What Sarah Palin’s Endorsement of Donald Trump May Say about Tea Party Women

—Melissa Deckman

[This piece originally appeared on Presidential Gender Watch 2016 on January 26, 2016.]

Sarah Palin’s high-profile endorsement of Donald Trump’s presidential campaign in Iowa last week continues to dominate the news cycle. Many view Palin’s motives for endorsing Trump as sheer opportunism, while some conservatives, even Palin’s own Facebook followers, feel betrayed by her decision to back Trump given his uneven (at best) record on many conservative issues. Taken at face value, however, Palin’s decision to endorse Trump may best be viewed as an utter rejection of the GOP establishment.

As she indicates in her—ahem—colorful endorsement speech, Palin believes that Trump is a political force that exposes the “complicity” of both sides of the political aisle in enabling a “fundamental transformation of America.” She argues that Trump has been able to “tear the veil off” the political system:

The permanent political class has been doing the bidding of their campaign donor class, and that’s why you see that the borders are kept open. For them, for their cheap labor that they want to come in [sic]. That’s why they’ve been bloating budgets. It’s for crony capitalists to be able to suck off of them…We need someone new, who has the power, and is in the position to bust up that establishment to make things great again.

Palin is not alone among conservatives, particularly those who sympathize with the Tea Party, in their view that the Republican Party is weak-kneed and ineffectual, despite lots of evidence that the GOP has taken a far right turn thanks in no small measure to the Tea Party movement. In my forthcoming book Tea Party Women: Mama Grizzlies, Grassroots Activists, and the Changing Face of the American Right, I interview dozens of women active in the Tea Party and they, too, uniformly express downright derision toward the Republican Party. These Tea Party women believe that the current crop of GOP leaders will do little to shrink the size and scope of government. That belief, in fact, helped to propel their activism in the Tea Party.

However, I was surprised to find that some of the animosity toward the Republican Party among Tea Party women is linked, in part, to their gender. Several activists I interviewed recounted attempts to influence their local or state Republican parties in a more conservative direction, only to encounter a hostile, good ‘ole boys network. For example, Katrina Pierson, who co-founded the Garland Tea Party in Dallas, Texas in 2009, hails the Tea Party movement for allowing women to find their voices as a new generation of conservative leaders, telling me, “It used to be that men in the GOP or male leaders could take a woman’s idea as their own—I have had this experience—but with social media women can be attributed, they can define their own brand, and define yourself and have your ideas heard. You don’t have to go through the good old boys’ club any longer and that has been huge for women.” Women such as Pierson describe the Tea Party as a more appealing form of political activism for authentically conservative women than the GOP. Social media platforms, in particular, not only allow Tea Party women a chance to promote their political views, but also serve as launching pads for their own political careers. For instance, although Katrina Pierson failed in her challenge to Representative Pete Sessions in the 2014 GOP congressional primary in her home district in Texas, her high-profile involvement in the Tea Party led to her being hired as the national spokeswoman for the Trump presidential campaign. She maintains that Trump’s nontraditional campaign appeals to her and other Tea Party types: “He’s sort of not politically correct. He sort of calls it like he sees it. I’m kind of that way, too.”

To be sure, the past several election cycles have brought some very conservative women to prominence within the Republican Party; examples include Senator Joni Ernst (IA) and Representative Mia Love (UT), both elected to Congress in 2014 (and both endorsed by Sarah Palin). Yet their success is the exception and not the rule. Ironically, the challenges that many right-wing Tea Party women face making inroads with the Republican Party are similar to those experienced by women representing the ideologically moderate flank of the party. As the Republican Party has become more conservative ideologically in the past few decades, work by political scientist Danielle Thomsen shows that GOP women state legislators, who have historically been more moderate than their male counterparts, have been reluctant to seek their party’s nomination for Congress, given that primary voters are far more conservative than voters in the general election. Likewise, experimental research by David King and Richard Matland finds that Republican voters may punish female candidates within the GOP, believing that such women are less conservative than their male counterparts; thus, the perception of women being less ideologically conservative may hurt women’s chances to emerge both as candidates and as party leaders within the Republican Party.

