Photo owned by Megan Nanney

I will never forget my first Pride. I was living in New York City for the summer working as an intern at the Human Rights Watch. The office, last minute, decided to join the parade with people from the office and their families marching with signs regarding LGBT human rights issues. I got to carry the HRW banner (pictured above, I’m on the right) that read clearly “Tyranny has a Witness.” How many people can actually say their first Pride was one that you got to be in the parade, let alone in New York City? The whole parade we walked the behind a float with drag queens that had “It’s Raining Men” on repeat. I’ll never forget watching the people on the sides, decked out in rainbow flags from head to toe, and a few protesters with signs. When we got to Christopher Street, the home of Stonewall Inn, the crowd thickened with hoards of people waiting to party the night away. Being in that parade was electrifying. Being part of an event that celebrated diversity and human rights and my (not then out) self is something I will never forget.

But what is forgotten throughout Pride month is the history of the LGBT rights movement and why we celebrate. (Hint: it’s not about marriage equality). What is lost amongst the corporate sponsorship is the message of visible difference in the street, marching to take back our space and to celebrate ourselves and to celebrate being different. What is erased is the diversity within the LGBT community, along with the white-washing, patriarchal, and homonormative reduction of a group of individuals to a singular community. While my post today is not meant to retell the entire history of the LGBT rights movement, it is important to know that it doesn’t begin with Stonewall. So then, why do we always attribute that last Sunday in June to the riots that served as a “shot heard around the world?” Is the original tradition of Pride dead?

According to Stryker (2008:82), “The ‘Stonewall Riots’ have been mythologized as the origin of the gay liberation movement, and there is a great deal of truth in that characterization, but as we have seen, gay, transgender, and gender variant people had been engaging in violent protest and direct action against social oppression for at least a decade by that time.” She writes of at least three significant protests across the US, beginning nearly a decade earlier than Stonewall, from Cooper’s Donuts in May 1959, to Dewey’s in Philadelphia in 1965, and Compton’s Cafeteria in 1966. In all three instances, some of the most regular of patrons were drag queens of color who lived in low-income (often described as “seedy”) neighborhoods, and were often associated with sex work and drugs. While the motivation for each riot is slightly different, in each instance the patrons were denied some form of service or right to belong due to the nature of their work, their affiliated community, and their gender presentation and/or presumed sexuality, and so they fought back against the management or, even worse, against the police.

So then, if there is a history of rioting, especially among communities of poor drag queens of color and sex workers, why is Stonewall named the birth of the gay rights movement (as we know it)? Stryker explains that each riot was by no means random: each neighborhood, economy, and social environment created a perfect hotbed for a riot. Unlike the previous riots, though, Armstrong and Crage (2006) explain that enough social change had occurred in time that primed large numbers of socially marginalized people to not only riot, but to initiate commemoration, or collectively remember, the Stonewall Riots in 1969 compared to the other riots. The aligning of particular policies and laws, the rates of policing, the coming of age of the Baby Boom generation, the political climate of the Vietnam War, the location of Christopher Street, the involvement with the Mafia all worked together to create enough frustration that the patrons and nearby community fought back at Stonewall and remembered. Unlike Dewey’s or Compton’s or Cooper’s, this time, we were not going to take this violence anymore. So it is this last Sunday in June that we march in solidarity and memory of Stonewall, partaking in a tradition of remaining visible and celebrating our difference, or so we think.

In this collective memory, however, Stonewall has been white-washed, masculinized, and commercialized, erasing the presence and role of trans and POC people in the riots. The Gay Liberation Front, the national organization formed after Stonewall, was often critiqued for its domination by white gay men and, like other organizations such as separatist lesbian feminist cooperations, was critiqued for its perceived marginalization of women, working-class people, and transgender people. For example, the first Pride marches were called “Gay Freedom” or “Gay Liberation” days, completely erasing the wide variation, participation, and individual struggles of other members of the community. In fact, it was not until the 1980s that “Bisexuality” and then even later “Transgender” were even added to the Pride LGBT acronym.

