Maleficent: A feminist fairy tale?

—Jessie Klein and Meredith Finnerty

Maleficent makes us want to stand up and cheer—and then sit down stunned. The film distinguishes itself as the third in a trend of major studio releases that seem determined to reverse the damage of the common fairy tale motif: “Wealthy princes save skinny damsels for love ever after.” Yet, as research reveals high U.S. social isolation, the reinvented princess plots portend ominous new troubles while embracing old snares; together these phenomena suggest that human love in the U.S. may be endangered.

In the wake of Brave (2012) and Frozen (2013), Maleficent suggests that true love at best won’t be found in some random prince you meet one day, and at worst, said prince may well be seeking to destroy you to realize his own ambitions.

“You got engaged to someone you met the same day?” howls Kristoff to Anna in Frozen. These messages are a partial triumph, advising young people to work to find a forever partner, among other priorities.

The other themes, though, are foreboding: In addition to pressure to look like ever more unattainable Photoshopped images (still contributing to eating disorders at ever younger ages), young people are told to look for intimacy from parents and siblings—and consider romantic love from a spouse (or anyone else) a distant, and perhaps unachievable, goal.

Maleficent’s former love, Prince Stefan, steals her power to fly when he absconds with her wings, to become King. In Frozen, Anna’s fiancé, Prince Hans, tries to kill Anna and destroy the ice-power endowed to her older sister, Queen Elsa, in order to mount their throne. And Princess Merida’s suitors, in Brave, chosen by her parents, are arrogant and incompetent.

In Frozen, it is Anna’s sister, Elsa, who accidentally ices Anna’s heart, and then frees her from this fate with her own true love sibling kiss. In Maleficent, the evil witch-turned-doting mother figure embodies such love; and in Brave, Merida herself liberates her mother from life as a bear, with the heart only a daughter can bestow.

What a departure from the historic themes where evil stepsisters, stepmothers, and girls generally are so competitive that they achieve each other’s demise. Such parables characterizing sisters as envious and hateful are present in, among others, Oz, the Great and Powerful (2013) and expected in Cinderella (2015); and a constant in contemporary film renditions of classics such as King Lear.

The depiction of sisters and “stepmothers” as devoted to one another in Frozen and Maleficent is new; and the portrayal of true love found in familial bonds reflects startling statistics. Family intimacy remains constant when relationships of other kinds are disintegrating as revealed by the General Social Survey 2004 when compared to GSS 1985. The U.S. marriage rate has reached its lowest point in the past century. In 1920, 92.3 percent of Americans married; now it is 31.1 percent according to a 2013 study by Bowling Green State University’s National Center for Marriage and Family; and 40 to 50 percent of those unions end in divorce. Not least, people have fewer friends, and connect with neighbors and other community members less.

Today’s fairy tale heroines are also turning to non-human companions for support (note Maleficent’s bird and Anna’s snowman). Princess Merida and her mother see each other’s wisdom only when the mom becomes a bear. Could this be a reference to real world declining rates of social connections outside family? Almost 25 percent of women won’t marry unless their pets approve (as per JDate and Christian Mingles State of Dating in America, 2014), suggesting that animals are replacing humans for family support. Another trend is for women to adopt dogs instead of children.

Young people watch these films while social isolation has tripled; and empathy and trust decreased. Other than with Mom and Dad, a trusted sibling, and perhaps a dog, people in the U.S. have less love in their lives than past generations.

We celebrate the victories in these reimagined legends. When before have children’s movies warned against blindly following the call to marry, above any other goal—and encouraged girls to look for intimacy elsewhere, much less the family? We appreciate the themes encouraging girls to know and use their inner power. These are among the memos we wish we and our peers received in our formative years.

We hope, though, that future scripts will also describe, and prescribe, more hope for social relationships in America among intimate partners (gay, straight and other) and male and female human friends. We look forward to heroines who defy the still frozen frames whereby women must be blonde and stick-thin to be loved.

These standards are destructive and cruel, and have even expanded to torment men. New impossibly high-definition muscle man images have contributed to increasing rates of eating disorders among men who are afflicted with life-threatening diseases such as the still recently dubbed: “Bigorexia.”

Each of these tales shifts hope for the marriage in question from the classic “happily ever after” to “perhaps.” Will we see such a “maybe” embrace heroes and heroines with different body types, in future films? Could friends and neighbors be the source of an expanded depiction of the many shapes of true love? Let us know.

Jessie Klein is the author of The Bully Society: School Shootings and the Crisis of Bullying in America’s Schools (NYU Press, 2012). She is Associate Professor of Sociology and Criminal Justice at Adelphi University. Meredith Finnerty is a Birth doula and certified HynoBirthing Childbirth Educator (HBCE).

