(TRANS)CEND COLLEGE GRANT SEPTEMBER 1ST, 2023 – SEPTEMBER 30TH, 2023
As an organization, we are dedicated to promoting the safety and security of transgender and nonbinary people across the United States. Our mission has always been rooted in both the visibility and awareness of transgender people; and now, during a time when the rights and safety of transgender people has been continuously threatened and when transgender violence is at a statistical peak, we want to provide economic assistance to transgender students who may be unable to find that support elsewhere in their communities.
Who can apply? If you are above the age of 18, are currently attending college, and actively identify as nonbinary/transgender, you are encouraged to apply! There is no maximum age limit for applicants. Our main focus is providing for students who may not be able to receive this support otherwise, so we will ask about First-Generation/Low-Income (FGLI) student status and if you are taking out a student loan, however please feel encouraged to apply even if you are not FGLI!
What is the grant amount? We will be distributing gift cards of up to $500, USD, to be used at your discretion!
What will the application request? Our application consists of three main questions, all of which have a maximum word limit of 300:
What is your “story”?
Why are you applying for this grant? What would you use the money for?
Please feel free to share any information you feel would be relevant to us.
Aside from these questions, we will also ask for your basic information such as your email, name, pronouns, age, hometown, and college. Note that you will have control over how much of this information will be released, as we understand that not everyone is “out” or able to have their identity published online.
What will be shared online? Once winners are selected, we may contact those chosen to request the opportunity to share their story online. This will be completely optional, and is not at all required to receive the grant.
What is the application period? The application will open September 1st, 2023, and close on September 30th, 2023.
We are hopeful that we will be able to host this grant again in the future, which will not be possible without your applications! If you have any questions, require assistance or accommodations in your application process, please reach out to info@clouddancers.org for more information and assistance.
Image sourced from https://www.nbcnews.com/nbc-out/out-pop-culture/bud-light-partnership-trans-influencer-dylan-mulvaney-prompts-rightwin-rcna78295
2023 has already been a year of boycotts, with conservatives latching onto brands like M&Ms in a culture-war against “wokeness” — that is, the idea that these brands are serving to make everyone in the nation queer, trans, or a racial minority; that they are no longer the homegrown, American businesses dedicated to the ‘normal’ (that is, the white male, as ‘normal’ is more often than not a dog whistle for misogynistic, racist ideas), but are now spreading a new liberal agenda of making everyone different. This has most recently become the problem of Bud Light, the highest selling beer in the United States, following a partnership with transgender influencer Dylan Mulvaney.
In the past, we’ve discussed the importance of allyship amongst elites — including corporations like Anheuser-Busch InBev — and the importance of transgender safety in the workplace, our most recent article. The Bud Light Boycott is relevant: with a higher rate of bomb threats, employees being harassed over social media and threatened with violence, and the company having to cancel events due to harassment, it is evidently clear that this transphobia goes beyond just words.
In reality, the “boycott” has done very little to affect the actual sales of Bud Light. As was the case with M&Ms, Coca-Cola, and other companies who have faced similar conservative “boycotts” in the past, the reality is that these companies are incredibly secure in what they are. Anheuser-Busch InBev has had their stocks go up rather than down over the past month, with only a few minimum drops from new highs in the past few days (although it has begun to climb again as of April 12th), and the company itself is worth billions of dollars. Even with all of the videos of people dumping Bud Light cans, shooting them, or buying Coors instead (even though Coors has also supported Pride), the company itself is smooth sailing. Why would they care what happens to their cans after they’ve already been bought? Besides, Anheuser-Busch InBev, which has a concentration hold on beer production, produces a large number of Bud Light’s “replacement” beers anyhow.
The issue, of course, is not the company itself. The issue is the existence — and recognition — of transgender people: that is what these boycotters are so angry about.
Mulvaney has borne the brunt of the attack against Bud Light. John Cardillo, a conservative commentator, openly misgendered Mulvaney in a tweet against the brand. Congresswoman Marjorie Taylor Greene tweeted that the brand had changed its gender to the “Queen of Beers,” a direct dig against Mulvaney’s transition. Several other conservative spokespeople and commentators have done the same. Mulvaney herself has faced harassment and threats of violence for years, but this has intensified since the brand deal. Still, both Mulvaney and the company have rightfully stood by their decision.
