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Women’s Colleges

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.

Transgender Applicants Policy – Bryn Mawr

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.

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Respecting Gay Bars and Keeping Them Queer

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.

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Distrusting the Media: Violence and Abuse Towards Transgender POC

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.

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National Depression Screening Day

By, Meghan Serceki

October 8, 2022 is National Depression Screening Day, a day that encourages individuals to screen for mental health issues and be aware of conditions that may be affecting them.

This is important for everyone to participate in, especially for members of the LGBTQ+ community and trans* individuals who face these challenges at higher rates than the general population (See: “The Stigma of Seeking Help”).

It’s important to address these issues as soon as possible once they arise. On a personal note, I began suffering from depression early in my childhood, but I went undiagnosed until I was 16. I felt it becoming harder and harder to control, and by the time I got treatment, it was more difficult to correct my unhealthy way of thinking as I was combating years of unhelpful habits that had built up.

Studies have shown that the chance of full remission from depression decreases the longer the illness goes untreated. There is always hope for remission, and you can take control of that hope today by getting screened.

Because of the stigma surrounding mental health issues, it’s difficult to admit you need help, and you can’t always rely on other people to notice the signs for you. That’s why it’s important to seek treatment and get screened to monitor your health.

We have yearly physical exams, so please consider this your yearly mental exam. Take a screening here or consult a healthcare professional to take care of yourself sooner rather than later. You have so much value and there are people equipped to help you. This is the first step in accessing this support.

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The Next Frontier: an Interview with Dr. Jeff Day

Dr. Day is an assistant professor at NYU Meyers, where his new course will launch in the fall.

by Jay Samson

image sourced from https://nursing.nyu.edu/directory/faculty/jeff-day

Smiling as he looked into the camera, head slightly tilted in thought, Dr. Jeff Day, an assistant clinical professor at New York University Rory Meyers College of Nursing, said, “I went to San Francisco. I remember very clearly walking down the street and seeing a trans woman ahead of me, and I remember thinking,

that’s the next frontier.”

He was discussing his upcoming course at NYU — a series of lectures focused on LGBTQ health — and we had begun to chat about his inspiration and why he felt the course was important. The course dives into the deeper waters of queer health, focusing not only on the “big picture” but on individual communities and issues. The conversation was filled with moments like these; moments in which we could truly see the engagement and care Dr. Day had for the subject he would begin to teach this upcoming semester.

Dr. Day is a nurse practitioner with the Center for Transgender Medicine and Surgery at New York Eye and Ear Infirmary of Mount Sinai, board-certified by the American Nurses Credentialing Center as an adult-gerontology primary care nurse practitioner and certified by the National League for Nursing as an academic clinical nurse educator, and is an active member and chair-elect of the Nursing Section of the Gay and Lesbian Medical Association, dedicated to ensuring equality for LGBTQ individuals and healthcare professionals. Dr. Day’s current pursuit is a course at NYU focused on LGBTQ+ health. This course has one clear goal — to educate the next generation of healthcare professionals and to “take care of LGBT individuals.”

Interestingly enough, the course came to fruition both out of Dr. Day’s belief that the topic went under-teached and out of the request of students. It wasn’t simply one or two students who would come to Dr. Day about feeling underprepared for helping queer patients; several students came to him with questions on queer health and a interest in learning much more than he was able to share in the moment. 

“I identify as gay, and I have had my fair share of poor treatment in healthcare… I had a friend who was trans and had an abysmal treatment in healthcare and ended up taking her own life,” Dr. Day told us, somber, and then added, “I needed something that was my own.” That opportunity came in the form of this course: the issue was clearly prevalent and on the minds of students, and Dr. Day knew he had to step in.

The course, which begins this upcoming fall semester, caters to students with little to no experience in LGBTQ+ healthcare, although those already informed on the topic are also able to participate. Curriculum is divided into week-long chunks, with, for example, one week dedicated to HIV/AIDs care and chronic conditions, one week dedicated to intersex care, and two weeks dedicated to general transgender care. Although Dr. Day created the course for those already interested in LGBTQ+ healthcare, he shared with us his ultimate hope for the future of education: “Ideally, LGBTQ+ content would be weaved into curriculum… Ideally, we would make space in each of those classes, such as Pharmacology or those medical-surgical courses, dedicated to LGBTQ care,” and while he “felt it was important to open up an elective for those who have a passion for it,” he believes that expanding LGBTQ+ care to be part of general study is important.

