I've written a little about my own struggles with the participatory consensus model (PCM) of decision making, with a specific view to the inclusivity for women and disabled people. The PCM is common in lefty activist circles, especially anarchist-leaning circles.
Stavvers of Another Angry Woman presents a very thorough and thoughtful two-part critique of PCM (hat tip: Flaming Culture). Stavvers raises some really good points, and I really like the way the issues are discussed, and some possible alternatives, so be sure to check it out. The two pieces are:
Part one: The trouble with the consensus model
Part two: We still need to talk about consensus
In the first part, "The trouble with the consensus model", Stavvers discusses the ways tht PCM tends to privilege "insiders" who tend to be people with more social privilege -- people who are non-disabled cis men, etc. Stavvers also presents a few potential alternatives that could help with the problem, and discusses the use of anonymisation, giving priority to those who have not yet spoken, and talking to those outside the group. I've certainly been involved in groups that prioritise of people who have not yet spoken or who have spoken less (and where this is uncontroversial), and while I think it's a good idea, I don't think it's a solution on its own (in fairness to Stavvers, it's presented as a partial fix, not a full solution). My experience is that self-censorship is a major issue, and newcomers or people who feel themselves to be "outsiders" don't always volunteer to speak, so prioritising them makes little difference; additionally implicit bias may significantly affect the threshholds we use to consider what counts as "speaking less". I'd be interested to know more about anonymisation, and experiences of how that works out in practice, especially for time-sensitive decision-making.
In the second part, "We still need to talk about consensus", Stavvers talks about applying the principles of enthusiastic sexual consent to PCM, and minority influence. For what it's worth, I'm not sure that minority influence is always a bad thing. We want to make sure that, or example, if even a tiny minority of a group a single parents, their concerns still get air time, for example. However, Stavvers is right to point out that this is a two-edged sword, and we also need to be concerned about whether single parents have access to these spaces, and are able to speak and be listened to.
All in all, a very interesting and thought provoking read, and I highly recommend it. As activists we need to make sure that our spaces are not perpetuating the same kinds of hierarchies we're trying to break down.
--IP
Showing posts with label activism. Show all posts
Showing posts with label activism. Show all posts
Saturday, 23 July 2011
Thursday, 14 April 2011
Decisions, decisions
In the last few weeks, the press has been abuzz with talk of this consensus decision-making that all the kool kids in lefty activist communities use. Although it's a little unpopular in many lefty activist communities to admit, I personally have mixed feelings about consensus decision-making.
The participatory consensus model (PCM) is a system for groups to make decisions. The idea is that everyone should work to find a mutually acceptable solution to a given problem, not settle on something which is acceptable to majority. The reasoning for this is that a majoritarian view can alienate minorities, and a group decisions should be one that the whole group can feel part of and ownership of (so "alienate" here means not only "exclude", but also the Marxist sense of "alienation"). A consensus is reached when everyone in the group agrees on a decision.
The PCM makes some basic assumptions about participants, and the decision-making context. It assumes people are willing to accommodate to each other's points of view, that everyone actively wants to find a solution that works for everyone and resolve any problems that might be standing in the way of that. It assumes that everyone has an equal right to participate, and that everyone is committed to learning from each other. In a lot of ways, it's very much like the consciousness-raising model -- consciousness-raising for decision-making. Typically, PCM discussions are facilitated, to make sure that everyone gets a chance to speak and speaking turns are allocated fairly. However, PCM is generally used in non-hierarchical settings.
On a more fundamental level: PCM assumes everyone has an equal ability to participate, and there is a very real sense in which PCM is relies on the idea that "decisions are made by those who turn up". PCM is not a representative democracy.
The participatory consensus model (PCM) is a system for groups to make decisions. The idea is that everyone should work to find a mutually acceptable solution to a given problem, not settle on something which is acceptable to majority. The reasoning for this is that a majoritarian view can alienate minorities, and a group decisions should be one that the whole group can feel part of and ownership of (so "alienate" here means not only "exclude", but also the Marxist sense of "alienation"). A consensus is reached when everyone in the group agrees on a decision.