Misinformation about the campaign has also gone rampant. Rumors about Anheuser-Busch InBev firing their entire marketing department over the decision to partner with Mulvaney, for example, was proven false by the Associated Press.
These boycotts hurt people more than companies. Harassment, violence, and abuse all become normalized when bomb threats against the company have gone nationwide, influencers comments become filled with death threats, and politicians begin to attack rather than support. In our last article, we ended with the following:
The time to act is now. According to the Human Rights Campaign, in 2020 and 2021, transgender people faced a record amount of violence.
Sign our petition to demand safety for transgender employees.
The biggest issue for transgender people in the workplace is safety, as revealed by a recent McKinsey study.1 This is a pressing issue that goes beyond pay inequality and lack of career advancement, both of which transgender people also face. Although President Biden passed an executive order to stop discrimination based on gender identity or sexual orientation, the law has not translated into change in the workplace.2
In 2020, Harvard Business Review said organizations tend to focus on sexual orientation and not gender identity. There is a greater focus on the LGB than the TQ+.3 To put this in perspective, Gallup found that in the U.S., for Gen Z, 2.5% identifies as gay, 2.0% identifies as lesbian, and 2.1% identifies as transgender.4 A significant portion of the future and current transgender workforce will face safety-related issues at work if we do not act now.
A 2021 study by the Williams Institute at UCLA found 44% of transgender workers faced verbal harassment, and 22% faced sexual harassment.5 There are other safety issues faced by transgender employees as well. McKinsey found 50% of transgender applicants felt they could not reveal their full selves during the interview process and safety was the number one reason for avoiding certain industries. While on the job, things are not much better, the survey found. Only 32% felt they could be fully out at work.1 There are significant barriers to advancement as well for the transgender workforce.
It is imperative that transgender employees feel safe and allowed to fully be themselves. There are a few key areas that need to be addressed to help the transgender workforce: 1) Use a common and inclusive vocabulary at work, 2) Be intentional in the recruiting process, 3) Leaders must proactively create an environment of acceptance, 4) Provide the proper healthcare that is needed.
The time to act is now. According to the Human Rights Campaign, in 2020 and 2021, transgender people faced a record amount of violence.6
Sources:
Baboolall, David, Greenberg, Sarah, and Obeid, Maurice (2021). Being Transgender at Work, McKinsey & Company.
The White House Briefing Room (2021). Executive Order on Preventing and Combating Discrimination on the Basis of Gender Identity or Sexual Orientation.
Sawyer, Katina et al. (2020). Creating a Trans-Inclusive Workplace, Harvard Business Review.
Jones, Jeffrey (2022). LGBT Identification in U.S. Ticks Up to 7.1%, Gallup.
Williams Institute at UCLA, 2021. LGBT People’s Experiences of Workplace Discrimination and Harassment.
Human Rights Campaign Foundation (2021). Fatal Violence Against the Transgender and Gender Non-Conforming Community in 2021.
In January of this year, Taylor Swift released the music video for her chart-topping song Lavender Haze, which included transgender model Laith Ashley playing Swift’s love interest through the ‘hazy,’ cloudy, purple realm of the video. If you didn’t know Ashley to begin with, you likely would have never noticed; and yet the decision to include a transgender model — even if not the focal point of the video — is still a powerful political and social decision.
In one of our previous articles, I briefly broke down how transgender lives easily become a market scheme for elites to build platforms. These stories, more often than not, are focused on the suffering of transgender people: the exclusion one might face, the familial and platonic distancing, the unemployment, et cetera. But that is not the focus of Ashley’s inclusion in the Lavender Haze music video, and nor is in the point of various pieces of media where transgender people are represented and included but not made out to be the epitome of suffering. Transgender people can be who they are: they can have girlfriends, and go to parties, and do not have to exist in expulsion.
Transgender people can be who they are: they can have girlfriends, and go to parties, and do not have to exist in expulsion.
In the Lavender Haze music video, released in January, model Laith Ashley played the romantic lead opposed to Taylor Swift.
