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'Why I'm giving up on intersectional feminism' 

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'Why I'm giving up on intersectional feminism' 

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https://qz.com/quartzy/1265902/why-im-giving-up-on-intersectional-feminism/

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The difference between poetry and rhetoric

is being ready to kill

yourself

instead of your children.

I am trapped on a desert of raw gunshot wounds

and a dead child dragging his shattered black

face off the edge of my sleep

blood from his punctured cheeks and shoulders

is the only liquid for miles

and my stomach

churns at the imagined taste while

my mouth splits into dry lips

without loyalty or reason

thirsting for the wetness of his blood

as it sinks into the whiteness

of the desert where I am lost

without imagery or magic

trying to make power out of hatred and destruction

trying to heal my dying son with kisses

only the sun will bleach his bones quicker.

A policeman who shot down a ten year old in Queens

stood over the boy with his cop shoes in childish blood

and a voice said “Die you little motherfucker” and

there are tapes to prove it. At his trial

this policeman said in his own defense

“I didn't notice the size nor nothing else

only the color”. And

there are tapes to prove that, too.

Today that 37 year old white man

with 13 years of police forcing

was set free

by eleven white men who said they were satisfied

justice had been done

and one Black Woman who said

“They convinced me” meaning

they had dragged her 4'10'' black Woman's frame

over the hot coals

of four centuries of white male approval

until she let go

the first real power she ever had

and lined her own womb with cement

to make a graveyard for our children.

I have not been able to touch the destruction

within me.

But unless I learn to use

the difference between poetry and rhetoric

my power too will run corrupt as poisonous mold

or lie limp and useless as an unconnected wire

and one day I will take my teenaged plug

and connect it to the nearest socket

raping an 85 year old white woman

who is somebody's mother

and as I beat her senseless and set a torch to her bed

a greek chorus will be singing in 3/4 time

“Poor thing. She never hurt a soul. What beasts they are.”

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ince its first season, The Handmaid's Tale has been upheld by many women as a rallying cry for the feminist resistance. The image of red robed and white bonneted women from the classic feminist text has become as celebrated as Rosie the Riveter. It has been referenced in any number of striking signs held up by members of the Women's March, and has even been donned by groups of women protesting regressive and dangerous policies that threaten female autonomy and reproductive freedoms. There is a pressing feeling among many feminists that watching The Handmaid's Tale is important, despite the fact that, like many shows on television, each hour-long episode catapults the viewer into a world where violence against women is constant.

In shows like True Detective and Game of Thrones, the focus on female debasement is often criticized precisely because female suffering is positioned as entertainment. What happens on The Handmaid's Tale is different, as violence against women plays out as a kind of morality tale. Throughout the first six episodes of the second season we see female characters hit, punched, beaten, branded, raped, kidnapped, psychologically tortured and physically and emotionally scarred. Much of the violence enacted on women is done by women - the handmaids are at the mercy of the aunts and wives who require obedience and submission, even though they too are obviously getting a raw deal in Gilead. Many of the show's most uncomfortable scenes are not ones of outright violence, but scathing satires of domestic bliss, where the barren wives celebrate pregnancy with odd ceremonies that render the handmaids not only invisible, but less than human.

In this way, The Handmaid's Tale is far less interested in how the patriarchy is perpetuated by men than in how it is upheld by many women. Indeed, while many of the handmaids strive to protect each other, the wives, aunts and econowives are, at best, useless, and, at worst, cruel oppressors in their own right. In the world of Gilead, class and gender are the ultimate arbiters of status, and, as Angelica Jade Bastien points out for Vulture, the "spectre of white womanhood" that underscores so much of the show is never fully interrogated. Instead, viewers are invited into Gilead through the eyes of a white, privileged, fertile (and, hence, relatively young) woman who suddenly has all of her privileges stripped away, and much of season two is about Offred's mounting sense of regret that she could have done more to have prevented this from happening in the first place. We see June mourn the way she treated her mother, an ardent feminist, who desperately wanted her daughter to stand up for her own rights, and we see her lament the way she treated her husband's ex-wife, who begged June not to steal her husband away from her.

Throughout all of this, the viewer is meant to identify with Offred's suffering and, at times, self-flagellation. The logic seems to be that if viewers immerse themselves in a full-stop feminist nightmare, they will, somehow, achieve a kind of catharsis that will spur us them onwards to greater action, to prevent a future Gilead from actually occurring. In an interview with HuffPost, the show's creator, Bruce Miller, discusses how he actually sees the show's ostensibly bleak arc as optimistic.

"I always feel like the show is hopeful because our world is not Gilead," he said. "It always makes me feel like, wow, if Offred could take a stand and try to change things in her world, what am I doing sitting on the couch? I should be able to change the things in my world."

Elisabeth Moss in The Handmaid's Tale. Photograph: George Kraychyk/Hulu

Likewise, in the Guardian, Elisabeth Moss, who plays Offred, describes how she sees turning away from the show because of its violence to be a kind of cop-out.

"I hate hearing that someone couldn't watch it because it was too scary," she said. "Not because I care about whether or not they watch my TV show; I don't give a shit. But I'm like, 'Really? You don't have the balls to watch a TV show? This is happening in your real life. Wake up, people. Wake up.'"

Is looking at imaginary violence necessary to promote social change? I find myself puzzled by the logic of this. After all, the majority of viewers of the show are already self-described feminists who are wary of the current administration. And, as many female critics have pointed out, the second season's obsession with violence makes it a little exhausting for anyone to watch, let alone someone who doesn't already agree with the show's ethos.

Sophie Gilbert at the Atlantic wonders whether it is necessary to make viewers endure so much visceral suffering, especially at a cultural moment when "the endless revelations that have emerged since October about abusive men in the entertainment industry and beyond have felt wearying in their range and detail". Likewise, at the Cut, Lisa Miller considers whether the violence against women we see throughout the series counts as "torture porn", looking at the ways in which Offred's suffering is part of a biblical and literary tradition in which "the bravery of the heroine is intensified by her victimhood".

My frustration with season two is less about its fixation on violent imagery (I'm a fan of lots of violent shows) than on what I see as a veritable lack of imagination in presenting these images in the supposed service of social justice. I don't think there is any compelling evidence that watching images of female suffering alone will lead to social change and, as Miller points out, one of the reasons that The Handmaid's Tale images don't always seem to be galvanizing viewers to action is that they stem from a longstanding tradition of seeing the female experience as inherently painful. It's hard to imagine a world without female suffering if you keep coming back to these same tired motifs, which are pretty much everywhere in our culture, and I find it frustrating (sexist, even!) that women who have to endure misogyny every day are then scolded for not wanting to see it unfold onscreen.

In this way, it saddens me that The Handmaid's Tale has become the quintessential feminist text of 2018 when so much of its ethos is about making women feel angry, sad and guilty about the state of the world we live in. When I mentioned to female friends that I was watching The Handmaid's Tale for an article, many said they should be watching it, even though the experience of doing so left them feeling completely and utterly hopeless. Others explained that they had to parse it out, watching each episode as if they were taking a horrible yet necessary medicine. Is this the sign of a successful feminist enterprise? Certainly, The Handmaid's Tale fits in our current zeitgeist in terms of acknowledging the extent that women are suffering in a misogynistic world. And yet, I think that its creators are actively missing what is most exciting about Time's Up and #MeToo: the fact that women are already actively working to imagine a world where it's female pleasure, rather than suffering, which is utterly and completely normalized.

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The future isn't female enough: the problematic feminism of The Handmaid's Tale

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ince its first season, The Handmaid's Tale has been upheld by many women as a rallying cry for the feminist resistance. The image of red robed and white bonneted women from the classic feminist text has become as celebrated as Rosie the Riveter.

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On 21 September 2018, at the peak of the #MeToo movement that had supposedly shattered the silence around the sexual assault and harassment of women, 75 women, most of them white, convened in Washington DC to profess their support for the embattled supreme court justice nominee, Brett Kavanaugh.

A psychology professor, Christine Blasey Ford, had claimed Kavanaugh had sexually assaulted her decades earlier when she was just 15. Ford's testimony was buttressed by two other women with similar allegations, but this was not enough to stop Kavanaugh being confirmed.

Led by his former colleague Sara Fagen, who referred to Kavanaugh as "a person of honour, integrity ... and strong moral character ... a good father, a good husband and a good friend", those 75 Women for Kavanaugh were joined in spirit by many more across the country.

The following month Quinnipiac University published an online poll that found only 46% of white women believed Ford, compared with 83% of black people overall and 66% of Hispanics. Though no gender breakdown for non-whites was provided, the numbers revealed a stunning discrepancy between white women and people of colour.

