Hollywood Gossip Columnist Hedda Hopper Returns to the Screen in Trumbo

Famed Hollywood gossip columnist Hedda Hopper, played by actress Helen Mirren, is starring in the new movie Trumbo. Directed by Jay Roach and starring Bryan Cranston, the film is about screenwriter Dalton Trumbo and the blacklist in Hollywood during the Cold War. Hopper is featured in the film as Trumbo’s political nemesis, as indeed she was. Rather than dismissing the conservative, anticommunist Hopper as “a crank” who engaged in “pinko purges”—as did earlier portrayals—the film takes her formidable role in mid-20th century American popular and political culture seriously.

Whether known as the “duchess of dish” or a “gargoyle of gossip,” Hedda Hopper was a powerhouse of Hollywood’s golden age. For 27 years, beginning in 1938, she wrote her movie gossip column. Her mass media gossip—or as she put it “snooping and scooping”—drew over 30 million readers to her column at its height in the 1950s. As a gossip, she publicized information about private lives. She focused mostly on the big stars, their movies and marriages, their secrets and scandals. But what made Hopper most stand out from the crowd of celebrity journalists—apart from her famous, flamboyant hats—was her political coverage and political conservatism.

Hopper excelled at a style and practice of journalism that blurred public and private, politics and entertainment and set the context for our current era. By combining and wielding gossip about the worlds of both entertainment and politics, Hopper inserted celebrity into her coverage of politics and politics into her coverage of celebrities. Her insertions took the form of today’s sound bites—simple morsels for immediate consumption. But making information entertaining simplifies the political debate and obscures the political issues. Hopper would have been very comfortable with our historical moment where politicians and celebrities are interchangeable, and personal attacks and character assassinations are a regular part of political discourse.

Hopper used her journalistic platform to promote her conservative politics and traditional values. She attacked members of the film industry who departed from her political views and moral standards, and mobilized her readers into letter-writing campaigns and movie boycotts. Always a proud member of the Republican Party, she sought to build opposition to the New Deal, the Civil Rights Movement, and modern manners and morals. Her highest priority, however, was fighting against Communism at home and abroad. For decades, Hopper busied herself with “exposing Reds in the name of patriotism.” By publicizing the Communist beliefs of members of the film industry, she violated their civil liberties and the right to keep their political affiliations private. But private information was her currency in the gossip trade.

One of her most prominent targets was Dalton Trumbo. She could not understand why a successful screenwriter like Trumbo, one of the highest paid screenwriters in Hollywood, “could be a Commie.” Once the blacklist was established in late 1947, with Trumbo on it, Hopper felt it was not enough and demanded further blacklisting. In 1950, Hopper accused MGM of continuing to employ Trumbo under a pseudonym, a warning to other studios to maintain the blacklist. Hopper continued to monitor Trumbo’s career and put pressure on those protecting him. When Trumbo received screen credit for Spartacus (1960), effectively breaking the blacklist, Hopper strongly objected. “The script was written by a Commie,” she wrote, “so don’t go to see it.”

The establishment of the Hollywood blacklist in late 1947 signaled the stifling of social criticism and political dissent in Cold War America. As the new movie Trumbo makes clear, Hedda Hopper helped make this so.

Jennifer Frost is Associate Professor of History at the University of Auckland, New Zealand. She is the author of Hedda Hopper’s Holywood: Celebrity Gossip and American Conservatism (NYU Press, 2011) and An Interracial Movement of the Poor Community Organizing and the New Left in the 1960s (NYU Press, 2005).

My trigger-warning disaster: “9 1/2 Weeks,” “The Wire” and how coddled young radicals got discomfort all wrong

—Rani Neutill

About a year ago I was asked to teach a class about the evolution of the representation of sex throughout American Cinema. I started with the silent film (The Cheat) and ended with Spike Jonze’s disembodied sex in Her. Along the way, I showed a number of sexually graphic films that caused a great deal of controversy.

At the time I was teaching the course, I was also figuring out a life outside of academia. I had been a wandering postdoc for a long time and was tired. A friend of mine had recently been violently sexually assaulted. I was a witness. The trauma she suffered, from the assault and the long, drawn-out trial of her assailants, led me to volunteer at my local rape crisis center. Working directly with folks who have experienced trauma, I entered the course believing in trigger warnings and gave them throughout the class, even though it seemed as though the title of the course was a trigger warning in and of itself. Regardless, I gave them for almost every film I showed. I even gave them for films that really shouldn’t have needed them (i.e., Psycho).