Swift is not the only artist who has been so directly involved in transgender inclusion and the fight for LGBTQ rights, but she is also one of the most prevalent in today’s view — Swift, who has maintained one of the top artists of 2023 and dominated the Top Music Billboard in the end of 2022, has a “fandom” (that is, a group of fans) of people who are openly queer, one of which she is an active ally for.
Other artists who do the same? The list is long and includes other notable figures like Beyonce, for example, who has proven herself to be a queer and trans ally time and time again. Certainly the list of artists who claim to be allies is even longer. Notable change, however, comes from movement — it comes from representation and action; action by these notable elites who can, and should, fight for true change above all else. And an example of that? Bad Bunny.
Like Swift, Bad Bunny maintained his legacy as an artist with the most-streamed album of 2022, Un Verano Sin Ti, but has for even longer been an ally to the transgender community. In 2020, Bad Bunny paid tribute to Alexa Negrón Luciano, a transgender woman who was murdered in Puerto Rico, when he wore to his performance on The Tonight Show a black skirt and a t-shirt stating: Mataron a Alexa, no a un hombre con falda.
They killed Alexa, not a man in a skirt.
Image taken from Billboard
It takes open, honest allyship — openness to hiring transgender actors and models, openness to advocate, openness to fight — to make real change against all odds. We, as individuals, only hold so much power over the media, politics, and policing, but the artists, musicians, actors, and elites that we look up to can do so much more; and should.
Hunter Schaefer, the actress who plays Jules in the hit TV show Euphoria
As a writer myself, I’ve spent a lot of time thinking about the identities of my characters. What makes an identity? What defines their life story, who they are, and how they got there? It seems like a pretty simple question: you sit down and you make up this life, this person, and then you figure out the rest later, but really that’s not so — especially when it comes to trans characters.
There’s an issue plaguing modern fiction. There’s an issue plaguing television, film, and video games. This issue?
The commercialization of trans lives.
It’s not a small topic. It’s something that expands beyond our means, and beyond what I can write about in a short article — it’s the fantasy of having a trans person in the background of your story, a best friend who has an arching storyline of “Nobody sees me for who I am! Nobody supports me!” (see Max Sweeney in The L Word), or of “I don’t fit in! I must be trans!” (see Sheldon in Glee). Of course, there are success stories too, especially in more recent media: Jules in Euphoria was one of the first younger trans characters played by a trans actor who rose in popularity through the story, andthe many characters in POSE represent an important part of transgender history that is often overlooked.
The cast of POSE, the majority of whom are transgender women; sourced from https://www.emmys.com/news/features/license-thrill
But there’s a common thread there, too; the majority of the time, this is queer media marketed to queer audiences. Euphoria, for example, despite its boom in popularity, was widely accepted by and marketed towards the younger generation of queer people who could see themselves in the relationships between Jules and Rue, or trans people who could find solace in the acceptance and struggles Jules has throughout the series.
So few of these success stories of trans characters involve these characters as not a sob story sub-plot-line, but as a person, a human being who is not something new or unheard of, but is who they are without need for explanation. Still, even the poor representation of trans people in the media has led to rising rates of transgender acceptance and understanding. Is this the price to pay for any representation at all? I believe that’s not the case: as years go on, more and more trans people are shown in all forms of commercialization, from books to advertisements, and with that comes a rising amount of proper representation.
We, as viewers, have to hold creators accountable and have to point out the flaws when they are present as well as supporting the successes when they are publicized. According to GLAAD, 20% of Americans reported knowing someone who was trans, and that’s only by reports of people who are aware of the trans identities of their co-workers, friends, and family; in reality, that number continues to grow and is likely much higher from our day-to-day interactions with people who aren’t as open about their identities, but still exist.
Sourced from ThoughtCo: https://www.thoughtco.com/seven-sisters-colleges-historical-background-3528803
Sourced from ThoughtCo: https://www.thoughtco.com/seven-sisters-colleges-historical-background-3528803
From the beginning of their existence, the meaning of a women’s college and its relevance has plagued the political sphere of the United States.