Today, Pride’s meaning has changed drastically from its traditional roots, as I have found that many of my own friends do not even know the history of the riots (or any riots for that matter), or how important of a role race, class, and gender played in the creation of Pride. Rather, Pride is now marked with corporate sponsors such as Amtrak, Walmart (which has been known to also take anti-LGBT stances), Delta, ATT, BudLight, Chipotle, and MasterCard. Even in 2012 when I was in the parade, the words on everyone’s lips were “gay marriage,” not the wide array of  (intersecting) political and social concerns regarding “the” LGBT community including immigration, suicide, adoption, employment discrimination, or healthcare access. How quickly has Pride, which has such a positive message and rich history, become a large party and celebration  for those to celebrate who they are, while forgetting where we have come from, who has been there along the way, and where we still need to go.

When I sat down to write this post, I had originally decided to critique Pride and its erasure of trans and POC history as well as its rising corporatizing and homonormative messages. I still believe that is all true. But I also think that Pride serves as one space that we can witness this amazing thing- queer individuals taking the streets, refusing to be the same, and celebrating who they are.  I think the bottom line for me is, we need to remember our past to keep moving forward, but also never apologize for our differences. Pride to me is more than a celebration, it is an achievement of liberation, claiming the old chant and call to action: “We’re here, we’re queer. Get used to it.”

Pieces to Read:

Armstrong, Elizabeth A., and Suzanna M. Crage. 2006. “Movements and Memory: The Making of the Stonewall Myth.” American Sociological Review 71(5):724-751.

Kates, Steven M. 2001. “The Meanings of Lesbian and Gay Pride Day: Resistance through Consumption and Resistance to Consumption.” Journal of Contemporary Ethnography 30(4):392-429.

Stryker, Susan. 2008. Transgender History. Berkeley, CA: Seal Press.

Weiss, Jillian Todd. 2003. “GL v. BT: The Archeology of Biphobia and Transphobia within the US Gay and Lesbian Community.” Journal of Bisexuality 3(3-4):25-55.

This is a guest post by Jenny Dick-Moser. Jenny is a doctoral candidate at Virginia Tech studying Sociology, Health, and Women’s and Gender Studies. Jenny just recently accepted a position as a disability rights advocate at the Disability Law Center of Virginia. 

Sociology Lens News Editor Megan Nanney (mnanney) saw Jenny present on this topic at a departmental symposium and felt that this important information should be shared with those looking to teach courses and for general knowledge in daily life. Thank you, Jenny, for sharing!

Being a self-identified disabled feminist in academia means a lot of people come to me for advice in how to make their disability accommodation statements on their syllabi. For many, the accommodation statement can be as awkward and perplexing for the non-disabled as it can be to interact with disabled people in real life. I’ve had countless interactions with non- disabled people who perform linguistic gymnastics to avoid the word disability and seem to be unclear about how or if to address the crippled elephant in the room.

We sociologists can thank Goffman for pointing out the stigma associated with disability in our culture, a stigma that still makes people uncomfortable and unsure about how to deal with the mandatory disability accommodation section of the syllabus. There is no easy answer to this because people with disabilities can approach disability differently from one another. Some of us find pride in this identity, while others would prefer not to be identified as disabled outside of requests for accommodations. Therefore, one always runs the risk of including some while excluding others through your terminology. To those that still struggle with the disability accommodations statement, I would make three suggestions.

1. Draft Your Own Statement

First, draft your own disability statement to show your students that you are truly interested in inclusivity and working with the students for their success in the classroom. Start by thinking about what you want to name your statement. Many people tend to avoid using the phrase “disability” in the statement and opt instead for terms like “Accommodations Statement”, or “Statement of Inclusivity” students who don’t like to identify as disabled will respond well to that. Personally, my title is “Disability Accommodations.” I understand that many students do not feel comfortable with the disability label but I like to include a brief history lesson about the disability rights movement in my statement to show them that these accommodations were brought about through activism. I also remind them of the laws which protect them: Section 504 of the Rehabilitation Act; the Americans with Disabilities Act; and in my state, the Virginians with Disabilities Act.

2. Design the Statement to Aid Your Students, and Focus On Accessibility Rather Than Just Accommodation

Second, think about what your own commitment to their accommodations will be. You can just do what is necessary vis a vis the Disability office or you can make yourself a resource to them. How will you phrase this statement? I follow the social model of disability which means that disabilities are caused by an unaccommodating society rather than individual impairments. Therefore, my statement says this, “Please contact me to discuss options if the design of this course produces barriers to full and meaningful participation.” Another approach is, “If you have a disability please contact me to discuss accommodations.” Just try not to state that the disability itself is the barrier because this type of language can be stigmatizing. Make sure that you give them the information for the disability services offices on campus so that they can get the documentation that they need. Also, it is up to you whether you want to accommodate students individually with or without documentation . My school’s disability services office told me that they discourage instructors from giving accommodations without documentation. Therefore, I do not necessarily design my courses around accommodation, but rather accessibility. I try to make my courses it as accessible as possible and adjust it as needed. It is an entirely different approach. Check to see if your school offers courses for faculty on accessible course design. Or look here for accessibility guidelines http://www.aph.org/research/lpguide.htm.