The PCM makes some basic assumptions about participants, and the decision-making context. It assumes people are willing to accommodate to each other's points of view, that everyone actively wants to find a solution that works for everyone and resolve any problems that might be standing in the way of that. It assumes that everyone has an equal right to participate, and that everyone is committed to learning from each other. In a lot of ways, it's very much like the consciousness-raising model -- consciousness-raising for decision-making. Typically, PCM discussions are facilitated, to make sure that everyone gets a chance to speak and speaking turns are allocated fairly. However, PCM is generally used in non-hierarchical settings.
On a more fundamental level: PCM assumes everyone has an equal ability to participate, and there is a very real sense in which PCM is relies on the idea that "decisions are made by those who turn up". PCM is not a representative democracy.
Saturday, 27 November 2010
We're here, we're Queer...
...And we won't pay £9,000 a year!
Seriously though, I've been wanting to talk about the way that queer politics, interact with economic justice politics, because the connection is not really that obvious.
Most of you will have heard about the student protests across the country since 10 November, in opposition to fees and cuts to education and other public services. The National Day of Action on 24 November saw walk-outs, sit-ins, study-ins, demonstrations, and student occupations of university buildings -- about 20 universities (including 6 unconfirmed, but likely) across the UK have been occupied by students, in opposition to the cuts. 30 November will see a Scotland demonstration. What I've found encouraging has been the participation from secondary school students and sixth-formers. Many of the protests across the country have been led not by students at universities or colleges of further education, but by school pupils fighting for their future. This makes sense, since they'll be even more affected by the education cuts than current further/higher education students, but the response even from young teens has been overwhelming.
One thing I've been thinking a lot about though, is the kind of focus we put on our protest. When we march with banners and chants about education cuts, it's a great way of drawing attention to our personal investment. That's good in some ways -- it gives our protest the "human interest" that journalists love. But the downside is that what we are talking about, and what the media is talking about, is cuts to higher education -- the cuts that mostly affect people from middle class background (university hasn't been accessible to the poorest for a long time), and not, say, cuts to housing benefit.
This presents a curious dilemma. On the one hand, it's absolutely legitimate and important for people to say "I need to be able to pay rent, and put food on the table, and these cuts will stop me doing that, and for that reason I oppose them", and young people are particularly affected by cuts to education, rising debt, unemployment, etc.
On the other hand, it accentuates the problem of those who most need to be protesting not being able to, for various reason, or not being listened to.
There's a further issue though. And that's that if we accept that our tactical role is only to oppose tuition fees or higher education cuts, we've already lost, because we've already accepted the premise that education is an individual privilege, not a social good or a public investment. Education benefits everyone. Healthcare benefits everyone. Social housing benefits everyone.
Why they benefit everyone is an interesting question (but a long one, so it's another post -- or feel free to comment in the, well, the comments), but brings us onto what kind of future we, as young adults, want to grow up in. What kind of world we want to bring our children up in. These cuts aren't just for the duration of the economic crisis -- David Cameron has made that clear. These cuts will shape the coming decades -- our adulthoods.
So what I would like to see more of is discussion of the kind of society we want -- not just in terms of the minimum wage and the highest tax bracket, but what we want the structure of society to be. And this is where queer politics is relevant. I don't want a world in which some people just scrape by. I don't want a world where welfare is a social safety net. I don't want a world where some kinds of upbringing, or family units, or heteronormative lifestyles, are considered to be inherently better than others, and the stigmatised ones are financially or socially penalised. I don't want a world in which the concerns of materially-privileged teenagers heading for university are more important than the concerns of unemployed teenage single mothers on benefits. I think movements for economic justice can learn a lot from queer politics, by examining the unspoken premises in our campaigns.
In other words, what queer politics can contribute is this: what kind of lifestyles are we upholding as the ideals in a campaign for economic justice? Are we assuming that everyone comes from a two-parent two-income middle-class household and that that family is ideally placed to support them financially, practically, and emotionally?
As Queers Read This puts it:
Which I read as saying that queer rights movement requires not privacy, but a change in the structure of society, and structures of oppression and privilege (of which economic deprivation/privilege is one).