Questions have morphed over the decades—“Do women deserve spaces dedicated to education? Should women go to college?” or “Do we still need women’s colleges in a time when the majority of colleges admit women?”—but the main examination plaguing women’s colleges today remains the same as it was a hundred years ago: what is the meaning of “women’s college”?In a time when what it means to be a gender minority and what it means to be a woman is constantly shifting, this question has remained strong in the minds of feminists and gender theorists alike. As a non-binary person attending a women’s college, this question has been a core factor in my daily life.
The History of Women’s Colleges
When the idea of a “women’s college” was first introduced, it was in response to the fact that very few colleges would admit women into their institutions. Over the course of several years, hundreds of women’s colleges opened and, in response, many high-level institutions, such as the Ivy League, established women’s colleges to admit women when the main college refused to do so. However, as male-dominated colleges began to admit more and more women, the number of those women-only institutions began to fall, and fall dramatically: although there were hundreds of colleges in the early 1900s, only 40 remained in 2020. That number is even lower in 2023, sitting around 27 or 28. (“The History and Impact of Women’s Colleges”)
But what does this mean to the importance of a women’s college? Why did so many colleges close—or be absorbed into their main parent institutions (like Radcliffe College and Harvard University)?
The Identity of Women’s Colleges
The focus of a women’s college is undoubtedly that—women—and, in that identity, women’s colleges have been in the forefront of many discussions regarding the meaning of womanhood and the expectations of gender performance.
Wellesley College, for example, states that while they accept the applications of transgender women and non-binary applicants, they particularly only accept non-binary applicants who “were assigned female at birth and who feel they belong in our community of women” (FAQ – Wellesley College). Bryn Mawr College states the same, but in longer terms:
Bryn Mawr College considers as eligible to apply to the undergraduate college all individuals who have identified and continue to identify as women (including cisgender and trans women), intersex individuals who do not identify as male, individuals assigned female at birth who have not taken medical or legal steps to identify as male, and individuals assigned female at birth who do not identify within the gender binary.
My own college, Barnard, makes note of only accepting women (including transgender women, as of 2015). In the FAQ section of their Transgender Policy, there is one particular question of interest: Are individuals who identify as non-binary or gender non-conforming eligible for admission? The answer? “Barnard accepts applications from those who consistently live and identify as women. To be considered for admission, application materials should support this self-identification” (Transgender Policy – Barnard College). Bummer.
All three of these colleges are members of the Seven Sisters, or at least what remains of the Seven Sisters that still consider themselves women’s colleges (Radcliffe College, aforementioned, no longer exists as an undergraduate or women’s college, and Vassar began admitting men in 1969). All of these colleges were considered, at their peaks, the “Ivies for women.” All of them are strictly managed, rigorous, and difficult to gain admissions to; and they all, at some point, have worked together—that all being said, what marks such a large difference in their interpretations of “women’s college”?
Is there a singular interpretation of what makes a women’s college? Better yet, is there a singular or correct interpretation of what makes a woman, or what makes a gender minority? These are just more of the questions that these colleges have battled with for decades, but let’s try to grapple with them in a few simple ways.
Is there a singular or correct interpretation of what makes a woman, or what makes a gender minority?
Gender in the 21st century is a complicated topic affected by all avenues of thought — philosophy, religion, morality, politics, and more. Keeping this all in mind, what describes a “gender minority”? What is the meaning of “gender” in the first place?
The Purpose of a Women’s College in Modern Day
Let’s assume that a college is built for the advancement of education (an oversimplified idea by far); therefore, a women’s college is built for the advancement of women in education. If a women’s college is built for the advancement of women, why? A possible answer…? when women’s colleges were first established, women were underrepresented in higher education.
How has that goal changed with time? If the ultimate goal of a women’s college is to represent and serve a community with a low level of representation in higher education, then that goal is now void: in 2021, a study revealed that women outnumber men in completing a college degree (Georgetown University). Certainly women still face many, many injustices in a patriarchal society like the United States, but is that something women’s colleges are equipped to respond to, or are these colleges more-so a facade of previous goals — an institution built for maintaining the wealth and class of those in power above them? Barnard, for example, has a long history of indebtedness, struggling since its founding to maintain a stream of wealth able to support its students and faculty; in modern day, the College is astronomically reliant upon extreme donations from families like that of the Vageloses (multiple buildings on the small, four-block campus) and Glicker-Milsteins (other buildings and programs); not only that, but it is reliant upon Columbia, a co-ed university. As compared to the other sister schools, Barnard’s endowment fund is considerably smaller.