3. The Statement Itself Should Introduce the Reader to Disability

Third, use the disability statement to teach your students about the wide range of disabilities that are out there. I find that many students with psychiatric disabilities such as, anxiety and depression do not realize that they qualify for accommodations. You might want to mention that on the syllabus and point them in the direction of your school’s disability services office. You also might want to say something like, “not all disabilities are visible.” Also, try to avoid the phrase “special needs” aside from being cringe worthy, a person with special needs is not a protected minority group but a person with a disability is. Many people use person first language like, “person with a disability” or “students with disabilities.” And although I prefer identity first language (disabled person) to describe myself, I think that your students will respond best to person first language.

Conclusion:

The bottom line here is to be thoughtful about your accommodation statement and make it your own. This shows students that you do not just teach about equality and justice but that you are committed to these values in your teaching practices. Disability rights are civil rights and that gets lost sometimes when we discuss accommodations. Too often, people approach accommodations by asking “do I have to…” If we want a just world, we will stop viewing accessibility and accommodations as something we have to do but rather something we do because it’s right.

When we here at Sociology Lens decided to dedicate July to posts about teaching, I had so much excitement. After all, graduate student advice month had gone over so well, why wouldn’t another themed month that is also relevant. I mean, is teaching not a significant part of what we do as sociologists? But there was one problem… I’ve never taught before. What could I offer in my posts?

Really. I had a very difficult time thinking of something, of anything, to offer. I’ve never even been a teaching assistant! Being in the classroom, beyond one or two guest lectures, is something that baffles me. On top of that, being so young (no more than 2 years older than some college seniors) and fresh out of college myself, how I could I really be considered an authority on being the teacher?

But then that is where it hit me. What makes a teacher? What is this state of being? While I’ve never been a teacher, per se, I’ve always been in a learning environment, both being taught and teaching others on the basis of my contributions and thoughts in class. While “teacher” may not be a formal title, we’re all teachers and we’re all students: we’re always learning something new from someone else, and we’re always taking that knowledge and sharing it through acts of teaching. A teacher is still a student. And after 20 years of formal education, being a student is something I do know a great deal about. It is in this role of “forever a student” that I know about what teaching was most impactful for me to learn.

So then, what does that have to do with teaching month? Upon this revelation that I do know something about the learning process, I wanted to share with you the most memorable and significant learning moments (those “ah-hah” moments, if you will) that I’ve had in my time as a student that really lead me to learn. I know we all deal with deadlines and procrastination and sometimes just memorizing something for a test is easier, but the goal of education (or arguably what should be the goal) is to really learn something, to question it, to apply it. In these three moments below, my teachers gave me the ability to really learn as a student, and one day when I am in their shoes, be able to use these same techniques that I share with you today.*

What would you like the exam question to say?

One of my all-time favorite professors (and eventually advisor and friend) would have two “exams” and two papers per semester. While normally that would bring someone like me, who hates the idea of an exam (because I overthink questions, am quite verbose, and hate time constraints), to a fetal position in anxiety, I looked forward to her exams and papers. That is because for every assignment (paper or exam, which was 2-3 shorter essay questions), she would ask the class “What would you like the exam question to say?” And she meant it. Together as a class we would review the material we had covered and together decide the 2-3 topics that the questions would cover. Her philosophy was that while there was a curriculum and certain points that we should learn as a class, there is sometimes the need for the class to explore certain venues and thoughts that were of value and interest further than in just class discussion. This way, the students themselves were able to pick out what topics, ideas, theories, and questions that not only interested them (because who wants to write a 7 page paper on something they don’t care anything about) but also challenged new ways of thinking. This definitely enriched my exam/paper writing experience, because I was able to really put effort and passion into what I was writing, not just looking for the “right” answer. Sure the questions were re-written so that they still offered a challenge, and we definitely still had to support our argument, but knowing what would be on the exam prior to the day, allowing for me to think about what I thought and what I valued and to put passion into my answer really allowed me to develop research passions. Who knows, maybe one of those exams could become a future publication?