[Note: This article originally appeared on Psychology Today.]

Our legacy, too: Muslim women and the civil rights movement

—Jamillah Karim

“No one person owns this. This history is a history of thousands of people and we tell hundreds of those stories.”

When I heard former mayor of Atlanta Shirley Franklin speak these sentiments about the civil rights movement on the occasion of the opening of the National Center for Civil and Human Rights in my hometown of Atlanta, GA, I could not help but think about the courageous women whose stories are told in my new book Women of the Nation: Between Black Protest and Sunni Islam, co-authored with Dawn Marie-Gibson.

Growing up in a Sunni mosque community in Atlanta, originally a temple in the Nation of Islam, I regularly heard the stories of men and women who converted to Islam to boldly protest racism and advance opportunities for African Americans. Through them, I felt that I had inherited firsthand the legacy of the civil rights movement. Later, however, I learned that the “Black Muslims,” as scholars called them, were not considered part of this movement. While the civil rights movement was marked by aspirations to integrate with whites, the Nation of Islam was labeled separatist because it promoted black pride and independence.

A few scholars, however, have resisted the tendency to write African American Muslims out of the movement. With efforts to see the movement beyond the black church and to include Muslim women among leaders of the civil rights era, womanist religious studies scholar Rosetta Ross devotes a chapter of her book Witnessing and Testifying: Black Women, Religion, and Civil Rights to Clara Muhammad, who contributed significantly to the NOI’s beginnings. Ross writes,

“Although she was not a part of what might be called the ‘mainstream’ Civil Rights Movement, Clara Muhammad’s role as one who helped construct the vehicle that transmitted notions of race pride to the Black masses made her a significant participant in the evolution of the Civil Rights Movement” (142).

It was during an interview with Karen, a former member of the Nation in Queens, New York that I realized that Nation women were not unlike the African American women of the civil rights movement. With a tone of “righteous discontent,” Karen described her dedication to the Nation of Islam but also her protest to some of the Nation practices that confined women. Her simultaneous alliance with and protest to male leaders in the organization immediately reminded me of the position of black Baptist women in the South as portrayed by Evelyn Higginbotham in her book Righteous Discontent.

Quite literally, Nation women were these women before converting. Before the Nation, they had membership or affiliation with the black church, and some were members of civil rights organizations like the National Association for the Advancement of Colored People (NAACP) and the Student Nonviolent Coordinating Committee (SNCC). No Nation woman that I met proved this connection to the civil rights movement as remarkably as Ana Karim.

Ana was no ordinary woman in the Nation—or person, for that matter. She was invited by Elijah Muhammad personally to join the organization. A SNCC activist carrying out voter registration work in poor, rural areas near Tuskegee Institute, where she attended college, Ana witnessed grave atrocities against African Americans. “I nearly lost my life,” Ana told me, her words bearing no exaggeration. Some of her peers were shot to death fighting for the rights of others. News of these courageous students made local newspapers that eventually fell into the hands of Elijah Muhammad. Upon his invitation, she sat with Muhammad who tried to convince her to join the Muslims. She initially declined, returned to Tuskegee, and witnessed one of the most horrific acts of inhumanity, perpetrated against a pregnant African American woman.

Elijah Muhammad’s call began to make sense to her: “It’s not that I feared death, but there was so much I wanted to do. I didn’t want to die not having accomplished anything—just die on a back road in some rural county and my body be buried in a cornfield or drowned somewhere in a stream. I didn’t want to die like that, so I left because I thought there was a higher mission, a better opportunity to help my people with the Honorable Elijah Muhammad.”

Interviewing Ana was a highlight of my career for I had been chosen to tell the story of this remarkable African American Muslim woman. Ana went on to do extraordinary things in the Nation and in the Sunni community that emerged from the Nation under the leadership of Imam W. D. Mohammed. She rose as a leader of African American Muslims—men and women—because, she says, “I assumed the hardship of the civil rights movement. God prepares you for what’s coming in the future.” Ana proves that no one person or one religion owns this history.

Jamillah Karim is co-author (with Dawn-Marie Gibson) of Women of the Nation: Between Black Protest and Sunni Islam (NYU Press, 2014).

‘The Fault’ in our memories

—Jodi Eichler-Levine

One fine morning in Amsterdam, Hazel Grace Lancaster, the protagonist of The Fault in Our Stars, sports a tee shirt emblazoned with Magritte’s most famous painting. It reads, “Ceci n’est pas une pipe” (This is not a pipe) under a painting of… a pipe. The point of the painting is that it is not a pipe, but rather, a representation of a pipe. A signifier. A treacherous fake.

