THE HIDDEN TERMS OF AFRICAN AMERICAN MEN’S GUN LICENSES

By Jennifer Carlson

In July 2016, Philando Castile, one of 16 million-and-counting Americans with a license to carry a firearm concealed, was pulled over by a police officer in a Minneapolis suburb. Earlier that day, Castile recognized that as an armed African American man, he foremost had to “comply” with police. As his mother recalled, “That’s the key thing in order to survive being stopped by the police”. His sister was apprehensive: “I really don’t even want to carry my gun because I’m afraid they’ll shoot me first and then ask questions later.” During the stop, Castile disclosed his status as a licensed gun carrier to the officer. Castile was then shot several times, dying on the scene as he gasped, “I wasn’t reaching for it.” Almost a year later, a jury found Castile’s killer not guilty of manslaughter and other charges. Commentators across the political spectrum questioned the verdict, often situating Castile’s killing alongside other highly publicized police killings of African American boys and men.

Alongside police violence, the Castile case—particularly his conversation with his sister about “compliance”—also suggests subtler ways in which the state punitively disciplines men of color looking to carry guns legally. In my article, “Legally Armed but Presumed Dangerous,” I examine this punitive discipline by using observations of now-defunct Michigan’s county-level gun boards to detail the gendered and racialized terms on which African Americans are licensed by the state to carry firearms.

The gun board meetings I observed were staffed almost entirely by law enforcement and served as public forums for claimants with denied, suspended, or revoked concealed pistol licenses to contest their cases. I learned from my observations that African American men were not just disproportionately represented among claimants with suspended, denied or revoked licenses; they were also subject to a different kind of treatment. For example, administrators disproportionately lectured them (as compared to white men) regarding their behaviors during police stops; their relationships with their girlfriends, wives and fiancés; and their financial responsibilities to their families.

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Rather than coercive social control, I analyze these public admonitions as examples of punitive discipline: African American men who are called to gun board are held accountable to controlling images of Black masculinity in both the public sphere (i.e., the Thug) and the private sphere (i.e., the Deadbeat Dad). Arguably, a parallel can be drawn between African American women’s experiences with the welfare state and African American men’s experiences with the gun board: as a “price” of provision (whether consumable goods or the means of protection, respectively), claimants become accountable to racial/gender stereotypes and expectations in the public forum of gun board. These dynamics resonate with other scholarship—such as Nicole Gonzalez Van Cleve’s excellent Crook County—that documents how due process procedures double as racial/gender degradation ceremonies for people of color.

Existing scholarship on American gun culture, such as Angela Stroud’s Good Guys with Guns and my book Citizen-Protectors, often emphasizes the cultural links between masculinity and protectionism that drive men, particularly white men, to bear arms. The experiences of legally armed African American men revealed a different, but complementary, social reality: gun licensing can be deployed by state agents as a mechanism for placing African American men in a zone of provisional citizenship.

Jennifer Carlson is an assistant professor of sociology at the University of Arizona. Her research focuses on gun culture, policing, and conservative politics. Her book, Citizen-Protectors: The Everyday Politics of Guns in an Age of Decline, was released in 2015 with Oxford University Press. Her next book, Policing the Second Amendment, examines the intersection of public law enforcement and gun politics.

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Millennials, Gender, and a More Open Society

By Barbara J. Risman

Cross-posted with permission from Families as they Really Are on The Society Pages

We know quite a lot, statistically, about Millennials, the up and coming young adult generation. Those who are employed are more likely than any previous generation to have a college degree. And yet, they are also more likely to live with their parents for longer stretches as adults.  The Pew Research Center Fact Tank  shows that 15 percent of Millennials live at home between the ages of 25 and 35, far more than generations before them. Their moving home continued even as the unemployment rate decreased, although those without a college degree are far more likely to boomerang home to their parents than are their college educated peers. Millennials appear to be less likely to move around the country to follow job opportunities, perhaps because so many jobs no longer carry the wages and benefits that would justify relocation. One trend very clear is that Millennials are far more likely to lean Democratic than any other generation. These left-leaning college educated young adults, some slow to fly away from the nest, are now the largest generation in America. And among women, Millennials are most likely to see the advantages men have over women, over half of them think men have it easier, far more than any previous generation. And twice as many women than men report having been sexually harassed at work, making this younger generation as aware of women’s victimization as any other.   Their mothers’ feminism hardly ended women’s problems in the workforce.

This is what we know from nationally representative statistics. But I wanted to know more, particularly about how college educated Millennials, our future leaders, felt about gender politics, not only in the workforce but how they experienced sex-based opportunities and constraints in their own lives. My colleagues and students and I interviewed 116 Millennials. Our sample was minority majority, with most of the respondents having been raised in working class, many in immigrant households. Most were now in college or recent college graduates.  In addition to recruiting a sample with much race and ethnic diversity, we also recruited a gender diverse sample, including those who rejected the gender binary entirely (some of whom identify as genderqueer) and some transgender young people. We asked these people to tell us their life history, with a specific focus on their experiences where gender was particularly salient. In the process, we sought to explore whether this new generation will change the face of gender politics at home or at work.

