoughtful rhetoric regarding teaching, learning, and the history of public education in the United States. I had no doubt that I would be able to contribute positively to the education and thought of the next wave of scholars who would undoubtedly find ways to make their research applicable to K-12 classrooms around the world. I am five years out of my doctoral studies, and, while I still have very few doubts about my abilities to effectively prepare the next wave of teachers, my education did not and could not prepare me for the aftershocks of the 2016 presidential campaign and the impact that it is having on my students and the beautiful child that I am raising to be a strong woman of integrity and a productive American citizen.
{"title":"Parenting, Protesting, and Protecting: Confronting Political Elephants in the Classroom","authors":"Kisha C. Bryan","doi":"10.5406/WOMGENFAMCOL.6.1.0118","DOIUrl":"https://doi.org/10.5406/WOMGENFAMCOL.6.1.0118","url":null,"abstract":"The past year and a half has been quite interesting, as it has been filled with extreme ups and downs that I never imagined I would face in academia and while parenting. When I completed my PhD in curriculum and instruction in 2012, I had no doubt about my ability to prepare teachers for the classroom. I had no doubt about my ability to engage preservice and in-service teachers in critical yet thoughtful rhetoric regarding teaching, learning, and the history of public education in the United States. I had no doubt that I would be able to contribute positively to the education and thought of the next wave of scholars who would undoubtedly find ways to make their research applicable to K-12 classrooms around the world. I am five years out of my doctoral studies, and, while I still have very few doubts about my abilities to effectively prepare the next wave of teachers, my education did not and could not prepare me for the aftershocks of the 2016 presidential campaign and the impact that it is having on my students and the beautiful child that I am raising to be a strong woman of integrity and a productive American citizen.","PeriodicalId":223911,"journal":{"name":"Women, Gender, and Families of Color","volume":"25 1","pages":"0"},"PeriodicalIF":0.0,"publicationDate":"2018-07-18","publicationTypes":"Journal Article","fieldsOfStudy":null,"isOpenAccess":false,"openAccessPdf":"","citationCount":null,"resultStr":null,"platform":"Semanticscholar","paperid":"129837031","PeriodicalName":null,"FirstCategoryId":null,"ListUrlMain":null,"RegionNum":0,"RegionCategory":"","ArticlePicture":[],"TitleCN":null,"AbstractTextCN":null,"PMCID":"","EPubDate":null,"PubModel":null,"JCR":null,"JCRName":null,"Score":null,"Total":0}
{"title":"Two Poems","authors":"Rachel Atakpa","doi":"10.2307/arion.25.1.0161","DOIUrl":"https://doi.org/10.2307/arion.25.1.0161","url":null,"abstract":"","PeriodicalId":223911,"journal":{"name":"Women, Gender, and Families of Color","volume":"154 1","pages":"0"},"PeriodicalIF":0.0,"publicationDate":"2018-07-18","publicationTypes":"Journal Article","fieldsOfStudy":null,"isOpenAccess":false,"openAccessPdf":"","citationCount":null,"resultStr":null,"platform":"Semanticscholar","paperid":"123785038","PeriodicalName":null,"FirstCategoryId":null,"ListUrlMain":null,"RegionNum":0,"RegionCategory":"","ArticlePicture":[],"TitleCN":null,"AbstractTextCN":null,"PMCID":"","EPubDate":null,"PubModel":null,"JCR":null,"JCRName":null,"Score":null,"Total":0}
Pub Date : 2018-07-18DOI: 10.5406/WOMGENFAMCOL.6.1.0012
Kayla Elliott, Brittany-Rae Gregory, Crystal A. Degregory
Collectively, we write this essay from our respective positions as a current Historically Black College and University (HBCU) student, an HBCU alumna and graduate researcher, and an HBCU alumna, professor, and administrator. As Black women committed to racial equity and the intersectional study of higher education, we evoke the words of United States Supreme Court Justice Clarence Thomas, who, in the consequential 1992 United States v. Fordice ruling, began his concurring opinion by evoking the words of Fisk University alumnus and noted sociologist W. E. B. Du Bois: “We must rally to the defense of our schools. We must repudiate this unbearable assumption of the right to kill institutions unless they conform to one narrow standard.” Although he remains an adamant dissenter of university admissions policies that consider race, Justice Thomas further offered support for the mission and value of Black HBCUs in his concurring opinion:
总的来说，我们以各自的立场写这篇文章，分别是HBCU当前的黑人学院和大学(HBCU)学生、HBCU校友和研究生研究员、HBCU校友、教授和管理人员。作为致力于种族平等和高等教育交叉研究的黑人女性，我们想起了美国最高法院大法官克拉伦斯·托马斯(Clarence Thomas)的话，他在1992年美国诉福特斯案(United States v. Fordice)的裁决中，以引用菲斯克大学校友、著名社会学家w·e·b·杜波伊斯(W. E. B. Du Bois)的话开始了他的赞同意见:“我们必须团结起来捍卫我们的学校。”我们必须否定这种难以忍受的假设，即有权扼杀机构，除非它们符合一个狭隘的标准。”虽然他仍然坚决反对考虑种族的大学招生政策，但托马斯法官在他的赞同意见中进一步支持了黑人HBCUs的使命和价值:
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Pub Date : 2018-07-18DOI: 10.5406/womgenfamcol.6.1.0097
Kerri J. Malloy
Nature has a way of amplifying human emotion in times of joy, sadness, and crises. On November 9, 2016, the sky over Arcata, California, was a dull gray with dark, foreboding lines that usually precede the onset of a storm, and a mournful silence permeated both town and campus. Walking across Humboldt State University’s campus that day was a disquieting experience. With a student body of roughly 8,000, and a faculty of over 500, it was reminiscent of a scene from the Twilight Zone where the main character wakes up to discover that she is the only individual in the entire town. Walkways were vacant during the transition periods between classes. On the few faces that were making their way between buildings, there was a sullenness that was evocative of the faces of former colleagues on the morning of September 11, 2001. Stillness encompassed the people and buildings; a state of eeriness had taken hold of the campus. By chance, a mentor and colleague was making his way to class; a deep forbiddance was evident on his face. All he could muster to say in response to the results of the election the night before was, “It’s like a family member has died.” Fate had dealt a malicious hand to the campus, as it was also the day for the fall semester “unConference,” themed “Get Uncomfortable at the unConference.” An event that, under usual circumstances, would have been attended by students, faculty, and staff listening to their peers give five-minute lightning talks on activities, experiences, and research, was transformed into a somber gathering of presenters and organizers. Presenters tried to rise to the moment and turn the sparse audience’s thoughts away from contemplating
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Pub Date : 2018-07-18DOI: 10.5406/WOMGENFAMCOL.6.1.0018
Jemimah Young, Dorothy E. Hines
In 2016, during a traffic stop in Cobb County, Atlanta, Georgia, dashcam video showed a police lieutenant informing a female passenger, “We only kill black people.” Public outcry against the officer’s remarks ultimately led to his resignation and retirement to avoid disciplinary action. The horrendous mistreatment of black people and black bodies by law enforcement has led to grassroots organizing so that we will never forget to #SayHerName (Crenshaw et al. 2015). The #SayHerName movement has illuminated racial injustices that many black women and girls have long experienced since the institution of slavery and within our present-day Jim Crow system. For centuries, black girls have been characterized as Sapphires, adultified, and dangerous, or viewed as assailants (Epstein, Blake, and González 2017; Morris 2016; Townsend et al. 2010; Young 1994). The notion that “we only kill black people” simply reinforces the justification of black death. It also espouses the fabric of our American racial caste system (Alexander 2012) that continues to enslave black women in society and rationalizes the benign neglect of black girls in education. Before and after black girls transition through school, they are criminalized by the prison system and are 2.5 times more likely to be incarcerated than white females (Fasching-Varner et al. 2014). In addition, black women are often stereotyped as welfare queens, and white logic has placed them within a constant state of defeminization that is contrasted to the image
2016年，在佐治亚州亚特兰大市科布县的一次交通拦截中，行车记录仪的视频显示，一名警察中尉告诉一名女乘客，“我们只杀黑人。”公众对这名警官言论的强烈抗议最终导致他辞职并退休，以避免受到纪律处分。执法部门对黑人和黑人身体的可怕虐待导致了草根组织，所以我们永远不会忘记#说出她的名字(Crenshaw et al. 2015)。#说出她的名字#运动揭示了许多黑人妇女和女孩自奴隶制制度以来以及在我们今天的吉姆·克劳制度下长期遭受的种族不公正待遇。几个世纪以来，黑人女孩一直被描述为蓝宝石，成年，危险，或者被视为攻击者(Epstein, Blake, and González 2017;莫里斯2016;Townsend et al. 2010;年轻的1994)。“我们只杀黑人”的观念只是强化了黑死病的正当性。它还支持我们美国种族种姓制度的结构(Alexander 2012)，这种制度继续在社会上奴役黑人妇女，并使黑人女孩在教育上的良性忽视合理化。在黑人女孩进入学校之前和之后，她们被监狱系统定为犯罪，被监禁的可能性是白人女性的2.5倍(Fasching-Varner et al. 2014)。此外，黑人女性经常被定型为福利女王，白人逻辑将她们置于与形象相反的非女性化状态中