Midway through the semester, because of my work in sexual assault prevention, I was asked to fill in for the Director of the Office of Sexual Assault Prevention Services at the university. The Director had to take a short leave so I was there to fill in temporarily. In accepting the position, I took on a dual role. First, I was an activist against sexual violence, supporting survivors on campus, but I was also an educator who believed that learning is about shaking up one’s world and worldview. I didn’t realize that occupying both roles at once would be impossible; failure was inevitable.

The first  “uh-oh” moment came when was when I taught Pillow Talk with Rock Hudson and Doris Day. Rock Hudson plays the role of a womanizer (the irony of all this, of course, is that he was closeted). When he gets women into his home there are a series of “booby traps” meant for getting it on (who says that anymore? me). One seemed like a literal trap–the door locks itself shut. I suggested that this might be a predatory act. The class was suddenly divided–there were the ones who vehemently believed that Hudson’s character was a rapist, and those who vehemently argued that he was not. This divide would get deeper and uglier throughout the semester, with me caught irrevocably in the middle. 

Next, I assigned a reading by Linda Williams, a chapter from her book, Screening Sex.It looked in intimate detail at the first blaxploitation film ever made– Melvin Van Peebles’, Sweet Sweetback’s Badasssss Song (SSBAS). The chapter outlined (with pictures), the plot of the movie and all the sexual acts that were in the film. Williams’ argument is that Blaxploitation and SSBAS arose from a reclamation of masculinity by black men who were historically emasculated and castrated (think of the killing of Emmett Till).

I assumed everyone had done the reading. I showed one of the scenes that Williams’ writes about in detail. Before I screened it, I gave a warning, indicating that it was one of the disturbing scenes to which Williams refers. The scene shows a young Sweetback (played by the director’s son Melvin Van Peebles) having sex with a 30-year old woman. She finds him irresistible and thus starts the hyper-sexual evolution of Sweetback–every woman on earth wants to fuck him, including a whole bunch of white women. This, of course, is statutory rape.  When the lights went on and the scene was over, two students left the room in tears. I was perplexed. I started to ask questions about Williams’ reading, how it felt to read about and then watch the scene, what questions of race and masculinity it provoked. Crickets man, crickets. Clearly no one had done the reading.

Later that day, I had a white female student come to my office hours crying. Between picking up tissues and blowing her nose she said, “I’m doing a minor in African American Studies. How could your first images of black people be that horrible?” I told her that I understood her concerns. I went on to explain how the class was a historical look at sex on screen and as the reading for the class articulated, it was one of the first film’s to show black people having sex and was important to film history. She still didn’t get it. She said I had to show some positive images, otherwise it was unfair, that the other students weren’t African American Studies minors so they didn’t understand race politics as she did. I told her that I would bring a positive image to the next class to address her concerns. Finally, she smiled.

That night I went home and thought about it, hard. Isn’t confronting difficult issues what learning is about? My classes were about race, gender, and sexuality. These are inherently uncomfortable topics that force students to think critically about their privilege and their place in the hierarchy of this world.

It’s not fun to talk about inequality. It’s not fun to talk about slavery. It’s not fun to talk about the complexity of sexual desire. It’s terribly, terribly, uncomfortable. But it was my job as their teacher to navigate through this discomfort. I felt like I handled the class poorly. I had kowtowed too much, so I went to class the next day prepared to break this shit down.

I also thought about a positive image of black sexuality and sex. I decided to show a clip from The Wire that shows Omar in bed with his boyfriend just after having sex, a tender moment where they kiss. Omar’s character, a black, gay dude who steals from drug dealers, is a revolutionary representation of black masculinity that stands in stark contrast to SSBAS.  I was excited to show it. I mean, it’s The Wire: who doesn’t want to talk about The Wire?

I began class by talking briefly about learning through discomfort. The students were silent. I turned to them for questions about moments of feeling uncomfortable and how we could read these as productive. The student who came to my office raised her hand and asked, “Are we gonna talk about SSBAS.”

“Yes,” I said, “but I want us to talk about any of the films that made people uncomfortable. Let’s discuss the discomfort.” Her face fell. She started crying and ran out of the room. Her friend followed her. Right after she left I showed the scene with Omar. Later that day, she came to my office again, sobbing.