When asked why he thinks LGBTQ+ healthcare hasn’t become a general topic found in all courses yet, Dr. Day, with a sigh, shared he believes it is because professors lack understanding of queer health. In fact, a study conducted in 2011 concluded some disappointing facts: many medical students only received, at the time, around five total hours of education relating to queer health — and many of these rising physicians felt as if they were inadequately trained for working with queer patients. Although this study concluded a decade ago, these numbers have hardly changed. Many students still feel uncomfortable working with queer, especially transgender and intersex, patients, with many reporting that they feel as though they are uninformed on the subject of transgender/intersex care, according to this 2017 study. 

Ideally, LGBTQ+ content would be weaved into curriculum.

The amount of students who came to Dr. Day asking for more clarity on LGBTQ+ health only proves this lack of education.

How can medical schools improve? According to Dr. Day, “We need trans, gender nonbinary, gender nonconforming, gay, bisexual, we need all of this literature provided to students before they get to the classroom. It will make students more sensitive that way. In a way, they’ll understand what they’re getting into… I also think we need to tackle it from a faculty perspective. We need better training.” The problem goes beyond what students are being taught now; the issue began decades ago. If professors received improper training in their education and proceeded to avoid queer healthcare, never properly learning themselves, how could they teach the next generation any better? 

Still, it’s no excuse, and Dr. Day agrees. Professors have a duty to not only their students, but to their students’ future patients. Even the smallest changes, such as introducing oneself with one’s identities present and explaining that one has a different viewpoint and experience than those one is working with, can go a long way. As we continued to chat, Dr. Day offered advice for professors struggling with feeling inadequate, or as if they might make their students uncomfortable, explaining that in his course, “My ultimate goal is to bring in some guest speakers. I frame my lectures by saying, ‘I am not a person of trans experience,’ ‘I am not a person of color experience.’” These disclaimers mixed with the real-world experience of those impacted directly can do quite a bit for students who might, in many ways, also feel as though they could never understand queer health or would always be walking on eggshells with queer patients.

I frame my lectures by saying, ‘I am not a person of trans experience,’ ‘I am not a person of color experience.’

Disclaimers can encourage acceptance and growth, according to Dr. Day.

This ability to recognize one’s identities and experiences contrasted with the identities and experiences of others allows one to accept their own drawbacks, and even accept their own possible failures. That acceptance is an early step in moving forward. Optimistically, Dr. Day added, “I do anecdotally hear that there is some improvement in nursing schools… I am getting word that it seems to be helping. I do hope to one day have students come back and tell me about their experiences.”

This care is not only rewarding to the patient, but to the physician as well. “I had a patient who tied balloons to their bed, because they had gotten gender affirmation surgery and was celebrating their first birthday, and you hear me get choked up about that now… There’s something super special about working in that area,” Dr. Day shared with us, his excitement obvious. 

It’s clear: there’s nothing Dr. Day wants more than to bring these experiences to both his students and their future patients who might otherwise never receive such care. The Rory Meyers College, where Dr. Day is leading this course, works with future nurses, a field in which the relationship between oneself and the patient is of utmost importance. The impact of a nurse on a patient can influence a variety of things, including, but not limited to, the patient’s decision to receive treatment, the patient’s comfort with said treatment, and the patient’s willingness to continue to seek the aforementioned treatment. 

To see a patient thrive under one’s treatment — that is what inclusivity is for. Dr. Day shared with us an experience he had working with a transgender patient who had received surgery to raise her voice, and it is impossible to say that she did not thrive. “(T)he sheer joy she experienced coming in and preparing for this was just infectious,” he said, “We talked about her past surgeries… I just see people sail as a result of these procedures that I don’t often see in other individuals.”

Hundreds of patients await experiences such as these, but due to a lack of education and a lack of access catered to queer patients, many are unable to proceed with the care they deserve. That is also part of why Dr. Day is so adamant about his course, and courses like it: they are not simply taught for fun, but for the betterment of millions of people.

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Corporate Social Responsibility: Salt & Straw Cofounder, Kim Malek

Kim Malek
Kim Malek

In 2011, Kim Malek and her cousin, Tyler Malek, founded the ice cream company Salt & Straw to create a community gathering place where people can treat themselves and experience “moments of wonder” together.

We Welcome All Ampersand

As such, the company embraces people from every walk of life. Each store window displays a sign that states, “We Welcome All,” and they take steps to make each person who walks through the door feel comfortable being their authentic self.