Show me what you have learned.

My senior year of college, I took a course called “How do you know if students are learning?” or something along those lines. The class, held within the education department, was all about educational assessment and measuring how students learn, what types of learning, and different forms of assessment. The irony behind the class, though, was that our professor had to be able to assess how we were learning about how to measure learning (a little bit of inception for you). Our final project then, wasn’t a routine exam or paper, but rather our professor allowed us the opportunity to produce whatever we thought was necessary to show what we have learned (drawing on class notes, quizzes, our semester-long elementary school lab project, etc) and then orally defend it to him. This really made me question, what did I actually learn, not just temporarily memorize? How do I show this? How will I use this? I ended up putting together a portfolio of my class notes and showing graphs of my quiz grades (which could also show that I learned not necessarily information, but how to accel at his exams), but the most important key was a reflective statement that I included. Most of the students in the classroom wanted to be elementary school teachers, where I wanted to be a professor or work in college assessment offices. So that reflective statement was my opportunity to state that I honestly did not gain much from certain in-class topics about elementary school, but the overall ideas were applicable to my goals and I could show how. In this class, I was able to not only produce something that met the course objectives, but apply it to something that was relevant to me.

Forget a term paper, let’s learn to write a grant.

Finally, this past year, I had a wonderful learning experience in graduate school. Sometimes I feel like we get into a routine (due to the institutionalization of our professions) where we take a class, read certain books of the sociological canon, and then produce a term paper that then should become a manuscript or part of our dissertation. Everything we do accumulates to these two large components of our day-to-day tasks, so why not? In this class however, we were provided more hands-on, applied experiences of not writing a typical term paper, but to write a grant. Grant writing takes something extra, something different, from your typical term paper/manuscript, and while absolutely necessary to conduct our research, we rarely learn how to write a grant. This class in particular we wrote for the NSA Dissertation Grant, using topics in class, but in relation to our actual research so that hopefully we could use these edits (that were done amongst peers for more practice regarding peer-review, memos, etc) and actually use the grant. While I’m a few years away from the dissertation stage still, I now have more confidence in grant writing than most of my colleagues (I would feel safe to say), and I have every intention on applying for that grant. Why aren’t we taught more applicable skills that we are going to use?

All this is to say, the methods in which we learn help develop us, shape us, in our becoming of tomorrow’s teachers. These three moments are just some of the many influential experiences that have really shaped how I value thinking, teaching, and learning in the classroom. While I may not be a teacher yet, I do know what effective teaching looks like. I know what it feels like to really learn, to go “ah-hah,” to really enjoy and question and apply this newfound knowledge. I truly believe that effective learning comes from active engagement with and valuing the student.

*Granted, I did go to a liberal arts college with small classes, so some of these methods may not be completely feasible, say, for an Intro class of 500. More should be done about alternative styles of teaching and learning.

(I would be remiss if I did not mention that for other effective teaching methods, one should look within the literature for ideas, such as Teaching Sociology or related blogs, or submit your own pedagogical tools for others to learn from you!)

At the time in which I write this, I have been sick for eight days. I’ve gone through 5 boxes of tissues. Two packs of medicines. Had a fever. Called off a day of work. Gone to the doctor. Slept more than I have probably all year long. Needless to say, this is quite the summer cold. Being sick is no fun, and I’m one to remind everyone around me that it is as such. I complain, I play the victim card, I am essentially helpless. I pretend like I’m going to die, probably because it feels that way. Being sick is no fun because we are not our “normal” selves, we are not healthy, and we are not able to do the things we usually do, at least not the way that we usually do them.

But in a moment of clarity, I wonder to myself, being sick is okay. Maybe our bodies need to be sick in order to rest from the pressure and constraints we put on it everyday to be “healthy.” What is healthy anyways?

When thinking about sickness, I think of two particular pieces of literature that I read in my Feminist Theory course: Garland-Thomson’s “Integrating Disability, Transforming Feminist Theory” and Halberstam’s “Anti-social Turn in Queer Studies.”