Yet sometimes we insist that we see a pipe. In the same way, The Fault in Our Stars is not a group of teenagers with cancer; it is a representation of teenagers with cancer. We are enraptured by it because it signifies suffering but it is not the real thing, giving us a vicarious “fantasy of witnessing” tragedy. We insist that we are seeing heartbreak.

The film’s blockbuster success stems from many sources: the popularity of the novel; the rising power of teenage girls at the box office; our cultural fascination with death; and the fact that it is genuinely a strong film. However, except for a significant kerfuffle over a kiss in the Anne Frank house, the role of religion in the film has gone unremarked—particularly when it is religion on the fuzzy line between what we call “religious” and “secular.”

John Green, the author of the book on which the film is based, was a religion and English major at Kenyon College. Before becoming a writer, he served as a hospital chaplain and considered a career in ministry. Perhaps this is one reason why his luminescent book is filled with existential fear and a refusal to meet the terror of theodicy with empty platitudes. Here, teens with cancer meet in the “literal heart of Jesus” for a support group at a local church. Hazel is not comforted by this 12-step two-step, but she also recognizes the Sisyphean task of the group’s peppy leader, Patrick. Elsewhere, Hazel’s father asks who we are to deny an elegant universe its desire to be noticed.

This is what I find so profound about the book, its inspirations, and its afterlife. Religion no longer happens only in formal institutional spaces (and it probably never did). In the hallways of hospitals, in our visceral reaction as characters high on a movie screen ponder ultimate questions—in the act of sitting in that dark theater itself—religion is happening. So is memory.

Augustus Waters wants to be noticed before he dies. At first, by the universe: to live an exceptional life. He and Hazel know this cannot be. They know they are finite; they never declare “always,” as some other lovers do, but rather, “okay.”

We all want to be noticed by the universe. This is why we yelp into our virtual superaddressee: the echoing expanse of Facebook and Twitter. We are all writing our own eulogies and those of our friends, day by day, good words and bad words and sublime and despairing logics (and the Kardashians, alas) all spun together. And it is here that we address the dead in plaintive tones. In the book, a grieving Hazel reads the memorial posts on Augustus’ “wall page.” She is both horrified by and empathetic towards the endless tributes. Giving in to temptation, she replies to one post, but is never answered, “lost in the blizzard of new posts.”

Hazel finds the term “forever in our hearts” especially galling.  Skeptical of memory, she mimics the poster’s intentions: “‘You will live forever in my memory, because I will live forever! I AM YOUR GOD NOW, DEAD BOY! I OWN YOU!’ Thinking you won’t die is yet another side effect of dying.” Hazel sees through memory’s ruse: we think our power to remember and to recover memories is how we resurrect those who are lost—and that has theological implications. To possess one’s own fellow creature through memory is godlike… but we are mortals.

What happens to our memories of love and of suffering, here in the twenty-first century?

Green answers us with both dark infinitude and a leap of faith. He became a parent while writing the book, and says this changed it. When Hazel is eight, her mother fears that she will not be a mother anymore without her daughter. Years later, she moves past that into a brazen, stark resilience. She tells Hazel that she will always be her mother. Green has said, “I just could think of no other way to lay bare the absolute hideousness of living in a world where parents have to bury their children … Humans have always lived in that world, and always will.”

And yet, he also writes: “I couldn’t write the book until I understood that the love between a parent and child (like many other kinds of love) is literally stronger than death: As long as either person survives, the relationship survives.”

John Green wants to have his existential cake, and eat it, too. Maybe that’s not the worst idea ever.

Okay.

Jodi Eichler-Levine is Associate Professor of Religious Studies at the University of Wisconsin, Oshkosh. She holds a joint appointment with the Women’s Studies Program. She is the author of Suffer the Little Children: Uses of the Past in Jewish and African American Children’s Literature (NYU Press, 2013).

What straights can do for Pride

—James Joseph Dean

It’s Pride Month, a time for celebrating the differences that make up LGBTQ communities. Queer celebration and pride are of course important acts and feelings to embrace in a heteronormative society. However, by celebrating only queer people, we sideline the ways straight people support us and are often-honorary members of our communities. Even more than that, we are letting our straight friends and allies off the hook. They could be doing more.

While being against homophobia is the most obvious way for straight allies to promote sexual equality, another immensely powerful practice is for straight individuals to give up their straight privilege. Giving up straight privilege, even some of the time, I think would elevate the status of LGBTQ sexualities and lessen the social hierarchy that privileges heterosexuality over homosexuality in our culture.

For me, it’s important to separate out homophobia from heterosexual privilege.  Homophobia is the range of prejudicial attitudes and discriminatory acts that stigmatize, subordinate, and exclude queer people from respect, equality, and social goods such as jobs, homes, and services.