Cofounder and CEO Kim Malek spoke with Cloud Dancers about her views on the role of business in the pursuit of social responsibility and the steps she has taken to make her workplace better for all, especially those who identify as trans*.

Malek’s kind nature and excitement over having these meaningful conversations are immediately apparent even in the age of video conference interviews. “Yay! We did it!” she exclaimed when we entered the meeting. Immediately I was put at ease, glad to know she was as eager to do this interview as I was.

Collaborating with other organizations or foundations like ours is nothing new to Malek, as she believes in working together to bring about social change. Malek grew up wanting to go into politics, but instead went into business when she realized the advocacy that was possible in the private sector. 

She observes, “Business has to be at the table and part of those conversations. The government can’t do it all on its own. Nonprofits and governmental agencies can’t do it all on their own. All three have to come together to make change.” She continues, “It’s good business to be investing in the right ways. Not only is it the right thing to do for society, but it’s actually just good for your business.”

“It’s good business to be investing in the right ways. Not only is it the right thing to do for society, but it’s actually just good for your business.”

When reflecting on this idea of social responsibility, Malek says it goes beyond writing a check. “To me, it’s looking into the core of your business and how you do business, breaking apart each of those components to figure out how you can use your business to make a difference in the world.”

She gives examples (and there are a lot) of Salt & Straw’s business practices that work toward this goal. “For instance, we buy a lot of ingredients,” she says. “The cost of entry today is that you would buy organic ingredients that don’t harm the environment. You would expect us to do that.” 

Social responsibility, though, goes beyond meeting basic expectations. “Let’s go to a deeper level and ask, ‘can we buy from mostly minority or women-owned businesses so we can use our purchasing power to help a first-generation farmer in the Bay Area where we’re her largest customer? And then can we use our marketing power to promote her and make her known?’” The question, Malek continues is, “‘How can you take what you’re doing every day and use that to invest in the community in a unique way?’”

Kim and Tyler Malek
Kim and Tyler Malek work together to dream up unique flavors which benefit the community.

With over one thousand employees, Malek says hiring is a huge opportunity to make business more equitable and safe for all. “We ask ourselves, can we use that to offer first jobs to people and train them in unique ways? Can we use our hiring to offer jobs to people who are reentering the workforce? How can we format our training program so that we’re known as a company that, if you used to work there you have these incredible skills? And maybe we even hold job fairs with different industries at the end of the summer to say, ‘We have this incredible talent pool that we’ve just trained – hire them!’ It’s radical that you would do that because you want to hold onto your people (and we do, by the way), but at the same time, could we be a launching pad for employment in other places?”

“And while you’re here, look at our benefits!” she exclaims. “Since Day One, we’ve offered benefits for people who are transitioning and just making sure that, if we get complaints, we hold everyone accountable and we have a culture where that’s not swept under the rug. We investigate and take care of issues. We’re not perfect by any stretch of the imagination, but we’re on a journey to take the right next step each time.”

“Since Day One, we’ve offered benefits for people who are transitioning”

Supporting trans* individuals has been a “no brainer” since founding the company. Salt & Straw set up its benefits program in 2011, and Malek states, “Maybe it was a little newer to offer that benefit back then, but it was available, so it was like ‘of course we’re going to do that!’”

Beyond this financial assistance, she notes, “I think the challenge we’ve had over the years is making sure that we as a company are prepared and educated to support people who are transitioning. It’s one thing to give that benefit, but how does the company provide the right support? There’s a lot going on in your life when that’s happening, so what accommodations can we make more broadly so that you can be successful as you transition?”

The transgender community cites safety as its number one concern in the workplace (McKinsey), and these best practices along with Salt & Straw’s zero tolerance policy for any sort of safety concerns seek to mitigate this fear. Malek states, “We educate people about that on day one. Whether it’s from customers or coworkers or members of the community.”

Again, looking into the core of her business, Malek reflects, “We’ve done that successfully and I think sometimes we haven’t. Probably our biggest area of opportunity is to continue to make sure that it feels like a safe, supportive place as someone’s going through that.”

Malek’s response to this is training, focusing on the management, and ensuring that each level of the business reflects these values. She raises the question,  “If you’re a manager at a Salt & Straw and you have a team member who’s transitioning, how do you talk to them or the rest of the team and explain what’s going on in a way that’s supportive? And even how do you handle customer conversations? Because that can be hard too!”