These perceptions about Republican women, then, may have spillover effects for women in the Tea Party, despite their very conservative orientation: if Republican party leaders, most of whom are men, believe that women within the party are less conservative than men, Tea Party women may be hindered in their ability to wield influence within the GOP itself, making involvement in the Tea Party a more appealing alternative.

Turning back to the Republican presidential race, however, what role will Tea Party women play in choosing the eventual nominee? Will Sarah Palin’s endorsement of Donald Trump mean that the “mama grizzlies” she has previously called to arms will follow suit? Possibly. But it won’t likely be because of Sarah Palin’s endorsement alone. Right-wing icon Phyllis Schlafly, whose conservative bona fides are far less open to question than Sarah Palin’s and who has a strong following among socially conservative women at the grassroots level of politics, has also endorsed Trump, declaring him the “last hope for America.” Time will tell if Tea Party women will back Trump or perhaps will find a more “authentic” Tea Party candidate such as Ted Cruz appealing. He, too, was a popular figure with many of the Tea Party women I interviewed, and his anti-establishment rhetoric, as shrill and pronounced as Donald Trump’s, is also likely to find favor with many Tea Party women.

If the latest polls are any indication, however, Palin and Schlafly’s endorsements appear consistent with the sentiment of Tea Party women in battleground states. According to CBS/YouGov, Trump bests Cruz among Republican women and Tea Party voters in Iowa, New Hampshire, and South Carolina who seem to agree with Palin that, “[Trump] is perfectly positioned to … make America great again.” She added, “Are you ready for that, Iowa?” Come next week, we’ll know.

Melissa Deckman is the Louis L. Goldstein Professor of Public Affairs at Washington College, where she also chairs the Political Science Department. An expert on gender, religion, and American politics, she is the author or co-author of four books, including Tea Party Women and School Board Battles: The Christian Right in Local Politics, winner of the 2007 Hubert Morken Award for the best book on Religion & Politics from the American Political Science Association. She chairs the board of the Public Religion Research Institute and her political commentary has appeared in The Washington PostHuffington Post, and the Brookings Institution’s FixGov blog. Her latest book, Tea Party Women: Mama Grizzlies, Grassroots Activists, and the Changing Face of the American Right, will be published by NYU Press in May 2016.

The Refugee Dilemma and the Broader Immigration Debate

—Shoba Sivaprasad Wadhia

Last week, the New Yorker ran a heartbreaking piece titled The Refugee Dilemma sharing the story of Nelson Kargbo, a former child story from Sierra Leone who upon entering in the United States as a refugee endured a series of joys that included his role as a father and sorrows that included a lengthy term in prison and in solitary confinement, which according to this psychiatrist, worsened a predisposition to psychosis. The story of Kargbo tells a larger story about the complexity of the U.S. immigration system and the real impact of immigration law and enforcement on people who have fled extraordinary conditions before arriving to the United States.

To arrive in the United States as a refugee like Kargbo and his family is no simple task. Refugees include people who have been persecuted or face persecution in their home country because of race, religion, nationality, political opinion or membership in a particular social group. While the politics of refugee resettlement are volatile in the wake of the Syrian refugee crisis and the anti-Muslim sentiment that has emerged after bloodshed around the world and inside the United States, the reality is that refugees are  the most rigorously screened immigrant populations in the United States.

As Karbo did, refugees apply for permanent residency (a green card) one year after arrival — after five years, refugees may apply for United States citizenship. Importantly, having a green card does not provide total security. The Department of Homeland Security or DHS has the authority to arrest, detain and deport a wide range of noncitizens including those who fail to file a change of address card on time; commit certain crimes; and overstay their visas to name a few.

The method by which Kargbo moved from the criminal system into the immigration system after ICE (one enforcement arm in DHS) placed a “hold” on him is a recurring theme in immigration enforcement. The question about whether local law enforcement should cooperate with ICE has been a controversial as it implicates public safety at the local level and undercuts trust with immigrant communities.