This is a problem that has been resolved in the past through mergers with parent colleges, like Radcliffe and Harvard, but that isn’t particularly an efficient solution either, and still does not serve towards the goal that colleges like these were built for. Aside from “a community of women,” what do these schools provide that others do not? — An institution built by and for women. Even in an age where women complete more degrees than men, it is still comforting to find solace from a patriarchal world in the presence of people like you (a woman surrounded by women). That is a purpose which should not be ignored.
Womanhood and Gender Minority Statuses
Womanhood can be defined in many different ways, but all of these colleges seem to have taken that identity in the same direction: placing it into the hands of the applicant and student. That is important because it assists in recognizing the blurred lines between gender identities: while one may not hold every identity placed upon womanhood in a particular person’s opinion, they may in another, and they may even in their own. That is what matters: to “live and identify as a woman,” whether that means by being a cisgender woman, transgender woman regardless of how far in their transition they may be or their understanding of what that transition would look like, or etc.
Where do genderqueer people fall into this? Within the past twenty or so years, the identities of genderqueer people have become incredibly visible in the United States in a way that they had not been in the past (and, by the way, gender non-conforming people are not a new concept). This is a group of people who are marginalized in more ways than one: economically, educationally, socially, and more — people whose entire lives are constantly in question, whose identities have become the plaything of governmental bodies, whose existence has become a legal matter which in some cases has been pushed to mean imprisonment (like this proposed law in West Virginia or these many bills introduced in Texas and a variety of others). All of this is to say — do genderqueer people not fall into the categories prescribed in the very goal of women’s colleges? If the purpose of a women’s college is, we assume, to educate the “women who will make a difference in the world” (Wellesley), then why not apply that to all gender minorities, to non-men? If the goal of these colleges is to fight against the patriarchy, what is this risking?
Do genderqueer people not fall into the categories prescribed in the very goal of women’s colleges?
… Of course, this opens up entire new doors on the problem: if we can define womanhood as one identifying and living as a woman under their own beliefs, then what can we define as genderqueer, or as non-man? Two of the three colleges mentioned earlier in this article do admit genderqueer/non-binary applicants, but only those assigned female at birth. What does this mean to genderqueerness? What does the fact that these people are allowed in at all mean to the identity of a woman’s college?
The main problem is that this perpetuates the idea that non-binary people, as a conglomerate, only identify with femininity and only require the support that women receive; they are forced, therefore, into a binary that their identity was meant to let them escape. This is marked even more by the fact that at these colleges, only AFAB (assigned female at birth) non-binary people are allowed to apply.
This article does a great job at identifying the problems with throwing “non-binary” or “genderqueer” people into a space with women and calling it inclusivity, but I think there is one major factor often overlooked: although these colleges or, in the context of the article, careers and clubs, may want to be more inclusive with their language, that is not the only problem afoot. The most major issue, in my opinion, is that of false security.
Support and Security
A false sense of security is defined as any situation that “makes you believe that you are safe when you are not” (Collins Dictionary).
Applicably, this is more than clear at the majority of women’s colleges today. Out of those that claim to accept gender non-conforming people, for example, actual resources for these people are few and far between; of those colleges which do not accept gender non-conforming people but claim to support those already within the institution who are transitioning, support is typically impossible to find anywhere but in close friends and partners. The facilities and services at these multi-million-dollar institutions lack in almost every way, guiding applicants into a false sense of security which suffocates those within and pushes many to end up leaving their educational journey behind before graduating. Colleges will continue to use feminine language, offer health services excluding transgender health and offered only in regards to female-born bodies, or have record-keeping programs which cannot support name-changes, for example. This goes beyond just education: it expands to the entire experience of university life, a time where one needs as much support as necessary.