Straight privilege, in contrast, is about the unearned advantages that come from being or claiming a straight identity. Straight privilege is, then, a benefit every straight person accrues just by being straight. To be clear, I am not arguing for straight people to become gay or queer. But I am arguing that straight people should let themselves be seen as gay or as not clearly straight more often in their everyday lives. Everyday acts of surrendering straight privilege would counter the sexual stigma that persists in defining LGBTQ sexualities and it would promote a more queer-friendly society.

Straight privilege, for example, is claimed and performed in everyday life when straight individuals simply disclose their heterosexuality to disassociate themselves from homosexuality. In my book Straights: Heterosexuality in Post-Closeted Culture, I found that many of the straight men I interviewed who supported LGBTQ rights still felt uncomfortable being alone at a Pride parade event or in socializing in a gay bar without a female companion, be it their female friend, girlfriend, or wife. These straight guys would bring their girlfriends or wives to Pride events and other gay spaces to signal their straightness. If by chance their girlfriends or wives weren’t available, they would mention them in conversation to indicate their straight identity.

Similarly, many of the straight women I talked to would also bring up their boyfriends or husbands when they were worried about being perceived as lesbians, but they expressed more comfort socializing in gay spaces without their male friends, boyfriends, or husbands present. In part straight women’s comfort came from the fact that the gay bars and clubs they went to were patronized by mostly gay men, not lesbian women.

However, the most queer-friendly straight men and women I talked to said and did a number of things to lessen LGBTQ stigma and promote sexual equality. These straights used inclusive terms like “partner” instead of “wife” or “husband” to refer their significant others. They also didn’t defensively disclose their straight identity when a same-sex person flirted with them. Of course, they didn’t try to lead people on, but they also didn’t make known their heterosexuality or bring up their wife or husband to avoid being thought of as possibly lesbian or gay.

And so for Pride Month and, really, every month, I challenge straight allies to refuse the unearned advantages that adhere to being part of the dominant sexual group and to enact a small measure of change through resisting the identity politics of straight privilege in their everyday lives.

James Joseph Dean is Associate Professor of Sociology at Sonoma State University and author of Straights: Heterosexuality in Post-Closeted Culture (forthcoming in August 2014 from NYU Press).

Fat Gay Pride

—Jason Whitesel

I recently finished my first book, Fat Gay Men: Girth, Mirth, and the Politics of Stigmawhich offers an inside look at “Girth & Mirth,” a gay social club where members nurture each other’s joy in being fat and happy. As a gay man who participated in Girth & Mirth—therefore as a partial insider, yet admittedly with thin privilege, white privilege, and a professor’s privilege, among others—I want to share my critique of the wider gay community’s sizism.

As Marcia Millman observed almost 35 years ago, in Such a Pretty Face: Being Fat in America, “when a homosexual man is fat, he is often viewed in the gay community as not having sufficient ‘self-pride.’” Indeed, fat gay pride is a difficult subject position to sell; and when the Girth & Mirthers I studied invited other big gay men to join their cause, they opened themselves up to public rejection, as if it weren’t already difficult to be personally rejected because of their size and sexual orientation. I have witnessed these men being chastised for wanting to participate in annual Pride parades and being told they are embarrassments to the gay community.

Girth & Mirthers are often left out of Gay Pride media coverage; yet they persist despite their invisibility, seeking group recognition. As Lory Britt and David Heise put it so aptly, while “shame may lead to hiding, . . . pride may lead to expansive behaviors in public space.” The growing sense of pride Girth & Mirthers feel parallels their ample body size, which is even reflected in our language when we say: “He swelled with pride.” Indeed, pride makes one feel bigger and stronger and stand taller.

With the protection and backing of their fellow sufferers in Girth & Mirth, members move toward reconfiguring their shame. For some, being in the Pride parade means they come out twice: for being gay and for being fat. In a 2006 San Francisco Bay Times article, Sister Dana Van Iquity quips tongue-in-cheek on the homogenization of Pride: “The Girth & Mirth club will be asked to either not be fat or at least not show a sense of humor about their stout state. After all, we would not want the public to think that a bunch of happy, chubby gays represented our community, now would we?!” Thus, this author affectionately acknowledges the existence of big men in the gay community. Sister Dana’s remarks point out the contradiction that if gays are open to making fun of themselves in campy-queer drag, they need not be so threatened by Girth & Mirthers’ presence in the gay community.

When Girth & Mirthers participate in Pride celebrations, they not only gain visibility, but also communicate an alternate message: not all gay men are pretty-perfect and chiseled. As queer theorist J. Jack Halberstam puts it, taking pride in one’s shame is like going to “a place where shame can be transformed into something that is not pride, but not simply damage, either.” Girth & Mirthers take pride in their shame, sometimes going to the extreme to present a fun, larger-than-life persona. Despite acutely feeling the sting of rejection from those who are sizist, big gay men march in Pride parades and put themselves out there something fierce.