Kargbo was placed in a courtroom process known as “removal proceedings” which itself is an adversarial hearing at which an ICE attorney serves as the prosecutor and where the noncitizen acts as the “respondent” or defendant before an immigration judge who is part of the Department of Justice’s Executive Office for Immigration Review. At the removal hearing, noncitizens respond to the immigration charges against them and apply for qualifying forms of relief such as asylum, cancellation of removal and adjustment of status. As highlighted by Kargbo’s story, limited relief is available for people who have committed certain crimes in part because Congress has removed much of the discretion judges once held to factor in individual equities.

Importantly, most people are deported (removed) do not have a removal proceeding or opportunity to tell their story to an immigration judge.  The law contains expedited procedures for people who arrive in the United States without papers or false papers; those living in the United States without a green card who have committed certain crimes and those who reentered the United States have a removal order. In fiscal year 2013, more than 75% of removals were executed through one of these “speed deportation” programs.

Kargbo’s journey also highlights the limits of the U.S. immigration system. Many noncitizens are forced to navigate the immigration removal process without an attorney because there is generally no court-appointed counsel. One has to wonder whether Kargbo would have received the protection he was legally eligible for without hours and expertise from his pro bono attorneys and the specialists who were able to document his mental health and prospects for care in Sierra Leone. The restrictions on court appointed counsel are universal which means that young people, individuals with mental health complications, asylum seekers with significant language and cultural barriers and other vulnerable populations have no right to court appointed counsel.

Importantly, DHS has enormous power to decide who to arrest, detain and deport. With 11.3 million people living in the United States without authorization and thousands more individuals like Kargbo charged with removal as a green card holder, DHS must manage its enforcement wisely. Enter in prosecutorial discretion. When prosecutorial discretion is exercised favorably, DHS has made a choice to limit or refrain from enforcing the immigration law against a person. This discretion has functioned in the immigration system for many years and is crucial because the agency has the resources to deport less than 4% of the millions eligible for removal. Beyond the economics are the humanitarian reasons behind prosecutorial discretion- young people, those with serious medical conditions and those with strong family ties in the United States are among the kinds of people who have been granted prosecutorial discretion historically. A prosecutorial discretion grant is a temporary reprieve at best and leaves the person in an immigration purgatory as opposed to a more secure status like lawful permanent residency.  While Kargbo received a semi-secure form of protection under the United Nations Convention Against Torture, his story leaves the discussion door open for the role of prosecutorial discretion in the scores of cases where formal protection under the law is unavailable. DHS can and should use prosecutorial discretion to protect individuals with compelling equities and imperfect histories.

Shoba Sivaprasad Wadhia is the Samuel Weiss Faculty Scholar and the Director of the Center for Immigrants’ Rights at Pennsylvania State University Dickinson School of Law. Previously, Wadhia was Deputy Director for Legal Affairs at the National Immigration Forum and an associate with Maggio Kattar P.C., both in Washington, D.C. She is the author of Beyond Deportation: The Role of Prosecutorial Discretion in Immigration Cases (NYU Press, 2015).

Decades of Xenophobia Shape US Response to Syrian Refugees

[This piece originally appeared in Truthout.]

—Richard Baldoz & Shelley Sang-Hee Lee

Current debates surrounding President Obama’s plan to admit 10,000 Syrian refugees in 2016 have revealed deep political fissures in the United States. Until recently, criticism focused on the Obama administration’s doing too little to aid people fleeing the bloody civil war in Syria, but Republican leaders have now seized on the terror attacks in France, while stoking anti-Arab racism and Islamophobia, to oppose refugee resettlement on national security grounds.

While the White House and its allies dismiss their opponents’ position as xenophobic and un-American, this line of argument is also simplistic, as our history with refugees is an ambivalent one. Over the past century, the prospect of settling refugees has tested Americans’ self-avowed benevolence, underscoring our conflicted attitudes about newcomers and raising inconvenient questions about the extension of US power abroad.

As migrants, refugees are distinct. They are a displaced people escaping danger who, unlike conventional immigrants, have not voluntarily left their homes for reasons like family reunification or economic opportunity. While in the abstract, humanitarian concern for refugees is a broadly agreed upon principle, we have been tentative when it comes to admitting living, breathing people. During the late 1930s, for instance, as European Jews were fleeing Nazi aggression, two-thirds of Americans opposed increasing immigration ceilings to admit them, citing fears that Bolsheviks or German agents might slip into the country. This was also a time of international isolation, marked by economic depression and low immigration. It was not until 1944, as Americans learned more about the horrors of the Holocaust, that special provisions were made to admit Jews.