In Finality
The debate about women’s colleges goes beyond what can be briefed in an article — it’s an entire subject that could be divided amongst a career of research. Those whom we turn to with answers are still faced with confusion and insecurity: the anxieties of institutions and the conflicting beliefs of different sources can be felt deep into the political sphere of the United States, which has already been heavily affected by transphobia, gender revolution, and acts of violence.
What can you do? Go out, learn more, and do your own research – develop your own opinions. Advocate, raise your own voice and the voices of transgender people, and be your own person.
I came out in 2020. And by that, I mean I came out for the first time in 2020. I say “for the first time” because coming out is a process, an ongoing conversation, not a finite moment in time.
Every time I meet a new person or begin forming a relationship with someone, I come out. This looks different with certain people, and sometimes it’s as simple as someone noticing that my necklace has a carabiner on it. Other times I have to be more explicit about it. Sometimes I’m explicit about it while wearing my carabiner necklace, Doc Martens, cuffed Levi’s, and a thrifted men’s shirt, but it still doesn’t seem to register.
It’s not that I go up to every stranger and announce that I’m gay; I just don’t hide that part of my identity in conversation and would rather people know that about me sooner before it turns into a big coming out discussion. Because the thing is, no matter how many carabiners and crystals I accessorize with, most people are going to assume I’m straight until I say otherwise. I feel a closet being built around me. Mentioning going to Pride or joking about the straight guys who show up on lesbian Hinge lets me break that closet down before the walls get reinforced.
There have been times, though, (especially at the beginning of my journey) where I considered allowing this closet to be built up again. When restaurants reopened, my first girlfriend and I walked hand-in-hand downtown for a night out. It’s not that we got bad looks that I noticed, but there were definitely lingering gazes or second glances as we walked past. I remember worrying that we might pass the wrong person in the wrong headspace.
The solution to this particular problem could have been just not holding hands in public, but if I was straight, this thought never would have crossed my mind. I’m an affectionate person who just wanted to hold my girlfriend’s hand on our first big night out, and I didn’t want to take away something so simple but that meant so much to me simply out of fear for how others would react.
Recent anti-LGBTQ+ legislation and social patterns have stirred up these questions for me once again. I love who I’ve allowed myself to be since first coming out, but I’d be lying if I said I didn’t consider a future where I would have to give up some of these freedoms.
I want to make this clear: I’m privileged. I’m a white, femme lesbian from an upper-middle class family. I could ditch the carabiners, Docs, and sense of humor, be miserable in a relationship with a man, and Gilead would be none-the-wiser. I wouldn’t suffer with gender dysphoria because of this or feel like I need to suppress huge parts of who I am. Walking down the street, I’m not risking as much as a trans* person would be – especially a BIPOC trans* person. But I feel at risk nonetheless.
I also feel, however, the lingering pain that came with suppressing this part of me for 20 years. I was raised in a conservative area and was brought up in the Catholic Church. Unlike my other queer friends from elementary school, I did know that queer people existed but I didn’t feel that I could be queer. So I kept my feelings bottled up, I convinced myself I wanted to have straight hair and wear muted colors like everyone else, and I felt confused and broken every time I realized something about me was different.
I refuse to go back in the closet, and I refuse to stand by while a closet is built around me. I could live my life differently and perhaps be accepted more readily by society, but that would mean never fully accepting myself. There’s no shame in staying in the closet until you feel ready and comfortable, but when you do just know there’s a community of people here for you who will accept the parts of you that you had to accept about yourself. Don’t let yourself feel pressured or bullied into giving that up.
Halloween is a holiday that allows many to express themselves and have fun outside the confines of day-to-day life. We made a list of Halloween movies to watch this weekend that have LGBTQ+ representation and that embody this freedom.
Our favorite spooky gang is back! If you’re reading this, you’ve probably been aware for years that Velma’s character in the Scooby Doo series is queer coded (it definitely wasn’t subtle), but this movie officially let her out of the closet!
Hulu pulled through for fans of drag this year with their “Dragstravaganza” hosted by queens Ginger Minj and Monet X Change. With many amazing drag kings and queens, a great soundtrack, and all the fun and opulence you could ask for from a drag special, this spectacular is sure to get you ready for spooky season!