Or, if you prefer, we could take a different leaf from the queer politics book, and say that the similarity between the struggle for economic justice and the queer rights movement is that in both, Silence = Death.
--IP
Seriously though, I've been wanting to talk about the way that queer politics, interact with economic justice politics, because the connection is not really that obvious.
Most of you will have heard about the student protests across the country since 10 November, in opposition to fees and cuts to education and other public services. The National Day of Action on 24 November saw walk-outs, sit-ins, study-ins, demonstrations, and student occupations of university buildings -- about 20 universities (including 6 unconfirmed, but likely) across the UK have been occupied by students, in opposition to the cuts. 30 November will see a Scotland demonstration. What I've found encouraging has been the participation from secondary school students and sixth-formers. Many of the protests across the country have been led not by students at universities or colleges of further education, but by school pupils fighting for their future. This makes sense, since they'll be even more affected by the education cuts than current further/higher education students, but the response even from young teens has been overwhelming.
One thing I've been thinking a lot about though, is the kind of focus we put on our protest. When we march with banners and chants about education cuts, it's a great way of drawing attention to our personal investment. That's good in some ways -- it gives our protest the "human interest" that journalists love. But the downside is that what we are talking about, and what the media is talking about, is cuts to higher education -- the cuts that mostly affect people from middle class background (university hasn't been accessible to the poorest for a long time), and not, say, cuts to housing benefit.
This presents a curious dilemma. On the one hand, it's absolutely legitimate and important for people to say "I need to be able to pay rent, and put food on the table, and these cuts will stop me doing that, and for that reason I oppose them", and young people are particularly affected by cuts to education, rising debt, unemployment, etc.
On the other hand, it accentuates the problem of those who most need to be protesting not being able to, for various reason, or not being listened to.
There's a further issue though. And that's that if we accept that our tactical role is only to oppose tuition fees or higher education cuts, we've already lost, because we've already accepted the premise that education is an individual privilege, not a social good or a public investment. Education benefits everyone. Healthcare benefits everyone. Social housing benefits everyone.
Why they benefit everyone is an interesting question (but a long one, so it's another post -- or feel free to comment in the, well, the comments), but brings us onto what kind of future we, as young adults, want to grow up in. What kind of world we want to bring our children up in. These cuts aren't just for the duration of the economic crisis -- David Cameron has made that clear. These cuts will shape the coming decades -- our adulthoods.
So what I would like to see more of is discussion of the kind of society we want -- not just in terms of the minimum wage and the highest tax bracket, but what we want the structure of society to be. And this is where queer politics is relevant. I don't want a world in which some people just scrape by. I don't want a world where welfare is a social safety net. I don't want a world where some kinds of upbringing, or family units, or heteronormative lifestyles, are considered to be inherently better than others, and the stigmatised ones are financially or socially penalised. I don't want a world in which the concerns of materially-privileged teenagers heading for university are more important than the concerns of unemployed teenage single mothers on benefits. I think movements for economic justice can learn a lot from queer politics, by examining the unspoken premises in our campaigns.
In other words, what queer politics can contribute is this: what kind of lifestyles are we upholding as the ideals in a campaign for economic justice? Are we assuming that everyone comes from a two-parent two-income middle-class household and that that family is ideally placed to support them financially, practically, and emotionally?
As Queers Read This puts it:
Being queer is not about a right to privacy; it is about the freedom to be public, to just be who we are. It means everyday fighting oppression; homophobia, racism, misogyny, the bigotry of religious hypocrites and our own self-hatred.
[...] And now of course it means fighting a virus as well[...]. Being queer means leading a different sort of life. It's not about the mainstream, profit-margins, patriotism, patriarchy or being assimilated. It's not about executive directors, privilege and elitism.
Which I read as saying that queer rights movement requires not privacy, but a change in the structure of society, and structures of oppression and privilege (of which economic deprivation/privilege is one).
Or, if you prefer, we could take a different leaf from the queer politics book, and say that the similarity between the struggle for economic justice and the queer rights movement is that in both, Silence = Death.