The answer is both yes, and no.  We could identify no one-size-fits-all generational experience.  What we did find was a complicated gender structure that some Millennials endorsed, some resisted, others rebelled against, and that left many simply confused. America continues to be a society with incredible religious diversity, and in my interviews, I quickly noticed that the men and women who were proud of their being girly girls and tough guys, wanted others in their social networks to follow sex-based traditions, and endorsed world views where men and women should have different opportunities and constraints were often raised in literalist faiths where the religious text was taken as gospel, and not metaphorical.  These true believers in a traditional gender structure came from many faiths, Evangelical Christian, orthodox Jew, Greek Orthodox, and Muslim. What they shared was a belief that god intended men and women to be complementary, not with equal opportunities to all social roles. These were young adults following in their parents’ footsteps, conserving the past for the future. In our sample, we talked to many of these young traditionalists, but in a national sample, they would be a small minority.  Still, they exist and complicate any picture of Millennials as movers and shakers of tradition.

But then, of course, many Millennials are also critical of sexual inequality. In our research, we identified two different patterns among young people with these attitudes. Some are innovators who simply ignore and reject any rules that apply only to women or men. They are proud to integrate aspects of masculinity and femininity, toughness and caring, into their own identities, reject expectations that force them into sex-specific roles, and want women and men’s lives converge so that everyone has the rights and opportunity to share the work of caring for others, and earning a living. What seems new in this generation is that this feminism isn’t a women’s only movement. These innovators are men as well as women. But some of those we interviewed went far beyond simply rejecting sexism, they rejected gender categories themselves, particularly the way social norms require us to present our bodies. These rebels reject the need for the category of woman or man. Some use the language of genderqueer, others simply say they are between the binary. A few are comfortable with remaining women but present themselves so androgynously as to be commonly presumed to be male. All reject the notion that women and men need to carry their bodies differently, or dress distinctly. These rebels have a tough time in everyday life. If you do not fit easily into a gender binary, you find yourself an outsider everywhere you turn, with no obvious restroom, no clothing designed for your anatomy, and no box to check on many surveys. While people with these problems are no doubt a very small proportion of American Millennials, they are having a tremendous cultural and political impact, with both California and Oregon now allowing people to choose a gender category other than woman or man.  These new laws provide more accurate identifications for genderqueer Millennials, as well as for intersex people. Rebels may be small in number but are clearly re-shaping cultural ideas about gender identity.

Of course, many of the young adults we interviewed were not so easily categorized. I call them straddlers because they have one foot in traditionalism and one in gender criticism.  It’s hard to know if this inconsistency is a moment in the lifecycle or will characterize their adult lives. After all, being a young adult today is confusing, and psychologists have labeled this stage of life emerging adulthood.  It is indeed a long and winding road, according to Jeffrey Arnett, from the late teens through the twenties to arrive at an adult identity and lifestyle. Many of the young people we interviewed held inconsistent  their ideas about themselves, their expectations for others, and how society should operate. They are as confused, and as in transition, as is the gender structure itself.

Millennials are a diverse group. When it comes to the gender structure, I identified four categories, traditionals, innovators, rebels, and straddlers, of Millennials with very different orientations. Does nothing, then, make this generation distinctive? Yes, some patterns do indeed provide a generational marker that transcends their differences. All these Millennials talked of women as employed workers whether they were mothers or not. The belief that the world of work and politics is for men, and the hearth and home the sole province of women is a 20th Century memory that now sits in the dustbin of history. Even women that endorse more freedom for men than women expect and desire to spend most of their adult lives in the labor force. But beyond the changing expectations for women’s lives, my research suggests the most defining feature of Millennials is their gender and sexual libertarianism.  Whatever they choose for themselves, they have no desire to impose their choices on anyone else.  What this means for America is that as the Millennials become the largest voting block, they are unlikely to cast their ballots for laws that require anyone to become just like them when it comes to gender or sexuality. And in that way, the Millennials may just take us to a more open and society.

Barbara J. Risman is a Distinguished Professor of Sociology in the College of Liberal Arts & Sciences at the University of Illinois at Chicago. Currently she is a Fellow at the Institute of Advanced Study at Durham University in the UK.   She is also a Senior Scholar at the Council on Contemporary Families.

