Too Many White People Challenge: Thoughts on Finding Authors of Color

I’ve decided to do something I’m calling the “Too Many White People Challenge,” named for the simple fact that when I look at my bookshelves, there are far too many white people looking back at me.  When I think about the books I read in school, books I’ve read for fun, books I’ve read for research, the vast majority are unsurprisingly by white authors.  If I want to be an effective advocate against racism and for structural change, then I’d better start reading points of view that don’t come from white people!

The challenge is simple: no white authors for the next 100 books I read.  I’ve made a couple of exceptions for books I’m asked to review and for books I have to read for work, but otherwise, no white authors for the next 100 books.  If you’d like to join me, you can do so at this Goodreads group.  I’m not going to be blogging a lot about this experience here on Radically Queer, because I don’t want it to turn into a self-congratulatory thing, but I’ll check in from time to time.  The Goodreads group is where I’ll be a bit more wordy.

I want to start by sharing some observations I’ve made while looking for books to read.  These are mostly what I expected, but I’m sharing them here in case they’re thoughts that haven’t occurred to some:

1. It’s not necessarily that easy to identify an author of color.  For the sake of efficiency, I had to take some shortcuts that mean I’m missing some of the authors of color on my to-read list.  I went through all my Goodreads to-read shelf, checking off authors of color.  These were almost always authors that I already know, authors with a non-Western name, or books about a race-related subject.  I then went through for the latter two to get rid of the white authors that snuck in.  I’m necessarily going to be missing a lot of authors of color with whom I’m unfamiliar, who are writing about topics other than race.
2. Reading authors of color doesn’t necessarily mean you’re learning about race.  I kept this challenge simple because my goal wasn’t to learn about race, but simply to take white perspectives out of my reading for a while.  Some of the books I’m reading are novels, some are non-fiction, some are even self-help.  There are a few really silly looking chick-lit novels in there.
3. Race is (surprise!) a socially constructed category.  We all know this, but it’s interesting when compiling a list like this to see the principle in action.  I had to ask myself what the goal really was, and decide where I would draw the line for “of color.”  I decided not to include Israeli Jewish authors, for example.  I also decided not to include Turkish authors, though that was mostly for personal reasons, since I’ve studied Turkish and am pretty familiar with the culture.  I did include authors from other parts of the Arab world, but it’s possible I’ve accidentally snuck some white people in there, since you can’t actually look at someone and tell whether or not they’re white, so if a white person is from an Arab country I might not realize.

I’m looking forward to the challenge, despite the difficulties in coming up with a very precise definition of which authors “count.”  I hope some of you will join me?

Radical Reading: A Queer and Pleasant Danger

Kate Bornstein’s memoir, A Queer and Pleasant Danger, out today, is perhaps not what you would expect from the memoir of a white transfeminine person in her mid-sixties.  Unlike some of her peers, Bornstein wrestles with gender and sexuality questions that are often attributed to a younger generation.  This will be no surprise for readers of Bornstein’s earlier Gender Outlaw, but it is refreshing in a genre that is often overwrought with medical history, descriptions of a second puberty, and marital drama.

In fact, a large chunk of A Queer and Pleasant Danger isn’t about a trans topic at all—or at least, not a topic that most would consider trans.  Bornstein chronicles her years in Scientology, from the anorexic and suicidal young man that joined up in Colorado to the high-ranking Sea Org officer who lived on the flagship with L. Ron Hubbard himself in the 70s to the struggling young father trying to establish a presence for the Church in seedy New York neighborhoods.  This portion of the book is hilarious and quite readable, though not without the threads of emotion that you would expect from such a tale told in retrospect.

Bornstein frames the book as a letter to her daughter, Jessica, who was born in the New York years and who is still in the Church with her mother, estranged from Bornstein for the last thirty-two years.  The emotional element comes from the fact that this transgender memoir is really a deceptively simple father/daughter story.  Bornstein never got to be her father’s daughter, but her memories of Jessica are all as “Daddy.”