--IP
Friday, 12 November 2010
Why I wasn't at the Fund Our Future march (but wanted to be)
If you're based in the UK, you've probably all heard about the protest for higher education funding that took place in London yesterday. I wasn't there, but some of my co-bloggers were, and I hope that they'll be able to write about what it was like to be there.
About 52,000 people, most of them students, but also a large contingent of academic and academic-related staff, marched through central London. The march was for the funding of public services, and higher education and research funding in particular; condemning tuition fees and graduate contributions, and the LibDem U-turn on student fees. There was also a large Free Education feeder march that unfortunately doesn't seem to have received much press coverage. Obviously it's the Millbank protest that's getting nearly all the coverage right now, and I'll let someone else comment on that, because I wasn't there, and my thoughts are still in a bit of a jumble. Maybe I'll do a round-up of interesting coverage later on.
So why wasn't I there? Ah. I'm glad you asked.
The "Look Ok...Feel Crap?" campaign from the Depression Alliance Scotland tweeted "Are you a student? Would you have liked to go on today's demo but didn't because of how you feel? Or did you go anyway?" Some of the replies they received on Twitter broke my heart -- students wrote back about issues with anxiety, depression, and other mental health conditions that kept them home.
In my case, it wasn't a mental health issue that kept me home, but it was a disability. I told friends who asked me that this ways because I couldn't get my mobility scooter to London (most types of public transport won't carry them). This is true, but not the whole story. It's also that when using a mobility scooter, I'm vulnerable in certain ways because I can't maneuver quickly in a crowd. This isn't a small march in Scotland -- it's a big march in London with the Metropolitan Police of kettling and head-beating fame. In a big group of people who are kettled and stressed, I could very easily get hurt. Also, my disability causes fatigue, and overnight trips on consecutive nights could cause a week or two of fatigue that would make me unable to do coursework or totally trivial things like cook food or wash clothes.
I'm not the only person who couldn't go. A great many of my friends couldn't go because their disabilities prevented them getting to London (the transport isn't accessible, and with central London packed with demo traffic, it's hard to make adjustments), or walk the whole march route even if the march had been held locally to them. Some couldn't go because they find marches too scary or anxiety-inducing or confrontational or upsetting because of mental health issues. Some couldn't go because they are scared of police officers, especially the Met, because their sociodemographic group has traditionally been targeted by the police for violence and prejudice. Some people couldn't attend because they have young children and no childcare, and were worried about their toddlers potentially being in a kettling situation (after the G20 protests, this is a reasonable worry). Some friends couldn't afford to go because they live on or below the breadline and couldn't afford the transport, or couldn't afford to miss a day of work.
(Note that many of these worries apply not only to protests, but also work. Those whose disability stops them from protesting, may also, for similar reasons, be legitimately unable to work. Those whose children's need for care means they have to stay home, might also mean that they can't work paid jobs. Those who are discriminated against by the police are likely to also be discriminated against by employers.)
When the government calls us lazy and work-shy, we have to work extra-hard to defend ourselves, and it costs energy and resources we don't have -- in my case, it might have cost me the ability to feed and clothe myself for several days. When public services are cut, we're affected in multiple ways -- not just by higher education, but also by cuts to nursery/childcare and schooling, medical services, child and family benefits, personal care, disability-specific support, housing, and the list goes on.
The people who face this kind of dual discrimination are the people who need to fight the hardest right now because they have the most to lose. They're also the people least able to fight the hardest. Often, the most effective kinds of protest are unavailable to us -- we can ask nicely, we can write to our MPs, we can sign petitions, but when asking nicely fails, we have no options left. It makes us easy targets for governments to take away our basic needs -- we can't fight back the way more privileged people can.
So to those of you who are protesting (there will be more big marches), please go and shout loud for me. If you haven't been protesting, but you think you could, please please please think about going, because those of us who really need to be there, can't.