Activism against Sexual Violence is Central to a New Women’s Movement: Resistance to Trump, Campus Sexual Assault, and #metoo

By Nancy Whittier

Cross-posted with permission from Mobilizing Ideas

Sexual violence and harassment have been central issues in almost every era of women’s organizing and they are central to a contemporary women’s movement that both builds on and differs from earlier activism. Since 2010, a new generation of activists has targeted sexual violence in new ways. Slutwalks, a theatrical form of protest against the idea that women provoke rape by their dress, brought a new spin to long-standing “Take Back the Night” marches against violence against women. The wave of activism grew as college students began speaking out about assault on campus and gained a broad platform through social media. Students protested institutional failures to follow procedures for addressing sexual assault and used symbolic tactics to highlight the issue. For example, in 2014/15, Columbia student Emma Sulkowicz carried her dorm room mattress everywhere as a protest against Columbia’s inaction after she reported sexual assault. “Carry That Weight,” her project title, became the name for an emerging activist group. Another, “No Red Tape,” led to a cross-campus day of action in which activists attached pieces of red tape to clothes or campus statues.

Activism against sexual assault on campus found an opportunity for influence in stepped-up enforcement of Title IX (the federal law barring sex discrimination in educational institutions) under the Obama administration). The federal Department of Education under Obama interpreted Title IX as requiring colleges to adjudicate complaints of sexual assault promptly and effectively and address the risk of sexual assault as a violation of women’s right to educational access. Students used this opportunity to pressure institutions, organizing across campuses to teach each other how to file Title IX complaints through organizations like “Know your IX.”

This percolating movement was significant, but limited mainly to college campuses. It took the election of Trump to connect the campus sexual assault campaign to a broader movement. Trump’s attitudes toward women were well known before the campaign but his recorded comments about kissing and grabbing women nevertheless were shocking. When numerous women alleged that Trump had grabbed, fondled, and forcibly kissed them, his opponents framed him as an unrepentant sexual assaulter. The gender politics were enhanced by the fact that Trump’s opponent in the election was a woman.

All this set the stage for activists to frame mass protests against Trump as a women’s march. Despite the name, the marches included people of all genders and a focus on every possible issue within a progressive coalition, including sexism, racism, immigration, homophobia, reproductive rights, sexual assault, environmental protection and climate change, labor, democracy, and more. Dana Fisher has shown the prevalence of intersectional frames at the march, connecting across issues and emphasizing how race, class, and gender work together to shape experiences and needs. Sexual assault was a key issue for protesters and sparked the iconic “pussy hats” and slogans like “pussy grabs back.”

The mass mobilization of the women’s marches, Trump’s sexism, and pre-existing organizing against sexual violence together fueled the #metoo movement. In the wake of Trump’s pre-election comments, women around the country reportedly began speaking with their family and friends about their own experiences of sexual assault. #Metoo as an organizing phrase, coined in 2006 by activist Tarana Burke, grew exponentially in 2017. The cultural visibility of sexual assault and harassment that began after Trump’s recorded comments combined with the viral hashtag to produce something unprecedented.

From a social movement theory perspective, #metoo is both a frame and a tactic. As a frame, it suggests the widespread nature of sexual assault and frames all forms of sexual harassment and violence as part of a similar phenomenon of gendered power. As a tactic, it encourages solidarity and visibility as women and people of other genders “come out” about their experience. And, of course, the many men in government and entertainment who have lost their positions suggests a concrete, but individual, outcome. Because sexual harassment and assault are already illegal, activists’ goals center on cultural change, including enforcement of existing law and – equally important – changes in norms of interaction, views of gender, and practices of sexual consent.

In the 1970s, when feminists first focused on sexual violence, they framed it as “violence against women.” Over time, activists began to address violence against men, transgender and gender non-confirming people, and children.Activists grappled with the impact of race and class, both in terms of the greater vulnerability of women of color and low-income women to sexual assault and in terms of the elevation of a raced and classed ideal of sexual purity, and like most movements, they grappled with race and class dynamics within the movement itself. Debates are percolating between younger and older activists, between activists steeped in anti-racist and intersectional organizing and those taking a single-issue approach, and between those who support “pussy hats” as a way of asserting self-determination and those who see them as advancing a biological essentialism that marginalizes transgender women and women of color.

The Women’s Marches were broadly coalitional even as they sparked debate over their gender and racial dynamics. Similarly, the nascent #metoo movement is beginning to form such coalitions and to address sexual violence through an intersectional lens. For example, prominent actresses brought activists from groups like the National Domestic Workers’ Alliance to the Golden Globe awards to bring attention to sexual harassment in less-visible, less-powerful industries. It is too soon to know, however, whether the women’s marches and anti-violence movement will become truly intersectional in their frame, diverse in composition, and coalitional.

At the same time, women of color and queer people have been leading some of the most vibrant protests of the past few years, such as Black Lives Matter, the Standing Rock Pipeline protests, and the Dreamers movement. In these movements, gender and sexuality are framed as integral to the issues of racism, immigration, and environmental protection. These movements are an integral part of a “new women’s movement,” and they point out the importance of defining that movement broadly.

