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For F*ck’s Sake, Treat Women Like People

September 16, 2024 in Feminism, Gender & Sexuality | No comments

It is an astoundingly simple proposition, and yet here we are.

I shared this blog post about the men who dislike women and how we can tell on my Facebook page, and immediately, friends and acquaintances leapt in to discuss it. Most women were like “yep, that tracks.” Some men were like “Wow, I’d never thought about it that way before,” and I thanked them for taking the time to read it, because really, what system of oppression (and patriarchy is one among many) incentivizes those with power and privilege to actually sit and ponder it? Very few if any.

Then there were some men who wanted to add nuance. Which, sure, nuance is great!

But I noticed at least some of the comments came down to the following: Well, I do like women and enjoy their company, but I don’t act as though I do, because I don’t want them to get the wrong impression (that I’m flirting, that I’m available, etc.). And on the one hand, this is totally valid, because not everyone is available for every romantic configuration at every moment, and no one should have to be – so if people are assuming you are, and that’s making it weird, then yes, dispel that assumption with whichever tools you have at your disposal! And the guys on my Facebook page were respectful in their discussion, so this isn’t aimed at them as much as the general responses I see to this conversation.

However, something strikes me as odd about this idea, that men must manage women’s expectations by acting in unfriendly, antisocial, and even cold ways.

I figure that every single one of these men has social interactions that don’t revolve around the premise or promise of courtship without making it weird. They manage to have daily interactions – from the friendly to the mundane – without making it about sex.

How, dear reader, is such a thing possible?

These men are interacting with other men (and apologies for the assumption of heterosexuality here, it’s among the patterns I noticed in commenters on my post).

In the social world, men interact with other men as part of business transactions, while shopping, while dining, while doing a whole ton of activities. And unless I am missing out on some rad gay subtext happening 24/7 in mainstream social spaces, most of these men are probably managing to do so without hitting on or being hit on.

This is what most of us women want: we want to be treated as human, as a whole-ass person who can have conversations and manage business transactions and throw parties and play sports. If (presumed straight) men can manage to interact with other (presumed straight) men and have a friendly chat while doing whatever other task brings these people together in that moment, why would such a thing not be possible when interacting with women?

And yes, this is a throwback to feminist scholar Catherin MacKinnon’s classic “Are Women Human?” essay, wherein she repeatedly asks the titular question while listing numerous well-documented and sadly common instances of violence against women (rape, assault, domestic violence, street harassment, labor and sex trafficking) and asking why, in each instance, these aren’t framed as horrific human rights abuses to be battled but rather are seen as unfortunate things that simply happen repeatedly to women, as if by complete happenstance.

So I don’t mean to conflate the human subject with the masculine subject; culture has already done it for me! Hence I am borrowing some useful shorthand.

The scenarios men seem to be playing out are ones where they want to avoid inappropriate types of social conduct (wherein sexual availability is falsely presumed), and so refusing to engage with women is the way to go.

Now, I will grant that some men might hesitate to fully engage because they know many women are hit on, preyed on, objectified, and the like, which is an especial bummer when we’re just trying to live our daily lives and suddenly have to live with the reminder that some people see us as walking sex banks (don’t be that guy! Or gal, on the occasions when it happens!). Some men know they occupy tall and large bodies, and want to avoid coming across as threatening. That’s legit too.

But overall, I see some troubling assumptions embedded in these conversations, and so I feel compelled to reminder y’all: WOMEN AND MEN ARE NOT SEPARATE SPECIES!!!

And the really problematic theme I see embedded above is that men apparently feel they need to treat women differently than they’d treat a “regular” person (a.k.a. a fellow man)…because they are worried that women will treat them differently (as a sex object, a conquest, and so on).

Here is where my irony-meter goes through the roof: my good dudes, while this may seem like a problem to navigate when you encounter sexually aggressive women, this too is a symptom of patriarchy. Many women are socially conditioned to pursue higher-status male partners because we goddamn know we’re paid less, and we’re not gonna get maternity leave in this hellhole of a country, and nobody is going to protect us from all the horrific kinds of assaults visited upon women (and often in much worse ways upon women of color and trans women) unless we explicitly recruit those people to our sides by, I dunno, putting a ring on it or whatever. And don’t get me started on how domestic spaces are often even more dangerous for women; I’ll drag out my favorite terrible stat from the CDC about how half of American female homicide victims are killed by present or past male partners.

Feeling like someone doesn’t respect your boundaries or consent, hence you need to put up barriers that make you seem rude or cold or misogynist? That’s a patriarchy problem, because patriarchy teaches that sexual conquest = status, mostly for men, but women are starting to be able to take advantage of this attitude too without the only option being slut-shaming.

Feeling crummy and like someone only wants you for your money? Granted there are greedy people out there of every gender who are just assholes regardless, but, and say it with me: That’s a patriarchy problem, because Western women for centuries couldn’t own property because we WERE the property, and so snagging a man was the most reliable way of guaranteeing one’s quality of life. (brief addendum to remind that the transatlantic slave trade also made people into property, with ongoing consequences even today in terms of generational wealth disparities, state criminalization and violence, and so on; these facts can be discussed in conjunction without detracting from the severity of one another because white supremacy and patriarchy enable one another, and hopefully drawing attention to one starts to poke holes in the armor of the other)

Feeling like it’s more respectful to engage with a woman’s partner socially before engaging with her socially? That’s a patriarchy problem, because it classifies women according to their relationship to the nearest man, making men the gatekeepers of women’s ability to have a social life, just like men have long been the gatekeeper’s of whether women could enter male-dominated fields, or get medical procedures like hysterectomies, ands so on.

And of course—of friggin’ course—the irony-meter is going off when men say things like “it’s really uncomfortable to have women sexually pursue me and treat me like a conquest when I’ve already said I’m married,” because that is an experience women have all the damn time. Yes, it genuinely sucks! People shouldn’t do that to other people! It’s rude! But the overall pattern that exists in this world is one where men relentlessly pursue women, up to and including throwing harassment and violence into the mix, and so when a dude experiences this treatment from women, it is by definition and by the weight of empirical evidence a less common problem, hence not the one I want to devote extensive resources and bandwidth to. Again, yes, very crappy to experience that, but as I’ve pointed out above, these are patriarchy problems, as well as individual-people-being-assholes-regardless-of-gender problems.