--IP
About 52,000 people, most of them students, but also a large contingent of academic and academic-related staff, marched through central London. The march was for the funding of public services, and higher education and research funding in particular; condemning tuition fees and graduate contributions, and the LibDem U-turn on student fees. There was also a large Free Education feeder march that unfortunately doesn't seem to have received much press coverage. Obviously it's the Millbank protest that's getting nearly all the coverage right now, and I'll let someone else comment on that, because I wasn't there, and my thoughts are still in a bit of a jumble. Maybe I'll do a round-up of interesting coverage later on.
So why wasn't I there? Ah. I'm glad you asked.
The "Look Ok...Feel Crap?" campaign from the Depression Alliance Scotland tweeted "Are you a student? Would you have liked to go on today's demo but didn't because of how you feel? Or did you go anyway?" Some of the replies they received on Twitter broke my heart -- students wrote back about issues with anxiety, depression, and other mental health conditions that kept them home.
In my case, it wasn't a mental health issue that kept me home, but it was a disability. I told friends who asked me that this ways because I couldn't get my mobility scooter to London (most types of public transport won't carry them). This is true, but not the whole story. It's also that when using a mobility scooter, I'm vulnerable in certain ways because I can't maneuver quickly in a crowd. This isn't a small march in Scotland -- it's a big march in London with the Metropolitan Police of kettling and head-beating fame. In a big group of people who are kettled and stressed, I could very easily get hurt. Also, my disability causes fatigue, and overnight trips on consecutive nights could cause a week or two of fatigue that would make me unable to do coursework or totally trivial things like cook food or wash clothes.
I'm not the only person who couldn't go. A great many of my friends couldn't go because their disabilities prevented them getting to London (the transport isn't accessible, and with central London packed with demo traffic, it's hard to make adjustments), or walk the whole march route even if the march had been held locally to them. Some couldn't go because they find marches too scary or anxiety-inducing or confrontational or upsetting because of mental health issues. Some couldn't go because they are scared of police officers, especially the Met, because their sociodemographic group has traditionally been targeted by the police for violence and prejudice. Some people couldn't attend because they have young children and no childcare, and were worried about their toddlers potentially being in a kettling situation (after the G20 protests, this is a reasonable worry). Some friends couldn't afford to go because they live on or below the breadline and couldn't afford the transport, or couldn't afford to miss a day of work.
(Note that many of these worries apply not only to protests, but also work. Those whose disability stops them from protesting, may also, for similar reasons, be legitimately unable to work. Those whose children's need for care means they have to stay home, might also mean that they can't work paid jobs. Those who are discriminated against by the police are likely to also be discriminated against by employers.)
When the government calls us lazy and work-shy, we have to work extra-hard to defend ourselves, and it costs energy and resources we don't have -- in my case, it might have cost me the ability to feed and clothe myself for several days. When public services are cut, we're affected in multiple ways -- not just by higher education, but also by cuts to nursery/childcare and schooling, medical services, child and family benefits, personal care, disability-specific support, housing, and the list goes on.
The people who face this kind of dual discrimination are the people who need to fight the hardest right now because they have the most to lose. They're also the people least able to fight the hardest. Often, the most effective kinds of protest are unavailable to us -- we can ask nicely, we can write to our MPs, we can sign petitions, but when asking nicely fails, we have no options left. It makes us easy targets for governments to take away our basic needs -- we can't fight back the way more privileged people can.
So to those of you who are protesting (there will be more big marches), please go and shout loud for me. If you haven't been protesting, but you think you could, please please please think about going, because those of us who really need to be there, can't.
--IP
Tuesday, 12 October 2010
Allies
All the debates around the the 'It Gets Better' project have been really illuminating. The problems with telling people to wait it out are really important ones, and the 'Make It Better' project is, I think, a good response. It points towards collective action to change heterosexist society, instead of just sitting it out until you can assimilate into grown-up life; to not putting up with an oppressive situation or just fitting in as much as you can, but taking action for our own liberation.