Therefore, with Pride Month upon us, it’s my belief that the road to accepting those groups that continue to be marginalized within the gay community—people of size as well as transgender folks, people with disabilities, and/or racial-ethnic minorities—must involve more than simply tolerating these groups. It requires all of us to embrace a wider range of diversity unremarkably, and without fuss. Fat activists put it best when they say, “We’re here, we’re sphere, get used to it!”

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

“Boys will be boys”?

—Judy Y. Chu

As a parent of a 10-year-old, I have spent a fair amount of time over the past few years observing kids playing—at schools, playgrounds, and various social functions. As a researcher who studies boys’ development, I am especially inclined to tune in to what parents and teachers say about boys. And I have found that when adults talk about boys, regardless of the context or the particular group of kids, I can expect to hear someone at some point remark that, “Boys will be boys.”

Usually, this comment comes as a response to boys’ rowdy and rambunctious play, as when they are running around, being loud, acting hyper, getting into mischief, or otherwise brimming with energy. (Incidentally, no one says anything when girls display similar behaviors). Even when said in a tone of acceptance, it seems to have a negative connotation. In my experience, this comment is not meant as a celebration, as in “Hooray! Boys will be boys!” Rather, as they say this, adults will often shrug their shoulders, smile mildly, and sigh as though in resignation: “Oh well. What can you do? Boys will be boys.”

But what does it mean for boys to be boys? And why might this be something less than desirable? When we think about it, the first question almost doesn’t make sense. Of course, boys will be boys. What else would they be? But the question gains new meaning when we consider anthropologist Margaret Mead’s observation that in many cultures and societies, boys must prove their masculinity. Somehow it is not enough to be biologically male. Boys must prove that they are “boys” or “real” boys (and, later on, “real” men). For the most part, they do this by aligning with group and cultural norms of masculinity.

Social psychologists remind us that we tend to find what we look for and favor those things that match our expectations. So, when boys behave in ways that confirm gender stereotypes and are consistent with conventions of masculinity—that emphasize, for instance, physical activity and toughness, emotional stoicism, and projected self-sufficiency— we take notice and are prompted to conclude that, “Boys will be boys.”

Conversely, we tend to overlook or discount those things that challenge our assumptions. Although we may like to think of ourselves as being receptive to new information, most of us are more comfortable with evidence that affirms what we already know and believe. It requires extra effort to truly consider and incorporate unfamiliar ideas or ways of thinking.

This might explain why I rarely, if ever, hear people remark that “Boys will be boys” when boys are calm, quiet, gentle, kind, thoughtful, generous, and considerate. Boys certainly exhibit these qualities as well. Indeed, they are a part of boys’ (as well as girls’) humanity. Nevertheless, to the extent that these qualities are considered “feminine,” and we continue to define masculinity as the opposite of femininity, we are less likely to recognize these qualities in boys, much less count them among the attributes that confirm boys’ masculine identities.

As couples therapist Terrence Real points out, when we take all of the qualities that make us human, divide them into “masculine” and “feminine,” and decide that only males should be “masculine” and only females should be “feminine,” everyone loses. While there is no doubt that boys will be boys, it is necessary to update and expand our understanding of what it means to be a boy, including what boys are capable of knowing and doing in their relationships. We know from our experiences of the boys in our lives, as well as from research studies, that gender stereotypes may misrepresent, or represent only a fraction of, boys’ capabilities and strengths.

Although we know that there is more to boys than being “boys,” it is easy to allow stereotypes to influence how we view and respond to them. When we expect boys to be “masculine” and we focus on ways in which boys’ behaviors conform to masculine norms, it can become difficult for us to acknowledge that they are capable of anything else. At times, the notion that “Boys will be boys” can even become an excuse for doing nothing about sub-standard behavior (e.g., when boys behave dispectfully towards others or towards themselves).

To support boys’ healthy development and relationships, we need to hold them accountable to standards that exceed merely being “boys.” By moving beyond gender stereotypes, we can transform this cliché to convey greater expectations. Whether or not boys align with norms of masculine behavior, ultimately it is the qualities that make them human—such as their sense of integrity, decency, compassion, and connection to others—that will be crucial to their happiness and success.

Judy Y. Chu is Affiliated Faculty in the Program in Human Biology at Stanford University and the author of When Boys Become Boys: Development, Relationships, and Masculinity (NYU Press, 2014).

[Note: This article originally appeared on Psychology Today.]

Grandmothers on Mother’s Day: Q&A with Madonna Harrington Meyer

We know that a lot of mothers juggle work and family, but millions of U.S. grandmothers do as well. 