Will these various strands gel into a durable and powerful coalition? What will the place of activism against sexual violence be in such a coalition? Paths into the future are not determined, but the decisions that activists make now will progressively constrain them. As scholars, we know that shared enemies can foster coalitions, but that cross-cutting inequalities and difference of collective identity can foreclose them. Sexual violence has been an enduring issue in organizing by women across race and class. As this new movement unfolds, its dynamics of coalition and conflict will shape the degree to which it is a “women’s movement,” narrowly defined, or a broader movement that centers class, race, and a range of genders.

Nancy Whittier is Professor of Sociology at Smith College. She is the author of The Politics of Child Sexual Abuse (Oxford, 2009), Feminist Generations (Temple, 1995), numerous articles and chapters on gender and social movements, and a forthcoming book on how feminists and conservatives influence policy on sexual violence. Her article can be found in the February 2016 30 (1) issue of Gender & Society.

Is the Women’s Movement New Again?

By Jo Reger

*Cross-posted with permission from  Mobilizing Ideas.

The Women’s Marches of 2017 and the anniversary marches of 2018 once again bring us to the question: Is the U.S. women’s movement new again, having gone through a decline, death and finally rebirth? Does this new mobilization mean the movement is new? This is not a new question. Throughout the history of the movement, pundits have continually recast feminism as “new,” as in another wave of activism (this time maybe the fourth or fifth wave but who is counting?) or as a movement born fresh and new, independent of its former self.  Media observer Jennifer Pozner coined the term “False Feminist Death Syndrome,” in response to the constant reports of feminism’s death. In the same vein, feminist scholar Mary Hawkesworth noted feminism’s reoccurring obituary, observing it was meant to annihilate feminism’s challenge to the status quo. Hawkesworth and Pozner encourage us to question the question – in other words, under what circumstances is a long-lived movement seen as new?

Part of this question emerges from the view of feminism as coming in “waves,” that peak and decline. As I have argued, “waves” are problematic. Instead I offer the metaphor of “the family.” Families are made up of generations of relations, when older generations die out, newer generations are still there. Family names and histories continue despite in-fighting, controversies, backlash and disinheritance. People split off and come back together. Hard times bring support and prompt dissension. Families grow and shape the communities around them. But through it all, most families remain, in some sense, a unit with a traceable history. Turning to contemporary feminism, I argue that what we are seeing today is just that — the mobilization of multiple generations of feminists and activists inspired and shaped by a history of identities, issues and goals. With their adoption of a range of issues, (some with) pussy hats and signs declaring “My feminism is intersectional,” the 2017 Women’s Marches were anything but new and instead drew upon a history of a long-lived, multi-generational and complicated feminist movement.

One way to track this family history is through the issues brought to the march. Sparked by the presidency of Donald Trump, the range of issues in evidence at the marches were not something new. U.S. feminism has been multi-issue since the 1868 Seneca Falls  convention where anti-slavery activists advocated for a women’s right to own property, a change in divorce laws and equality in education and employment with the most controversial being suffrage. While, at times, the movement and organizations have split over issues, they have also brought together a range of activists to focus on a specific issue such as the push for suffrage in the late 1800s and early 1900s, and the 1980s work for the Equal Rights Amendment. In addition, some of the most pertinent issues in this moment of #MeToo have long been core issues. Sexual harassment, assault, and rape have been long addressed, in particular with exceptional work in the 1970s by radical feminists.

In addition to issues, when you don’t know the history of a movement, dissension between activists also looks new (or like the end of a movement). Take for instance the website for Forward Action Michigan (FAM). As the anniversary of the January 21, 2017 Women’s Marches drew near, local activists engaged in a very heated discussion about wearing pussy hats (knitted in pink with pussycat-like ears) to the anniversary rallies and marches. Popular as a symbol repudiating the denigrating term of “pussy,” the pussy hat was everywhere at the Women’s March in 2017.  The FAM moderators shut down the thread after more than 250 comments, concluding that wearing the hats is disrespectful to transgender women and women of color. This level of discord is nothing new. Feminists have disagreed on goals, tactics, strategies and symbols since the inception of the movement.

Another “not new” issue is the struggle for feminist organizations to acknowledge white women’s privilege and to build truly inclusive organizations. Historically, women of color, poor women, lesbians and trans women have all been drummed out of, or left out of feminist organizing. In addition, simplified histories of the movement often miss the ways in which multiple groups of women, including women of color did organize. One result was the articulation by Black feminists of the concept of intersectionality. Arguing that no one social category, such as the “universal woman,” is always central to how we fare in the world, Black feminists instead proposed that all of our social identities interact in relation to others, forming a complex matrix of privilege and oppression. This concept has been reshaping feminism for the last three decades. The 2017 Women’s Marches were peppered with signs reading “I am an Intersectional Feminist” or “It’s Not Feminism If It’s Not Intersectional.” While intersectionality is not new to feminism, the articulation of an intersectional identity is still being worked out. At the 2017 Women’s Convention in Detroit, multiple speakers claimed an intersectional feminism, often defining it differently.