One of the reasons why we keep having these damn conversations, and keep trying to explain using clear language what it’s like to be a woman stonewalled by men, or talked over, or whatever, is that by the very definition of being marginalized and socially oppressed, we cannot get our oppressors to listen to us. This is true for pretty much every social justice issue; this is why bystander interventions matter; because dudes are more likely to listen to other dudes than to listen to women, since women are presented as lower-status, less-intelligent, far-more-likely-to-be-hysterical irrational beings who are mostly good for having sex and having babies. We are constantly gaslit about our own experiences, social and professional and medical and more.

So yes, we need dudes tuning into these conversations and realizing “huh, yeah, that’s problematic” and speaking up when they see this behavior from other dudes. Because they’re more likely to be listened to and believed than we are.

If my tone is off-puttingly aggressive, please consider that a) tone policing is bullshit, and b) many of us women have experienced these frustrating dismissals a ton, and we’re tired of being polite about it. It sucks to feel sidelined and dismissed, and my guess is that a lot of dudes can relate, perhaps because racial or class-based discrimination has factored into your lives. So even if gender discrimination is still something you’re trying to wrap your head around because you haven’t experienced it much, chances are good that in this shitty racist and classist society, you’ve been put down for a trait that is not your fault, that is some arbitrary nonsense, and that hurt. The parallels don’t always function 100% but hopefully you see what I’m getting at—being judged and treated differently for an inborn trait suuuucks, and by being a dude who listens to women when we have these conversations, you have the chance to make a difference and stop perpetuating those small acts of bigotry and prejudice that add up and make things shittier.

To conclude, for fuck’s sake, please treat women like people. Don’t make it weird by assuming that you need to jump through all these bizarre hoops in order to fulfill the minimum politeness required in social interactions. Just, like, talk to us like human beings!

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Thinking about Gender & Harm in Relationships (yes, this is about the recent accusations)

July 7, 2024 in Feminism | No comments

A person wearing a blank white masking, holding a finger in front of their mouth to indicate silence.

Caveats and trigger warnings are in this paragraph; read or skip as desired. This piece is mostly written about instances where (presumed cisgender) men assault (presumed cisgender) women, but of course there are other forms abuse can take. There are more than two genders and more than two sexual orientations, but again, the bulk of the evidence points towards men being the perpetrators of sexual violence (and other forms of violence) towards women, so that is what I’m focusing on here. This post mentions domestic violence and gaslighting but does not go into detail about any forms of abuse.

As I write this, another prominent man is being accused of sexual assault (you can likely fill in the blank whenever you’re reading this, which is one of the points of this piece: harassment and assault are pretty ubiquitous).

This piece is not about the truth behind said accusations; I rather like the framing here, Someone you care about was just outed as a sex creep: a beginner’s guide, which counsels patiently listening in order to learn and understand more.

Rather, I am trying to work out the following argument for myself while sharing it with an audience, in case it’s of any use to y’all: why does it matter, or why should it matter, that a public figure quite possibly has abusive or exploitative sexual relationships? Why should anyone care? And I also want to explore the implications for women in particular, because so many of these conversations revolve around consented-to sex.

In the recent example on my mind, a few of Influential Man’s (IM’s) past partners have come forward stating that he acted in non-consensual ways during their relationship. Some people’s response is to shrug it off and state that sometimes people hurt each other in relationships, that’s normal, that’s just life.

While I’m not a philosopher, I’m deeply curious about what’s going on here and why we should care—whether we should care at all. I do read a fair bit of feminist philosophy these days, and so I’m going to bring some of those sources to bear on this topic.

As Amia Srinivasan writes in The Right to Sex: Feminism in the Twenty-First Century: “Sex, which we think of as the most private thing, is in reality a public thing” (xii). By this, she refers to the gender roles we learn and project onto sex in terms of who deserves pleasure, who must be the most giving, and so on (surprise, these are highly gendered roles). But I think this phrase also applies to the kinds of sex that are legible as deserving of privacy or not. If you’re having sex in some kind of culturally legible relationship (probably heterosexual, probably monogamous, probably not transactional in the sense of being sex work), then what happens for you sexually is deemed to be your own business.

In other words, the sex we have in relationships is seen as private, even as the gender roles we are socialized into quite publicly dictate how the sex we have privately should look.

What makes sexual assault accusations tricky to navigate, in part, is this cultural sense that what is perceived as being private should stay private. Trying to take private business public feels off, because it goes against this cultural logic.

Why, then, should we care about what happens privately between two people?

If I try to put this in the most neutral terminology possible, this is what I end up with: a person has repeatedly hurt someone close to them, either intentionally, or by simply being ignorant of that person’s consent, comfort, and boundaries. Maybe they even got off on abusing that person’s trust (though I must say, all the sadists I know are quite careful to ensure that their partners are a) masochistic and b) consenting).

If we put this scenario in any context outside the bedroom, it sounds a bit different: “Yeah, Joe is a nice guy, but he has tortured the last few pets he’s had.” “Oh I’m still friends with Brad, he only harasses his coworkers.” “My cousin Finn is so much fun when we go out, unless you’re working at the places where we party, then he’s kinda a dick.”

If we swap the category of “person they’re in a relationship with” to “any other type of human” then this framing gets real concerning real fast. Saying that someone’s a decent person except to One Type of Person sound pretty bad. Especially if that type of person is, like, historically marginalized. “Oh yeah, he’s a good guy, except to Black people…except to Native Americans…except to…” you can fill in the blank as you chose.

So why is it different to be like “Oh yeah, he’s a good guy, except to his partners” when his partners are mostly women? How does this not leave us with some sort of conclusion that this person views women’s experiences as less important, less worth prioritizing, than their own? How is that not a tad bigoted or even perhaps dehumanizing?