Malek continues to work directly with guests, even in her role as CEO.

She stresses the importance of having training around this and communicating a plan for employees should these situations take place. “You need to have a plan of what to do because otherwise, you don’t know what to do in the moment. You need to talk about it with your coworkers, with your manager, and then when it hits you, you’re like ‘oh yeah, I know what to do!’ Otherwise, in the moment it’s too hard to navigate.”

“I honestly believe that there are a good number of organizations out there that would advocate for their team members,” she continues, “I just honestly don’t know if they’re thinking about it. So we need to talk about it and get best practices out there. Because there’s no environment where someone working in the hospitality industry should be made to feel like they have to endure that kind of thing. And it’s serious. And it happens.”

“There’s no environment where someone working in the hospitality industry should be made to feel like they have to endure that”

Society as a whole might be slow to catch up, but Malek cites this as a reason to take swift action where necessary. “If there’s any whisper of a concern, then the management team will be willing to face that, get involved, and take action,” Malek says. 

She adds, “This is really hard to do, and you hear companies all the time saying they don’t want to go through that. But you have to. Every single time. Every time.”

Malek says advocacy doesn’t stop at her business. Rather, her business is a form of advocacy. Salt & Straw has a number of exciting new programs and partnerships in the works, so stay posted and treat yourself to some ice cream – we all deserve to have moments of wonder.

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Our Flag Means Death: the Importance of Representation

image taken from https://www.slashfilm.com/828215/jim-the-pirate-is-the-real-treasure-of-our-flag-means-death/

by Jay Samson

Please note that this article will discuss events in the television show Our Flag Means Death. To avoid spoilers, please do not read this article.

image taken from https://www.tvinsider.com/show/our-flag-means-death/

On March 3rd, 2022, HBO Max released Our Flag Means Death, a romantic “swashbuckler” action-comedy written by David Jenkins. The series is based on real-life pirates — with some pretty major alterations — and revolves around the sometimes comedic, sometimes dramatic, and all the time queer relationship between Stede Bonnet (played by Rhys Darby), a wealthy noble turned pirate-wannabe, and Edward Teach (played by Taika Waititi), also known as Blackbeard. The series overtook Book of Boba Fett as the United States Most In-Demand Show after Book’s three-month spot at #1, and then continued to defeat Moon Knight for weeks after Our Flag’s final episode was released. It also received a 90% critic rating and a 95% audience rating on Rotten Tomatoes. Most importantly, it has been declared by thousands of fans to be one of the best LGBT shows to date.

Our Flag Means Death is a breath of fresh air in the romantic comedy genre. Most memorably, fans have noted that, unlike other shows, Our Flag prevents itself from falling prey to queerbaiting: it is obvious from the beginning which romantic relationships will be set up (specifically between Stede and Edward), and, by the end of the season, watchers are left knowing that the queerness they had picked up on is confirmed after a kiss between the two characters. In fact, the final point of the show is a confirmation of anti-queerbaiting itself: we see Stede Bonnet, after talking to his ex-wife about his feelings for Edward, board a small dinghy in search of his lover. 

The choice of closing out the season with an event so obviously queer is not only revolutionary for popular television but also highly dangerous. Our Flag was recently renewed for a second season — after months of silence from HBO Max while also renewing much smaller, less popular shows, a choice that many claim to be intentional. The silence from HBO Max in regards to advertising during and prior to the show’s release also has been noted as possibly intentional. It is not unlikely that HBO Max purposefully remained silent on the renewal until Pride Month, during which an announcement of renewal would bring forth increased funds to HBO Max. The phenomenon of queer media (and general products) being promoted and funded during Pride Month more than any other time of year has been entitled “rainbow capitalism.” An article on the queer site LGBTQ and All describes the phenomenon quite well:

Rainbow capitalism, aka pink capitalism, is the action of companies claiming to support LGBTQ+ causes and communities, but are actually making merchandise for-profit and capitalize on the trend. In other words, it centers on corporate interests and profit. (“What is Rainbow Capitalism and why is it Harmful?”)

If you’re interested in reading more about this phenomenon, check out our article “Rainbow Capitalism and Pride Month,” posted on May 24th by Megan Serceki.

The show’s premise, as it were, goes much further than simply being queer.