With the onset of the Cold War, anti-communism and diplomacy guided US actions on refugees and revealed the selective application of humanitarian compassion. For much of the second half of the 20th century, policies allowing refugees’ entry were implemented in an ad hoc fashion and usually only applied to people fleeing communist regimes. For example, the Soviet invasion of Hungary in 1956 prompted the admission of tens of thousands of Hungarians, and Cuba’s socialist revolution of 1959 led to the United States accepting hundreds of thousands of refugees from that country. In these cases federal officials opened the doors by invoking emergency powers, despite most Americans’ opposition due to concerns about potential communist infiltrators and other “undesirables.” By contrast, during the 1980s, Haitians fleeing the dictatorial but US-backed Duvalier regime were repeatedly denied asylum or refugee status on the grounds that they were economic migrants whose human rights had not been violated.

After the Vietnam War, Americans hesitated to admit Southeast Asian refugees, due in part to a legacy of anti-Asian immigration exclusion and a desire for closure from a divisive war. Because people were fleeing Communist governments, politicians acceded that the United States had a duty to admit them, and Americans’ urgency to do so deepened after learning about tragedies like the plight of “boat people” and the “killing fields” of Cambodia.

Ideological commitments and moral compassion aside, the United States’ obligations also stemmed from a history of interventions in Indochina going back to the 1950s. Determined to contain communism, it committed troops to fighting in Vietnam from 1965 to 1973 and conducted secret bombings and military operations in Cambodia and Laos. After the communist victories in these countries in 1975, persecution and violent purges of dissidents and minorities prompted massive exoduses, a segment of which the United States admitted.

Four years later, facing pressure to accept more refugees, two-thirds of Americans opposed increases due to worries about their assimilability and the prospect that they would drain public resources. Eventually, about 1 million Southeast Asian refugees were resettled in the United States, and they have inarguably been woven into the fabric of our nation over the past 40 years despite the enormous hardships they have faced.

While the troubles in Syria seem removed by comparison, recent US actions there, as well as a long history of meddling in Middle East affairs, underscore the US role and obligations in the current crisis. Viewed one way, modeling moral leadership on the refugee issue can be an effective anti-terror strategy against ISIS propaganda that portrays the United States as an anti-Muslim nation.

The debate about admitting refugees, moreover, begs a moral and philosophical question about the consequences of US foreign intervention: If we are committed to toppling the Assad regime in Syria and defeating ISIS through proxy fighting and aerial bombings, why would we withhold refuge to those fleeing the turmoil?

We might also keep a longer history in view, because despite decades of diplomatic and military entanglements in the region – in the name of anti-communism, Israel, oil and more recently anti-terrorism – our perspective on the Syrian refugee crisis is strikingly myopic. And yet, as we witness another humanitarian catastrophe, some of our leaders raise the specter of terrorists entering the United States, glossing over the fact that refugee screening entails multiple and lengthy rounds of examination by the Office of the UN High Commissioner for Refugees and the United States, making entry for anyone enormously difficult. It defies reason to think individuals with terrorist aspirations would submit themselves to a multiyear vetting process that probes into every aspect of their past and present associations.

The interrelated propositions framing the debate about Syrian refugees – that we have a moral obligation to provide shelter to those facing imminent danger, and that the US bears a responsibility because of its interventions in the country and region – point to a dilemma we have confronted before. Additionally, how we treat refugees mirrors not just our mixed feelings about newcomers and the world outside, but also ignorance about the world within our borders (thus highlighting an irony of the promise of US safe harbor). In the war on terrorism, our imprecise understandings of its origins and trajectories have given rise to enemies that are creations of our own bigotries, which pervade discussions about Syrian refugees and have made scapegoats of Americans of Arab and South Asian descent.