{"title":"Killing My Spirit, Renewing My Soul: Black Female Professors’ Critical Reflections on Spirit Killings While Teaching","authors":"Jemimah Young, Dorothy E. Hines","doi":"10.5406/WOMGENFAMCOL.6.1.0018","DOIUrl":"https://doi.org/10.5406/WOMGENFAMCOL.6.1.0018","url":null,"abstract":"In 2016, during a traffic stop in Cobb County, Atlanta, Georgia, dashcam video showed a police lieutenant informing a female passenger, “We only kill black people.” Public outcry against the officer’s remarks ultimately led to his resignation and retirement to avoid disciplinary action. The horrendous mistreatment of black people and black bodies by law enforcement has led to grassroots organizing so that we will never forget to #SayHerName (Crenshaw et al. 2015). The #SayHerName movement has illuminated racial injustices that many black women and girls have long experienced since the institution of slavery and within our present-day Jim Crow system. For centuries, black girls have been characterized as Sapphires, adultified, and dangerous, or viewed as assailants (Epstein, Blake, and González 2017; Morris 2016; Townsend et al. 2010; Young 1994). The notion that “we only kill black people” simply reinforces the justification of black death. It also espouses the fabric of our American racial caste system (Alexander 2012) that continues to enslave black women in society and rationalizes the benign neglect of black girls in education. Before and after black girls transition through school, they are criminalized by the prison system and are 2.5 times more likely to be incarcerated than white females (Fasching-Varner et al. 2014). In addition, black women are often stereotyped as welfare queens, and white logic has placed them within a constant state of defeminization that is contrasted to the image","PeriodicalId":223911,"journal":{"name":"Women, Gender, and Families of Color","volume":"1 1","pages":"0"},"PeriodicalIF":0.0,"publicationDate":"2018-07-18","publicationTypes":"Journal Article","fieldsOfStudy":null,"isOpenAccess":false,"openAccessPdf":"","citationCount":null,"resultStr":null,"platform":"Semanticscholar","paperid":"128494696","PeriodicalName":null,"FirstCategoryId":null,"ListUrlMain":null,"RegionNum":0,"RegionCategory":"","ArticlePicture":[],"TitleCN":null,"AbstractTextCN":null,"PMCID":"","EPubDate":null,"PubModel":null,"JCR":null,"JCRName":null,"Score":null,"Total":0}
Pub Date : 2017-12-04DOI: 10.5406/WOMGENFAMCOL.5.2.0105
T. Sarmiento
With the narrow loss of Ferdinand “Bongbong” Marcos Jr.’s bid for the Philippine vice presidency in 2016, thirty years after his late father’s authoritarian regime crumbled, and with ongoing dissent against the senior Marcos’s burial later that year in the national cemetery for heroes, the ghosts of martial law continue to haunt the Philippines and its U.S. diaspora. Noël Alumit’s 2002 novel Letters to Montgomery Clift illustrates the psychic and affective ramifications of martial law displacement and resists the idea that such wounds have healed. Rather than focusing on the intersections of identity structures on the formation of an individual, this essay looks at the protagonist’s relationships to other people to explore the gendered and queered dimensions of diaspora and exile. While the story follows eight-year-old Bong Bong Luwad’s escape from the Philippines under the Marcos dictatorship, his queer sexual discovery in the United States, his coming to terms with his mental illness as a result of being separated from his birth parents, and, importantly, the imaginary relationship he develops with dead American actor Montgomery Clift, I read Alumit’s novel through a transnational queer feminist lens to foreground women’s central role in structuring the narrative. By focusing on the cross-gender affiliations that Bong develops with women, I renew queer engagements with feminist cultural critique. Ultimately, an attention to the affective ties between femininity and queerness in the diaspora engenders alternative accounts of subalternity and the palimpsestic histories of colonization and state terror that complicate how we understand displacement and exile in our contemporary moment. I am Filipino, but I didn’t belong in the Philippines. . . . Home. Where Logan is. And Amada. Mr. and Mrs. Arangan. Home is where I’m wanted. —Spoken by Bong (Alumit 2003, 231) When one bookend is taken away, what was in the middle falls away. —Spoken by Mrs. Andifacio (213) WGFC 5_2 text.indd 105 10/30/17 9:33 AM
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