The picture gets even starker when white men are added to the tally: only 32% of white men thought Ford was telling the truth. Overall, people of colour were almost twice as likely to believe a white woman making a sexual assault allegation against a white man.

What could make so many white women dismiss the credible claims of a fellow white woman? Likewise, what could make 63% of white women vote for Roy Moore, the Republican Senate nominee with multiple allegations of sexual assault of underage girls against him? Or 53% for a self-professed "pussy-grabber"?

These voting patterns of white women have stunned white women and women of colour. Those who had expected a different outcome from the 2016 US presidential election concluded that these women had sided with their race over their gender, choosing their whiteness over their womanhood.

But we were wrong.

The academic and author Kyla Schuller argues that rather than betraying their womanhood, these women were performing it. Schuller says White Womanhood has been a key stabilising feature of western civilisation. Although not as visible as that of their male counterparts, their role was nonetheless equally pivotal to the success of European settler-colonialism.

White women, Schuller writes, smooth over "the flow of sensation and feeling that makes up the public sphere, ensuring that white men ... are susceptible only to further progress". In other words, White Womanhood acts as a buffer between whites and non-whites. Serving as the virtuous, innocent face of western civilisation, white women have historically kept power firmly in white hands by defending and denying its violence. Or as the Australian Indigenous academic and author Aileen Moreton-Robinson so succinctly put it in Talkin' Up To the White Woman: "White women civilised while white men brutalised."

The removal of Indigenous children from their families both in Australia and the United States, for example, was largely implemented by white women. These colonial maternalists, as the historian Margaret Jacobs dubbed them, learned to leverage their status as both a privileged and subordinate class in order to "simultaneously collaborate with and confound colonial aims".
The Nightingale review - ambitious, urgent and necessarily brutal. But who is it for?
The stolen generations was "largely a feminine domain, defined primarily around mothering [and] targeted at Indigenous women". By framing the removal of Indigenous children as "women's work for women", the maternal colonialists flouted the rule against white women working outside the home, and secured white domination over the Indigenous population.

How and why has this history of the role played by white women been largely neglected in favour of a narrative that positions colonialism and imperialism as the domain of white men alone?

Part of the answer lies in the manipulation of discourse. Our tendency is to interpret concepts such as White Man and White Man's Burden too literally. Although white society hinged on a strict binary between men and women, the term "man" was and remains a catch-all for all genders. In other words, the White Man and the White Man's Burden refer not only to white males but to white society as a whole. White women were also "burdened" with the responsibility to civilise and subjugate the inferior races of the world, a burden many took on with great gusto.

White women were not bystanders to the global colonial project, but because they were subordinate to and often suffered at the hands of white men, their role has largely slipped under the radar in favour of a misleading discourse that has placed them on almost equal footing with the populations they helped to colonise.

Today we see white feminists adopt anti-racism discourse to denounce "mediocre white men" and "white male supremacy", thus continuing the legacy of both confounding and collaborating with colonial aims by temporarily distancing themselves from white power.

By pinning all culpability on white men, white women - whether wittingly or unwittingly - whitewash their role in colonisation and the oppression of women of colour by equating their gender oppression with colonialism.

This is what black and brown women mean when we say we cannot separate our gender from our race: we have never been oppressed only by patriarchy, and so a feminism that claims to be for all women must be built on an explicitly anti-racist platform. Anything else runs the risk of reasserting whiteness because it can only ever benefit white women.

White women continue to reap the benefits of the default to innocence they have been granted - but only when this innocence can be used to bolster whiteness as a system of power. Women for Kavanaugh demonstrates the pivotal role White Womanhood still plays in the maintenance of this system, but for some white women this privilege comes at a catastrophic cost. The price white women pay for masking the violence of white civilisation is to in turn be disbelieved when they are brutalised by it.
* Ruby Hamad's book White Tears/Brown Scars is out 1 September through Melbourne University Press Topics

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White women were colonisers too. To move forward, we have to stop letting them off the hook | Ruby Hamad

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On 21 September 2018, at the peak of the #MeToo movement that had supposedly shattered the silence around the sexual assault and harassment of women, 75 women, most of them white, convened in Washington DC to profess their support for the embattled supreme court justice nominee, Brett Kavanaugh.

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“Unspeakable” Offenses:  Why is Disability Missing in Discourses of Intersectionality in Critical Race Theory?

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“Unspeakable” Offenses:  Why is Disability Missing in Discourses of Intersectionality in Critical Race Theory?

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“the omission of disability as a critical category in discussions of intersectionality has disastrous and sometimes deadly consequences for disabled people of color caught at the violent interstices of multiple differences"

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Unspeakable Offenses - Untangling Race and Disability in Discourses of Intersectionality

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Media coverage of missing girls

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'Say her name' Sandra Bland Documentary. Highlights one experience of police brutality towards women, she became a symbol for all the women forgotten during the 'black lives matter' movement. Very interesting watch!

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'Say her name' Sandra Bland Documentary. Highlights one experience of police brutality towards women, she became a symbol for all the women forgotten during the 'black lives matter' movement. Very interesting watch!

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https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=IbzH5sXcRFs&t=504s

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February 20 at 3:01 PM H.A. Hellyer is a senior associate fellow at the Royal United Services Institute in London and the Atlantic Council in Washington.
LONDON - This week, British Home Secretary Sajid Javid decreed that Shamima Begum, a British member of the Islamic State currently in a Syrian refugee camp, would be deprived of her citizenship. Begum isn't the first - and won't be the last - example of a case like this, but she is the first to have attracted such widespread attention. And the home secretary's move has just raised deeper questions.

After the 2005 London terrorist attacks, I was appointed by another home office secretary as deputy convenor of a working group on tackling extremism. I've studied the subject - in the West and the Arab world - ever since. I'm deeply disturbed by the home secretary's decision. To be sure, Begum isn't a sympathetic character. On the contrary, in interviews she comes across as unrepentant and undeserving of our pity.

But the overall media debate around Javid's clearly political move shows that we're far more concerned about what Begum and the Islamic State mean to us in the West than what extremism means for the people who have been most affected by it in places such as Syria. We fail to center their experiences in this discussion - as we have consistently done when it comes to most of our discussions on global terrorism. Syrians have suffered enough under the brutal dictator Bashar al-Assad and the Islamic State. We should not be leaving any of our own citizens who supported terrorism against Syrians there.

Moreover, the episode has revealed a lot about British society and the value of citizenship. We never consider stripping citizenship from serial rapists or mass murderers. Indeed, the wife of the man most responsible for the most bloodshed in Syria, Assad, is a British national - and she hasn't had her citizenship removed.

But the home secretary has taken Begum's citizenship away, arguing that he can because she is a dual national. He has to make that argument because otherwise he'd make her stateless, which is illegal under international law. Unfortunately for Javid, while Begum is the child of Bangladeshi immigrants, Bangladesh has said she's not a citizen. It's not clear how his argument then stands.

But a person born and bred in the United Kingdom can apparently be deprived of being British - just because Javid says so. That kind of power, absent of even judicial approval, is more arbitrary than many of our far less invasive counterterrorism laws. Don't take my word for it: The government's own reviewer of the legislation that Javid is using said so.

We can't allow that in our democracy, the basic fundamental value of citizenship - hitting at the very basis of the modern nation state - could simply be erased with a pen without the slightest bit of involvement from our judiciary.

Beyond that, there is a precedent being set here that is clearly about race. The vast majority of white Britons in the U.K. do not have rights to other citizenships. We can't deprive them of British nationality because it would make them stateless. In contrast, many if not most ethnic minorities can claim entitlement to other citizenships, even if they have never even visited those other countries. Establishing a policy under which people could be stripped of British nationality, because they might be able to claim or apply for another one, by virtue of ancestry, is directly discriminatory.

Incidentally, we've given the Islamic State an easy recruitment tool. As Amanda E. Rogers, an Islamic State expert who works with the United Nations and the State Department, told me: "Strip her citizenship, and you give ISIS exactly what they want. Hook, line, sinker - you have fallen for very obvious (and clearly stated in their own propaganda) manipulation." Because that is what the Islamic State wants in the first place: for all Muslims to be denied citizenship and thus be forced to become subjects of the caliphate. We don't need to do that work for them.

The British government should have detained Begum upon arrival and processed her case to the full extent of the law. That would have been just, and it would have also allowed us as a society to fulfill our responsibilities to her new child, who bears no moral blemish.