'It Gets Better' is trying to create a sense of community, and that's really important, but taking action as a community to improve things is more important still. Sometimes, though, I think we get too focussed on our community in quite a narrow sense – other queers, who 'get it' and live in a similar way. We sometimes fall into the trap of assuming that straight people don't have a place in our fight, like feminists sometimes forget that men have a place in feminism too. But in those high schools, it's not just the job of the LGBTQ kids to band together to make things better, it's also the job of the straight kids to listen to them, to help them, to stick up for them, to not be the bully. That shouldn't even need to be said, but it seems that it does. Those kids weren't to blame for giving up, and the queer community, while it could have done better, isn't to blame either. The people to blame are the bullies and the homophobes.
I like the Gay-Straight Alliance idea that seems to be the basis for LGBTQ groups in high schools in the US. It's community building without being homogenising (although, obviously, I'd probably change the name...), and it speaks to something that, the way I see it, queer politics strives towards – unity in difference. Solidarity across imposed lines.
So, on Coming Out Day, I want to say thanks to my straight allies. These things should be rights, not privileges, and thanks should not be needed - I almost didn't write this, because it feels like acquiescing to some idea that we should be grateful for acceptance, which is obviously bullshit. But allies are exceptional in doing something that should be ordinary, and, in a similar sentiment to IP's last post, I don't take that for granted because many people can't expect it.
It was a straight-identified friend who was the first person, ever, to ask me if I had a preferred pronoun: thanks for being considerate and aware. Another straight friend spent his bank holiday Saturday in August helping out with a protest against homophobic Christians harassing Manchester Pride parade: thanks for taking action. My straight friends in college were really supportive of me being queer: thanks for making coming out so easy.
Sunday, 3 October 2010
Teen suicides
What with being USian and all, I've been hearing a lot about four very recent cases in which teenagers have committed suicide following homophobic bullying in the USA.
The columnist Dan Savage launched a project called It Gets Better. The way it works is this: you make a video for LGBT teens talking about why it gets better, and upload it to YouTube, and it's supposed to give hope to teens feel without any.
The activist S. Bear Bergman posted a response to the project:
As was pointed out by someone in the comments of Bergman's thread, these are intersecting, not contradictory projects. It's absolutely true that students who experience bullying on a routine basis need hope, and need to know that they can survive this. It's also true that "wait it out" or "try to ignore it" is not enough.
I would also like to note while this project makes very clever use of widespread technology, and I note that there are major issues with intersectionality here. Transcripts and close-captions seem not to be available for the majority of videos, the majority of videos seem to be by White people, and the people who may be most isolated are those who cannot access the technology or deal with multiple prejudices. We know that people who experience multiple prejudices are more likely to experience violence and harassment.
That doesn't mean that I think the project is useless -- far from it. Anything you can do to stop the here-and-now pain is good. I also think that the longer-lasting, deeper, hope is created when we create stronger protections for students, when we stop excusing bullying, harassment, and discrimination. Things don't get better all on their own. This is a change we have to make in the world.
So here's what you can do: write to your elected representatives, wherever you live, and ask about anti-bullying legislation, and demand support for anti-bullying education for teachers and students.
Also, I like Ellen DeGeneres's take:
Transcript:
Her website, that she mentions is here, and they do indeed list contact details for US-based organisations. If you live in the UK, try the Samaritans, and if you live elsewhere, you can find a helpline from Befrienders International.
--IP
The columnist Dan Savage launched a project called It Gets Better. The way it works is this: you make a video for LGBT teens talking about why it gets better, and upload it to YouTube, and it's supposed to give hope to teens feel without any.
The activist S. Bear Bergman posted a response to the project:
"It Gets Better"? Swell. No disrespect to the people who have contributed video to that project in with great and loving hearts, but it's simply not enough. What about the "It Sucks Now" project?
Give your videocamera to a student; let them film what life is like for someone tagged as queer or trans or gender-nonconforming at their school. Then fill YouTube with those videos. Send them to principals, PTAs, school boards, legislators, religious leaders and let them see the physical and emotional brutality some of their students are suffering, and others are meting out. Demand to know why this behavior is tolerated, why nothing is being done for these students.
As was pointed out by someone in the comments of Bergman's thread, these are intersecting, not contradictory projects. It's absolutely true that students who experience bullying on a routine basis need hope, and need to know that they can survive this. It's also true that "wait it out" or "try to ignore it" is not enough.