For the rest of the semester, I gave trigger warnings before every scene I screened. Every. Single. One. This wasn’t enough. A student came to me and asked that I start sending emails before class outlining exactly which disturbing scenes I would be showing so that I wouldn’t “out” survivors if they had to walk out of class when hearing what I was about to show. This took all the free form and off the cuff ability to teach. It stifled the teaching process. There would never be a moment for me to educate them by confronting them with the unknown, by helping them become aware of their own biases by making them feel uncomfortable.

Nevertheless, I did it. Each night I sent a meticulous email detailing which scene I was showing, where in the film the scene was, and what the content of the scene included. My role as a sexual assault prevention services specialist and survivor advocate eclipsed my role as a professor as I tried to accommodate students over and over again.

The next film to piss them all off was 9 1/2 Weeks. The film is about a S&M relationship between a character played by Micky Rourke and one played by Kim Basinger.  At first Basinger’s character is drawn to Rourke and they begin an S&M style consensual relationship. As the film goes on, Rourke becomes abusive and the sex becomes non-consensual, but the beauty of the film is that Basinger is eventually able to let go and take something from the relationship–a heightened sense of her sexuality and desires. There’s an infamous scene with Rourke feeding Basinger a number of food items while she’s blindfolded. It’s basically a series of soft core money shots. It is a consensual scene. When conversation began in class, a white male student started talking about the scene as one of consent. Four hands shot up. One said, “no—it is clearly not consensual.” Other students concurred. They argued that if someone is in an abusive relationship, they can never consent to sex because they are being manipulated.

This triggered me. I was furious.

Sexual assault survivor support is about empowerment. The model says, “Hey! It’s not for you to tell the survivor what happened to them; that’s their story, they know, don’t fucking label it.” What these students were essentially doing was stripping every person in an abusive relationship of all their agency. They were telling every survivor that they were raped, even when the survivor may have wanted to have sex with their abuser. They were claiming god like knowledge of every sexual encounter. And they were only 20. If that. Their frontal lobes haven’t even fully developed. 

I was done with it. I was drained. I was anxious. I was tired. I was fed up.  But I didn’t want to be. I had been teaching for ten years with passion.

I went to get advice from a colleague in the department. He listened and said that during that time of the semester, students tended to get testy. He thought it was seasonal. I asked him if he ever had such a hard time with his students and he said, “No, I am an old white dude, I really think that as a young woman of color they probably just aren’t afraid of you, they see you as a peer.” For the record, I’m not that young but he may have been right. And here’s the irony, all of the students who were upset were the feminists, the activists, and there they were, treating a woman of color professor like she wasn’t an authority while treating old white dudes like they are.

There has been a lot written about triggering and trigger warnings, discussions about how triggers are often not explicit references to one’s traumatic experiences. Smells, tastes, different objects, they can all be triggering. Think of Proust’s madeleine and the surge of memories about his mother. Memory, emotional trauma, grief and healing are complicated and unique to an individual’s experience. Blanket trigger warnings treat them as impersonal predictable entities. The current movement of calling for trigger warnings prioritizes the shielding of students from the traumatic, whereas, ironically, so many other therapeutic models focus on talking through and confronting trauma as a mode of healing.

Recent work by Greg Lukainoff and Jonathan Haidt looks in depth at this phenomenon, the call for safe spaces and trigger warnings. Their tone could be read as condescending to people who are survivors of trauma, but I do think they raise a number of important points.  Similarly, the work of Laura Kipnis on trigger warnings is crucial and illuminating, but in an unfortunate and sometimes typical academic fashion, it can be snobbish and dismissive (Jack Halberstam is also in this camp). Here lies the problem. Taking a tone like that just pisses students off even more. I’m not saying that if we said these things nicely, students would suddenly get it; they won’t. I am living proof of that. I’m just pointing out the fact that putting on an academic face of elite speak isn’t helping either. Maybe pointing out the horrifying political stance these students are making would be more effective.

When a Duke Student refuses to read a book because it has lesbian sex in it and students who are liberal, who are activists, also refuse to read and watch things because they see it as triggering, we see the collusion of the right and left wing. When I get an evaluation from this course that says, “as a white male heterosexual I felt unsafe in this course,” and another that reads, “as a survivor this course was traumatizing,” we are at a moment that needs some radical re-thinking. Do students of a radical nature think that if they are seeing eye to eye with the most extreme conservative element of the population that they are doing something right? Fighting for something positive? Participating in something different?