It would have allowed also us to lift just a little bit of our responsibility to the people of Syria. And it would have shown us remaining consistent to the rule of law and citizenship, in a world that so desperately needs both.
Read more: I was special envoy to fight the Islamic State. Our gains are now at risk. Jennifer Rubin: For honest hawks: Trump's Syria policy is the same as Obama's Josh Rogin: Trump undermines his entire national security team on Syria Ro Khanna: Trump was right to pull out of Syria and Afghanistan. This is what he should do next.

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Opinion | Britain's decision to revoke Shamima Begum's citizenship is wrong and smacks of racism

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February 20 at 3:01 PM H.A. Hellyer is a senior associate fellow at the Royal United Services Institute in London and the Atlantic Council in Washington. LONDON - This week, British Home Secretary Sajid Javid decreed that Shamima Begum, a British member of the Islamic State currently in a Syrian refugee camp, would be deprived of her citizenship.

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King's College London's Shiraz Maher told BBC Newsnight Home Secretary Sajid Javid had created "a dangerous situation" after it was announced the 19-year-old would not be allowed back into the UK. Ms Begum last week begged to be returned back to the UK after she fled the country to support ISIS in Syria. And now Mr Maher has claimed the authorities should have considered different steps in Ms Begum's case.

He said: "I think it's a very dangerous decision, it does create this perception that there is a two-tier system and a system that's frankly racist."

Mr Maher argued hundreds of others have travelled to ISIS from the UK but not had their citizenship removed.

He believes it is unfair Ms Begum's has been removed.

When asked by Newsnight host Kirsty Wark whether it was racist, he replied: "This is blatantly what's transpiring.
READ MORE: Shamima Begum: SHOCKING reality of ISIS bride's thoughts REVEALED
"And this is the perception that occurring in Muslim communities across the country.

"It's a dangerous situation the Home Secretary has created."

Yesterday, a letter was sent to Ms Begum's mother from the Home Office which issued an order depriving her daughter of her British citizenship.

A copy of the note, published by ITV News, said: "In light of the circumstances of your daughter, the notice of the Home Secretary's decision has been served on file today (19th February), and the order moving her British citizenship has subsequently been made."

A lawyer for the Begum family confirmed the Home Office decision and said he would seek to challenge it.

The shock decision came after Mr Javid warned Britons who had travelled to Syria or Iraq to join ISIS "hate our country" and will be stripped of their British citizenship if the law allows.

Ministers had previously said Ms Begum had a right to return to the UK and could not be made stateless.

But the Londoner has Bangladeshi as well as British citizenship which allowed the Home Office to go ahead, according to Sky News.

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Sajid Javid's revoking of Shamima Begum's citizenship 'RACIST and DANGEROUS' says academic

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King's College London's Shiraz Maher told BBC Newsnight Home Secretary Sajid Javid had created "a dangerous situation" after it was announced the 19-year-old would not be allowed back into the UK. Ms Begum last week begged to be returned back to the UK after she fled the country to support ISIS in Syria.

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Systems of domination across the world rely on fear for both the reasons and strategies for oppression. These systems are also highly defensive and paranoid. To sustain positions of dominance, laws were created that set boundaries between the feared and those that fear them. It is upon this history of fear and domination, and of lifetimes of creative tactics that touted the superiority of people of European descent over all other groups, that the latest Regulations issued by the IAAF rest.

This approach to the practice of white supremacy has been recycled for centuries, propelled by monopoly over science, God and the law.

The inferiorisation and exploitation of indigenous knowledge systems, black spirituality, black bodies, and customary laws became the central feature of colonial monopoly over indigenous people.

African spiritual belief systems were demonised while Western religious systems gained popularity. African knowledge were concurrently stolen and obliterated. Laws governing African customs were ridiculed and distorted.

Concurrently, African femininity in its variant shapes and dispositions was pathologised as salacious, to support the perverse curiosities on the black body and the sexual tortures of black women by white men. Scientific racism was also used to create tropes of black men as violent sexual savages whose sole life-goal was to kill white men and rape their women.

Even after Jesse Owens shattered the notion of European physical superiority at the 1936 Berlin Olympics at the height of the Nuremberg system of racial bigotry under Adolf Hitler, scientific racism continued to champion the notion of white supremacy.

Black female bodies too, have historically been dehumanised and regarded as grotesque and animalistic. This is evident in the horrific lived reality of Sara Baartman, whose black body was hypersexualised through state-sponsored scientific racism in the early 1800s. From South Africa, to London, to Paris, she became a widely sought-after international prostitute. So perverse was the Western gaze on Baartman that she was used to measure Western self-reflection.

That centuries after Baartman's death the historical subjectification of black women's bodies prevails in contemporary society demonstrates the relentless historical timelessness of fear. Like Baartman, black women in all societies continue to be subjects of the use of law and scientific racism to justify western fear and control of black beings.

Perhaps the key impact, and danger, of these paranoid systems is their element of distraction. Our history is littered with centuries of diverse, and highly creative material and symbolic strategies used by oppressive systems such as racism and sexism to "distract" people from enjoying their experience of living.

As writer Toni Morrison once observed: "The function, the very serious function of racism, is distraction. It keeps you from doing your work. It keeps you explaining, over and over again, your reason for being. Somebody says you have no language, so you spend 20 years proving that you do. Somebody says your head isn't shaped properly, so you have scientists working on the fact that it is. Someone says you have no art, so you dredge that up. Somebody says you have no kingdoms, so you dredge that up. None of that is necessary. There will always be one more thing."

What makes Sara Baartman a historically noble figure is her brave resistance - during an age of unforgiving slavery - of racist, sexist distraction.

Despite attempts by systems of masculinist domination to reduce her to an animal, she danced, sang, was a popular social being, and she was a confident fighter against western scepticism of her humanity.

Enslaved and displayed as sexual caricature, Sara became a subject of dehumanising atrocities. Despite all these, she continued to resist natural scientist and zoologist Georges Cuvier's attempts to conduct genital assessments on her. Cuvier, who was well-acclaimed, influential, and a close friend of Napoleon Bonaparte, was compelled to wait until her death to realise his intentions of unbridled pervasion over her body. He performed the genital examination on her corpse, made a plaster cast of her body and placed her brains and genitals in jars for display at a museum.

What differences are there between Georges Cuvier and the International Association of Athletics Federations?

Like Cuvier, the IAAF continues to rely on science and law to justify the subjectification of one group of women over others. Yet like Sara Baartman, Caster Semenya's fierce bravery against such oppressive systems will follow her into the books of history as an iconic fighter for the right to claim her black being.

Caster and Sara landed on global stages at around the same stages of their human development. Whereas Sara was around 19 years old, Caster was 18 in 2009 when she set "swart gevaar" in a frenzy with her remarkable performance, physique and humble confidence at an international stage. Had Caster lost that race that catapulted her into international stardom, one wonders how much would have been written about her, or whether the IAAF's recent regulations would ever have been drafted.

The international, racialised gaze that followed her highlights the stubborn nature of systems of white supremacy, and speaks to the continuous dehumanisation and ridicule of the black body. This gaze is not different to that extended to athletes like Serena and Venus Williams.

In an act of dutiful devotion to a history of the caricaturisation of black women's bodies, the IAAF subjected Caster to "science" through so-called "gender tests", whose results remains unknown even to her, but were "leaked" to an Australian tabloid.

Predictably, the scientific tests ushered in a "law" that was successfully challenged by Indian sprinter Dutee Chand. In 2015, the Court of Arbitration for Sport found that levels of natural testosterone are insufficient scientific evidence to prove sustained performance advantage, let alone bar anyone from participating in competitive sports.

The court granted the IAAF two years to scientifically prove the correlation between high performance and naturally high testosterone. Instead, the IAAF has attempted to avoid the question of "scientific proof" by rather reinventing the same regulations with the categories Chand competes in omitted - perhaps in the hope that evidence of their scientific claims would no longer be requested. Dutee Chand has defiantly responded to this absurdity by offering Semenya her legal team.

At most, Chand's legal challenge exposed the "swart gevaar" influencing the establishment of the IAAF's hyperandrogenism regulations. At best, the "new" regulations demonstrate that dominatory systems have lost their knack for creativity.

As society continues to react to the IAAF, it is important to also remember that the struggle is against systems of western global hegemony over science and law - and not against white men in particular. A sharp reminder of this fact was presented by the resignation of Professor Steve Cornelius from the disciplinary tribunal of the IAAF shortly after the announcement of the new regulations. Professor Cornelius asserted that the new regulations were "objectionable" and legally and ethically flawed, driven by a "warped ideology".

And Caster concurs!

She has consistently refused to be distracted by the regulations and "gender tests" - calling them an "annoying" and "boring" nonsense.

At a post-race media interview in 2017, she confidently asserted that "those are the issues I don't focus on ... it's their business, not my business."