In Grandmothers at Work: Juggling Family and Jobs, sociologist Madonna Harrington Meyer chronicles the lives of 48 working grandmothers. We see the joy, and the challenges, these women and their families face in a country where supportive family policies are few. In their own words, grandmothers talk about the strength of family bonds, their hectic schedules, and the extent to which they are diverting their nest eggs, adding new debt, delaying retirement, and foregoing travel and other retirement plans.

In time for Mother’s Day (this Sunday!), we asked Madonna Harrington Meyer, author of Grandmothers at Work, to discuss her research and share stories from her book. 

What first prompted you to think about and study working grandmothers?

When my own children were in high school and I was looking forward to an empty nest, I attended a conference at Russell Sage and overheard all of these sociologists who were a few years older than me talking about how much pressure they were under to care for their grandchildren. I knew all about younger mothers juggling work and children; I had not really considered the lives of middle-aged women juggling work and grandchildren. This was a stage I had not seen coming.

What surprised you most in your research?

The joy. To talk to 48 working grandmothers is to talk to 48 women who know joy. No matter how hard it might be to juggle work and grandchild care, no matter how tired, or sick, or impoverished they were feeling, they were also feeling tremendous joy.

Also, I was so pleased by how eloquent the women were. They are a very diverse group with respect to age, race, marital status, and education, and their ways of speaking are very diverse as well. But they are able to express their thoughts with such elegance of words. One woman, describing the rules at her daughter’s house, including no computers and no TVs and complete freedom of self-expression, told me, “These are free range children.”

Is there a particular story or memory during your interviews with these women that stands out for you?

Several stories really touched me. Deanne’s story about her disabled husband, her newly divorced daughter, three mortgages, full time work, and caring for three grandkids most evenings, and visiting her mom in the nursing home, was really powerful. She is devoted to helping her children raise their children even though the financial impact on her and her husband is enormous and leads to a lot of strain in their marriage. They disagree about how much to help.  Meanwhile she has to delay retirement and pay off these three mortgages.

Estelle’s story was also very powerful. She was a no-nonsense grandma, telling her children that they needed to raise their own children. But then her daughter became a single mom and Estelle would work all day and come home to care for her grandson evenings and weekends. She loves him, but she says it has put her in the poor house.  She told me now she will have to work till the end. She told me she will have to die at her desk.

What do you hope readers will learn from your book?

Working grandmothers are very diverse, and their experiences are equally as diverse.  They describe a great deal of joy, and a mix of challenges. This is daily life for millions of U.S. women. The work itself is mainly invisible, and the consequences are mainly invisible. While some have enough resources to take it all in stride, for others working and caring for grandchildren leaves them physically and financially depleted. If the U.S. would offer social programs for families as they do in the EU, federally guaranteed paid sick time, paid vacation time, paid parental leave, universal pre-K, etc., U.S. grandmother could focus more on grand-mothering and less on mothering.

A call to men: Ending violence against women

—Silvia Domínguez

During my research for Getting Ahead: Social Mobility, Public Housing and Immigrant Networks, I developed a framework that demonstrates how women get ahead through social networks and their own individual agency. The majority of the Latin American immigrant women I followed for the project were negotiating networks of support and agency towards social mobility. Nevertheless, there were some women who were stagnating in poverty.

In the book, I demonstrate how violence against women can result in lingering traumatic dynamics, which curtail the life chances of at least three generations. This was only possible due to the information gathered through lengthy ethnography and extensive engagement with women, their families and in the field.

Through other areas of my work, I discovered how one can examine any ethnographic data on low-income women and find structural, symbolic, and interpersonal violence affecting most of the women and families in the sample. I have also shown how trauma resulting from violence against women is evidenced in ethnographic data. As a result, trauma, depression and anxiety disorders are ramped in low-income communities where culturally responsive mental health services are most difficult to find.

We know that violence not only curtails life chances but it also results in health disparities that reduce life expectancy. Violence against women affects both genders, as male children suffer as a result of their mother’s lingering trauma dynamics. Despite this, the issue of violence against women has always been relegated to women to resolve. In fact, violence against women has always been a woman’s problem. While I know well that many see the need to empower women as a response to violence against them, in circumstances such as those found in developing countries, such empowerment leads to further retaliation, and in developed countries, it does nothing to prevent what are record numbers of quotidian acts of violence against women.

As we celebrate Women’s History Month, I feel the need to call on men to take responsibility for violence against women. I know I am not alone in urging them to the task—as more and more men have been stepping up to make it a men’s problem as well. Think of how powerful it would be for the president and other elected officials to take on this effort. What is required now is a sustained effort by men of stature that will result in the change in culture necessary to respect women.