The issue is magnified when I put it like this: a person with large amounts of social and/or economic power has repeatedly hurt someone close to them, either intentionally, or by simply being ignorant of that person’s consent, comfort, and boundaries.

This is…concerning. Because one of the slippery things about this current round of Influential Man accusations is that they were in a consenting relationship…but one person having significantly more social power than another is definitely a form of power, and it can be make saying “no” that much harder. One party having more power than the other can create its own coercive context, even if everyone technically counts as a consenting adult.

I’m not alone in wondering whether the power disparity of gender roles in a patriarchal/misogynist society like ours counts as a coercive context, especially when it comes to public discussions of when things go wrong. In Srinivasan’s words:

The question, from a feminist perspective, is why sex crimes elicit such selective skepticism. And the answer that feminists should give is that the vast majority of sex crimes are perpetrated by men against women. Sometimes, the injunction to “Believe women” is simply the injunction to form our beliefs in the ordinary way: in accordance with the facts. (10-11)

False accusations occasionally happen. This case—whichever one we’re on, as of when you’re reading this—could turn out to be one of those, or not. As The Jennifer Conspiracy reminds us in their Medium post linked above, when it came to the allegations against George Takei: “Fandom was heartbroken by it, but over time as more information came out, it became clear that it was very likely not true. This is why it’s so important to keep paying attention no matter how you feel about the potential validity of the accusation upon first hearing about it.”

I think I’m inclined to view this phenomenon as a metonym for problematic sex, much in the same way that Srinivasan suggests that feminists in the 1980s and 1990s collectively lost their shit over pornography:

The intensity of the “porn wars” is more understandable when you bear in mind that porn came to serve, for feminists of an earlier generation, as a metonym for “problematic” sex in general: for sex that took no account of women’s pleasure, for sadomasochistic sex, for prostitution, for rape fantasies, for sex without love, for sex across power differentials, for sex with men. (35)

Perhaps these discussions of whether Influential Man did it, and whether or not and how it should matter, are ways of talking about so many of the other issues women feel silenced on…at least when it comes to being heard and seen by their male partners. Domestic violence rates remain high. My female friends keep getting assaulted. If no one will listen when we talk about what happens to us, maybe they will listen when we use public figures to have a very similar conversation. Again, Srinivasan says it best:

Men have chosen not to listen because it has suited them not to do so, because the norms of masculinity dictate that their pleasure takes priority, because all around them other men have been doing the same. (21)

To paraphrase from one of my favorite Saturday Night Live skits, “Welcome to Hell:”, when asked why they didn’t say anything about the constant harassment: they definitely did! for hundreds of years! but, like, no one cared!

To again return to the question of why we should care about strangers’ sex lives (because mostly we don’t, and when we do, it can be deeply invasive and bad; see, like, all of American history with sodomy and contraception laws and all that nonsense, which I discuss in my book Sex Education 101), I find it telling when we suddenly care and want to discuss all the details we have and don’t…when it’s an Influential Man perpetrator. Would we have cared about the women coming forward otherwise? Would we have even known who they are?

(and for fuck’s sake, people, stop with the “why is she only coming forward now” nonsense—you’ve seen how the collective treats those making accusations, right?)

The extensive pondering of what might have happened in these relationships, how bad his actions really were, seems to result in a punitive shitstorm for the women coming forward, while the men mostly wriggle free from lasting consequences. Again, there are exceptions, but it’s a pretty damn noticeable pattern.

And looking at all of this stuff, it seems to me that one of the messages to women is that when we consent to sex, when we are in a relationship with a man, we are consenting to potential harm. And yeah, people in relationships are gonna hurt each other no matter what, blah blah blah, that kind of truism is both true and vague enough to not really be helpful. And yeah, there are always exceptions to the pattern I’m focusing on here.

Because the more I look at these instances, regardless of which Influential Man is being accused today, the more I see the subtext of what we’re asking the women: “But what did you think would happen? Why are you surprised you got hurt? Why are you even talking about it?”

This pisses me off because not only is it some gaslighting bullshit, but it also, as noted above, presumes that when women are in relationships with men, some hurt is inevitable, and it’s pretty one-sided (again, FFS, not all men, I know). American culture (and perhaps Western culture more generally) continues to view women as human givers, in Kate Manne’s terms: as humans who owe their sexual, domestic, emotional, and/or reproductive labor to the full human beings who inevitably happen to be men.

Not only that, but as I noted above, the abuse rates keep climbing—and by golly, by gosh, who are the men abusing these women if they’re not Influential Man #1, Influential Man #2, Influential Man #3, and the rest of the Influential Men we like? If being a (heterosexual-ish) woman means entering a social contract that our consent and our pleasure don’t matter as much as men’s do, are we supposed to only date Influential Men because they can clearly never be abusers?

There is no good conclusion to this post because there is no good conclusion to this topic—another year, another Influential Man dealing with sexual assault or harassment accusations, another very public debate about what actually happened, another bout of grappling with what this means and why we should care and so on. I’m a teacher, so I believe we are innately capable of learning, but I don’t know that rehashing these conversations will do us much good until roughly half the population learns that the other half deserves to have their consent taken seriously (with apologies for the binaristic phrasing, but again, that’s the pattern I’m talking about here and it’s the pattern the bulk of the data points towards as being a huge problem).

At risk of sounding hideously second-wave-feminist, women aren’t just sex objects, passive partners in sexual interactions that, while consenting, don’t really matter apart from their presence. And until we figure this one out—and inform men that yes, abusive or otherwise shitty behavior in the context of a relationship does actually count in the real world—we’re just going to keep having the same conversation over and over again.

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Removing Shame from the Dance Classroom

August 19, 2015 in Dance, Education | 7 comments

Me performing at Tribal Revolution, June 2015. Photo by Carrie Meyer.