The transition element weaves throughout the story, from surreptitious crossdressing as a successful salesman for Scientology to transition and eventual rejection by many staunch trans women who couldn’t quite assimilate Bornstein’s notions of gender.  The initial appeal of Scientology for Bornstein was that thetans, the Church’s notion of soul or essential humanity, don’t have a gender.  When she took that flexibility beyond the Church, her trans female peers were evidently not amused.  Bornstein’s queerness, openness to less rigid ideas of gender, and forays into the lesbian SM scene kept her from fitting in with most trans women and cis lesbians and frankly, make it a more interesting book.  At the same time, there are elements of gender hierarchy in Bornstein’s relationships that will likely frustrate any second-wave feminist readers.

As a trans activist, I’ve never quite known what to think of Bornstein, who seems to weave between some really brilliant ideas about gender and some frustratingly foot-in-mouth moments.  But as a writer, she accomplishes the same thing she does as a performer: she draws you into her story and gives you a break from life to laugh along with her.  What she sometimes lacks when asked to be a trans spokesperson or a media pundit, she makes up for in her storytelling.  I would recommend this book to anyone who needs a brief and honest reprieve from the daily grind.

As Bornstein’s one-time partner, David, says, when she asks what she is, exactly—”You’re a mad, mad artist, my dear, and you are awfully cute.”

Review: Captive Genders

I received a review copy of Captive Genders: Trans Embodiment and the Prison Industrial Complex (coming out this month from AK Press) at the perfect time.  I’ve been frustrated by the growing focus in recent months on two of the things I care least about when it comes to queer rights, the two things that the mainstream LGBT movement seems most adamant about: marriage and the military.  It’s impossible to get away from those two topics if you’re following LGBT news, but this book also turned my focus to another problem–that the most-covered “alternative” issues, those focused on individual rights, are still not the most important priority.  Employment and housing discrimination are important but they focus on the middle class.  Hate crimes are a problem, but the kneejerk response of hate crimes legislationtries to solve that problem by using the same harmful official system that terrorizes queer and trans people on a daily basis.

I would recommend this book to any activist, but especially to white, middle-class activists in the “LGBT movement.”  The pieces in this anthology encourage us to get away from the white, middle-class idea of “safety.”  Strong sentences for hate crimes don’t make us safer.  Nor do most of the priorities of LGBT rights organizations.  It is only from a privileged position that we can even believe that there might be a safe, mainstream, assimilated place to work and live.

Conservatives and moderates in the movement, and outside of it, want you to feel safe.  It’s another story of us versus them: it helps those who are disgusted by trans people of color, by poor queer youth, by public queer sexualities, to tug the most powerful and heavily funded segments of the LGBT population away into a zone of “safety” and assimilation.  Of course, many queer and trans people don’t have that luxury, and it’s foolish to think that any of us really do.  Queer and trans people in prison, juveniles in the child “welfare” system, immigrants, sex workers, the homeless, and other marginalized groups are often victims of a cruel and unusual system that targets minorities and encourages oppression.

Review: Feminism for Real

I’ve been struggling for over a month to write this review, not because I didn’t like the book–it’s an amazing anthology, in fact, and I think it should be a mandatory part of the feminist/activist canon–but because as an activist and a writer, my mode is always “do, do, do.”  “Here’s how to make change.”  “Here are five things you can do to improve your world.”  “This is my experience and why it’s relevant to you.”  This review isn’t going to be like that.

Feminism for Real is a challenge to white feminist academics and activists to stop doing.  It’s hard for a lot of us to listen actively and compassionately.  It’s hard to say “I am wrong, my ancestors were wrong, and I cannot fix it.”  I’ve known this for a while, but it’s such a depressing thought, such a disempowering thought, that it’s hard to know what to do with it.  And maybe that’s the point.