As previously mentioned, Our Flag takes inspiration from the histories of real-life people and changes it to include characters of color, such as Taika Waititi’s Blackbeard, a Maori man, or Samson Kayo’s Oluwande, a black man. It also adds queer characters, with openly gay relationships such as that between Nathan Foad’s Lucius and Matthew Maher’s Black Pete and the growing relationship between Blackbeard and Stede, the main couple of the show. Even transgender characters, such as Vico Ortiz’s non-binary Jim Jimenez, take a starring role in the series. 

image taken from https://ew.com/tv/our-flag-means-death-vico-ortiz-interview/

Vico Ortiz is a non-binary Latine actor. Jim has been their first major role in television, and, to many fans, Jim has also served as the first major non-binary representation in television or film — especially as one of the main characters. 

Not only that, but Ortiz’s role plays even more importance as Jim’s relationship with Oluwande progresses through the series. It is few and far between that shows adapt queer, trans relationships; much rarer is it for these relationships to be between people of color and for them to ignore all typical gender stereotypes. In one episode of the show, Jim is seen as the ‘big spoon’ in bed with Oluwande, holding him rather than him holding them — a reversal of what would be expected if Jim were to have their non-binary identity ignored or tossed aside for the gender roles of “man” and “woman.”

Ortiz embraces the effect the role has had on them and the show’s fans. In fact, Ortiz revealed in an interview with Out that one of the many influences the show has had on their journey with their transgender identity, top surgery,* saying: “I’ll thank you internet for giving me this beautiful gift… I can get that surgery and show my scars,” referring to showing their scars from top surgery on the character of Jim.

* the medical procedure to flatten the chest often done on AFAB transgender people to relieve dysphoria or provide a closer connection to their gender identity.

Despite popular belief, however, gender exploration throughout the past was not unheard of — especially during the time of Our Flag’s setting.

It would be foolish to apply 21st-century labels to people who lived in the 17th and 18th centuries, the golden age of piracy. Labels and their meanings change; we never see Jim in Our Flag call themself “non-binary” or any of our modern labels — their gender simply is. Much the same, pirates of the 1600s and 1700s often simply “were.” One well-known example, pirate Mary Read, lived as Mark Read repeatedly throughout their life (I use ‘their’ here as a way to respect what their identity may have been, not to say that they specifically used they/them pronouns themself). This journey did not begin in piracy; Mary, or Mark, actually began presenting as a man during two terms in the British military. 

Although few pirates were noted as being non-male or “females presenting as male,” it is highly possible that many more followed both before and after Read; much history of the period has been lost. Still, Read’s experience is not singular.

In the late 1700s, Romaine-la-Prophétesse, a freed Black person, led a small role in the Haitian Revolution. Raised a male, Romaine grew, and, later in life, began to identify as a Prophétesse. Romaine is said to have claimed the “female spirit” and began to wear women’s clothes; however, he continued to use male pronouns in writing and would consider himself the “Godson of the Virgin Mary.” Much the same, Romaine had indicated in letters that he purposefully took the title of “Prophetess” for himself — it is unlikely that this was in error, as Romaine was literate and understood his own writings.

Throughout the mid to late 1800s, a man named Joseph Lobdell, born in New York, fled from state to state in an attempt to keep his identity as a man respected. He took on a wife, Marie Louise Perry, who helped him escape arrest on account of “impersonating a man.” In October of 1880, Joseph was admitted to a psychiatric hospital where he was considered a “case of sexual perversion.” Still, he maintained his identity as a man up through his death in an asylum in 1912. Joseph’s life, a dark reminder of how transgender people were treated throughout the 19th century, has been documented by his descendant Bambi Lobdell.

Lobdell was not alone. Roughly four-hundred people assigned female at birth are documented to have identified as men in order to fight in the Civil War, many maintaining that identity through death. Albert Cashier, one such example, joined the Union Army in 1862 and, after the war, continued to live as Albert. Much like Lobdell, Cashier was put into an asylum in 1913 due to an onset of dementia, where he was forced to wear a dress and be titled his birth name. Nevertheless, Cashier held many supporters in former soldiers and friends, and, upon his death in 1915, was buried with a tombstone engraved with Albert Cashier and his military service.

Much of this history goes unspoken. Our Flag Means Death does more than most to push for the representation that we as a community deserve — and it does so respectfully, encouraging watchers to engage with the history that it makes a comedy of.

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Earning a Living as a Man: the story of Frank Dubois

by Jay Samson

In the late fall of 1883, a series of articles around the United States were published regarding a man by the name of Frank Dubois. 