I attended the Woodhull Summit on Sexual Freedom last weekend, and while there, took part in an excellent workshop on shame led by sex educator Charlie Glickman. As I was taking notes and live-tweeting as much of Glickman’s fantastic content as I could, I began to notice some points of overlap between shame resilience techniques and the way I teach dance.

The first point of overlap is that when we’re talking about shame, we can discuss not only what it is and how it feels, but also how it looks on the physical body. Glickman defines shame as the sense that one is a bad person, and that shaming oneself or others is often destructive, but it can also lead to positive outcomes, such as giving one an incentive to not do certain unhealthy things again. Yet the discussion of shame can go much deeper than emotion & reaction; we can also talk about the physical behaviors that embody shame.

This is where it gets really interesting to me, since I’m a huge fan of discussing embodiment. According to Glickman’s research, shame gets embodied through:

  • Looking away or breaking eye contact
  • Physical disconnection
  • Closing off one’s heart or slouching
  • Silence

If anyone has seen Amy Cuddy’s TED talk about posture, you’ll know that she basically substantiated through research a correlative relationship between posture and performance. People who hold confident “power postures” perform better on all sorts of tests and by all kinds of measures, and people who do the opposite do worse. The lower-confidence, less-powerful postures all align with shame embodied states.

This is where teaching belly dance comes in. Specifically, I teach American Tribal Style® Belly Dance, wherein posture is supremely important. We borrow a lot from flamenco, which accounts for some of our uplifted posture, and ultimately, much of the dance form’s overall aesthetic emphasizes lifted lines, which you can see in the photo of me performing that’s at the top of this blog post. By merely teaching this dance form, and by constantly reminding my students to maintain their posture, I’m helping them with a small mental hack to improve their emotional states. It might be a tiny thing in the context of their lives, and I don’t have peer-reviewed research to back this up, but I believe that I’m doing something to combat shame-induced posture and thereby contributing a little bit of positivity to my dance students’ lives.

The second point of overlap has to do with my teaching practices. There are a number of things that feed shame, such as unspoken rules, bigotry, and unhealthy hierarchy. Guess which things I don’t allow in my dance classes? I make all of my classroom rules explicit, and I do so with gentle humor, like when I correct someone’s “I can’t!”speech to a phrase of “I can’t…yet.” (example: “I can’t shimmy!” “If you’re going to say ‘I can’t’ remember to throw a ‘yet’ in there, so you can’t shimmy yet, but you will.”) I don’t let my students get away with body-shaming statements, even when they sound completely innocuous because they’re so dang common in our culture. I encourage an open learning environment by constantly asking if they have questions, and always making it safe to ask, or to take time for self-care, or really, anything they need.

It might sound like I run a loosey-goosey dance class but believe me, my dance students learn. They drill. They achieve really wonderful things. I try to tell them how proud I am of them, in blog posts like this one and in person.

I’ve felt shame in the dance classroom before, and it’s no fun. I try to structure my dance classes in such a way that my students will rarely go to that place, and if they do, hopefully we can work through it together to get somewhere useful. As Glickman noted in his presentation, not all shame is bad; it can be an adaptive response, depending on how you handle it and what you draw from the experience of it. It’s my hope that if shame ever surfaces in my dance classroom, we’ll work with it and through it together.

The final point I’d like to make is that shame is about disconnection, and its opposites (love, growth, healing, and community) are about connection, emotional and otherwise. My teaching style encourages a sense of trust in the dance classroom: in fellow students, in me, and in the wonderful improvisational dance language we practice together. In a broad sense, my hope is that by teaching a style of dance that gently pushes students into connecting with one another through eye contact and trust (because as a follower you have to trust the leader giving the cues for the next move, and when you lead, you have to trust the followers to be synced up with you), I’m paving the way for connection rather than disconnection, for empathy and love rather than shame.

I know that the sense of connection I found through tribal dance has benefited me in innumerable ways, including saving my life during a rough patch. This discussion of shame vs. connection is still a little abstract, and again, I don’t have empirical studies to back me up here. But when I see my dance students returning session after session and sticking with the style, I see them blossoming and incrementally becoming more trusting of each other when they dance, and more confident in general.

Sometimes people remark on how I do such disparate things in my life – writing, folklore, sex education, dance – and this is one example of how everything ties together. I went to a sexual freedom conference, attended a fantastic panel on shame, and realized that my dance teaching style is implicitly geared toward removing shame from the dance classroom in order to foster connection, confidence, and caring. How cool is that?!

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Teaching, Touching, and Pleasure

June 9, 2015 in Academia, Dance, Gender & Sexuality | No comments

Teaching a belly dance workshop. Photo by Pauline Shypula.

Teaching a belly dance workshop. Photo by Pauline Shypula.

I just got back from the annual conference of the American Association of Sexuality Educators, Counselors, and Therapists (AASECT). Since I’ve started doing more work as a sex educator, it made sense for me to go, and while I learned tons about sexuality, it also provided me with valuable opportunities to reflect on the connections between teaching, touching, and pleasure.

There’s a lot of concern in sexuality fields (particularly counseling and therapy) about maintaining ethical boundaries when practicing with a client. Obviously the same concern applies to sex educators too, but it seemed less pronounced. I attended one panel on the ethics of touch, which focused on touch-based practices like sex partner surrogacy and sexological bodywork. There’s so much ethical grey area around these professions that long-time AASECT board members were dodging the question of whether an AASECT certified therapist can even ethically recommend these kind of hands-on treatments to a client (even when it seems like the best modality to help that client). I listened in on related conversations, too, and those helped me put into context the real fear of bodily connection that many people in the sexuality field seem to have, because of how connecting through touch is seen as dangerous both since it risks intimacy that can compromise a professional relationship, and because it just looks bad to an erotophobic culture like ours (plus there are potential legal ramifications, because getting paid to touch people in certain ways is illegal in many parts of the world). Touch – especially sexual and/or pleasurable touch – is incredibly suspect to people today, and that’s a shame in my opinion, because it can definitely be healing.