I would also like to note while this project makes very clever use of widespread technology, and I note that there are major issues with intersectionality here. Transcripts and close-captions seem not to be available for the majority of videos, the majority of videos seem to be by White people, and the people who may be most isolated are those who cannot access the technology or deal with multiple prejudices. We know that people who experience multiple prejudices are more likely to experience violence and harassment.
That doesn't mean that I think the project is useless -- far from it. Anything you can do to stop the here-and-now pain is good. I also think that the longer-lasting, deeper, hope is created when we create stronger protections for students, when we stop excusing bullying, harassment, and discrimination. Things don't get better all on their own. This is a change we have to make in the world.
So here's what you can do: write to your elected representatives, wherever you live, and ask about anti-bullying legislation, and demand support for anti-bullying education for teachers and students.
Also, I like Ellen DeGeneres's take:
Transcript:
I am devasted over the death of 18-year-old Tyler Clementi. If you don't know Tyler was a bright student at Rutgers University whose life was senselessly cut short. He was outed as being gay on the internet and he killed himself. Something must be done. This month alone there have been a shocking number of news stories about teens who have been teased and bullied and then committed suicide, like 13-year-old Seth Walsh in Tehachapi, California, 13-year-old Asher Brown in Cypress, Texas, and 15-year-old Billy Lucas in Greensburg, Indiana. This needs to be a wake-up call to everyone that teenage bullying and teasing is an epidemic in this country and the death rate is climbing. One life lost in this senseless way is tragic. Four lives lost is a crisis. And these are just the stories we hear about. How many other teens have we lost, how many others are suffering in silence? Being a teenager and figuring out who you are is hard enough without someone attacking you. My heart is breaking for their families, for their friends, and for our society that continues to let this happen. These kids needed us and we have an obligation to change this. There are messages everywhere that validate this kind of bullying and taunting and we have to make it stop. We can't let intolerance and ignorance take another kid's life. And I want anyone out there who feels different and alone to know that I know how you feel. And there is help out there, and you can find support in your community. If you need someone to talk to or you want to get involved, there are some really great organisations listed on our website. Things will get easier, people's minds will change, and you should-- you should be alive to see it.
Her website, that she mentions is here, and they do indeed list contact details for US-based organisations. If you live in the UK, try the Samaritans, and if you live elsewhere, you can find a helpline from Befrienders International.
--IP
Saturday, 4 September 2010
great things to do with gaga.
I love that they even have a flashmob brass band. Made my day. Go San Francisco.
Wednesday, 25 August 2010
Slogans
No poetry has made it onto the blog yet, so I thought I'd be brave and start the ball rolling. This one was written for the Edinburgh Uni Feminists and Literature Society joint poetry night, which had the theme of "voices". It's written to be spoken, but hopefully it works ok on the page too.
Ya basta!
Enough.
My voice was not strong enough when we marched
Me in my pushchair, ring a ring a roses round the roundabout to tell them
That nurseries should not be the first thing to go when times get hard
You say cut back we say fightback!
Maggie Maggie Maggie, OUT OUT OUT!
And we won.
I remember there were whistles to make us louder
and how my mother said, not yet
and how when the time came she was proud, proud of me
of my voice
We're here, we're queer, we will not live in fear!
and every time I raise it in slogans and songs
she's singing with the Greenham women
reclaiming the night through the decades
A strong arm makes a gude cause
Not the church and not the state, women must decide their fate!
I bought a whistle on the first big demo I went on alone
As bombs fell on Baghdad
It had a rainbow ribbon and a clear, rippling sound
Hey hey LBJ
Bush Blair CIA
Bush Blair Uncle Sam Iraq will be your Vietnam!
My voice is not just mine.
I am a point on a shining web
A convergence of people
Then and now and here and there
Oh you can't scare me I'm sticking to the union
Tin cans on string
The complexity of servers, wires, modems, screens
The nerves in a brain, too complicated to really understand
Everything that anyone has ever said to me.
Everything I have ever wanted to say.
Everything that has been said in unison.