After President Jimmy Carter signed the Refugee Act of 1980, which created a comprehensive system for processing refugee and asylum cases, he proclaimed, “[It] is the historical policy of the United States to respond to the urgent needs of persons subject to persecution in their homelands.” Although not entirely accurate, this statement echoes a challenge to which we ought to rise.

Richard Baldoz is a professor of sociology at Oberlin College. He specializes in the areas of immigration and citizenship policy and is the author of the award-winning The Third Asiatic Invasion: Empire and Migration in Filipino America (NYU Press, 2011).

Shelley Sang-Hee Lee is a professor of history and comparative American studies at Oberlin College. Dr. Lee specializes in Asian American history and urban studies. She is the author of A New History of Asian America (Routledge).

A Response to Amber Scorah: Learning from Parents and Child Care Providers to Create Better Policies

Palley_Shdaimah—Elizabeth Palley & Corey Shdaimah

Amber Scorah’s loss of her son Karl is tragic. Leaving a young child in daycare can be hard for any parent. Scorah’s story illustrates why this decision is so much harder in the United States for two reasons. First, unlike in most other countries, many US parents who prefer to care for their own infants do not have the financial and societal support to do so. Second, we do not treat early child care and education or the people who provide it as the valuable service that it is.

Despite hardships, most parents and providers work hard to find and deliver the best care for young children. What happened to Karl is rare. Most children survive and those in high quality care thrive. That does not make the decisions that parents of young children face any easier.

Some criticized Scorah for returning to work and questioned how she could blame larger societal pressures on her own “poor” choice. The factors that shaped Scorah’s decision, however, were not only individual but also societal. The very real pressures that she and her family experienced, including a need for health insurance and salary, compelled her to leave Karl in care. As Scorah noted, we live in a society that values paid employment over caring responsibilities and often leaves little space for parents to stay with their children when they are the most vulnerable. Though parents should have choices to stay with their children until they are less vulnerable, our workplaces and our government have not provided such choices for most Americans. We are anomalous in the economically developed world, where most countries have some policy that protect parents’ employment and even provide some form of salary or insurance that allows parents to care for their own children or assists them in securing affordable, quality care.

While Scorah indicated that she does not necessarily hold the provider responsible, she does implicate child care providers as overburdened, insufficiently trained, and callous to the needs of their charges. In our discussions with child care providers across New York State, we have met many center based directors and family providers who view the children in their care (often for the majority of their waking hours) as a sacred charge. Their interests mirror those of the parents whose children they care for. They want more training, better pay to allow them to hire and retain a stable and sufficient workforce, and the best equipment and curriculums. Karl seemed to be in distress and though a child care worker noticed and expressed concern, no one followed up. Karl was also left on his stomach. These are both issues where better training might have prevented Karl’s death, and they raise the possibility of regulatory policy responses. In our research, however, we have found that regulation in response to rare tragedies often makes for bad policy that burdens providers without always resulting in substantive improvements. In any contemplated policy change, policymakers and advocates must consider the voices of parents and providers, whose input will lead to better policy.

This blog post was contributed by Elizabeth Palley and Corey Shdaimah, the authors of In Our Hands: The Struggle for U.S. Child Care Policy (NYU Press, 2014).

Interview with Joshua Gamson, author of Modern Families

Why did you choose to write a book that focuses on the personal narratives of unconventional family making?

I started writing the book because I really wanted to get our stories down on paper for the kids I know and love. I kept going because of other people’s curiosity. In the early months of our first daughter’s life strangers routinely asked questions like, “Where did you get her?” and “How long have you had her?” At first I thought they were just being rude, but then I began to realize that people were asking to know the stories of how families like ours came to be. People had a sense that family structures were changing a lot, but they didn’t know how actual people went about making their actual families. So I decided to tell them, and to tell them as personally, honestly, and intimately as I could. Personal narratives are also a terrific vantage point from which to view the larger social structures and changes shaping family formation.

You describe two common ways of approaching these new ways of making family. Where does your book fit within them?