While there is much that is not new about U.S. feminism, two feminist scholars offer insights on the current direction of feminism. Alison Crossley, author of Finding Feminism: Millennial Activists and the Unfinished Gender Revolutioncoins the term “Facebook Feminism” to illustrate how women’s movement activism has moved online. Heather Hurwitz, currently working her book, Women Occupy: Gender Conflict and Feminism in the Occupy Wall Street Movement, illustrates how feminism has moved into other movements, shaping identities, issues, goals and tactics.  Even these current directions have old roots, from the mimeographed newsletter to website, from the spillover of feminism into the 1980s peace movement.

U.S. feminism, at its core, is essentially the same multi-issue, diverse and complex movement that continues to struggle with direction and inclusion but remains relevant in a world such as we have today.

Jo Reger is professor of sociology and director of the Women and Gender Studies Program at Oakland University. Professor Reger is the current editor of Gender & Society and is a contributing editor of the Oxford Handbook of U.S. Women’s Social Movement Activism (2017), edited by Holly J. McCammon, Verta Taylor, Jo Reger, and Rachel L. Einwohner.

 

Reorganization of Family in Refugee Integration

 

By: Stephanie J. Nawyn

Refugee resettlement in the US is designed to achieve individual self-sufficiency through employment, with the assumption that those refugees who cannot work (such as children) will be cared for through the employed caretakers. Unlike in other countries where acculturation is the primary goal, US resettlement assistance is directed almost entirely at facilitating refugees’ employment and ending their government cash assistance as quickly as possible (usually within 1-6 months, depending on the state in which refugees are resettled).

Holding individual self-sufficiency as a goal makes the same false assumption about family life that feminists have long criticized, that productive workers have free reproductive labor available at home to free them up for economic activity. This antiquated understanding of family formation is especially damaging for poor and working class families, including most refugee families, whose employment prospects are unlikely to provide wages sufficient to cover quality childcare or care for elderly or disabled relatives. For refugees who already face intense acculturative stress (not to mention any pre-arrival trauma), the need to acquire a job while also having caretaking responsibilities is exhausting and frustrating.

Because most everything that is necessary for survival and what we might call a life of dignity (food, water, safe housing, etc.) must be purchased, having an income is critical for survival in the US. With the decline of the welfare state and increased privatization, things that most Americans would consider rights are in fact not rights per se, but resources only available through purchase. Rights afforded by fair housing laws and rental contracts can only be accessed if people can afford to take property owners to court. The right to clean water can only be accessed if people can afford their water bill or can purchase bottled water. So challenges to earning a living become challenges to accessing the basic rights we associate with living in the US. Janine Brodie called the limiting of rights to those who can afford to purchase those rights “market citizenship”. Market citizenship limits the ability of refugees to access the basic rights they are told will be afforded to them in the US (i.e. things necessary for a safe life), as they often come with little or no financial resources or human capital that is valued by US employers.

But refugees are, by definition, survivors, and they seek out creative ways to access the labor market and their rights as new US residents. Demonstrating that rights are not just things given by the state but sometimes need to be agentively pursued, refugee households reorganize themselves to ensure that as many households as possible have the resources needed to secure their rights. My research with colleague Breanne Grace and Betty Okwako-Riekkola on Burundian families demonstrates how refugees can use creative reorganization of family households to spread out resources that provide access to market citizenship rights.

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The most common strategy we found was for refugees to redistribute family members across different households, so that every household had the human resources they needed to engage in paid employment and to access translation necessary to interact with English-only speakers. First, it was common for people to move to households that had too few earners and too many dependents. Teenagers, pre-teens, and older adults who could not easily find employment outside the home would provide childcare to families with younger children so that the adults in the family could be employed. Single adults moved in with siblings who had children in order to maximize the number of earners in a household. While this type of extended family household is common in Burundi and had been more prevalent in the US at different historical periods, it represents a departure from the definition of family propagated by the US Department of State, which would not allow some of these family members to be resettled as the same household (and in fact, many Burundians in our study had adult siblings and elderly parents back in refugee camps who had not been given refugee visas to the US).

Another limit to rights that refugees commonly experience is the inability to exercise rights because they are not English fluent. For example, in our study a Burundian family could not seek help with a basement flooded with sewage because they could not even ask anyone who to contact when the landlord failed to address it. So, Burundians redistributed household members in order to provide sufficient interpretation and translation assistance. Older children (who often learned English much faster than adults) would live with other families who were linguistically isolated (defined as having no one in the household who was English fluent). Without English speakers to interpret for free, these families would need to pay a professional interpreter.

These reformulations of family households changed the ratio of producers to dependents. We call this ratio the “neoliberal citizenship ratio”, as it represents the ratio of people who can access market citizenship under neoliberalism to people who cannot; essentially a “work to need” ratio. For families living on the margins of the economy, a high neoliberal citizenship ratio can determine how well a given household and its members will survive.