The two main venues I teach in – the academic classroom and the dance classroom – allow me to handle connection in different ways. In the academic classroom, it’s rare that I have a reason to touch my students, which is fine by me. We do, however, spend a lot of time connecting intellectually. I believe that face-to-face conversations offer hugely important ways of conveying both information and critical thinking strategies, and I think my teaching would suffer if I had to give up the live, face-to-face component.

Unlike touch, I do try to incorporate pleasure into my academic teaching. I let it show when I’m excited about a topic. I praise students when they pick up a concept quickly or bring a pertinent example to class, knowing that many will receive a compliment with pleasure. I try to make things “fun” without capitulating to an all-play, no-work atmosphere. Pleasure is a frequent guest in my classroom, and I like it that way. If teaching and learning weren’t pleasurable, I’d wonder where I was going wrong. I think this helps in the creation of a safe space: my students trust me not to drag them through unnecessarily tedious or unpleasant stuff all the time, and to make topics fun and exciting, and so that when we do have to buckle down and do the hard work, they’ll be ready to come with me on that journey (at least, that’s what I like to believe is happening).

In the dance classroom, I do touch my students. I try not to do it very often, and I certainly keep it appropriate. I ask consent very frequently, even though they sign waivers before stepping into the studio with me. Here, as with the academic classroom, I believe it’s important to establish a precedent that involves a fair bit of trust. I think they need to trust that I won’t unexpectedly come up behind them and touch them without warning, which carries over from social norms in the rest of life. As in other areas of life, I try to model good consent practices, in part because lots of people don’t get this information elsewhere, and in part because it’s central to how I choose to live my life.

Pleasure also figures significantly in the dance classroom, especially for my main style of dance, belly dancing. It’s pleasurable to learn to skillfully move your body, and to adorn yourself to practice. I make a point of complimenting students when they do things right. The thrill of learning to improvise, as we do in American Tribal Style® Belly Dance, carries its own unique sense of enjoyment. As a dance teacher, I try to harness these modes of pleasure and give my students multiple opportunities to explore them.

Learning can be plenty intimidating: fear of failure, feeling stupid, not getting things right, feeling overwhelmed, ramifications for failure (like with grades or wasted money on a class), and so on. Having solid boundaries around touch (when it has a role in that kind of classroom) and incorporating pleasure can both be ways of engaging students and making them feel connected. I don’t think my use of touch or pleasure in either context is inappropriate, but the more I get into the sexuality field, the more I see people scrutinizing – and in some cases fearing – touch and pleasure. In these cases, I want to figure out what’s really going on, and then continue to do what I pride myself on: putting the students first.

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Taboo Topics in the Classroom

April 23, 2015 in Academia, Education, Gender & Sexuality | 1 comment

This file was shared under a Creative Commons Attribution image from Wikimedia Commons. Thanks to user Stefan-Xp for sharing it.

Over at my sex education blog, Sex Ed with Dr. Jeana, I have a post called Syphilis in the Social Sciences Classroom. In it, I describe the ways in which syphilis has proved to be a relevant STI for me to bring into my anthropology and gender studies classes.

For all the silence around STIs today in the U.S., you’d think STIs were a taboo topic – and for many they are. As I’ve already discussed, teaching sex education is not the same as encouraging sex, despite the claims of those who believe that teaching about something is the same thing as endorsing it. Add in the (unwarranted) shame and stigma of admitting that you’ve got an STI, or are even interested in learning more (“for a friend,” right?) and it becomes clear that simply talking about STIs is a revolutionary act in many contexts.

I’ve taught plenty of taboo topics (non-monogamy, BDSM, trauma, Freud, feminism) in my college classes, and while there’s no magic trick to getting it right, I’ve found a couple of things that tend to work well for me. Here are some of my favorite strategies:

  • Explicitly acknowledge that teaching about a topic is not the same as endorsing it. This is one example of how I’ll often use verbal communication to the point where it seems way too obvious to even bother saying, which is why I go ahead and say it anyway. I’d much rather sound a tad silly than risk misunderstanding.
  • When introducing the topic, ask students what their impression of the topic is. Perhaps we old fogies are clinging to taboos of our day, while our students might be pretty well over something. Or maybe they’ll shed some light on an aspect of the topic that hadn’t occurred to us.
  • Try to find that balance between acknowledging that a topic is controversial, and introducing it as just another thing people do, hence worthy of scholarly attention. Take, for instance, my approach to kink in the classroom in my blog post And Then I Brought Up Flesh Hooks. Normalizing human sexual behavior – especially when it’s been stigmatized – is a huge mission of mine as a sex educator and an educator in general, and thus I try to talk about things in a not-terribly sensationalistic way. Again, if people are doing it, it’s worthy of study (from the hybrid social sciences/humanities perspective that I’ve come to as an interdisciplinary folklorist and gender studies scholar).
  • Give students time to respond to the topic in a less-structured way, such as journaling, doing an in-class writing prompt, or talking in pairs. Allowing them to process their feelings in some forum other than talking in front of the whole group, or having to answer directed questions from you, can be beneficial.
  • Frame the conversation with a set of rules, boundaries, or guidelines for respectful discussion. I like to remind my students that it’s okay to disagree with me, with the reading/texts, and even with each other, so long as they do it politely. In certain conversations I’ll emphasize that no one’s required to share anything about their personal lives, but only to engage with the material as it’s handled in the class. The way I do this, it’s less about creating a “safe space” where everyone feels 100% comfortable and nurtured all the time, but rather creating a space where people feel supported in speaking up, and where it’s okay to challenge and be challenged.
  • Divide students into groups and have them debate different facets of the topic. Again, this might bring up ideas and issues that I haven’t even considered.
  • Give them an opportunity to make up classroom credit if a topic proves to be triggering or emotionally activating. This might be listening to a podcast, reviewing a blog post, watching a TED talk, or something along those lines. Since I deal with sexual topics a lot in my classroom, I tend to have a lot of these options floating around my brain at any given moment, in case somebody needs to pass on participating.