Garland-Thomson argues that feminist theory and studies have fallen short when it comes to understanding and including dis/ability. Western thought conceives of disability (which includes invisible disabilities and arguably chronic illness) as a shortcoming and as defective of what is “healthy,” “normal,” and “ideal,” and thus are inferior. As such, people with disabilities become dehumanized, marked bodies: ones that are asexual, infantilized, victimized.  She continues arguing that the binary of disability/ability is a cultural construction, and in reality, disability is pervasive and a part of everyday life- not lesser, not other, not abnormal:  “disability—like gender—is a concept that pervades all aspects of culture: its structuring institutions, social identities, cultural practices, political positions, historical communities, and the shared human experience of embodiment” (p. 16).

Seemingly unrelated, Halberstam’s article critiques liberal feminism and queer studies that, simply put, hope for a better tomorrow. Halberstam wrote,

We need to craft a queer agenda that works cooperatively with the many other heads of the monstrous entity that opposes global capitalism, and to define queerness as a mode of crafting alternatives with others, alternatives which are not naively oriented to a liberal notion of progressive entitlement but a queer politics which is also not tied to a nihilism which always lines up against women, domesticity and reproduction. Instead, we turn to a history of alternatives, contemporary moments of alternative political struggle and high and low cultural productions of a funky, nasty, over the top and thoroughly accessible queer negativity. If we want to make the anti-social turn in queer theory, we must be willing to turn away from the comfort zone of polite exchange in order to embrace a truly political negativity, one that promises, this time, to fail, to make a mess, to fuck shit up, to be loud, unruly, impolite, to breed resentment, to bash back, to speak up and out, to disrupt, assassinate, shock and annihilate, and, to quote Jamaica Kincaid, to make everyone a little less happy! (p. 154)

In other words, an anti-social turn does not apologize for falling short of normative idealizations of whom a person should be and how they should act within the capitalist, sexist, racist, transphobic, hetero/homonormative framework. Rather, queer studies should dismantle what is thought of as normal and embrace the full spectrum of responses and feelings, rather than just privileging the positive and good ones. Unlike the “everything is awesome” mantra (via the Lego Movie), everything does not have to be awesome. It can make us mad, and frustrated, and upset. Oftentimes that is what makes us want change. Negativity, in this sense, is a political choice not to accept the status quo.

It may be a stretch to say that these two theories explain the physical state of being sick, but they do offer an insight into how I feel about being sick. Yes, I can feel bad about being sick. But, at the same time, feeling bad is not a bad emotion to have. It is a perfectly acceptable emotion that I should feel out, accept, enact on. This negative feeling is what drives me. Being sick itself, on the other hand, while is out of what is normal for me, is not abnormal or bad either. It is my body’s reaction to my environment. It is its rage to the toxic environment that it struggles to survive. In a Garland-Thomson-esque argument, I have begun to realize that my emotions and thoughts surrounding my sick, and my health in general, while maybe only temporary, is a construction made to make me feel less than human. Being sick is real, can put others at risk, but being less than “healthy” doesn’t make me less than human. It’s okay to feel bad, to feel sick. Embrace that. Take that rage to change what it means to be sick, how we get sick, how we heal the sick, what we think of the sick.

Pieces to Read:

Garland-Thomson, Rosemarie. 2002. “Integrating Disability, Transforming Feminist Theory.” NWSA Journal 14(3):1-32.

Halberstam, Judith. 2008. “Anti-Social Turn in Queer Studies.” Graduate Journal of Social Sciences 5(2): 140-156.

Do you remember your sex education during your youth? Did you even have sex education?

My school district (a local, public school district composing of four small townships) contracted out our sex education through Catholic Charities, which would come into health classes and teach “sex ed.” (Note: I am very conscientious of using quotations around my experience of “sex ed” because it wasn’t real sexual education, but rather, (heteronormative) abstinence only education.) We started having exposure to sex ed as early as sixth grade, but the “real” sex ed really started in eighth to ninth grade. Boys and girls were separated in two different rooms to talk about their own bodies separately, and would come together where they (at least in my interpretation) tried to scare us into submission.

I remember especially this one part of the instructors’ routine that they did starting as early as sixth grade where each person was a little piece of paper. The instructor would fold them together to symbolize two people together sexually. Then she would set it on fire, as if their relationship would go up in flames. Then she would do it again, but put some liquid on them to symbolize the protection of marriage, and when the flame would come to the paper, it would burn. All this was to say that only marriage can protect individuals when it comes to sex. AND at the end of our “education,” we received a discount card to keep in our wallets if, and only if, we took (literally signed a contract!) a pledge of abstinence until marriage that could be used at the movie theatre and other local shops. Eleven years later, and that’s pretty much all that stuck with me.