The reorganization of households was a strategy used by refugees who had extended family in the area. But for those households without extended family, co-ethnic ties were not sufficiently strong to give them access to free labor from other households. These families still received food and clothing donations from other Burundians that supplemented the meager assistance received from the state. But it did not provide the same access to basic rights that extended kin networks provided.

Our research (available in the Journal of Refugee Studies) highlights the particular ways in which the neoliberal shift from government provision to private provision hurts vulnerable people in the US, and puts additional burdens on already stressed families to make up for shortfalls in state support. It also demonstrates how the metric of success for resettlement – individual employment – erases the reproduction of family poverty inherent in the resettlement system.

Stephanie J. Nawyn is the Co-Director for Academic Programs at the Center for Gender in Global Context (GenCen) and an associate professor in the Department of Sociology with expertise in gender and migration. Her work has primarily focused on refugee resettlement and protection, as well as the economic advancement of African voluntary migrants in the U.S. She was a Fulbright Fellow at Istanbul University for the 2013-14 academic year, studying the treatment of Syrian refugees in Turkey. Her most recent work is forthcoming in Journal of Refugees Studies and Journal of Ethnic and Racial Studies. And she is currently on the editorial board for Gender & Society.

Gender & Society in The Classroom’s Guide for Syllabi on Immigration

This collection of articles provides analyses of how gender informs the migration process, produces new gendered outcomes and relationships, and how men and women navigate their lives as (im)migrants. Gender is central to all the research here, but gendered processes, outcomes, and experiences are shaped by the state, work, and family, as well as the intersectional identities of (im)migrants. Spanning research from several countries, these articles will prompt students to question conventional notions on how, for instance, migration leads to gendered empowerment or how human rights-based measures are automatically beneficial for immigrant women. This research also provides insights on how the consequences of migration also provide new gendered opportunities for experiencing masculinity, re-arranging care work, and creating more sustainable and supportive communities. Despite these opportunities, migration and immigration (enforcement) policies also have its costs; the article on immigrant organizing against deportation and research on migrant domestic workers underscore the enduring struggle for legibility and mobility.

Andrews, Abigail. 2014. Women’s political engagement in a Mexican sending community: Migration as crisis and the struggle to sustain an alternative. Gender & Society 28 (4): 583-608.

This article demonstrates how Mexican women’s migration to the U.S., and subsequent return migration creates new gendered opportunities for women to become politically engaged in sustaining their communities of origin. This article includes a wide array of data, including participant observation, 51 life story interviews with Mexican Mixtec men and women in Vista, California and San Miguel, Mexico, and survey data. Faced with the ‘crisis’ of living undocumented lives in the U.S., many migrant women returned back home to help build sustainable communities through civic participation, which was previously limited to men. Women’s increased participation in these spaces were successful, newly acceptable and often, necessary as many migrant men remained in the U.S. to fulfill breadwinning duties. This article lends insights on how hostile contexts of reception and subsequent return migration creates gendered consequences and new opportunities for survival.

Das Gupta, Monisha. 2014. “Don’t deport our daddies”: Gendering state deportation practices and immigrant organizing. Gender & Society 28 (1): 83-109.

This article focuses on Families for Freedom (FFF), a grassroots organization dedicated to assisting families that have deported or deportable immigrant fathers with criminal convictions. Das Gupta expertly outlines how researchers and activists have often relied on the affective pull of heterosexual family ties to challenge deportation. The data for this study includes personal narratives, or testimonios and interviews with members of FFF and the New York chapter of the New Sanctuary Movement. Das Gupta finds that FFF testimonios protest deportation by placing an emphasis on the emotional, care and parenting work that fathers provide for their families. Interviews with FFF leaders also reveal the strategies the organization must use to build solidarity and make criminalized fathers legible. Aside from the research and arguments presented, students will likely benefit from reading Das Gupta’s useful background on contemporary immigration and deportation policies.

Choo, Hae Yeon. 2013. The cost of rights: Migrant women, feminist advocacy, and gendered morality in South Korea. Gender & Society 27 (4): 445-468.

Focusing on frameworks of citizenship, this paper explores how feminist organizations in South Korea used a discourse of victimization and human trafficking to argue for human rights-based provisions for marriage migrants and migrant women working as hostesses. Choo’s data includes extensive fieldwork with Korean migrant advocacy organizations and Filipino migrant communities. Choo finds that migrant women in her study did not pursue human rights-based provisions because doing so would contradict the moral and stigma-reducing logics they have assigned to their relationships and work. Claiming victimhood to access human-rights provisions, in some cases, also appeared to make less economic sense. Highlighting immigrant women’s agency, this research illustrates how there can be a cost to accessing certain rights.

De Regt, Marina. 2010. Ways to come, ways to leave: Gender, mobility, and il/legality among Ethiopian domestic workers in Yemen. Gender & Society 24 (2): 237-260.