What are men afraid of? Is it fear that they will lose some of their privilege in the process? What can be said of men who would rather maintain the privilege gained through violence against women than to stop such violence?  Unless men take responsibility and teach other men that violence against women is wrong, violence will continue to curtail the lives of women and their children.

Silvia Domínguez is Associate Professor of Sociology and Human Services at Northeastern University in Boston, Massachusetts. She is the author of Getting Ahead: Social Mobility, Public Housing and Immigrant Networksnow available in paperback from NYU Press.

Muslim women’s dress, a tool of liberation

—Jamillah Karim

It was in a black feminist/womanist course at Duke when I realized that black Muslim women fit squarely within black women’s tradition of navigating the complex of race, class, and gender struggles. Not, though, because there were any readings on black Muslim women. I understood that black Muslim women had fascinating narratives to be told because I grew up in a Sunni Muslim community in Atlanta with historical roots in the Nation of Islam.

Although readily imagined as a sign of oppression and male control, Muslim women’s dress is a prominent example of the ways in which black Muslim women have used their faith to address overlapping race and gender struggles. Black women scholars including Patricia Collins, bell hooks, and Melissa Harris-Perry have analyzed the ways in which pervasive stereotypes of black women have worked to deny them dignity and rights. The “jezebel” image, stereotyping black women as sexually loose, has its roots in slavery to justify the systematic raping of enslaved women. It is in fighting this image that I see long dresses, or the hijab, as tools of liberation.

Growing up, I constantly heard women in my Sunni community making a case for dressing modestly. “It is a protection,” they always told me. Former Nation women shared these sentiments again during research interviews. Islah Umar, who joined in 1970s Queens, noted that she loved the Nation’s modest dress codes for women: “It was a nice relief from being [seen as] a piece of meat in the street.” Jessica Muhammad, of Atlanta, similarly notes that it was great to be a part of a group whose men “respected women who covered and who called black women queens…[and other honorable names] we didn’t hear in the streets at that time.”

Dress may have even played a role in the very beginnings of the black Muslim movement. One report notes that Clara Poole, soon to be Clara Muhammad, decided to attend a meeting by Fard Muhammad, the founder of the Nation in 1930s Detroit, after a friend told her, “There’s a man who’s saying some things about our people, said we didn’t always dress like we dress. We once dressed in long flowing cloth and we were royal.” Clara brought her husband Elijah to the meeting with her, who would later become the leader of the Nation of Islam.

Contemporary Nation women continue to use dress as a liberating tool. Minister Ava Muhammad of Farrakhan’s Nation has encouraged women to resist the portrayal of the black woman as “an over-sexed woman on display.” Tamorah Muhammad founded Modest Models, Inc. as a platform to prove that “the [demeaning] images can be reversed when black women who have awakened to their true consciousness grow in numbers…[and] create their own images.”

The modest dress that has been embraced by and made meaningful to black Muslim women—from the time of Sister Clara Muhammad to the time of Minister Ava Muhammad—indicates the persistent damage of false racial images on black women and their ongoing faith resistance.

Jamillah Karim is co-author (with Dawn-Marie Gibson) of Women of the Nation: Between Black Protest and Sunni Islam (NYU Press, 2014). The two authors anticipate that their book will help to correct the absence of black Muslim women’s voices in women’s studies scholarship.

Must-read for Women’s History Month: What Works for Women at Work

Described as having “something approaching rock-star status” in her field, Joan C. Williams has played a central role in reshaping the debate on women’s advancement for the past quarter-century. Williams was awarded the American Bar Foundation’s Outstanding Scholar Award (2012), the ABA’s Margaret Brent Award for Women Lawyers of Achievement (2006), and an Outstanding Book Award for Unbending Gender: Why Family and Work Conflict and What to Do About It (2000).

Williams-Dempsey-webHer most recent book, co-authored with her daughter, What Works for Women at Work: Four Patterns Every Woman Should Know draws on interviews with 127 women at the top of their fields—an all-star list that includes Fortune 500 execs, entrepreneurs, and rainmakers at the world’s biggest law firms—to identify patterns of gender bias in the workplace. The result is a researched-based “how-to” manual for mastering office politics as a woman.

For Women’s History Month, we’re celebrating this groundbreaking work by taking a peek at some recent writings about the book—and tackling issues of gender bias at work in general—from around the web.

Here are three of our favorite passages.

From What works for (non-rich, non-white) women at work,” xoJane:

We have not come a long way, baby. Williams and Dempsey write that as of 2011, only 3.6 percent of Fortune 500 CEOs were women — 2 women of color, 16 white women, 17 men of color and 465 white men (“that’s one table of women in a room packed with 27 tables of men”). To cope, women can use the savvy outlined in What Works for Women…, which notes that the answer is not for women to hear more advice about why they don’t negotiate, but for organizations to start leveling the playing field for women so they’re not stigmatized for negotiating in the same ways that men do. Women should also remember to network and practice self-care — to do what we can, and no more. I took that advice when I left newspapers to start working for myself two years ago.