She continued to add that "I do not work for IAAF. I am Caster Semenya. I'm an athlete. For me such allegations are not my business ... I do me, they do them ... I am focused on me."

Upon the announcement of the new regulations, she retorted by stating: "I am 97% sure you do not like me, but I am 100% sure I don't care."

It is this attitude of bravery and continued refusals to be distracted from being ourselves - as demonstrated by Semenya, Baartman the Williams sisters and many others - that will lead us to the promise of a world where black women's bodies are no longer objectified.

It is also through the global and local systems of resilience against domination, such as rising voices against the IAAF that will ensure that the status quo is transformed.

To those who want to render colonial pathologies over black people historically timeless, we reiterate the warning of the Mother of our Nation, Comrade Winifred Nomzamo Madikizela-Mandela, against any attempts to distract Semenya from expressing her athletic prowess: "To the world out there, who conducted those pseudo tests to test our gender: they can stuff their insults. This is our little girl. Nobody is going to perform any tests on her. We have defeated difficult situations in the history of this country. Don't touch us. Do NOT touch us. Because (if) you dare ... we will repeat it again if those who want to challenge us continue to insult us using our own people."

Indeed, through the lived experience of Caster Semenya, Madikizela Mandela's spirit of resilience against "swart gevaar" has multiplied.

Forward ever Caster. Backward never!

* Bathabile Dlamini is the Minister in the Presidency Responsible for Women.

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Caster Semenya and the continued dehumanisation of the black body

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Systems of domination across the world rely on fear for both the reasons and strategies for oppression. These systems are also highly defensive and paranoid. To sustain positions of dominance, laws were created that set boundaries between the feared and those that fear them.

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https://variety.com/2019/music/news/janelle-monae-opens-up-about-being-a-queer-black-woman-1203133363/

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The Importance of Intersectional Accessibility in Activism

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The Importance of Intersectional Accessibility in Activism

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https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=W0I9kXwxIu0

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Effective Allyship: A Transgender Take on Intersectionality

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Effective Allyship: A Transgender Take on Intersectionality

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https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3EcuDfDjUd8

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http://theconversation.com/intersectionality-how-gender-interacts-with-other-social-identities-to-shape-bias-53724

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https://www.racialequitytools.org/resourcefiles/mapping-margins.pdf

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https://isreview.org/issue/91/black-feminism-and-intersectionality

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https://www.law.columbia.edu/pt-br/news/2017/06/kimberle-crenshaw-intersectionality

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Article on the struggle to get employment as a female from an ethnic minority. Good for statistics

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Article on the struggle to get employment as a female from an ethnic minority. Good for statistics

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https://www.telegraph.co.uk/news/uknews/9728869/Women-remove-hijabs-to-get-work-as-ethnic-minorities-face-more-discrimination.html

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Muslim Feminist Jerin Arifa On Intersectional Feminism | Op-Ed | NowThis

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Ser mulher negra em Lisboa | Carla Fernandes | TEDxLisboa

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Arguments surrounding intersectionality  

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Arguments surrounding intersectionality  

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32:50 - 39:45

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Jo Coburn and guests discuss the big political issues of the day.

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why intersectional feminism can't wait- Crenshaw 

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why intersectional feminism can't wait- Crenshaw 

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https://www.washingtonpost.com/news/in-theory/wp/2015/09/24/why-intersectionality-cant-wait/?noredirect=on&utm_term=.e005e908ba26

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what does intersectional feminism actually mean 

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what does intersectional feminism actually mean 

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https://iwda.org.au/what-does-intersectional-feminism-actually-mean/

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Diane Abbott facing more (racist sexist) abuse in office than any other MP

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Diane Abbott facing more (racist sexist) abuse in office than any other MP

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https://www.independent.co.uk/news/uk/politics/diane-abbott-racist-abuse-sexist-letters-police-investigation-mp-harassment-national-police-chiefs-a8612351.html

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The Imperative of Intersectional Feminism

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The Imperative of Intersectional Feminism

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Kimberlé Crenshaw first coined the term "intersectionality" nearly three decades ago in an attempt to "make feminism, anti-racist activism, and anti-discrimination law do what [she] thought they should - highlight the multiple avenues through which racial and gender oppression were experienced so that the problems would be easier to discuss and understand."

As a young attorney, Crenshaw saw first-hand the limitations of discrimination law that did not adopt an intersectional lens.

"In 1976, Emma DeGraffenreid and several other black women sued General Motors for discrimination, arguing that the company segregated its workforce by race and gender: Blacks did one set of jobs and whites did another. According to the plaintiffs' experiences, women were welcome to apply for some jobs, while only men were suitable for others. This was of course a problem in and of itself, but for black women the consequences were compounded. You see, the black jobs were men's jobs, and the women's jobs were only for whites.Thus, while a black applicant might get hired to work on the floor of the factory if he were male; if she were a black female she would not be considered. Similarly, a woman might be hired as a secretary if she were white, but wouldn't have a chance at that job if she were black. Neither the black jobs nor the women's jobs were appropriate for black women, since they were neither male nor white. Wasn't this clearly discrimination, even if some blacks and some women were hired?"

Sadly, the court dismissed the DeGraffenreid's claims, asserting that black women are unable to combine their race and gender claims into one.

Had the law taken into account the intersectional experience of being both a woman a person of color, the experiences of these black women would have been more clearly seen as unjust. In introducing the term "intersectionality," Crenshaw hoped to shed light on the experiences of black women within movements for gender and racial equality.

As my podcast co-host, Bridget Todd, put it as she referenced the collection of black feminist writing with a similar title , "I grew up thinking all the women were white and all the men were black." That's the cultural framework historically brought to the movements for gender and racial equality, and it perpetuates "the invisibility of many constituents within groups that claim them as members, but often fail to represent them," says Crenshaw.

This kind of systemic erasure is not unique to women of color. People of color within LGBTQ movements, women within immigration movements, trans women within feminist movements, poor women within movements for reproductive freedom, people with disabilities within movements against police brutality, and the list goes on. These constituents all face significant vulnerabilities that are unique to their experience and warrant specific policy solutions and acknowledgement.

Adopting an intersectional approach isn't just about being "politically correct" or perpetuating "identity politics." This inclusive lens can make the difference between life and death. How we address issues like street harassment, for instance, doesn't just matter to all women, it matters especially to trans women, who experience not only more harassment, but significantly higher rates of assault than other women. Half of the 28,000 transgender respondents in the 2015 National Center for Transgender Equality were sexually assaulted at some point in their lives, and 9 percent were physically attacked because of their trans identity. If we erase the significant differences in experience for trans women and "all women," then those populations who need our support most won't necessarily get it.

The same can be said in the movement for reproductive freedom. If we don't acknowledge the extra barriers faced by low-income women and rural women , who have extremely limited access to abortion care services when compared to other women, we fail to see the nuance of the problem, and risk failing to provide real solutions.

So how can we all be more intersectional in our approach to feminism?

Bring others up with you in the fight for social justice. When you raise your voice, raise the voices of other, more marginalized women in the movement, too. Use whatever platform you have to highlight the voices of women whose experiences differ from yours.

Listen with empathy to your critics. Checking your privilege is hard, especially amongst people who already feel marginalized and discriminated against. But when you're "called out" for not being as inclusive as you can be, consider it being "called in" to examine your own privilege and bias you might bring to the subject matter, and an opportunity to learn and grow.

Listen to women whose life experiences differ from your own, especially when advocating for public policy changes. Be intentionally inclusive by soliciting input from more stakeholders from a diverse array of backgrounds. Be open to differences in opinions and approaches and practice active listening as a part of your organizing and advocacy.

Resist generalizations about "all women"

It's tempting to stand up "for all women," but in doing so, you may accidentally be perpetuating erasure. We must not allow acknowledging our differences to threaten our sense of unity as a movement. In other words: don't "all lives matter" your feminism. Get comfortable with the (potential) discomfort of honoring our differences as salient elements of your advocacy.

How are you practicing intersectional feminism in your everyday life? I'd love to hear from you in the comments below.

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The Imperative Of Intersectional Feminism

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Kimberlé Crenshaw first coined the term "intersectionality" nearly three decades ago in an attempt to "make feminism, anti-racist activism, and anti-discrimination law do what [she] thought they should - highlight the multiple avenues through which racial and gender oppression were experienced so that the problems would be easier to discuss and understand."

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Intersectionality 101: Why "we're focusing on women" doesn't work for Diversity & Inclusion

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Intersectionality 101: Why "we're focusing on women" doesn't work for Diversity & Inclusion

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Image credit: Rosie the Riveter (Modern)

It's ok to admit you're not yet comfortable with the concept of intersectionality. It took me awhile to fully wrap my head around it, too.