Recognizing the dearth of literature on migrant domestic workers in the Middle East outside of research exclusively on exploitation or violence, this article focuses on how gender shapes the migration trajectory of migrant domestic workers and how (il)legality subsequently impacts their mobility. Spanning more than a ten-year period, the data for this article includes extensive fieldwork and interviews with Ethiopian migrant domestic workers working in Yemen. Students may appreciate reading interview narratives that demonstrate how the pre-migration options have important consequences for migration. Migrant women recruited through family members often experience more mobility compared to women who are recruited through agencies as contract workers.

Schmalzbauer, Leah. 2009. Gender on a new frontier: Mexican migration in the rural mountain West. Gender & Society 23 (6): 747-767.

Challenging the notion that migration is always empowering for women, this article provides important insights on how the context of reception matters for how migrants experience their new lives and gendered relationships. Pulled from ethnographic data gathered in rural Montana, Schmalzbauer demonstrates that the process of migration and settlement in Montana reproduces gendered relationships between partners that typically impacts women in a negative way. The lack of available jobs for women means migrant Mexican women are relegated to the home, even when they may have had previous work experience. Women are further socially confined because of the geography of the area and limited public transportation. As a destination with few migrants, Mexican women also feel their presence is especially highlighted in public places which is an especially dangerous problem for undocumented women. Despite these issues, for those with children and experience living in high-crime urban areas, the area represents a safer place to raise their children.

Gender & Society in the Classroom is curated by scholars in the field and is a listing of articles that would be relevant in certain classrooms. These lists are not exhaustive but contain a small section of important articles that can begin to start classroom discussion on a variety of topics.

Organized by Cassaundra Rodriguez, University of Massachusetts. Comments or suggestions contact gendsoc@oakland.edu

Trump and the Politics of Fluid Masculinities

By James W. Messerschmidt and Tristan Bridges

In the 1950s, a collection of sociologists and psychologists (which included, among others, Theodor Adorno) wrote The Authoritarian Personality. They were attempting to theorize the type of personality — a particular psychology — that gave rise to fascism in the 1930s. Among other things, they suggested that the “authoritarian personality” was characterized by a normative belief in absolute obedience to their authority in addition to the practical enactment of that belief through direct and indirect marginalization and suppression of “subordinates.” While Adorno and his colleagues did not consider the gender of this personality, today gender scholars recognize authoritarianism as a particular form of masculinity, and current U.S. president Donald Trump might appear to be a prime illustration of a rigid and inflexible “authoritarian personality.”

Yet Trump’s masculinity avoids a direct comparison to this label precisely because of the fluidity he projects. Indeed, the “authoritarian personality” is overly fixed, immutable, and one dimensional as a psychoanalytical personality type. Sociologists understand identities as more flexible than this. Certain practices of Trump exemplify the fluctuations of masculinity that illustrate this distinction, and the transformations in his masculinity are highly contingent upon context. While this is a common political strategy, Trump’s shifts are important as they enable him to construct a “dominating masculinity” that perpetuates diverse forms of social inequality. Dominating masculinities are those that involve commanding and controlling interactions to exercise power and control over people and events.  These masculinities are most problematic when they also are hegemonic and work to legitimize unequal relations between women and men. Here are a few examples:

First, in his speeches and public statements prior to being elected, Trump bullied and subordinated “other” men by referring to them as “weak,” “low energy,” or as “losers,” or implying they are “inept” or a “wimp.” (“Othering” is a social process whereby certain people are viewed and/or treated as somehow fundamentally different and unequal.) For example, during several Republican presidential debates, Trump consistently labeled Marco Rubio as “little Marco,” described Jeb Bush as “low energy Jeb,” implied that John McCain was a “wimp” because he was captured and tortured during the Vietnam War, and suggested that contemporary military veterans battling PTSD are “inept” because they “can’t handle” the “horror” they observed in combat. In contrast, Trump consistently referred to himself as, for example, strong, a fighter, and as the embodiment of success. In each case, Trump ascribes culturally-defined “inferior” subordinate gender qualities to his opponents while imbuing himself with culturally defined “superior” masculine qualities. This pairing signifies an unequal relationship between masculinities—one both dominating and hegemonic (Trump) and one subordinate (the “other” men).

A second example of Trump’s fluid masculinity applies to the way he has depicted himself as the heroic masculine protectorof all Americans. This compassion may appear, at first blush, at odds with the hegemonic masculinity just discussed. For example, in his Republican Convention speech Trump argued that he alone can lead the country back to safety by protecting the American people through the deportation of “dangerous” and “illegal” Mexican and Muslim immigrants and by “sealing the border.” In so doing, Trump implied that Americans are unable to defend themselves — a fact he used to justify his need to “join the political arena.” Trump stated: “I will liberate our citizens from crime and terrorism and lawlessness” by “restoring law and order” throughout the country — “I will fight for you, I will win for you.” Here Trump adopts a position as white masculine protector of Americans against men of color, instructing all US citizens to entrust their lives to him; in return, he offers safety. Trump depicts himself as aggressive, invulnerable, and able to protect while all remaining US citizens are depicted as dependent and uniquely vulnerable. Trump situates himself as analogous to the patriarchal masculine protector toward his wife and other members of the patriarchal household. But simultaneously, Trump presents himself as a compassionate, caring, and kind-hearted benevolent protector, and thereby constructs a hybrid hegemonic masculinity consisting of both masculine and feminine qualities.