There was nothing particularly startling or unique about Dubois upon first glance; that is, as he said himself, he “wore pants… smoke(d)… and earn(ed) [his] living as a man.” He was cheerfully married to Gertrude Fuller, who by all accounts declared her love for Frank and the happiness she had in their marriage, the two of them having been wed not long after meeting one another in the spring. He attended balls and events with Gertrude — who he called “Gertie” — and, by working as an artist, was able to provide a comfortable income for her.

What was it that made Frank so important, then, as to have so many articles written about his endeavors? If he was not some elite businessman, thief, or celebrity, then who was he?

Dubois was what many articles described as a “female husband:” a man who had once been known as a woman and who had now taken a wife. The derogatory title was initially popularized by Henry Fielding in his 1746 book of the same name, and quickly became one of the most popular phrases to find in articles of the time; society was enthralled with the idea of what would now be considered transgender — or, in some cases, genderneutral — people, with stories such as that of Charles Hamilton in Fielding’s novel and, in this case, Frank Dubois, blowing up in popularity.

Who was Frank? He had been born as Delia Derthick, and, at 18, had married S. J. Hudson, a man twenty-three years his senior. While married to Hudson, Dubois had been known to wear men’s clothing and to have his clothes fitted to appear masculine, a behavior which, while Hudson found odd, went unquestioned. After thirteen years of marriage and the birth of two children, Derthick seemingly disappeared from the Hudson family home in Illinois; it was then that, in exchange, Frank Dubois appeared in Wisconsin.

Whilst living as Dubois, Frank asserted repeatedly that he was a man and that he would, as phrased in the article History of the Woman Claiming to be a Man and Marrying Another Woman published by the Benton Weekly Record on November 10th, 1883, “not going to keep house for that old man” (meaning Hudson) “any longer, and that [he] would marry a girl.”

For eight months, Gertrude and Frank had been married and living together as painters and lovers, and when Hudson appeared at their home in Waupun, Wisconsin, it seemed impossible that Dubois had once been Hudson’s spouse. Dubois had started quite the life in Wisconsin, and even his and Gertrude’s “most intimate friends” thought of them as a “quiet, happy honeymoon.”

When questioned after Hudson’s confrontation, Dubois continued to assert his masculinity, stating, “I am [a man]— [and] as long as my wife is satisfied it is nobody’s business.” And his wife was indeed satisfied; even past the “reveal” of Dubois’ birth sex, Gertrude also continued to proclaim Frank as a man, accepting of his transition and loving of him nonetheless. The couple eventually shared that Gertrude had been aware of Frank’s transition since the night of their marriage (if not earlier) and that she continued to see him as a man regardless of his birth gender.

Even further, Dubois said very plainly, “I will not return to live with my husband.”

Frank’s story was not singular. In fact, there were many men throughout the 1800s who had also been called “female husbands,” transgender men and non-binary people who had been brave enough to live as who they were.  In some cases, these husbands were forced from their homes and relationships in order to return to the life of a woman which they had found uncomfortable. In others, they were arrested, jailed, and, in some cases, treated violently or even executed. It was rare that such men were left to be the men that they proudly were.

Transgender history is often viewed as singular, transgenderism something new and modern. This is simply not true, and men such as Frank Dubois and other “female husbands” show this clearly. Frank’s story is important and so are the stories of those who faced similar struggles in their identity and the acceptance thereof.

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The Fourteenth Amendment and Trans* Rights

By Meghan Serceki

On May 2, 2022, Americans were shocked by a leaked Supreme Court draft document which stands to overturn the 1973 Supreme Court ruling known as Roe v. Wade. This case is important because it gives women autonomy over their bodies when it comes to abortion. But beyond this obvious protection, the 1973 decision set a precedent for other communities, including LGBTQ+ and trans* individuals.

Roe v. Wade was decided on the basis of protecting people’s right to privacy under the Fourteenth Amendment. The drafted court decision on Dobbs v. Jackson acknowledges that this amendment protects some rights not explicitly mentioned in the Constitution but states that abortion access does not fall under these protections as it is not seen as “‘deeply rooted in this Nation’s history and tradition.’” 

This raises questions, then, of what rights are in fact protected by the Fourteenth Amendment. Abortion access has a documented place in American society and has been protected for the majority of our nation’s history, so if it’s not considered a part of American history, what does this mean for LGBTQ+ individuals who have constantly been pushed into hiding and who have few and very recent protections for their civil rights?