For Diversity & Inclusion (D&I) efforts at any organization to be truly impactful, we all need to better understand and apply the concept of intersectionality. It's a key part of my work - as previous Head of People at the tech startup, Lever, as well as my current D&I advising work with companies who want to build better organizations.

So what does intersectionality (coined by scholar Kimberlé Crenshaw) mean? Here's a ELI5 (Explain Like I'm 5) answer:

"If I'm a black woman, I have some disadvantages because I'm a woman and some disadvantages because I'm black. But I also have some disadvantages specifically because I'm [a] black woman, which neither black men nor white women have to deal with. That's intersectionality; race, gender, and every other way to be disadvantaged interact with each other." ()

Intersectionality considers different systems of oppression, and specifically how they overlap and are compounded. This is increasingly important because more companies are giving attention to D&I than ever, but often with a narrow, single-minded strategy: "We're focusing on women first."

This approach, while well-intended, might actually get in the way of progress. Maybe you've heard it in your organization, or you've even said it yourself - let's unpack this approach for a learning opportunity.

Take for example, a fairly prominent issue: the gender pay gap. You may have heard a statistic that shows women make approximately 72 cents for every dollar that a man makes. But that number doesn't tell the full story.

According to research, Black, Latina, and Native American women make far less than their white counterparts. In fact, the pay gap between white women and women of color is the fastest growing wage gap according to the Economic Policy Institute. But beyond pay gaps, this is about how who gets hired, heard, promoted, supported, and everything in between, all the small and big things that add up to big inequities.

Thus, the singular focus on one identity - gender - can take away from solving the broader systemic problem. Diversity & Inclusion work is about paying attention to the experiences of marginalized groups, to correct collective biases and obstacles to ensure an equal playing field.

Just focusing on gender may end up only benefitting a subset of the population that already is further ahead.

Since women make up 50% of the population, the "Women first" strategy might seem to make sense for senior leaders who prioritize D&I initiatives based on pure numbers of people impacted. But the numbers-driven approach to D&I is just one part of the equation.

Imagine you're a Black woman working for a company that touts "we're focusing on women." You're being implicitly told, "sure, we care, but only a part of your identity, one that *we* are familiar and comfortable with." Despite the good intentions, there's an insidious implication behind the message - "Wait your turn. We're helping the white women first." And that's what non-intersectional D&I work can often lead to. You can look no further than our own women's rights movement in the U.S. to see examples of non-intersectional feminism.

Twitter thread. I've also heard from many women of color who don't feel like they're being served by ERGs/women's groups at their companies.

The "women first" trap is understandable, to an extent, and I want to make it clear - there's no point in excessively calling out, or shaming individuals. The truth is, "helping women" seems like the low-hanging fruit to many of us. It's the more palatable, comfortable route. We live in a world where too many of us are still incredibly intimidated by talking about race, much less take action to solve it, especially when it involves dismantling institutions and norms that have been in place for decades.

While many great D&I initiatives do start with small steps, asking people with multiple identities of marginalization to "wait their turn," contributes to further inequity. So, all of our efforts must be intersectional, and deliberately focus on those on the fringes. Because unfortunately, a "focus on women" often becomes just white women. The key to remember, if we can remove the obstacles for those who are most unfairly held back by our society, then those in the middle get automatically uplifted, too.

By approaching our D&I work through a lens of intersectionality, we become more effective at fighting injustice. Once we understand that, we can then recognize problematic statements and attitudes such as: "I'm a woman so I show up to all the women's events, but it's not my place to be an ally to people of color." or, "As a member of a racial minority group, I'm extremely aware of the systemic oppression against my people in this country, but the LGBTQ+ community don't deserve the same rights as I do because of [some faulty logic]."

Sign at the 2018 Women's March. Intersectionality fail 😱 Don't be this person.

At the end of the day, being an advocate for workplace equity requires compassion, curiosity, and continual introspection. D&I is also an invitation to hear and learn more about others' experiences and systematically examine the workings of our society, even if it feels pretty uncomfortable sometimes. Furthermore, it's an ongoing conversation with yourself in understanding how your own multiple identities fit into the broader work towards progress.

So continue to advocate for women's causes, LGBTQ+ issues, racial equity, disability rights, immigration, and more - but do it with the lens of intersectionality. Because systems of oppression all overlap and their effects are compounded. With a focus on intersectionality, we can actually solve the systemic problems, not replace one with another, or just work on issues closest to our own hearts. Remember that we're all allies in this work.

And that's Intersectionality 101! With this new understanding, I hope you'll continue to be mindful and expand your thinking, so you can do the work that truly makes a difference.

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Intersectionality 101: Why "we're focusing on women" doesn't work for Diversity & Inclusion

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It's ok to admit you're not yet comfortable with the concept of intersectionality. It took me awhile to fully wrap my head around it, too. For Diversity & Inclusion (D&I) efforts at any organization to be truly impactful, we all need to better understand and apply the concept of intersectionality.

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Black Women suffering Abuse from R.Kelly

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Black Women suffering Abuse from R.Kelly

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https://www.theguardian.com/commentisfree/2019/jan/09/surviving-r-kelly-women-of-colour-docuseries

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ja9ZB7wEAzA

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The Fader article on building Intersectional Feminism 

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The Fader article on building Intersectional Feminism 

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Today, on the occasion of International Women's Day, women around the world are demanding to be heard. Born of the same galvanizing spirit from the Women's March on Washington, organizers Linda Sarsour, Tamika Mallory, and Carmen Perez are spearheading " A Day Without A Woman" strike. Its purpose is to emphasize "the enormous value that women of all backgrounds add to our socio-economic system - while receiving lower wages and experiencing greater inequities, vulnerability to discrimination, sexual harassment, and job insecurity."

While this is a poignant and necessary act of resistance, there are women who don't have the privilege of opting out of their daily responsibilities. But there remain multiple pathways to dismantling patriarchy, advocating for gender justice, and establishing true equality for women. Which is to say: it's imperative that we honor the voices and contributions of women at all intersections of feminism.

Below, women of The FADER explain how we can do this through our work, our lives, and what we still have to learn.

Juliana Pache

From my past experience working in feminist activist spaces, I think the first thing people can work on is how they cope with feelings of shame. We are bound to feel shameful when people tell us we have been doing things that are hurting them. I've felt shame when I learned that certain words I had been using about groups of people were actually harmful. It's inevitable, because we can have the best intentions and still do fucked up things. Working on ourselves internally, specifically figuring out what to do when we feel shame, is crucial. Feeling shame can either make us defensive, and make us center ourselves, or it can force us to action, TO DO BETTER, and focus on practicing intersectionality instead of using it as a buzzword.

When I was working with an "intersectional" feminist activist group in Philly, I spent hours, days, weeks tediously teaching white women every single thing there was to know about my experiences as a black Latina woman. I patiently carried them through the history of the white feminist movement, and how it excluded people like me. I would gently guide them through their wrongdoings when they would center themselves in conversations about women of color, or when they would "accidentally" silence marginalized women. I did a lot of work to create a "safe" space that was never safe for me. White women have historically, in my life, required a lot of emotional labor to deal with. Figuring out how to manage their feelings, how to guide them through their shame. White women need to pick up this work.

The more privilege you have, the more you need to listen, and the more you need to pass the mic. Personal development is really overlooked, in my opinion. People can easily join a movement, or say they want to help, but end up putting a lot of weight on marginalized groups just by being inconsiderate or self-centered. Knowing how to be a part of a group, and be helpful, are skills that take a lot of personal growth.

People not only need to donate their time, they need to donate their resources. Giving to people directly is HELPFUL. Sometimes I get stopped in the street by white people that want me to donate to organizations owned by white people just to give back to my own community. Oftentimes, money touches many hands before the crumbs of it reaches the people who need it most. Give people what they need, directly, when you can.

Lakin Starling

Yesterday, I questioned if there was anything that I could actually strike today. What I knew for sure was that as a black woman, when I walked outside the world wasn't going to cut me any slack. Most of what I hold on to is a part of my survival. I think about women like my mother, who is disabled with Multiple Sclerosis, and all that she has gracefully endured and given up without a choice. I've watched her be fearlessly brazen and unabashed because everyday she has to resist being silenced.