At risk of being snarky, I’m sure it helps that I have white, middle-class privilege and thus can bring up certain topics without being seen as too offensive. At the same time, being a woman means I probably come across as nurturing and supportive when I don’t necessarily think of myself that way, which may help students feel more comfortable during difficult discussions. I’m not thrilled about these areas of privilege, but I have to acknowledge them, and I might as well try to use my privilege to benefit others, by creating unique educational opportunities.

I’ve never had anyone tell me not to teach a topic, or that I was being too controversial, or that I would be penalized for anything I taught. But I’m sure there’s a first time for everything. In the end, I try to keep in mind that teaching is less about my experience (as much as I might feel like a bad-ass for handling touchy topics with grace) and more about the students’ experiences, and that helps me navigate some of these tricky subjects. In the end, if it doesn’t benefit them, why am I doing it?

What about you? How do you handle taboo topics in the classroom?

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Activist Conversations

March 31, 2015 in Academia, Gender & Sexuality | 1 comment

Image from Wikimedia under a Creative Commons license. Originally uploaded by user Fry1989.

I thought about putting this post over at my sex education site, but decided to publish it here instead. Why? Because I’m increasingly convinced that activism needs to be a part of my scholarship as well as my daily life.

The state in which I currently reside, Indiana, has passed a so-called “Religious Freedom Restoration Act” (RFRA, also known as SB101). As this Huffington Post blogger explains, it basically opens the door to discrimination against groups that are not currently protected from such – namely, LGBTQ folks and other sexual minorities, anyone to whose existence a religious group might object.

While I generally support protests and even certain boycotts, in part to raise consciousness and in part to display displeasure, I have to agree with friend and colleague Mike Underwood who states:

Rather than a blanket boycott of Indiana, I’d suggest a strategic and vocal boycott of businesses seen to use this law to discriminate against marginalized persons. Instead why not vocally patronize inclusive businesses?

And on top of that, fight to make sexual orientation a protected class for the entire state, and to get SB 101 overturned so a more reasonable protection for religious expression can be crafted and implemented.

Boycotts punish everyone, and tend to disproportionately hurt smaller business of those already marginalized.

That’s why I’ve started asking establishments that I go into what their policy on RFRA is. And you know what? It seems like a small act, but it has so much potential.

Already I’ve spoken with employees at my favorite cafe on the northside of Indy, and heard that they promote tolerance and inclusion. I cheekily replied that I’d be happy to give them more of my money. What I wasn’t expecting was for one of the employees to approach me as I was packing my things to leave, and to warmly thank me for bringing up the issue. That was really touching, and a good reminder that activism isn’t just about creating concrete change in economic patterns, but also about connecting with people.

On the scholarly side, we’ll see how much attention I can give this issue in my classroom. On the one hand, I may not need to mention it much, as my wonderful students this semester have already posted links to relevant news in our online discussion group. On the other hand, my status as a PhD-wielding college lecturer gives my words a certain amount of weight, and so speaking up might infuse some opinions with a bit more legitimacy, and give my students something to fall back on if they want to mention our hypothetical classroom discussions to their peers or family members.

As Kelly J. Baker points out, scholarship and activism have an uneasy relationship: “Activism appears to have merit when it can be neatly attached to one’s scholarship or a vision of a shared politics.” I’m already pretty “out there” as a scholar who does a lot of work on gender, sex, and sexuality, so it’s probably not surprising to anyone  that I hold the position that RFRA is thinly-disguised homophobic bigotry.

We’ll see how things go with this (abhorrent) piece of legislation. I’m going to try to speak up as much as I can, in both formal and informal settings, in part because I have a privileged position as an institutionally-recognized scholar, and in part because I get to vote with my wallet, and make human connections while doing so. I also get to lean on some personal privilege here, as I walk around wearing a wedding ring and am cisgendered. In my mind, one of the better things to do with privilege is use it to challenge the status quo and help others out, so hopefully I can do some of that here.

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Keep Your Woo Out of My U.

January 13, 2015 in Academia | No comments

This won’t be as citation-laden as many of my posts on academia are, so please feel free to ask if you’d like references. Mostly, though, I encourage you to sit back and enjoy the rant.

As a scholar, I engage in a lot of qualitative research, ranging from fairy-tale interpretation to studying the numinous in dance. I love me some qualitative research – but even then, I’d like to note that there are methods, theories, and disciplinary frameworks to keep us from wandering off too far into hyper-subjective la-la land.

I really loathe bad scholarship (view one of my rants on the topic here), but obviously that’s a somewhat subjective judgment. I get annoyed when people make erroneous assumptions, such as that everyone is equally knowledgeable about folklore (you’re not), or that all folklorists are good for is writing children’s books (we’re not). Ungrounded assumptions have no place in the academy, in my view.

So, with those two admissions up front, I have to say: I really hate it when stuff that is not empirically, well, anything gets discussed as though it’s valid in an academic context. I am all for personal exploration when it comes to spirituality, religion, and Jungian-type analysis. Hell, I’ve published on Tarot (though I’ll note that it was a historical overview of Tarot iconography in light of feminist spirituality, so, something that can be examined in terms of evidence and theories). I’m not saying that all inward-looking work is useless, or irrelevant, just that I dislike seeing it in a university setting.

Two examples come to mind: the works of Carl Jung and Joseph Campbell, and the practice of Tantra. My folklore mentor, Alan Dundes, had a lot to say about Jung Campbell, but what I’ll point out here is what Jung himself has said: that archetypes are essentially unknowable. I’m sorry, but if something is unknowable, then it cannot be empirically investigated and thus is has no place in academic discourse. Use it all you want in your personal life, but keep it out of my peer-reviewed journals and accredited schools, please. In terms of Tantra, I just. don’t. get. it. I’m not sure if I’m more dumbfounded that anyone believes that there could be an unbroken chain of cultural transmission that’s thousands of years old, or that it’s being promoted within academic settings as something that can be empirically conceptualized and used. I’m all for reaping the benefits of mindfulness, deep breathing, and connecting with people via eye gazing… but why not just call it those things?