There are basically two genres in this territory. One, which the writer Anne Glusker called Repro Lit, tells the heroic stories of individuals who had to overcome great obstacles to become parents; the other, which I dub Repro Crit, critically assesses the institutions and industries of family formation, pointing to the exploitation, inequities, and commercialization involved. Modern Families tries to bring these two genres together. I think of it as the love child of Repro Lit and Repro Crit.

How has the historical myth of the nuclear family affected what constitutes is considered a “real” family, and how has it rendered other kinship models deviant and pathological?

The idea that a real family consists of a married heterosexual man and woman and their biological offspring is a relatively new one, and never historically accurate, as the historian Stephanie Coontz has shown. Still, this idea—in the book I call it the One True Family ideology—has been extremely powerful as a norm. Departures from it, whether they are single parents, adoptive families, blended families, same-sex parents, kinship networks that extend beyond a couple and beyond biology, have been made invisible, pushed into secrecy, or stigmatized. That’s clearly rapidly changing, which is part of what I’m documenting through the stories in this book.

How has the LGBT movement reimagined the model of kinship in a way that expands the legal and socially sanctioned versions of the traditional family? 

One of the contributions of lesbian, gay, bisexual, and transgender people has been to assert a model of kinship that is not reliant on biological or genetic ties—in part out of necessity, since many were dumped by their biological families and then developed family with people they chose as kin. This isn’t a new thing—many African American working-class communities have long operated with broad networks that mix biological and social kin—but LGBT people added their own version to the mix. Then there is the simple fact that many LGBT people raise children, either those from an earlier heterosexual relationship or those they’ve conceived or adopted. This, along with the shockingly successful effort to equalize marriage rights, has undercut the assumption that an acceptable, legally recognized family requires a heterosexual man and woman. Increasingly, too, we are seeing “queer” versions of family that are even more expansive departures—in which, for example, a family involves more than two parents from the outset, or in which kinship ties are built and maintained between foster and adoptive families and families of origin.

Yet some gay couples use assisted reproduction technologies and sperm banks, bypassing social conventions of the heterosexual family but not the idea that “blood” ties are more authentic than “families we choose.” Is the assumption that a genetic relationship to a child is what makes you his or her real parent still unassailable?

Not exactly. The idea that biology determines kinship does still dominate, and informs the family-making decisions of some gay people, for sure—and I see no reason gay people should be restricted to non-biological reproduction. Yet even those of us who have gone that route (and I am among them) routinely encounter people who want to know who the “real” father or “real” mother is, or the assertion that our kids are not “real” siblings. We throw a wrench in things when we reject the terms of such questions and assertions, when we respond that we are real parents and real siblings regardless of whose got what genetic ties. It also seems that when people know our story, it opens up the conversation because we embody some mix of biological and social that doesn’t fit with their ideas of what constitutes real kin.

What do you think about the commercialization of family formation? Does building a family through commercial exchanges—paying egg donors or gestational surrogates, paying adoption agencies and lawyers—represent the encroachment of a market mentality into aspects of intimate life that had previously been insulated from commercial forces?

Short answer: Yes. The profit motive, the exchange of money, what the sociologist Arlie Hochschild has called the “outsourcing of intimacy,” the sense that pretty much everything can be bought and sold, are now part of family formation in ways that they weren’t before, just as they are part of dating, health care, marrying, childrearing, and death. That can be troubling and sometimes creepy. In many places, in fact, commercial surrogacy is banned outright as “baby selling,” but it’s pretty rare to find people treating family formation like a trip to the supermarket. As the stories in Modern Families attest, commercialization can also be the means of access to family-making for people that would otherwise be excluded, to make the process more legible to all its participants, and to facilitate new sorts of kinship relationships. The bigger problem, I think, is that market-based family formation is under-regulated, leaving too much room for abuse and exploitation, and that access is still restricted to the few who can afford it.

You write that your baby, like every other baby, “was a creature of a particular political moment.” What do you mean?

What I mean is that although making a family feels to many people like a private activity that is outside of power relations, it never is. For instance, women’s decisions about reproduction—whether, how, when to have a child—are shaped by their access to contraception, abortion, health care, and so on, all of which are themselves shaped by gender and race politics and by government actions. Access to assisted reproduction technologies is, at this point, restricted mainly to the economically privileged, and surrogacy is subject to a patchwork of contradictory laws. International adoption is structured by global economic inequalities, and intra- and inter-country politics, and domestic adoption by social class inequaly and family policy. Anti-gay prejudices, bias against single people, and racism continue to inform both government and private agency policies. These are the unavoidable—though changeable—political structures in which we all make family.