Listening is so important! If there's a certain group of people who feel uncomfortable, frustrated, or upset about a situation - hear their words and honor them. I'm always thinking about about how to tell and explore the narratives of women of color and the marginalized. Before I pitch an idea, I make sure I ask myself, Am I the right person to tell this story? It's a blessing to be in a position to amplify the voices of other women in my work, but those women should also be in positions to be in control of their narratives. This is also true in spaces of action and organizing where privileged women should not be the only faces at the forefront. Feminism is not the same for all of women. It's a revolutionary, sometimes life-threatening act for a lot of us, not a selective privilege.

To really uphold true feminism, a person must be ready and willing to step up and understand its intersections. It's not enough for me to advocate for trans women in conversations and articles - I need to be more informed.

I didn't go to the Women's March in January, because I didn't feel solidarity with thousands of women who rarely show up for me. Feminism is not only marching side-by-side with other women just because you want to protect your birth control (although reproductive rights are super important). If the privileged woman wants to better understand her privilege then it's up to her to do the work and apply it. Check yourself, your friends, and your family.

Ruth Saxelby

A couple of years into my freelance career, when the vast majority of writing I was doing was still frustratingly for free, I took a non-music full-time job to pay the rent. While in some ways it felt like I was moving backwards, the outsider vantage point allowed me to spot a disquieting pattern: almost all of my interviews and features were with men. Dance music is without a doubt overrun with music made by men, but still, I knew I was fucking up. And the industry was very down with me fucking up. Mediocre releases from men are so often offered up by labels and PRs on a silver platter, while, conversely, you have to really want to seek out music from pioneering women. As a writer, this is the work I needed to be doing.

Later, as an editor, I learned something new: white cis men will pitch and pitch and pitch. And then pitch some more. At first, it was hard to say no: there they were in my inbox, with their reputable links and promises of a quick turnaround. Pitches from women were fewer and far between - and disproportionately from white women - and there were often less clippings to go with them. But to work at a publication that covers a broad range of music of largely black origin and an ever-expanding selection of art, culture, and politics - which, if you take a long hard look at the landscape, is just about every publication and website out there - requires a multitude of voices. And, more often than not, a substantial amount of time and effort is necessary to seek those voices out, invest in them, and believe in them. It is not enough to lean on "experience" excuses when hiring writers: the balance will never tally if women of every background are not given the chance to earn the experience - and money - that men often believe they are due. It takes work to see and unpick the often subconscious and layered ways in which the patriarchy, racism, homophobia, and transphobia worm their way into decision-making, and into language. And that's work I need to remind myself to do everyday.

One of the best lessons in intersectionality was given to me by my former editor, Rawiya Kameir. "Who do you mean by 'we'?" she politely typed into the comments on my Google Doc more than once. As a cis white middle-class British woman, what did I mean by "we"? The "inclusive" pronoun is not so inclusive when it's coming from just one limited perspective; I was assuming too much and flattening experience without even thinking about it. Without even thinking about it. This is the work I need to be doing more of: listening and learning.

Atoosa Moinzadeh

I became a storyteller because in those moments where I felt and feel alone, neglected, and silenced, the stories of others were that beacon I looked to, as a reminder that there are other queer brown women and femmes in the world going through similar things. I view my writing as an act of service to those who are being ignored or silenced - to bring their stories visibility. And as a lover and friend, it is my service to those who are dear to me to support them in their endeavors and to create those networks that we need so desperately - when the system fails us, women and femmes of color must look to each other to find ways to survive.

The biggest lesson I've learned is that it's really important to be free. I think that women and femmes of color are often fighting against being boxed in - so I actively work to affirm myself and those around me in their existence. For many, merely existing is a radical act in itself. Dismantling patriarchy is certainly work that will span over the course of several lifetimes. I always remind myself that the learning and unlearning never stops. It's important for women and femmes to honor and listen to one another when dealing with these sensitive conversations about privilege and oppression, and acknowledge that the work that we're doing is extremely messy and certainly not easy. You will be humbled, you will be called out, your perspectives will shift. I also believe that it is so important to continue to unlearn the capitalist notions of scarcity and competition - our liberation is intertwined, and resources are to be shared. We must collaborate.

Anupa Mistry

In professional contexts, one thing I often do is ask myself whether I'm the right person to take up space or speak on certain ideas. I think we're conditioned to be hyper-ambitious - and as a brown immigrant I really feel this - but I do believe it's possible to balance career aspirations with a functional, truly holistic feminist and anti-racist practice. That being said, as I've spent more time in the working world, I've realized that the end of my personal ambition isn't rooted in a specific title or public-facing status, but in being able to provide space and support for other young women to feel empowered professionally and financially. I do think that as ideas like feminism and intersectionality become "sexier," (i.e. gain social currency) the thankless work becomes even more important - right now, I'm tired of seeing people claim intersectionality and use terms like 'woke' to propel a personal brand on the back of true, heart-to-heart anti-oppression work.

Personally, I need to do more around understanding transgenderism. And in the past couple of years I've realized that the best work I can do is help disperse decolonized ideas in my own community/communities: that means pushing back on homophobia, anti-black and anti-Indigenous racism, shadeism, Islamophobia - all products of colonization - amongst other young people, and particularly South Asian millennials.

Leah Mandel

When I talked to OG abortion rights activist Eleanor Smeal back in January, she said, "It doesn't matter your age - young, old, what your race is, we're all in this together. They're coming after us!" Add gender identity, physical ability, and religion to that list and it's spot on. They are coming after us. Corny as it sounds, sisterhood has always been a powerful tool, and I truly believe with all of my soul that it has been and will be our only hope.

Women in general are excellent at a lot of things, chief among them, I have found (in my straight, white, cisgender 26 years), is the ability to really listen to what other people are saying. When I go to work every day I am stunned at how lucky I am to be surrounded by so many undaunted women with great sets of ears. And I think that's what most of the people who got us into this mess (and have been for decades) don't do very well: listen (yes, I'm talking to you, white men, specifically of the gerrymandering GOP variety). That's why they fail at their jobs, and have, basically, failed planet earth. The main reason I'm not completely and utterly fatalistic right now is because I believe in the potential of an intersectional women's movement. That's the only way. Divided we fall, as they say. And we're seeing it right now before us, in the shape of the Women's March and the Day Without Women - problematic as they may be, I see real discussion happening between women about how to address issues of race and gender identity. The conversation must continue.

Read full story

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Here Are Some Ways To Help Build A More Intersectional Feminism

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Today, on the occasion of International Women's Day, women around the world are demanding to be heard. Born of the same galvanizing spirit from the Women's March on Washington, organizers Linda Sarsour, Tamika Mallory, and Carmen Perez are spearheading " A Day Without A Woman" strike.

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What is intersectionality, and what does it have to do with me?

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What is intersectionality, and what does it have to do with me?

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Here at YW Boston, intersectionality is central to the work we do.

We know that everyone reading this has come to follow YW Boston's work from different entry points. Some of us hold women's empowerment close to heart, perhaps seeking a more equitable world for ourselves or our daughters. Some of us have experienced racial discrimination personally, perhaps through generations of our family. Some of us have little experience with social justice, but seek a better understanding of inequity in Greater Boston. All of us seek change in our community, no matter how we became involved.

Despite our shared vision, social equity work can oftentimes feel exclusionary to those who are not familiar with the lingo. Intersectionality, in particular, is a term that many people and organizations assert an importance for, but that others are unclear on. Understanding the terminology used in equity work is a useful tool for people expanding their knowledge on the issues they care about.

If you've ever scratched your head when a friend, colleague, or writer has spoken of intersectionality (or you'd like to deepen your understanding of the theory), this post is for you.

What is it and where does it come from?

Intersectionality, n.

The interconnected nature of social categorizations such as race, class, and gender, regarded as creating overlapping and interdependent systems of discrimination or disadvantage; a theoretical approach based on such a premise. (Oxford Dictionary)

Intersectionality is a framework for conceptualizing a person, group of people, or social problem as affected by a number of discriminations and disadvantages. It takes into account people's overlapping identities and experiences in order to understand the complexity of prejudices they face.

In other words, intersectional theory asserts that people are often disadvantaged by multiple sources of oppression: their race, class, gender identity, sexual orientation, religion, and other identity markers. Intersectionality recognizes that identity markers (e.g. "woman" and "black") do not exist independently of each other, and that each informs the others, often creating a complex convergence of oppression. For instance, a black man and a white woman make $0.74 and $0.78 to a white man's dollar, respectively. Black women, faced with multiple forms of oppression, only make $0.64. Understanding intersectionality is essential to combatting the interwoven prejudices people face in their daily lives.