We all know and love the Sanderson Sisters, and while they still rule the screen in the Hocus Pocus sequel, three drag queens briefly take the stage impersonating them. I would happily watch a fully dragged-out version of the film, but allowing queens to showcase their art in such an iconic Disney movie is a huge win for the LGBTQ+ community.
No list of LGBTQ+ Halloween movies would be complete without mentioning The Rocky Horror Picture Show. Honestly, there are so many ways this movie could have gone wrong. We could’ve ended up with another Jame Gumb perpetuating harmful stereotypes, but instead we ended up with pure camp, bliss, and self-expression. Put on some fishnets, cinch that waist, and get ready for a night that will live in your memory forever.
As the number of queer bars in the United States dwindles, discourse increases over how to preserve those that remain as safe spaces for the LGBTQ+ community. To many, this means asking cishet individuals to respect these spaces and keep them queer.
This may seem exclusionary for a group that relies on acceptance and love for all identities. However, the exact point here is that many LGBTQ+ people feel excluded almost everywhere else. The default assumption of society is that a person is cisgender and heterosexual until they come out as queer (and maybe even then, too). In queer bars, though, this script is flipped. It creates an atmosphere that allows people to have experiences as their true selves. It’s an opportunity to feel celebrated rather than studied.
Unfortunately, some have had this experience tarnished by cishet people who treat the space as they would a traditionally “straight” bar. Women on TikTok recount being harassed by straight men who wouldn’t leave them alone even after they said they’re lesbians. Others report being made fun of for approaching a woman in these spaces who then reveal they’re straight.
These experiences are all-too-common in day-to-day life, but the purpose of queer bars is to prevent them from happening there. This raises the question, then, of when and how it’s respectful for cishet people to enter these queer spaces.
Some request that cishet people not go to gay bars in general, others don’t have an issue with it, and more think it’s respectful to go in a group that includes queer people. This means, then, that we don’t have a clear answer for when it’s respectful for cishet people to enter these spaces. It seems, though, that the intent behind going is more important.
Gay bars are a lot of fun, and the accepting environment can make cishet individuals feel comfortable and safe as well. However, this openness is maintained by celebrating what makes us different and not judging people for living lives different from our own. Everyone entering these spaces – cishet or queer – needs to respect this.
They’re not places to ogle or judge. They’re not places to superficially preach allyship. They’re places where allyship must be practiced. They’re places to go support queer friends. They’re places that allow LGBTQ+ individuals to be celebrated for the part of their identity that has been oppressed for so many years and that continues to be today.
We have very few of these unique spaces left, yet they are so vital to the LGBTQ+ community. Make the ones we have left count, and keep them safe and uplifting spaces regardless of your sexual orientation or gender identity.
Sourced from https://www.statepress.com/multimedia/c78729ec-7257-4842-8a1d-288a51461add
On September 7th, 2022, the New York Times posted an article titled The Safe Space That Became a Viral Nightmare; a name that doesn’t truly do the story justice. Immediately I noticed the irony in the entire situation — the violence and abuse that students of color, especially Tekola, a non-binary Black person, faced, including undeserved punishment from their university, when compared to their white peers, with whom it seemed an entire nation stood behind.
…the violence and abuse that students of color, especially Tekola, a non-binary Black person, faced…
“Black transgender and gender non-conforming people face some of the highest levels of discrimination of all transgender people,” according to Injustice at Every Turn, a sub-research article based from the National Transgender Discrimination Survey
For a brief refresh on the story: Arizona State University, a system with over 70,000 students (and over 130,000 students between all campuses and programs), with the push of minority students, established a multicultural area they called the “Multicultural Communities of Excellence space.” This multicultural space was meant to serve as a place on campus for students of color and other minorities (whether that be ethnic, queer, etc) to feel comfortable and centered when typically they would not be. The space was large, with full glass windows and a sign indicating its status (although the article notes that the signs might not be very effective or noticeable).
On September 23rd, 2021, Araya, a Black student, was hosting a Black Graduate Student Association study session in the multicultural center when two white men entered the space. Araya shared with the New York Times that she felt as if the men were mocking her: laughing, turning their stickers towards her (one which proudly stated “Police Lives Matter” in comparison to a sticker on Araya’s laptop, “Black Lives Matter”), nodding towards her, and etc.