Has the success of the marriage equality movement, described at times as obtaining straight privilege for gays rather than challenging power and heteronormalcy, created a distinction between the family-making of “respectable gays” and the “shameful ones” who have no desire to procreate or create family?

The idea that people who choose to get married, make a family, or both—gay or straight—are somehow more deserving than those who don’t needs to be addressed head-on and resisted. We need a more expansive understanding of kinship, more expansive kinship structures, and more reproductive freedom, not just new versions of old hierarchies.

Institutional structures and legal reality dictates that a child can have no more than two legal parents. Do you think society and the law will start recognizing multiparent families?

Actually, I think society already recognizes some multiparent families without really calling them that: families in which parents have divorced and recoupled, so that the kids wind up with three or four parents raising them. The question is whether people can let go of the idea that a family can have more than two parents by design and from the get-go. If more people build multiparent families, the idea that a child can have no more than two legal parents may shift, unevenly, as more legal challenges emerge and as the law catches up to social reality. In fact, a couple of years ago, California passed a law that family courts can (but are not required to) recognize more than two legal parents of a child if they think it will protect the child from detriment. That’s a big, if cautious, change in the law. I’m not a great prognosticator, but I think it will be a long time before legal recognition of multiparent families really takes hold, partly because it calls up the specter of polygamy, around which the prohibition still seems to be very strong.

Social class stratification casts a dark shadow on the process of who is an egg donor (young and educated) versus who is the gestational carrier (often poorer and less educated), and on who can access assisted reproduction technologies. How can we ensure that this new form of family making does not take advantage of financially disadvantaged women and serve only economically privileged people?

In the bigger picture the obvious answer is that we have to push for policies that redress the gaping economic inequalities here, and that protect and build the safety net for economically vulnerable people—so that a choice to be a surrogate, though it can involve payment, is a real choice rather than one that one coerced by financial circumstance. In the narrower realm of family and reproductive policy, and in the shorter term, I think we need greater regulation of assisted reproduction markets—the sociologist France Winddance Twine advocates for a transnational regulatory agency. To equalize access to assisted reproduction technologies, we need government policies that subsidize costs of those technologies for people who cannot afford them.

Many states and countries give priority to married, heterosexual couples during the process of adoption. Yet there are many women who wish to be single mothers and gay singles and gay couples that wish to adopt. Your book includes the moving story of a woman who had to hide the fact that she was in a lesbian relationship to adopt her child internationally. What reasoning leads to this discriminatory practice and how can we enact change?

Besides some degree of good, old-fashioned anti-gay and anti-woman animus, I think the reasoning behind this kind of discrimination is the belief that the best situation for a child is to be raised by a man and a woman in a stable, intact household. So women pursuing parenthood solo (and men, too, though there are fewer of those) and same-sex couples face the same stigma: they aren’t making the kind of family other people think kids ought to have. Adoption policies and agency practices, everyday disapproval, and sometimes also the decisions of birth mothers, reflect this belief. It feels to many people like common sense, but it turns out that the research on children of single parents and same-sex parents refutes it. So part of the regulation of international and domestic adoption ought to be rooting out such discrimination. If people are genuinely concerned about the fate of children their energy should go towards policies that support rather than stigmatize parents—such as affordable childcare, minimum wage increase, paid family leave, and the like. The biggest danger to kids is poverty, often coupled with racial discrimination, not single or gay parents.

Joshua Gamson is Professor of Sociology at the University of San Francisco. He is the author of Modern Families: Stories of Extraordinary Journeys to Kinship (NYU Press, 2015).

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.