Kimberlé Crenshaw, law professor and social theorist, first coined the term intersectionality in her 1989 paper "Demarginalizing The Intersection Of Race And Sex: A Black Feminist Critique Of Antidiscrimination Doctrine, Feminist Theory And Antiracist Politics." The theory emerged two decades earlier, however, when black feminists began to speak out about the white, middle-class nature of the mainstream feminist movement. Many black women found it difficult to identify with the issues of the mainstream (white) feminist movement, issues such as the pressure to be a homemaker. Black women, who often had to work in order to keep their family afloat and therefore did not have the luxury of being homemakers, did not feel as though these issues pertained to their experiences. At the same time, many black women experienced sexism while participating in the Civil Rights movement and were often shut out of leadership positions. This intersectional experience of facing racism in the feminist movement and sexism in civil rights encouraged black women to call for a feminist practice that centralized their lived experiences.

The Combahee River Collective, a black feminist lesbian organization, released the Combahee River Collective Statement in 1978 to define and encourage black feminism. In the introduction these women state that "The synthesis of these oppressions creates the conditions of our lives. As Black women we see Black feminism as the logical political movement to combat the manifold and simultaneous oppressions that all women of color face." They fought not only for representation in both the Civil Rights and feminist movements, but also for recognition as black women, rather than just black or just women.

Crenshaw expanded on the Collective's theory, stating that in order to understand the oppression of black women, it is necessary to look at the intersection of blackness and womanhood. While many who championed intersectionality early on were African American women, the theory has proven necessary to understanding a wide range of difference, including individuals' sexual orientation, age, class, disability, and more.

Nowadays, intersectionality is considered crucial to social equity work. Activists and community organizations are calling for and participating in more dynamic conversations about the differences in experience among people with different overlapping identities. Without an intersectional lens, events and movements that aim to address injustice towards one group may end up perpetuating systems of inequities towards other groups. Intersectionality fully informs YW Boston's work, by encouraging nuanced conversations around inequity in Boston. It enlightens us to health disparities among women of color, provides pathways for our youth leaders to understand identity, and is crucial to the advocacy work we support.

What can I do?

Intersectionality may seem theoretical, but it is meant to be utilized. No matter how or when you have become involved with equity work, it is always possible to more fully integrate intersectionality into your view of these issues.

Is your work toward social equity intersectional? Check out these tips and reflect:

Recognize difference.

Oftentimes, it is easier to believe and to explain to others that "all women feel" a certain way or that "LGBTQ+ people believe" some common understanding, but this does not reflect reality. We must recognize that all unique experiences of identity, and particularly ones that involve multiple overlapping oppressions, are valid.

Do not shy away from recognizing that people experience the world differently based on their overlapping identity markers. Because of the way we have been socialized to continue feeding systems of oppression, we often feel it is rude to formally recognize others' difference. We see this in how people are uncomfortable naming another person's perceived race or asking for someone's preferred pronouns. However, we must recognize these identities as a way to step beyond our assumptions that our experience is common. One way of doing so is when you attend rallies, take a look at the signs that others hold - how do they assert their identity and how does this inform the issues they care most about?

Avoid oversimplified language.

Once we recognize this difference, we can move away from language that seeks to define people by a singular identity. You may have heard after the Women's March that many trans folks and allies felt uncomfortable with the vagina-centric themes of the march. Assuming that all women have vaginas or are defined by their bodies is an oversimplification that erases the experiences of those who exist beyond the gender binary. By avoiding language that assumes our own experiences are baseline, we can open ourselves up to listening to others' points of view.

Analyze the space you occupy.

Becoming comfortable recognizing difference also involves recognizing when that difference is not represented in the spaces you occupy. Diversity of all kinds matter in your workplace, your activism, your community spaces, and more. If you are meeting with a local LGBTQ+ organization, is there representation of LGBTQ+ people of color? You may feel that your workplace is racially and ethnically diverse, but is it accessible to people with disabilities? Take note of the welcoming or distancing practices of the spaces you frequent.

Seek other points of view.

Explore the narratives of those with different interlocking identities than you. This includes surrounding yourself with others with differing interwoven identities, but keep in mind that oftentimes, even when you have a diverse group of people in an activist space, it falls on people to educate others about the oppressions they face. When these people share their experiences, take the opportunity to listen. However, do not expect people with identity markers other than your own to be there or to want to educate others. In your own time, seek out existing intersectional narratives, from your podcasts to your television. If you are unsure about a concept or want to learn more about a specific intersection of identity, Google it! This will help you be better prepared to enter into conversations with others and progress together.

Show up.

Do not expect people who face different systems of oppression than you to rally for causes you care about if you do not rally for theirs. As you hear about issues others face, learn about the work that is currently being done around these topics. Listen and defer to those who live with these intersectional identities each day. As you do, you will likely deepen your understanding of your own identity and the subjects you care about most.

Additional Resources:

Check out this TED talk by Kimberlé Crenshaw (who coined the term "intersectionality").

On your quest for more intersectional viewpoints, check out this list of podcasts.

Listen to women share their thoughts on intersectionality here and here.

To learn more about YW Boston's intersectional work, please sign up for our newsletter:

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What is intersectionality, and what does it have to do with me?

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Here at YW Boston, intersectionality is central to the work we do. We know that everyone reading this has come to follow YW Boston's work from different entry points. Some of us hold women's empowerment close to heart, perhaps seeking a more equitable world for ourselves or our daughters.

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Poem which relates to the identity of a black girl in a modern society.

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What If A Black Girl Knew? // DYLEMA // Spoken Word Poetry // Official Video

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Actresses Roundtable: Lady Gaga, Glenn Close, Regina King, Rachel Weisz, Nicole Kidman | Close Up 

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Actresses Roundtable: Lady Gaga, Glenn Close, Regina King, Rachel Weisz, Nicole Kidman | Close Up 

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https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ibdhO-h0xP4

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Article on Intersectional Feminism - what it is and why people should care 

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Article on Intersectional Feminism - what it is and why people should care 

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I need to make it clear that Eddo-Lodge was not responsible for any of the abuse that she received, but the conversation was derailed nonetheless and the opportunity for her to address a large audience on a popular radio show was lost.

Caroline Criado Perez has since apologised.

Regardless, what really matters here is, are people any the wiser as to what intersectionality is and how it affects them? I'm keen to steer the conversation back to the subject of intersectionality in feminism and what it really means.

To me the concept is very simple. As a black feminist, I do not condone Chris Brown physically assaulting his (then) girlfriend Rhianna, but I will object if someone describes him as a 'black b*****d', as one white woman did to me. It does not mean that I support domestic violence as she then accused me of doing. It means that I, like the majority of black women, don't support racism.

The main thing 'intersectionality' is trying to do, I would say, is to point out that feminism which is overly white, middle class, cis-gendered and able-bodied represents just one type of view - and doesn't reflect on the experiences of all the multi-layered facets in life that women of all backgrounds face.

Roqayah Chamseddine is a feminist and writer that explains this further saying: "White feminism is extremely introverted refusing to acknowledge systematic hurdles facing women of colour (WOC) who are not visible. Our voices need amplifying because white feminism tokenise us and usurps our voices."

Until the mainstream feminist movement starts listening to the various groups of women within it, then it will continue to stagnate and not be able to move forward. The only result of this is that the movement will become fragmented and will continue to be less effective.

Racism in feminism

Whenever the subject of racism is brought up in feminism, it is no different to when it is brought up in any other forum. The usual platitudes are used and the accusation of 'being divisive' is often bandied around.

The phrase 'check your privilege' that accompanies many discussions about intersectionality is one example. On Twitter in early January, there was a hashtag started by a white feminist #reclaimingintersectionalityin2014 that caused many black feminists to question how she intended to reclaim something that had never been hers in the first place.

But it does prove that the concept truly has become mainstream if it is now at risk of being appropriated.

There is the mistaken belief that the only 'privilege' that you can have relates to skin colour. This is not the case. You can be privileged because of your class, educational background, religious background, the fact that you're able bodied or cis-gendered. A lot of black women can and do have privileges too.

One Twitter user said: "The fact that a major feminist concept has been ... pushed into the mainstream angers white feminists who refuse to acknowledge that they benefit from a white supremacist hetero-normative patriarchal system."

See this quote from famous black feminist and womanist Alice Walker, who said: "Part of the problem with Western feminists, I find, is that they take after their brothers and their fathers. And that's a real problem."

I remember having a discussion with a Muslim lady who said to me: "I hate feminism. There is no need for it and I don't want to have to carry heavy boxes just because you women want to fight to be equal to men."

What?! I had to point out a few things to her. First of all, feminism is not about having the right to carry heavy boxes. And as a 5 ft 11 black woman I can assure you that being seen as physically weak was not a problem that I have had to contend with in my adult life. In fact, on the few occasions that I have asked a man for help with a heavy object they have laughed at me and said things like "Come on love! Don't pretend that you can't manage that. A big strapping lass like you!"