I took a quick poll on my Facebook when I decided to write this post, asking my high school friends that I’m still in contact with what they remember. One friend stated that she remembered being taught a lot about STDs, the failure rates of contraceptives (not how to use them per se), and, in her words, “If you don’t have your virginity to give to your husband, what are you gonna give him? A sweater?” Another friend recalls that to avoid “temptation” we should avoid all forms of physical intimacy until marriage because “deep kissing” could lead to more. And a third friend recalls a lesson learned: “I had to balance a broom upside down on my palm either looking up “at my future” or only at the base “focusing on the present” which I guess meant instant gratification. Much easier to focus ON THE FUTURE which somehow was supposed to mean abstinence was the way to go..”

What is even more telling, though, is what we are not told in this supposed education. We were not told on how to use contraceptives or their acquisition, parts of the body, non-heterosexual sex or sexuality (I choose to state this because there are more than binary sexual formations of heterosexual or same-sex sex between individuals). Especially in a high school where we had eight pregnant freshman one year, maybe, just maybe, the abstinence only education wasn’t working (not to forget the lack of education about resources or solutions to the “negative outcomes” of sex, as if we were forever doomed). What about the positive benefits of sex, like it feels good?

This past week, John Oliver posted a video on Sex Education and its current state in the United States, embedded below. He highlights that only 22 states mandate sex education, and only 13 of those states require medically accurate sex education (where he makes a joke that we wouldn’t allow other subjects like history to be inaccurate… that’s a whole different blog post). While I may not necessarily advocate for core curriculums, the wide variability of sexual education curriculums from school to school, district to district, state to state is a serious concern, especially when we put our money and faith in an institution that is supposed to prepare the future generations for life. While I may be able to tell you the chemical formula for some inorganic compound, I left high school not knowing about my own anatomy and actually ashamed and scared of my body.

Click here to view the embedded video.

While there are a lot of issues surrounding the sad state of sexual education, there is a core element that always strikes me: the devaluation and subordination of female-bodied, and what is considered non-masculine, individuals. Throughout this entire line of thought is the argument that women’s value is based on their sexuality, whether they are pure and pious and good. In fact, a whole enterprise is built upon these values including purity balls, pledges, and rings; abstinence only education; and the feminine “hygiene” market. And yet, on the flip side we are bombarded with images and ideas that women cannot be too pious or pure, and in fact women become solely sexual commodities. Women, then, are not whole beings, but are simply reduced to the anatomy that lies between their legs. Women are also then held responsible for their actions as well as the actions of others (see my previous post on teaching men not to rape). This social phenomenon around women’s virginity, for which there is no medical standard definition, remains a social construct to keep women locked in a heteronormative patriarchy, not to mention how feminine presenting men, masculine presenting women, or ambiguous or non-binary individuals are punished/erased due to their non-conformance to this standard. Jessica Valenti, in her book The Purity Myth, writes, “It’s this inextricable relationship between sexual purity and women– how we’re either virgins or not virgins- that makes the very concept of virginity so dangerous and so necessary to do away with” (p.21). That is what is scary and damaging (see 12:00 in the video for more about double standards and placing the blame on women, and its consequences, especially surrounding sexual assault).

I’m not against waiting to have sex. I’m also not against having sex. I’m against the valuation of women on the basis of whether or not they have sex. I’m against the erasure of other components of sexuality and other sexual arrangements because they do not fit the normative standard. I’m against teaching people that they are worth less than others because they felt the need to express themselves in a different way. I’m against having only having one form of education, one strong bias against sex, as the reality is people have sex. People like having sex. Not teaching about sex, or teaching not to have sex or teaching inaccurate information about sex doesn’t work (think about staggering rates of assault, especially on college campuses). Sex ed can work, but it has to be done well and accurately. The John Oliver video above is a great stepping stone in explaining these issues (and discusses many that I don’t touch upon), but only begins to touch the larger, intersecting issues surrounding non-heterosexuality and non-normative genders, women’s subordination, menstruation and anatomy, heterosexism, etc. My “sex ed” was more a lack of, or negative, education, where I would have been “better off absent for the day” (via Oliver’s video).

Pieces to Read:

Valenti, Jessica. 2009. The Purity Myth. Seal: Berkeley.

Stein, Elissa and Susan Kim. 2009. Flow. New York: St. Martin’s.