Araya, being alone at this point, snapped a photo of the men and sent it to Tekola, aforementioned, and Qureshi, a Pakistani-American woman. At the time, Tekola and Qureshi were attending a meeting with school officials regarding maintaining the space. Tekola shared the message with the officials, who offered to send a “Situational Response Team.” By the time Tekola and Qureshi reached the Multicultural Communities space, however, no such team had arrived. After a bit of discussion, Qureshi volunteered to talk to the two men.
By the time Tekola and Qureshi reached the Multicultural Communities space, however, no such team had arrived.
The New York Times article seems to focus especially on Chase Beckerman, one of the two men, while not discussing Garett Niles, who had been the one to truly engage with Qureshi and Tekola. Perhaps that is because Beckerman was willing to chat with the Times; regardless, the article paints Beckerman as an unwilling bystander, confused about the situation at hand and meaning no harm while Tekola, who had been the primary voice in the video, “harassed” him and his friend. This ignores three important facts:
1. The space was clearly, regardless of the writer’s opinion, indicated as a multicultural center; Tekola had been one of the founding members of the center, which had faced multiple setbacks due to controversy and abuse from Arizona State University. If these two white men were laughing at, pointing towards, and etc, Araya, then they were clearly in knowledge of this fact and continued into the space anyways.
2. The interaction came at a university where abusive and racist groups and people have been allowed to coexist and spread hate; as stated in the article:
Members also pointed out moments of racism and harassment at the university: a religious-right activist protesting while wearing a T-shirt that read “Muslims Will Rape You;” anti-immigrant and neo-Nazi fliers plastered around campus; a student group called College Republicans United whose members were caught sharing racist, homophobic and antisemitic messages online. (That group, still an official student organization, last year tweeted a Thanksgiving meme referring to Native Americans as ‘undocumented immigrants’ who ‘refuse to learn local language’ and ‘still get food assistance.’)
Tekola’s response to the appearance of two White men who seemed to be harassing their friend in a multicultural space, especially following so much prior hate, was not uncalled for.
3. Tekola’s position as a Black transgender student allowed them many more vulnerable identites to be attacked than Niles (who compared his experience being confronted by Tekola to “Black people during the ‘times of racism'”) or Beckerman.
The article claims repeatedly that Beckerman feared for his future as a doctor, including his ability to enter and remain in medical school with such an event as this attached to his name. Beckerman’s fears, which have not come to fruition, are incomparable next to what Tekola has experienced: murder threats, rape threats, verbal and physical harassment, fatphobic comments, and extreme racism to the point of being sent photographs of murdered Black people. Tekola and Qureshi both faced physical harassment from multiple groups, even being offered a police escort, which they rejected in reference to a former police officer’s website, which had posted threatening and derogatory statements about them both. Meanwhile, Beckerman continued his, while now more publicized, life working at a hospital. While Tekola faced threats of being removed from their university, both Niles and Beckerman studied and continued life as they had prior to the video.
Just one Google search of “ASU Tekola” returns handfuls of results with titles skewering the situation in racist and transphobic ways: painting Tekola and their friends as “woke ASU students” or “Black Students punished for attacking White Students…” The articles more often than not misgender them, belittle them, and spread rapid misinformation; it seems that few notice the extreme power imbalance in the situation itself, or even the situation’s reality. One article, A Look at the Impact of ASU Multicultural Spaces on Students, shares one of the few views supporting Tekola and their friends through interviews with other ASU students. Wendy Ruiz, a Latina ASU student, said:
“I felt very uncomfortable just because on Instagram, the two girls were shown in the wrong and the two men were the victim. I definitely disagree because these two white men purposefully came into a multicultural space and purposefully put their propaganda that makes students of color uncomfortable because of the issues they face in real life.”
Wendy Ruiz, a student at ASU, shared her belief that Tekola and their friends were improperly targeted in media during an interview with AZ Big Media.
When it comes to situations involving people of color, especially transgender people of color, it is important to take into consideration the power imbalances, inherent racism, and evident transphobia in articles and in media. It is important to take publicized information with a grain of salt, and even more important to do your own research with the knowledge of these inherent truths in mind.