This is not our battle.  What white feminists can do is show some respect, be conscious of history, make space for indigenous feminists and other people of color to do good work, and make an effort in our own communities to stop harming others.  We need to recognize how colonialism and imperialism continue to impact huge segments of our societies, and we need to constantly fight against these forces.  It isn’t our job to trumpet indigenous feminism, tell everyone about how the cool ideas native people have about women and other genders, or talk about how down we are with indigenous causes.  Indigenous people are doing that just fine on their own.  It is our job to address the pervasive, continuous, active harm we are perpetrating.

There are a thousand ways to do this.  Attack bad government policy, attack the media, attack educators who wouldn’t know education if it bit them in the face.  Support indigenous communities by giving indigenous people room to work–by speaking out against policies that take away land, culture, and freedom; by fighting rape; by challenging patriarchy.

As Robyn Maynard explains in her piece, “Fuck the Glass Ceiling!” it is important to recognize that the problem is not just marginalization but exploitation.  The harms discussed in this book are not historical, rather we continue to actively perpetrate them.  This is a structural problem for which we need to take collective responsibility.  Maynard explains:

Justice means–justice has to mean–an end to people deliberately destroying generations of cultures, of women, of lives, and of dignity, for personal political and economic gain.

We can do this, but only by taking responsibility and recognizing where law and policy actively harm rather than help.  I would encourage other white feminists and academics to join me in this self-critique, and in the challenge to listen without appropriating.  Feminism for Real provides a collection of essays, poetry, and interviews that are a great first step to listening.  You can find others on the web at Racialicious, SisterSong, INCITE!, and People of Color Organize, to name a few.

You can purchase your own copy of Feminism for Real from the Canadian Centre for Policy Alternatives.  The centre provided me with a copy of this book, and I was not otherwise compensated for this review.

Wendy Shalit’s Return to Modesty

When I’m reading non-fiction, I often come across titles that are referenced as representative as “the other side” and end up curious about those books.  Wendy Shalit’s 1999 book, A Return to Modesty, was one of these, and when I found it on the bookshelf at work I decided to give it a read.

I don’t disagree with every single thing Shalit says, but I do think she’s missing a lot.  Two major “gaps” were evident to me in her argument, which is about things like modest dress and the the hookup culture.  One is that she quotes a few feminists who mention the heterosexism inherent in a “traditional” gendered view of female modesty, waiting till marriage, etc., and she never addresses this argument.  Queer women are completely erased in her book.  Perhaps, not identifying with the conservative movement herself, Shalit would just apply her argument to same-sex marriage and say that gay women should be modest to preserve their sexual allure before marriage, but she is so into gender roles that I’m not sure how that would work.

Second, Shalit talks a lot about modesty vs. prudery, framing modesty as being erotic in its sense of mystery and using that to make the no-sex-before-marriage argument, but she never talks about what happens after marriage.  She seems to me to lose a little credibility because she was, as far as I can tell, a 24-year-old unmarried virgin writing advocating abstinence before marriage.  Since Shalit had no experience at the time of writing of the glorious post-marriage sex she seems to be hyping, one has to wonder.

Certainly, there is some allure to be found in mystery.  Covering up can be sexy, I actually agree with that.  I also agree that if everyone runs around naked, nudity isn’t very erotic.  On the other hand, even beyond the “try before you buy” argument about having sex before marriage to determine compatibility, I just don’t see what happens to her argument about mystery when a couple marries.  So you have all the sexy anticipation, you get married, and… then what?  Mature sexual relationships, including those between married people, require some comfort with our bodies once they are naked, ability to communicate about sex, ability to explore desire, etc.  I’m not saying you can’t have these things if you haven’t had sex before marriage, but I think you need to consider them.

She talks about how nudity often turns people off because it shows people all the body types that exist, all the blemishes and fat and whatever else Shalit considers unattractive.  But those things exist, and it seems to me that Shalit’s argument basically encourages shame about any perceived bodily imperfections, rather than encouraging communication and openness about sex.