I don’t have the answers. Hell, I gave up on the whole thing. This was the last straw for me. I didn’t know the answers but I knew this was a crisis. Colleges are the new helicopter parents, places where the quest for emotional safety and psychic healing leads not to learning, but regression.

I don’t know about trigger warnings outside classes that deal with race, gender and sexuality, but I do know that if you promote trigger warnings in subjects that are supposed to make people feel uncomfortable, you’re basically promoting a culture of extreme privilege, cause I’m pretty sure that the trans women who are being murdered weekly, the black men who are victims of police brutality daily, and the neighborhoods in America that are plagued by everyday violence, aren’t given any trigger warnings. Let’s be honest: life is a trigger.

Rani Neutill is a Student at The Startup Institute; Server at the Miracle of Science; Volunteer at the Boston Area Rape Crisis Center; Writer, recovering academic, surviving feminist, and Baltimore City lover. She lives in Cambridge, MA.

[This piece originally appeared in Salon.]

Michael Bérubé on Humans, Superheroes, Mutants, and People with Disabilities at TEDxPSU

Click here for more from TEDxPSU.

Michael Bérubé is Edwin Erle Sparks Professor of Literature and Director of the Institute for the Arts and Humanities at Penn State University. In 2012, he served as the President of the Modern Language Association. He is the author of several books, including The Employment of English: Theory, Jobs, and the Future of Literary Studies (NYU Press, 1997), The Left at War (NYU Press, 2009), What’s Liberal About the Liberal Arts?: Classroom Politics and “Bias” in Higher Education (2006), and Life as We Know It: A Father, A Family, and an Exceptional Child (1996). The Secret Life of Stories: From Don Quixote to Harry Potter, How Understanding Intellectual Disability Transforms the Way We Read will be published in February 2016 by NYU Press.

Yelp for Peeple and the Right to be Forgotten

—Meg Leta Jones

A few weeks ago the Internet became very upset about Peeple, or “Yelp for people.” Co-founder Julia Cordray explained to the Washington Post, “People do so much research when they buy a car or make those kinds of decisions. Why not do the same kind of research on other aspects of life?”

Why not do the same kind of research that we do on cars on people?

Peeple’s future is not looking bright, but assume that Yelp for humans develops in one form another in the future. Should people be able to edit others’ entries? Yelp would be entirely useless if companies could edit user comments, though reliability is certainly questionable. It would be strange if car manufacturers were able to edit the Kelley Blue Book rating?

People find it offensive to be equated to cars. So offensive that we have laws that distinguish the treatment of people from the treatment of cars. For instance, you will get in less trouble for kicking a car than a person. But, should the law distinguish between people and cars online, where it is all just bits?

More and more countries are extending special treatment to humans as they exist online through data protection rights like the right to be forgotten. The U.S. is not one of them, a distinction that is part of a growing rift between America and Europe. In Ctrl+Z, the nitty gritty details of this ongoing, complicated debate are hashed out, organized, and analyzed in a global context.

Meg Leta Jones is an assistant professor in Georgetown University’s Communication, Culture & Technology department where she researches and teaches in the area of technology law and policy. Her book, Ctrl+Z: The Right to be Forgotten, will be published in May 2016 by NYU Press.

Working it at Fashion Week

—Elizabeth Wissinger

It’s New York Fashion week and the Kardashian sisters have been here in force. Yesterday, after juggling interviews, runway walks, and Uber filled traffic jams, all five managed to descend upon the Apple store to promote their new apps, which, according to The Cut blog of New York Magazine, featured “videos, photos, and musings from the girls about their lives and projects.” A reporter taking in the scene was struck when Kim, in full audience view, checked her hair in her iPhone camera, carefully smoothing a wayward strand. “Did she forget that we can see her?” Not hardly. In a brilliant moment of “casual authenticity,” Kim reminded us that she does exactly what so many of us would do, to ensure we are perfect for our close-up. No matter that, for the rest of us, a close up of that caliber rarely occurs. The KKs are brilliant at popularizing a way of being in the world that prior to the Instagram age was reserved for a rare breed of insiders engaged in specialized practices that were not for you and me.