Again, I like qualitative research. I think it adds a necessary complement to quantitative research. I love working in the humanities as well as the social sciences. I think art is incredibly important. I recognize that there are subjective components in the classroom, and those are often incredibly important to the student’s overall learning experience. But if there’s not some empirical aspect to what you’re doing, if there’s not some way to replicate the study or teach it or even to use language accurately to define or discuss it, then I don’t want it in official academic discourse.

It’s entirely possible that I’m missing something here, or overlooking some important function that “woo” stuff serves as a complement to the rest of what happens in the university. But mostly I’m annoyed that this stuff gets airtime when it doesn’t really stand up to the same rigor that the rest of what we’re supposed to engage with does.

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Sex in a Limited Good Economy

July 30, 2014 in Feminism, Folklore, Gender & Sexuality | 2 comments

When a friend shared a link to Why We Care About Other People’s Sex Lives, a look at the evolutionary psychology behind ideas of sexual morality, I was skeptical. As I’ve ranted about to anyone who will listen, I have a hate-hate relationship with evolutionary psychology and related fields such as literary Darwinism. They’re just so… essentializing. Ugh.

But the above-linked article caught my interest. The author looks at a number of recent studies about how people judge casual sex. In one instance: “Even after controlling for variables like age, religiosity, and political affiliation, the study authors found that people who saw female financial dependence on men as more common were also more likely to negatively judge promiscuity in both sexes.” Why does this occur? I’m not inclined to go with the evo psych reductionist reasoning that women are less horny than men but simultaneously more calculating; instead, I’d like to draw some parallels between sexual and economic principles.

What do sexual morality and financial dependence have in common? The concept of limited good. As folklorist Alan Dundes explains in this interview about evil eye beliefs: “The idea is that many peasant societies have what anthropologist George Foster refers to as the concept of ‘limited good.’ There’s only so much wealth and health. So you want to conceal your wealth because people are going to wish that they had it, otherwise you’ll lose it.” Dundes goes on to argue that expressive culture (in this case, folk belief about the evil eye) reflects a society’s underlying worldview of paradigm about economic exchange.

So when we have an economic system that commodifies certain kinds of social and sexual interactions (such as marriage) by directly tying them to one’s ability to survive and thrive, it’s not surprising to see that same attitude reflected in a society’s sexual attitudes. The fear about not enough potential (and desirable) spouses to go around (hence not enough access to married-life-resources) affects beliefs about sexual practices, turning sex into a commodity when really, it doesn’t have to be that way. We know from the non-monogamous emotion of compersion (feeling joy when someone else feels joy) that it’s possible to react to sharing your partner with another with positive, constructive emotions rather than destructive, possessive, jealous ones.

I sometimes wonder how sexual behaviors and stereotypes will change in my utopian vision of the future, wherein we move from a limited good economy to one where marriage isn’t required to obtain health insurance, citizenship, or other concrete goods. Will sex ever be de-commodified? I’m not sure, but I hope we move more in that direction.

Oh, and there’s another, simpler idea that I’d like to extract from the essay on sexual morality: the notion that a society’s attitudes about sexuality can (and perhaps should) change over time. The authors of Sex at Dawn (which I review here) also implicitly explore this concept. What I like about the idea that attitudes about sex are always evolving is that it recognizes that sexual behavior is always culturally constructed. Our ideas about sex are always changing due to a confluence of various factors: the ways in which we have sex change, our social paradigms (some of which explicitly relate to sex) change, and our scientific understanding of sexual functioning is always evolving too.

Basically, there’s always been an amazing diversity of sexual practices throughout human history. In my mind, that’s as it should be. There is no one way to have sex. There is no universal, monolithic meaning of sex. The only thing that’s universal about sex – other than it happening to continue humankind’s existence on this world – is that I believe sex should be considered among the list of universal human rights.

So, let’s keep up the dialogue about sex and society. Hopefully a greater understanding of how these paradigms intersect and influence one another will lead to more tolerance and progressive social change.

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Would You Do It To A Pet? …and Other Ways to Discuss Deviance & Consent

April 23, 2014 in Feminism, Gender & Sexuality | 2 comments

My post Claiming the Title of Sex Educator recently went live at MySexProfessor, and in that vein, I’m going to start posting more sex education and sex research content here at my personal blog (update: now that I have a blog at my sex education site, more content of this nature will go there!). I’ll begin with a post about how we talk about deviance and consent, and where these subjects (maybe surprisingly) intersect.

There’s a journalistic account going around about a young man who identifies as a pedophile in that he’s attracted to children, but he has never acted on that attraction. In fact, he’s actively seeking help in order to keep from acting on it. Pedophilia is one the most taboo and reviled sexuality topics in our society, and I like how the interview humanizes the man. It’s worth a listen if you have the time (it’s around 30 minutes long).

The story got me thinking about how we tend to talk about sexual deviancy. The more taboo a topic is, the more likely the discussion of it is to be framed in terms of morality or wrongness. In other words, stigma has an incredibly polarizing effect on discourse.

But you know what? Pretty much any sexual act has the potential to be just as “deviant” as the most stigmatized and taboo acts out there. This is because every sex act that involves more than one person hinges on consent, and even the most innocent-seeming act can become a violation if consent is lacking.

This is where the “would you do it to/with a pet?” question comes in. Think of something you might do to, say, a cat or dog as a friendly gesture:

  • Hug
  • Pet
  • Feed
  • Walk or play with

You don’t have to ask your cat or dog whether you can interact with it in a low-key, friendly way, in a manner that presumes some familiarity but does not transgress the animal’s bodily boundaries or cause it pain. Similarly, you usually don’t have to ask a friend consent before hugging her, or offering him food, or shaking zir hand.

Then think of some other activities, which you would NOT do to your pet. These could involve forcibly penetrating it, or beating it. Why would those actions be wrong? Because your pet cannot consent to sex with a human, nor to receiving pain. Animals think differently than humans and we haven’t figured out how to bridge a lot of those gaps just yet. Humans, on the other hand, are capable of communicating with one another about marvelously complex things, including giving and receiving physical pain in the pursuit of pleasure as with kink/BDSM, or choosing to enter into sex work.