I also find Shalit’s argument about androgyny kind of funny.  She seems to think that modern sexualized society encourages women to be sexual and therefore “like men.”  It reminds me a little bit of websites and communities that advertise as “genderqueer” and rather cater exclusively to trans people.  Androgyny is not the same thing as masculinity.  Some of us do have a fairly androgynous approach to sexuality, and that approach isn’t to “have sex like men,” but rather to de-gender sexuality and focus on its elements on their own terms.  And, big surprise, I don’t think there’s anything wrong with that.  When I encounter “womanly shame” or embarassment about sex, I don’t think, like Shalit does, oh, this is a sign that I should embrace female modesty and avoid sex.  I think hmm, this particular practice or partner isn’t something I’m ready for.  It’s time to be honest about that and proceed with caution–a fairly non-gendered response.

Feminist Book Recommendations

I’ve just written a post over on my book blog with three feminist book recommendations.  Check it out if you’re interested!

Tipping the Velvet Discussion

Just a head’s up: Lesbian Book Club version 2.0, so to speak, is up and running over at Goodreads here.  The site is much more user-friendly, and the new version makes it easy to participate and gives you an option of e-mail updates if you want to know when someone’s started a new post.  If you’re someone who was interested in LBC, who signed up over at the original boards but found it frustrating, or if you haven’t heard about it yet but would like to read and discuss lesbian fiction with us, please come on over.  We’re discussing Tipping the Velvet by Sarah Waters this round, but I’ll be adding new features soon including a thread where you can talk about whatever lesbian fiction you’ve read or are reading and maybe some games or challenges.

Lesbian Book Club

I’ve decided to go ahead with the lesbian book club idea.  For our first book, we’ll be reading Stir Fry, by Emma Donoghue.  This book should (I hope!) be at your local library, and if not it’s also available in paperback.  You can also sign up at BookMooch and see if anyone’s giving away a copy.  I will post here each time we’re reading a new book in hopes that new people will find us, but if you’re interested in reading with us now or in the future, please e-mail me at judithavory@gmail.com and I’ll put you on the list for book club news.  Signing up to get e-mails is not a commitment of any kind, just showing that you’re interested and want to be updated.  Keep in mind:

• This is a no-guilt book club.  If you don’t want to read a certain book, can’t find it at your library, don’t have time, or try to start and don’t finish, that’s fine!  Anyone who does finish a book, or even reads part of it (and doesn’t mind being spoiled) can join in the discussion (message board or chat, I haven’t decided that part yet).  Anyone else is welcome to “lurk.”

• I want to give everyone time to read, so we’ll be operating on a two month schedule at first (that may be tweaked if necessary).  We’ll start discussing this book in late August. 

• Please feel free to link this post with friends who might be interested or on your blog.  Everyone is welcome!

Sometimes perhaps it's best to keep my mouth shut

I had an amusing encounter at the bookstore today.  I was perusing the LGBT section, which I tend to do frequently in June when they have 20% off everything for Pride.  I selected Best Lesbian Bondage Erotica 2008 and went to the counter to purchase it.

Me: The sale’s going on until the month of June, right?

Saleslady: Yep, till the end of the month.

Me: Awesome.  This is my third time buying books this month.  *laughs*

Saleslady: *smiles*

Me: I just had to get this one, you know, because my friend has a story in it.  I’d feel guilty otherwise!

Saleslady: *blank look*

I suppose when you buy lesbian bondage erotica, you’re not really supposed to chat about it.  Oops.  Failure at social graces #457.  Oh, well.

Lesbian Book Club, yae or nae?

Would anyone be interested in joining an online lesbian book club?  There would be a book every, let’s say, two months, and then we could talk about it either using a listserv or chat room (or both).  I’d try to pick titles that are likely to be easy to find, so you might be able to participate for free by checking the books out from the library.  If you think you’d be interested, comment to this post.  Also, let me know if you like doing just lesbian-themed books, or if you’d be more interested in a more general women’s/feminist/lesbian theme.  I’ll be asking around on my favourite lesbian and feminist blogs and linking back to this post as well.