There was a time when only fashion models had to “put on that show, 24 hours a day,” as one model I talked to in the pre-dawn of social media put it. Now it seems that every young girl who considers herself somewhat in the know about fashion and style feels the urge to constantly document her grooming, outfits, and exploits. During this fashion week more than ever before, the streets have become runways in the world of Insta-girls populating our feeds. While everyone has always tried to stand out from the scrum of fashionistas milling about between shows, it is striking how many were named by name in the various news outlets’ now obligatory ‘street fashion’ slide shows. Editors, bloggers, and models all were carefully documented, with only the occasional anonymous shot of a fantastic peacock, a courageous unknown in a sea of bold facers. It seems the adorable fashion students who used to hang around the tents, hoping to soak it all up by osmosis, are now jockeying for position with the self branding fashion bloggers, already, or about to be, well known. Being always ready to be photographed has become a profession of sorts, and it didn’t start with the Kardashians.

Historically, models worked for the camera in the studio, at the fashion show, or on the runway. They carefully protected their image; a 1950s Ford model who had sashayed about in crinolines, carrying her model-signature hatbox, recalled ducking into movie theaters to make herself scarce between calls. Superstar model of that time Jean Patchett similarly didn’t want to overexpose herself, believing that “the more you are seen, the less you are wanted.”

Careful management to avoid over exposure now seems quaint, but the mid century titan of model makers, John Robert Powers, would have had no truck with the I-just-woke-up-this-way, #nofilter, mentality. He managed his ‘girls’ within an inch of their lives, carefully staging photo ops for the press, where his carefully coiffed models went about their anything but normal lives. He observed:

“If Mrs. Smith cooks and keeps house for her husband it is of interest to no-one but Mrs. Smith. But when a model has domestic tastes, she is photographed buying groceries, basting a roast, taking her baby out in his carriage.”

Socality-BarbieSounds a lot like everyone’s Instagram or Facebook feed, but before the image onslaught of the digital age, regular people weren’t staging their lives as if they were on a movie set. It was a model’s job to “epitomize romance for the average person, to represent the story-book heroine in real life, to live more colorfully than other people.” Fast forward to the Instagram age, and it seems that everyone feels the pressure to live more colorfully, beautifully, to be the hero of their own show, engaging in what I call “glamour labor,” the work to look like your tightly edited, highly filtered image in the flesh. In a perfect send up of these kinds of pressures, a fictitious Instagram account depicts a hipster Barbie doll’s golden idyll of sunny hikes, coffee dates, and rugged boyfriends. While completely contrived, it nonetheless rang true with thousands, going viral in a matter of days. “Socality Barbie” shows quite literally how “plastic” Instagram, and those of us who feel the need to feed it, have become. In the endless chase for the perfect image, Hipster Barbie might just have us beat.

Elizabeth Wissinger is an Associate Professor of Sociology at BMCC/City University of New York and Associate Professor of Fashion Studies at the CUNY Graduate Center. She is the author of This Year’s Model: Fashion, Media, and the Making of Glamour (NYU Press, 2015).

Chubby Guy Swag

—Jason Whitesel

There appears to be endless chatter among bloggers about fat women’s fashion, though less so when it comes to fat men. It seems that the fashion industry has continued to overlook big men in this regard. I must say, however, that as a scholar of queer and fat studies in a thin-privileged (white) body, who has written about middle-aged big gay men, I am encouraged to see the emergence of a couple of sites that are attempting to provide fashion inspiration for bigger guys, garnering visibility for them. One of these sites, Chubstr, slates itself as a style destination for men of size. It directs people to resources for them to find clothes they might love. It also alerts users to deals on clothing in extended sizes. I spent some time perusing another blogging community, Chubby Guy Swag (a.k.a. “CGS”), cofounded in 2010 by Zach Eser and Abigail Spooner in response to the lack of body-positive “fatshion” for plus-size males. From my rudimentary content analysis, I gather that this community has international reach providing a safe space for big men who don’t fit the mass media’s image of the “ideal” body type, but aspire toward becoming fashionable, and who therefore appreciate the information and wisdom users share on this site. In fact, several users submit selfies in their favorite outfit. I looked through many posts and photos by men of size who are queer, disabled, people of color, and/or “just plain broke,” most of whom are young adults who are underrepresented in the main.