Third, in the 2005 interaction between Trump and Billy Bush on the now infamous Access Hollywood tour bus, Trump presumes he is entitled to the bodies of women and (not surprisingly) admits committing sexual assault against women because, according to him, he has the right. He depicts women as collections of body parts and disregards their desires, needs, expressed preferences, and their consent. After the video was aired more women have come forward and accused Trump of sexual harassment and assault. Missed in discussions of this interaction is how that dialogue actually contradicts, and thus reveals, the myth of Trump’s protectorhegemonic masculinity. The interaction on the bus demonstrates that Trump is not a “protector” at all; he is a “predator.”

Trump’s many masculinities represent a collection of contradictions. Trump’s heroic protector hegemonic masculinity should have been effectively unmasked, revealing a toxic predatory heteromasculinity. Discussions of this controversy, however, failed to articulate any sign of injury to his campaign because Trump was able to connect with a dominant discourse of masculinity often relied upon to explain all manner of men’s (mis)behavior — it was “locker room talk,” we were told. And the sad fact is, the news cycle moved on.

We argue that Trump has managed such contradictions by mobilizing, in certain contexts, what has elsewhere (and above) been identified as a “dominating masculinity” (seeherehere and here— involving commanding and controlling specific interactions and exercising power and control over people and events. This dominating masculinity has thus far centered on six critical features:

1) Trump operates in ways that cultivate domination over others he works with, in particular rewarding people based on their loyalty to him.

2) Trump’s dominating masculinity serves the interests of corporations by cutting regulations, lowering corporate taxes, increasing military spending, and engaging in other neoliberal practices, such as attempting to strip away healthcare from 24 million people, defunding public schools, and making massive cuts to social programs that serve poor and working-class people, people of color, and the elderly.

3) Trump has relied on his dominating masculinity to serve his particular needs as president, such as refusing to release his tax returns and ruling through a functioning kleptocracy (using the office to serve his family’s economic interests).

4) This masculinity is exemplified through the formulation of a dominating militaristic foreign policy (for example, U.S. airstrikes of civilians in Yemen, Iraq and Syria have increased dramatically under Trump; the MOAB bombing of Afghanistan; threats to North Korea) rather than engaging in serious forms of diplomacy. Trump has formed a global ultraconservative “axis of evil”— whose defining characteristics are kleptocracy and dominating masculinity — with the likes of Putin (Russia), el-Sisi (Egypt), Erdogan (Turkey), Salman (Saudi Arabia), Duterte (Philippines) among others.

5) So too has this dominating masculinity had additional effects “at home” as Trump prioritizes domestically the repressive arm of the state through white supremacist policies such as rounding-up and deporting immigrants and refugees as well as his anti-Muslim rhetoric and attempted Muslim ban.

6) Trump’s dominating masculinity attempts to control public discourse through his constant tweets that are aimed at discrediting and subordinating those who disagree with his policies.

Trump’s masculinity is fluid, contradictory, situational, and it demonstrates the diverse and crisscrossing pillars of support that uphold inequalities worldwide. From different types of hegemonic masculinities, to a toxic predatory heteromasculinity, to his dominating masculinity, Trump’s chameleonic display is part of the contemporary landscape of gender, class, race, age and sexuality relations and inequalities. Trump does not construct a consistent form of masculinity. Rather, he oscillates — at least from the evidence we have available to us. And in each case, his oscillations attempt to overcome the specter of femininity — the fear of being the unmasculine man — through the construction of particularized masculinities.

It is through these varying practices that Trump’s masculinity is effective in bolstering specific forms and systems of inequality that have been targeted and publicly challenged in recent history. Durable forms of social inequality achieve resilience by becoming flexible. By virtue of their fluidity of expression and structure, they work to establish new pillars of ideological support, upholding social inequalities as “others” are challenged. As C. J. Pascoe has argued, a dominating masculinity is not unique to Trump or only his supporters; Trump’s opponents rely on it as well (see also sociologist Kristen Barber’s analysis of anti-Trump masculinity tactics). And it is for these reasons that recognizing Trump’s fluidity of masculinity is more than mere academic observation; it is among the chief mechanisms through which contemporary forms of inequality — from the local to the global — are justified and persist today.

*Originally posted on Democratic Socialists of America.

James W. Messerschmidt is professor of sociology and chair of the Criminology Department at the University of Southern Maine. He has written widely on masculinities, and his most recent book is Masculinities in the Making.

Tristan Bridges is assistant professor of sociology at the University of California, Santa Barbara. With C. J. Pascoe, he recently co-edited the anthology, Exploring Masculinities.