Abortion access arguably does play a substantial role in U.S. history. Until the mid-1800s, medical literature and newspapers regularly advertised different abortion-inducing methods, which could mean that at the time the Constitution was ratified, abortion access was widely accepted and even supported. 

Abortion bans at the time were only truly imposed on Black women by slave owners, and after the Civil War the Fourteenth Amendment was passed as a way to protect their rights. However, at the same time, some people began pushing for abortion bans across the board in an attempt to maintain their control and privilege. A nationwide ban only went into effect in 1910 — a full 122 years after the Constitution was ratified.

The reasoning for the Dobbs v. Jackson decision is incredibly concerning for other individuals who have been made to stay hidden for the entirety of our history. LGBTQ+ individuals have always been here. Trans* people have always existed. But they’ve been pressured to hide their true selves and have faced persecution if they did not. 

Even during the Gay Liberation Movement, trans* individuals were largely excluded. Many gay rights groups wanted to be seen as normal and conforming to heteronormative society in all ways besides their sexual orientation, and trans* people didn’t fit this image.

When initial LGBTQ+ protections were passed, they focused mostly on the basis of sexual orientation and not on gender identity, leaving trans* people still more vulnerable and causing them to stay hidden.

The Fourteenth Amendment was also the justification for the Obergefell v. Hodges decision which affirmed same-sex couples’ right to marry nationwide. When the opinion was delivered and passed in a 5-4 vote, several judges wrote dissents claiming that the Fourteenth Amendment was not applicable to the case of same-sex marriage — nearly the same argument now being used to overturn Roe v. Wade.

An astounding number of anti-LGBTQ+ bills make their way into legislatures every year, and the vast majority of those already introduced in 2022 specifically aim to restrict and override the rights of trans* people. (See: “Texas Threatens Access to Care For Trans* Youth” and “‘Don’t Say Gay Bill’: What Does It Mean?”)

The courts are meant to prevent unconstitutional legislation from being put into effect, and these decisions are made based on existing laws and legal precedents set by previous cases. If the Supreme Court reverses decisions establishing civil rights under the Fourteenth Amendment, this safeguard could be all but lost and many of these bills may come into law.

The draft opinion on Dobbs v. Jackson is not yet official, and there is time to speak up. This is a decision not only affecting people with the ability to get pregnant, it’s a decision which could undo and reverse the progress of recent decades and leave people more vulnerable than ever.

Trans* people have been forced to live in the shadows for far too long and should not be denied their civil rights and human rights because of others’ ignorance. Now is the time to act, to advocate for all those marginalized, and to demand that each and every person is granted their rights to life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness.

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Why Trans* People Need Feminism

By Meghan Serceki

The word “feminism” was introduced to the English language in the 1890s, but people still disagree about who the feminist movement seeks to protect.

Many official dictionaries define “feminism” as a movement based on the equality of sexes. While this is likely a more traditional definition of the term, feminism has come a long way, and so has our understanding of gender.

Saying that feminism seeks equality of the sexes inherently plays into the gender binary — the false notion that one’s assigned sex determines if they’re a “woman” or a “man” — and therefore erases the experiences of many trans* individuals. It makes feminism seem to be a fight only for the rights of cishet women, “othering” trans* people further and excluding them from participating in or benefiting from the movement.

Some “radical feminists” have used this distinction to openly support anti-trans* legislation, despite the fact that such prejudice directly challenges the progress that cishet women have made. They disregard the fact that all trans* people have faced sexism in one way or another — the very system feminists seek to overturn. 

Transgender women give up male privilege to live as their true selves and then find themselves fighting even to be given their full human dignity as women. Transgender men experience traditional sexism before transitioning and then feel the need to combat the abstract notion of “femininity” in order to be accepted as men. Nonbinary people strive to find their balance of “femininity” or “masculinity” in a world which belittles the feminine but also tries to box them into one or the other based on their chromosomes.

Every one of these stories is different, every one varies by individual. But the one constant is the pressures of sexism in the trans* experience.

Trans* people need feminism just as much as cisgender women do.

Including trans* people in discussions about feminism will strengthen the movement. Activist Petra Wenham asserts, “We do not want anything over and above anybody else…we will work with the women to lift us up to make sure that we are equal with men, but it’s kind of a long road, unfortunately.”

The movement towards a free and equal future must include all those seeking a free and equal life. So, instead, we might define feminism as advocacting for the equity of all genders.