From “Outing Gender Bias,” strategy+business:

In their book, What Works for Women at Work: Four Patterns Working Women Need to Know (NYU Press, 2014), the authors explain that the “prove it again!” pattern requires women to demonstrate their competence repeatedly, far more often than men, because “information about men’s competence has more staying power than equivalent information about women.”

The authors use a 2007 FedEx ad to illustrate the “stolen idea” phenomena. Yes, the ad features men, but Williams and Dempsey report that 68 percent of the “67 women…roughly 40 to 60 years of age and at the top of their fields” interviewed for their book have experienced the same phenomena.

From “How Women Can Get Ahead at Work: A New Manual,” Forbes:

It’s a good thing that the authors have a sense of humor. Otherwise the book’s meticulous accounting of the many, often subtle forms of sexism in the workplace would be hard to take. But ultimately the tone of this book is quite hopeful. Despite its lengthy discussion of a tug of war between women in the workplace, it carries a unifying message with its blurb from Sheryl Sandberg and the book’s introduction by Princeton professor and former State Department official Anne-Marie Slaughter, who wrote a controversial Atlantic magazine article about how it is sometimes impossible for women to balance high-powered careers with the demands of motherhood. Though she and Sandberg have been portrayed as opponents in the discussion over women’s roles in the workplace, they unite in their support for this book’s message:  If we make ourselves and the men in our lives aware of the roadblocks women still face, and we use some of the many tools the authors offer in this volume, we are likely to see women move ahead more quickly. In fact I wish there were a way to interest men in reading this book. They would get the most out of it.

Happy Mardi Gras from NYU Press!

It’s Mardi Gras, y’all! 

In honor of Fat Tuesday, we’re featuring an excerpt from our award-winning book, Authentic New Orleans: Tourism, Culture, and Race in the Big Easy (NYU Press, 2007). Written by Tulane sociologist Kevin Fox Gotham, the book illuminates how New Orleans became a tourist town known as much for its excesses as for its eccentric Southern charm. The excerpt below is from the book’s second chapter, “Processions and Parades: Carnival Krewes and the Development of Modern Mardi Gras.”

Authentic New Orleans – Chapter 2

Black History Month: “Toxic Communities” are still prevalent

—Dorceta E. Taylor

It is Black History Month and I am reflecting on the significant strides we have made on issues of racial justice, social equity, and human rights. However, I have also been thinking of the long and difficult road ahead before we can say everyone has true equality in this country. Nowhere is this more evident than in the environmental arena. While some are content to see environment as untarnished hills and glens and others work hard to protect it, what is often missing from such discourses are the social class and racial inequities that arise in environmental practices and decision making.

In The Environment and the People in American Cities, 1600s-1900s: Disorder, Inequality, and Social Change (Duke University Press, 2009), I chronicled the rise of American cities and the environmental problems they confronted in the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries. As part of the narrative, I documented how environmental racism resulted in the placement of African American communities in the most hazard-prone areas of cities. I also chronicled industrial incursion into and the pollution of Black neighborhoods, the destruction of Black communities and displacement of African Americans to make way for the construction of parks, water systems, and other public works.

Toxic Communities: Environmental Racism, Industrial Pollution, and Residential Mobility (NYU Press, 2014) examines similar themes in the twentieth and twenty-first centuries. These same patterns are evident—some to a greater extent than existed in earlier times. In Toxic Communities, I examine African American and other communities of color that are inundated with pollutants emanating from hulking industrial facilities. The air, ground, and water are tainted and residents live in fear of explosions or toxic releases from these facilities.

The challenges do not stop there. Black communities have been systematically been destroyed in the name of urban renewal and that highways could be built to connect the cities and suburbs.  While segregated White communities were built in the suburbs and financed by federal funds, Black communities were redlined and denied such funding. Rampant housing discrimination continues today in the form of discriminatory financing methods, racial steering, and other obstacles Blacks face when they seek housing. Consequently, African Americans still live in some of the most toxic and hazard prone communities in the country.

The book challenges us to develop a better understanding how these inequalities arise. We have to make connections with seemingly unrelated events, policies, and processes. We need more effective research as well as community organizing to hold responsible parties accountable.

Dorceta E. Taylor is the Field of Studies Coordinator for Environmental Justice at the University of Michigan’s School of Natural Resources and Environment. She is the author of Toxic Communities: Environmental Racism, Industrial Pollution, and Residential Mobility (NYU Press, 2014).