As we spoke further it transpired that it was mainstream feminism that she had a problem with. That is, feminism that is overwhelmingly white, middle class, cis-gendered and able bodied. When voices within a movement are marginalised to the point where they don't even think that it is for them, the only result of this is that the movement is weakened becoming less effective. For example, I have heard mainstream feminists that are trying to ban the veil despite resistance from Muslim women say that they don't know their own minds, and wanting to wear the veil is just the result of indoctrination.

So what can we learn from all this? As we saw in heated radio discussions at the end of last year, it's easy to get bogged down in words, and he-said-she-said style conversations about what this means and what that means.

Intersectionality is still a relatively new term for the masses - and yet its message is one that surely any feminist can relate to: start listening to and including various groups of women, and their multi-layered facets and experiences of life, and respect them, in the overall debate.

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'Intersectional feminism'. What the hell is it? (And why you should care)

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Today's feminist movement is said to be in danger of losing momentum unless it recognises that not every feminist is white, middle class, cis-gendered and able bodied. Cue intersectionality, writes Ava Vidal, who unpicks the latest f-buzzword that's causing controversy

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Standing in front of the mirror, I wrapped a towel round my head and flicked the end over my shoulder. I was trying to imagine it wasn't a towel at all, but the long, shiny hair I'd dreamed of having since I was a little girl.

If I stood a certain way, it almost looked like I had a straight ponytail. But I knew the truth. I unwrapped the towel, revealing the short, boy-like afro beneath.

I was 13 years old, a mixed-race child adopted into an all-white family. For as far back as I could remember, I'd longed for the silky, straight hair of my blonde, blue-eyed sister.

You might be thinking 'Hair is just hair - what's the big deal?' But for me, my hair is part of my identity, my heritage. It's a connection with black culture that I never fully experienced as a child growing up in Liverpool.

These days, influencer culture is increasingly encouraging young women to embrace their natural hair. A quick search of #naturalhairstyles on Instagram brings up 2.7 million results, dominated by images of black women with every style from braids to afros. But for me, the journey to embracing my natural hair has been far from simple.

I was born in Zimbabwe, in January 1994. I didn't know much about the circumstances that led to my adoption, until I tracked down my biological mother in 2017. A year earlier, I'd resolved to visit the country of my birth and find out more about where I came from. So, I saved up the money and prepared myself for what could be a long and difficult process.

Luckily, I managed to get hold of my adoption papers within a few months. Finally, I had the name of my biological mum. We tracked her down on Facebook and found a woman who looked a lot like me. I messaged her, excited that I'd finally know more about who I was - to my relief, she messaged me back and we started communicating regularly.

She's white and originally from Bulgaria, but had been living in Zimbabwe. She told me she was with my dad for two years. From what I know, he was mixed-race or black - she hasn't told me about his background. She became pregnant with me at 18. She had a small bump and, by wearing loose clothes, managed to keep her pregnancy a secret until eight months. When her parents found out, they were furious, and though she wanted to keep me, she felt she wouldn't be able to look after me. My dad found out at the same time and left. So I was adopted in Zimbabwe at seven days old.

My adoptive parents are white - their families emigrated to Zimbabwe before I was born. My adoptive mum couldn't have kids and had gone through failed IVF attempts. I was brought up there until the age of six. I went to a good school, had friends and felt like I fitted in. I had one younger sibling, my blonde and blue-eyed sister, who was also adopted.

Around age three, my natural curls started to grow. My adoptive mum has straight and light hair. As soon as mine started growing, it became difficult for her to handle, as she'd had no experience of it. I'd scream when she tried to comb it. Her solution? To cut my hair off.

When I turned six in 2000, political unrest in Zimbabwe led us to move back to the UK, and we settled in Liverpool, where my adoptive mum's family are from.

Straight away, I was aware that I didn't look like other kids in my school. On my first day, I sat in the foyer of my new primary school, watching the girls and boys. All the girls I saw had long, straight hair. I couldn't see another black student. I remember touching my cropped hair, feeling out of place - and angry. My mum would tell me she thought I looked cute, and her friends would say so as well, but it didn't make me feel much better.

Every few weeks, I'd be put in a chair in the living room for my well-meaning auntie, who's a hairdresser, to cut my hair. She tried her best to cut into a nice shape to stop me feeling like a boy - but the older I got, the more the haircuts upset me.

I vividly remember one kid running after me at lunch pointing at my hair and calling me 'Michael Jackson'.

My auntie knew about products suited to my afro-textured hair, but they were expensive and there was no way my parents could afford them. So again and again, it was cut. I'd sit in sulky silence as locks of black hair covered the floor below me.

What made everything worse was the fact my sister's long blonde hair was always being put into styles like plaits and bunches. It made me feel so left out. Meanwhile, people at school would sometimes mistake me for a boy. I vividly remember one kid running after me at lunch pointing at my hair and calling me 'Michael Jackson'. It made it difficult to make friends, and I kept to myself.

Being picked on at primary school was one thing, but secondary school was a whole new battlefield. In a school of over 1,500 pupils, there was only a handful of students of colour. I experienced racism in other ways, too: some of the boys in my class got into trouble for calling me the 'n' word over messenger. Each incident made me feel like I didn't belong.

And yet, the haircuts continued. I became increasingly resentful and frustrated. I wanted to learn to manage my own hair but I didn't know what to do. Finally, aged 13, I was so upset after a particularly bad haircut that I told my mum firmly that I didn't want it cut anymore. To my relief, and surprise, she told me I was old enough now to look after it myself, and I could grow it if I wanted to.

Mum's supportive of my hair now. Recently, I questioned why she always used to cut it short. She was upset and said she'd tried her best. I'm not resentful towards her or my auntie anymore. It wasn't their fault I got bullied. Those experiences were horrible, but I wouldn't be who I am now if they hadn't have happened.

My curls grew out quickly. I asked for straighteners that Christmas and ordered cheap hair extensions. Walking into school after the break, I remember flicking my new long, straight hair and noticing a group of lads who used to taunt me staring, only this time, with appreciation.

I met my first boyfriend when I was 14. We got chatting over MySpace and met up in Liverpool city centre. It wasn't long before he invited me to meet his family. He's black, as are his mum and sister. I remember going to his house and looking at his mum's braids and his sister's thick, curly hair. They looked so beautiful and proud - I realised I didn't feel like that about my hair. I'd always wanted my straight hair, but had I wanted it for the wrong reasons?

Hair is more than what it looks like ... for black and mixed-race women, it's often political.

My boyfriend introduced me to elements of black culture I'd never been exposed to before - books by black authors, traditional dishes, music. One day, he suggested I'd look amazing with my natural hair. It was the push I needed. I ditched the straighteners and extensions. I was worried about the reaction after so many years of bullying, but needed to give it a go.

I started teaching myself how to look after it by reading natural hair blogs and watching early YouTube videos. I'd spend hours in my room learning about which products to use and how to detangle curls. After about nine months, it had grown into thick, full curls. For the first time in my life, I loved my hair.

For me, hair is more than what it looks like; it's not just about whether it's curly or straight - for black and mixed-race women, it's often political. There have been reports of black women being told to straighten their hair for work, even though chemicals in some popular hair products aimed at de-frizzing black hair are being linked to breast cancer and infertility.

Since then, I've wanted to empower young women to love their hair like I do now, so I post my own natural hair tutorials on my Instagram. I have 20,000 followers so far. I get messages every day from young women telling me I've helped them with their own hair journeys. My auntie loves how I style my hair now, and even helps me dye it.

When I have my own kids, I'm going to make sure I keep in mind what I've been through on my hair journey. They'll be skipping off to school with curls, or braids, or whatever style they want - hopefully without any 'Michael Jackson' comments to ruin their day.

This article was originally published on 14 February 2019.

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My white family couldn't handle my afro hair - so they cut it short - BBC Three

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Standing in front of the mirror, I wrapped a towel round my head and flicked the end over my shoulder. I was trying to imagine it wasn't a towel at all, but the long, shiny hair I'd dreamed of having since I was a little girl.

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Kimberlé Crenshaw: The urgency for intersectionality - giving examples of black African/American women who have suffered police violence and in cases killed, however with the lack of media attention these individuals consequently go relatively unheard ...

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Kimberlé Crenshaw: The urgency of intersectionality

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Now more than ever, it's important to look boldly at the reality of race and gender bias -- and understand how the two can combine to create even more harm. Kimberlé Crenshaw uses the term "intersectionality" to describe this phenomenon; as she says, if you're standing in the path of multiple forms of exclusion, you're likely to get hit by both.