Everything that was tiny in the silence.
The slogans that we shouted
Together, because that way
We're stronger
The times when my father used the right word
even though I wouldn't understand
And explained it so I would.
The times when words wouldn't come and a song
Said it instead. How did they know
What I couldn't say?
The times when words fall like stones from my mouth
And my friends know what they mean
And how to pick them up.
The poems that hatch like dragonflies from my lips
Because nothing else will say it
And because it has to be said.
I am still looking for the whistle,
the one which will make me heard -
A way to hold the threads,
los pueblos, unidos, jamas seran vencidos!
a way to channel this breath of mine
A rainbow ribbon to tie round my neck,
a charm and a talisman, from which to hang my dreams.
Thursday, 8 July 2010
First Pride, take 2: safe spaces
So I'm still thinking about the Pride thing, and the feeling safe thing, and how that relates to activism more generally.
For many activist groups, safe space is a crucial concept. In my last post I highlighted one function of safe space, and that's safety from violence, but I was also thinking about the space in which we get to be whole people (sorry, I don't know how else to put that -- other suggestions for phrasing and clarification are welcome). Not just queers who are "flaunting it". Not just queers who are talking about or celebrating sex/sexuality. But also people who have kids, who don't have kids who have partners, who don't have partners, who have friends and political allies, who frequent club or who don't, who like sex or don't like sex, or who like different kinds of sex. Not just political queers. Not just angry (although being able to be angry is important too, see below). Not weird, not marginal, not Other People.
Safe spaces may be particularly important queer groups, where not everyone is out in their home/work/other significant setting; or who might be out but for being out means spending a lot of time and energy defending your own existence.
For some groups, being able to be angry is an important function. Many of us get a lot of flak for being angry about certain kinds of injustices. You know..."you're so shrill" or "good girls don't get angry", or "maybe if you weren't so bitter people would care what you're saying". Those sorts of comments work to silence legitimate anger, and worse, to silence the legitimate points that people are angry about. There are times I am angry about homophobia, and pretending I'm not isn't as constructive as some might believe.
For me, a safe space also means being able to respectfully challenge certain biases, and respond to those challenges constructively. I'm less sure of what I mean by this, or what makes a space conducive to this, so I'll just leave it at that, but contributions on this point are particularly welcome.
So what does safe space mean to you? I don't have answers to this, and these have been just a few initial thoughts off the top of my head about (some of) the sorts of things that help make a space safe for me. I hope you'll chime in with your own thoughts.
--IP
For many activist groups, safe space is a crucial concept. In my last post I highlighted one function of safe space, and that's safety from violence, but I was also thinking about the space in which we get to be whole people (sorry, I don't know how else to put that -- other suggestions for phrasing and clarification are welcome). Not just queers who are "flaunting it". Not just queers who are talking about or celebrating sex/sexuality. But also people who have kids, who don't have kids who have partners, who don't have partners, who have friends and political allies, who frequent club or who don't, who like sex or don't like sex, or who like different kinds of sex. Not just political queers. Not just angry (although being able to be angry is important too, see below). Not weird, not marginal, not Other People.
Safe spaces may be particularly important queer groups, where not everyone is out in their home/work/other significant setting; or who might be out but for being out means spending a lot of time and energy defending your own existence.
For some groups, being able to be angry is an important function. Many of us get a lot of flak for being angry about certain kinds of injustices. You know..."you're so shrill" or "good girls don't get angry", or "maybe if you weren't so bitter people would care what you're saying". Those sorts of comments work to silence legitimate anger, and worse, to silence the legitimate points that people are angry about. There are times I am angry about homophobia, and pretending I'm not isn't as constructive as some might believe.
For me, a safe space also means being able to respectfully challenge certain biases, and respond to those challenges constructively. I'm less sure of what I mean by this, or what makes a space conducive to this, so I'll just leave it at that, but contributions on this point are particularly welcome.
So what does safe space mean to you? I don't have answers to this, and these have been just a few initial thoughts off the top of my head about (some of) the sorts of things that help make a space safe for me. I hope you'll chime in with your own thoughts.
--IP
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