My point here is that if it’s not an act that you would feel okay doing to an alive-and-feeling being that is incapable of communicating consent — it is potentially a “deviant” act. Being kissed without consent can be an invasive, horrible experience. Having sex without consent – that’s called rape.  Whether it’s the most vanilla thing in that world or as taboo as it gets, any partnered sexual activity has the potential to be traumatic if its occurs without consent.

Obviously the pet analogy falls apart at some point. Some people enjoy sloppy wet dog kisses, and the dogs seem to enjoy them right back. The activity of wrestling with one’s pet may cross into rough play, rougher than you’d do with a non-consenting human. I just wanted to come up with a metaphor that would resonate with people, that would make you think about the activities which require explicit consent and the activities that do not.

The flip side is that if any act, no matter how innocent or well-intended, can become monstrous when it occurs without consent, then any deviant/taboo/bizarre act can be seen as okay if consent is granted. Or at least, I’ll see it that way, and encourage others to have an open enough mind to do so.

Once again: if you’re a consenting adult, I support you doing anything. Consent should always be communicated, negotiated, and re-negotiated, so the more we read and talk and write about it, the better!

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Why I’m an Angry Feminist

August 31, 2012 in Feminism, Gender & Sexuality | 3 comments

I’ve been turning this post over in my head for a few months, and now seems like a good time to make it.

I am not accused too often of being an “angry feminist,” but it still happens from time to time. As though that is such a terrible thing to be; worse than a greedy capitalist, or a dishonest politician, or an unapologetic rapist. As though it would be better for me to not be angry or not be feminist, but be something else instead, even if that something else is also a negative trait.

This Tiger Beatdown post on angry-feminist-shaming really resonated with me. In it, Flavia writes: I refuse to be boxed in the simplified category of “ranter” because I am angry. Because this anger makes me “difficult”, it makes me “alienating”, it makes me “impossible to deal with” and I should just accept that certain things just are.

Anger drives us to action; anger keeps us from being complacent. Yet it is a really charged thing for women to be angry, since in many cultures, women are not supposed to get angry. There is no safe way for us to unleash our passions. In folklore, literature, and history, we see the dire consequences of women getting angry: Medea, Snow White’s (step)mother, the doomed Amazons, the Maenads. There is little cultural space for women’s anger. We are supposed to swallow it and, I don’t know, transform it into milk chocolate hearts and rainbow bird’s nests. Or better yet, not feel it at all.

This excellent (but potentially triggering) post at Fugitivus talks about the conditioning women undergo to be pleasant and agreeable in every.single.interaction of their lives, and how given that context, it’s unsurprising that “if you accept those social interactions as normal and appropriate in your day to day life, there is absolutely no reason you should be shocked that rape occurs without screaming, without fighting, without bruising, without provocation, and without prosecution. Behavior exists on a continuum.”

One reason I chafe at the negative connotations of the “angry feminist” label is that it’s meant to police women’s behavior. Because if being an angry woman is clearly unacceptable in our society, being an angry feminist must be a billion times worse.

Another reason I dislike the stigma is that I don’t actually see being an angry feminist as a bad thing depending on what you are doing with that anger. I totally do not mean this to turn into a judgment of how those feminists are doing it wrong but these feminists are doing it right; rather, I mean that anger can be an intensely destructive emotion, and that shit will consume you if you let it. Which is not helpful for anyone, really, unless self-destruction does something unique or desirable for you.

But here is the thing: when feminists are angry, we are angry about oppression. We are angry about women’s (and indeed, men’s) options and identities being limited and defined by patriarchy, religion, laws, culture. We are pissed off that being born with a certain set of genitals means you are far more likely to experience sexual assault, to be denied health care coverage, to take a pay cut for the same work.

And our anger is frequently tempered with empathy. Feminism is a collective movement. You gain empathy by realizing that yeah, it also sucks for people who are both like you and unlike you. That opens you up to awareness that oppression happens on many axes, not just gender/sexuality, but also ethnicity, religious identity, immigrant status, nationality, class, and so on.

When you start to think about oppression and you start to realize how much it sucks to be oppressed, you generally don’t want to inflict those same feelings on others. This is where I’m going with the empathy thing. And while bell hooks has said this way more eloquently than I ever will, this is why feminism can and should intersect with multiple anti-oppression stances, and why all forms of oppression are related.

I think this, ultimately, is why the idea of the angry feminist is so threatening in a contemporary mainstream American/Western context: because the oppressors can’t understand a way of being angry that does not involve doing violence to others. Since that is how they work, by keeping others in check through fear and control. It’s power-over rather than power-with, to borrow a term from Starhawk.

But many feminists (and again, it’s such a broad movement that it’s hard to generalize about) understand that being oppressed–for gender or anything else–really blows, so we channel our anger into challenging oppression, not redirecting it onto whoever’s lower on the totem pole than us. We comprehend the destructive effects of displaced abusive anger and instead strive for transformative passionate anger.

Not that we’re perfect and get it right every time; I still feel helpless, and I still fight losing battles on the internet with people who are turned off by my anger so I really should adopt another tactic but I don’t because this shit is so raw, this being told I am less than human and don’t deserve sovereignty over my body. I am trying to do it better, to be more compassionate, to channel my anger into something useful and not wallow in rageful depression or lash out at potential allies.

This is why I don’t back away from the term angry feminist: I think it can teach us many things. It can be used to start conversations, or to end them, if the idea of an angry woman is so alien as to point out irreconciliable differences that it’s not worth bashing your head against. We do need some amount of self-preservation instincts to keep up this fight while life goes on around us, after all.

I hope that someday we won’t even need the term anymore: that women will have socially acceptable access to the same range of emotions as men, and that the idea of feminism will be something taught in history classes since it’ll no longer be necessary once gender-based oppression is banished forever. Yeah, I can keep dreaming. But I like my anger with a dash of optimism.

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