The CGS website provides a judgement-free zone, as reflected by the compliments made to people who post pictures. Its message is clear: everyone is entitled to fashion, regardless of size. I am most impressed by the queer-positive, anti-racist, and anti-ableist environment that this fat-positive community has engendered. For example, one trans person wrote, “this blog is such a relief to find, since I am fat and trans [non-binary] and looking for fashion inspiration.” For another fat trans person, the blog is a fantastic resource – “nice to see some people shaped like me (even though I’m much shorter than many of the guys on here).” Yet a third gender-queer person says: “I wear almost exclusively women’s bottoms. (Gendered freedom!)” This comment implies the comfortable inclusion of gender nonconformists on the CGS site. It is also interesting that this loosely male-identified space allows for female inclusion, such as women who admire fat men. One of them says she loves everything about the blog, because “it fuels [her] love for men’s fashion AND [her] damn near obsession with cubby men.” Another woman, who is engaged to a big man, apparently follows the blog to look for ways to impart some body-positivity to her fiancé who “hates looking in the mirror.” Many women visit the site on behalf of their ample male partners who feel defeated by the exclusionary fashion industry and need to get their chubby-guy swag back. In fact, even a mother came to the site on behalf of her self-conscious “chubby boy.” Last, but not least, the CGS site is inclusive of persons with disabilities. For example, one person posts about how people with Down’s are built differently and “often lack access to well-fitting clothes, furthering negative perceptions of [DS] people . . . and increasing the condition’s social stigma.” To this post, one of the co-moderators has responded sensitively saying how it is indeed a “struggle to find clothing that fits in a society with misconstrued body standards. Everyone deserves to be happy and comfortable in their body!”

The CGS site offers its users a great confidence boost. To give just one example among many, one visitor to the site describes the big men as the “hottest, cutest, classiest, and the swaggiest guys.” This writer and others give us a sense of the more positive self-image some users celebrate. They check in to the site to see guys of a similar size to themselves pull off “awesome” styles. One recent urban fashion trend appears to be male jumpsuits. As one user reports, the site gives him confidence to pull off the sexy plumber look. Another user displays the catchphrase of the D-list celebrity, Latrice Royale, the plus-sized African-American drag performer: “Chunky yet Funky,” which resonates with the esprit de corps of this online community. Interestingly, even a big man who works with modeling agencies and designers reports on the site that he is constantly confronted by the reality that he does not “fit in” within his own industry.

Users also give and take advice on where to go for affordable, custom-tailored clothes in extended sizes. Such advice ranges from a biker – who shares contact info of a tailor on eBay who sews leather jackets without charging “an arm and a leg” – to users – who warn others of stores that size down (so that an XL is really L). Occasionally, a fashion industry specialist, who is well versed in the small field of fat men’s fashion, will post an editorial where he styled plus-sized menswear. In addition, one big man reported on having met with a free personal stylist he came across at a particular store, who was fat-friendly, had plus-sizing expertise, and was eager to work with him.

Bigger guys, just like everybody else, certainly deserve to have access to style references if they so choose. Given our society’s hyperconsciousness about appearance (which is another story in itself), when big men are denied the latest clothing trends, they miss out on yet another opportunity to be like their peers and differentiate themselves through fashion. Sites like Chubstr and Chubby Guy Swag allow fat men to resist the belief that others can deny them full citizenship because of their weight and size. As one user exclaims, “For big men right now—it’s truly a case of trial and error – we’re kind of on our own.” Voices like his, however, find reassurance: “It’s out there; we just have to look a little harder!” As one user suggests, the democratization of fashion may mean going retro or DIY: “Men’s fashion is evolving… shifting back to our vintage roots and creating, from our lack of options, our own styles and looks.” Users are further reassured that they can find both low-end and high-end options. One user who is operating on a budget posts about his outfit-of-the-day: “I’m a big guy, and I definitely think I have some sense of fashion. I also am a huge bargain shopper, so I’ll be posting what I’m wearing, where I got it, and how much it costs!” On the flip, some people post ensembles worn by fat male actors with the full breakdown of brands, prices, and where to get the same great styles big guys in the media are wearing. The majority of users sound comfortable with their bodies and fashion sense to declare feeling “glamourous,” “chubby,” and “proud.”

Jason Whitesel is Assistant Professor of Women’s and Gender Studies at Pace University. He is the author of Fat Gay Men: Girth, Mirth and the Politics of Stigma (NYU Press, 2014).