Katrina’s Lessons: Learned and Unlearned

—Robert Verchick

In the last few years, I’ve commemorated the anniversary of Hurricane Katrina in a new way: by pedaling along the self-guided “Levee Disaster Bike Tour.” I begin beneath muscular oaks along New Orleans’ Bayou St. John, and I weave my way around potholes and waterfowl to pay silent respects near three prominent levee-breach sites, each marked with a commemorative plaque. Ten years ago, those breaches, combined with more than 50 others to bring a great American city to its knees.

I lived in New Orleans then, and evacuated to Houston for six months. Like so many others I resolved to return to my flooded home and rebuild. I did just that, and for a decade since I’ve taught graduate students about disaster policy and the central role Katrina plays in shaping our understanding of catastrophic hazards. I’ve learned a lot along the way, as have my students, I hope. But I can’t say the same for policy makers. A decade after the levees burst, some of the most important lessons are still just soaking in. Here is what I hope we will remember.

New Orleans was swamped by an engineering failure, not just a storm, and other cities are waiting in line. Katrina was a monster, but much of its rage had dissipated by the time it reached land. When the levees broke, the storm was within that system’s design specifications. To its credit, the Army Corps of Engineers acknowledged the failings in its design and construction and has toiled since to build a supersized complex of ramparts, gates, and pumps as sophisticated as any flood-control project in the world.

But other time bombs tick across the country. An estimated 100,000 miles of levees protect tens of millions of households, from Sacramento to Miami to New York City, with nearly 1 million of those households in Houston. Yet we know surprisingly little about their fitness. In response to Katrina, the federal government is developing an inventory of all federal and many non-federal levees. Of those rated so far, only 9 percent have been found to be in “acceptable” condition. In 2013, the American Society of Civil Engineers gave the nation’s levees a D- and estimated that repairs would cost more than $100 billion.

But even that isn’t enough. U.S. flood-control projects are normally designed to withstand only a so-called “100-year” event, or more accurately, an event with a 1-percent chance of occurring in any given year. If you own a home for the span of a 30-year mortgage, you have a 26-percent chance of being under water in the literal sense before you pay it off. By comparison, dikes in the Netherlands, where they know from floodwaters, are designed to withstand events that are up to 100 times less probable.

Social burdens linked to income and race make everything worse. As Americans learned watching television broadcasts of their fellow citizens, many of them poor and African-American, helicoptered off battered rooftops or trapped in the Superdome, disasters do not ignore social inequalities; they amplify them. Low-income and minority populations, for instance, are less likely to have first-aid kits, emergency food supplies, fire extinguishers, and evacuation funds, but more likely to suffer property damage, injury, and death. In the aftermath of Katrina, the damaged areas of New Orleans were 75 percent African-American, while undamaged areas were 46 percent African-American. Government assistance programs—crucial in the wake of large catastrophes—tend to favor middle-class homeowners over less affluent renters or the homeless.

Hurricanes Katrina and Sandy inspired a variety of indices and mapping platforms to identify “social vulnerability.” As with the federal inventory of levees, this information is critical. But, still, I wonder whether it will be used to its best effect. Will such mapping lead to safer homeless shelters, multi-lingual responders in immigrant areas, better public transportation for the elderly, better evacuation plans? If not, what’s the point?

Disaster is backlit by climate change. Experts agree that human-caused global warming is increasing average temperatures, disrupting rain patterns, and raising the seas. While scientists can’t link any individual storm to climate change, Katrina was perhaps the first to open the public’s imagination to what life on a warming planet could really mean. Thus the Federal Emergency Management Agency now incorporates climate impacts into its disaster recovery framework (now being followed in the aftermath of Hurricane Sandy) and has plans to fold climate projections into the flood maps that determine insurance needs across the country.

What Katrina really teaches is that we are all in this world together, surrounded by vulnerabilities. On the frame of my ten-speed is a bumper sticker with the motto, “Be a New Orleanian—Wherever You Are.” What you didn’t know, is that you may have little choice.

Robert Verchick teaches at Loyola University New Orleans and Tulane University, is the president of the Center for Progressive Reform, and is the author of Facing Catastrophe: Environmental Action for a Post-Katrina World (Harvard University Press, 2010) and Feminist Legal Theory: A Primer (NYU Press, 2006).

[This piece originally appeared in the Houston Chronicle.]

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.