The Right to Be Forgotten

—Meg Leta Jones

“Worse than Orwell” is a pretty serious insult in the privacy policy arena, but that is the way the new United Nations rapporteur on privacy, Joseph Cannataci, expressed his dismay with British (not American) surveillance practices and weak data protection. As reported in the Guardian, Cannataci is particularly upset about the use of CCTV systems, which may be because he doesn’t use Facebook or Twitter.

His dig brings the UN into a conversation it has not been relevant to for some time. In 1968, on the 20th anniversary of the Universal Declaration of Human Rights, the International Conference on Human Rights in Teheran addressed the tyranny of computers. UN General Assembly Resolution 2450 (XXIII) specifically directs study into the problem of “the uses of electronics which may affect the rights of the person and the limits which should be placed on such uses in a democratic society” two years before the German state of Hesse passed the first data protection law. Even still the UN has not been considered a major player in data protection or privacy issues.

The UN Human Rights Council’s mandate to nominate a Special Rapporteur on the right to privacy touches on two of the most pressing technology policy issues of this decade: who should be in charge and whose rules should apply? As platforms like Google and Facebook make internal policies to address hate speech and revenge porn, questions about the role of law in digital content disputes have introduced another layer of complexity. Should users, platforms, local authorities, national government, or global entities make these rules? How should rulemaking on technology issues occur in each? Do we even need new rules?

The answer to the first question, regarding who should be in charge, dictates a level of homogeneity for the second. If we all need to have the same rules in a global information system, how can radically different governments and legal systems get on the same page when democracies as similar as those in America and Europe can’t seem to agree? If you think that national legal systems should make their own rules, when do users and companies outside those nations have to adhere to those rules and why?

These are the challenges currently plaguing with the development and refinement of the right to be forgotten. Not only do we have to determine whether and under what circumstances individuals should be able to edit their digital pasts, we must also decide whether and how to enforce other determinations on the same subject. In 1988, a General Comment from the Human Rights Committee on Article 17 (the right to privacy) in the 1966 Covenant on Civil & Political Rights explains that when “files contain incorrect personal data or have been collected or processed contrary to the provisions of the law, every individual should have the right to request rectification or elimination.”

It will be interesting to see how the UN enters this global debate and navigates issues of human rights and pluralism in the Digital Age, particularly with Cannataci’s candor and apparent distaste for heavily relied upon American technologies.

Meg Leta Jones is an assistant professor in Georgetown University’s Communication, Culture & Technology department where she researches and teaches in the area of technology law and policy. Her book, Ctrl+Z: The Right to be Forgotten, will be published in the spring of 2016 by NYU Press.

Remembering Katrina

This week marks the 10th anniversary of Hurricane Katrina. In reflection, we’d like to highlight a few recent books that explore the effects of the historic storm and its impact on the resilient city of New Orleans.

Mardi Gras, jazz, voodoo, gumbo, Bourbon Street, the French Quarter—all evoke that place that is unlike any other: New Orleans. But what is it that makes New Orleans ‘authentic’? In Authentic New Orleans, Kevin Fox Gotham explains how New Orleans became a tourist town, a spectacular locale known as much for its excesses as for its quirky Southern charm. Beginning in the aftermath of Hurricane Katrina amid the whirlwind of speculation and dread surrounding the rebuilding of the city, Gotham provides a unique interpretation of New Orleans, one that goes beyond its veneer and moves into the rich cultural roots of this unique American landmark.


In Critical Rhetorics of Race, a groundbreaking collection edited by Michael G. Lacy and Kent A. Ono, scholars seek to examine the complicated and contradictory terrain of racial rhetoric, critiquing our depictions of race in innovative and exciting ways. In the powerful first chapter, Michael G. Lacy and Kathleen C. Haspel take us back in time to the post-apocalyptic New Orleans of 2005 to explore the media’s troubling representations of black looters following the devastation caused by Hurricane Katrina.


When the images of desperate, hungry, thirsty, sick, mostly black people circulated in the aftermath of Hurricane Katrina, it became apparent to the whole country that race did indeed matter when it came to government assistance. The Wrong Complexion for Protection illuminates the long history of failed government responses to a range of environmental and health threats to African Americans. Drawing on compelling case studies and jaw-dropping statistics, the book is a sobering exploration of the brutal realities of institutionalized racism in disaster response and recovery.