Restroom Anxiety and Verbal Violence

“I asked Mercedes to explain to me one of the great mysteries of modern shamings— why they were so breathtakingly misogynistic. Nobody had used the language of sexual violence against Jonah, but when Justine and Adria stepped out of line, the rape threats were instant.”-Jon Ronson, So You’ve Been Publicly Shamed.

Perhaps I should see it as a rite of passage. I’ve often read about how often women who challenge men online suffer this kind of verbal abuse. I’ve managed to write on line for years and it was only a few days ago that it happened to me.

“I hope someone comes into the bathroom in a dress and rapes you.”

The crux of the argument, such as it is, was that I was not taking the issue of women’s bathroom safety seriously enough, whereas my male counterpart understood how dangerous and fraught it was to be in a women’s room. If I didn’t see it, well, then he hoped I would get a first hand demonstration so he would be proven right.

One particularly odd thing about this whole exchange is that I had been wondering out loud why men were not offended by a lot of the conversation surrounding transgender bathroom laws. All of the discussion seems to focus on the fear that a penis might be in the women’s room. It seems to me that the underlying premise here is that people with penises are rapists. I am surprised more men are not offended by this assumption. So “I hope you get raped” seems like a feeble answer, unless his point was “yes, we’re all rapists, here’s some verbal violence to make that clear.” Perhaps it was, but I don’t think so.

Actually, what set off the most angry part of the exchange had little to do with this. I had abandoned the whole transgender rights vs. safety frame. My simple question was whether the law as it was written would solve the problem it was designed ostensibly to solve. That is to say, if we grant that these legislators were really concerned about restroom safety, (rather than, say making a point that people are always the gender that it says on their birth certificates and will not be accepted in any other way) would requiring people to use the restroom of the gender on a person’s birth certificate solve the safety issue?

Clearly no.

Let’s grant for a moment the premise that there is a big problem with men putting on women’s clothing for the sole purpose of going into public restrooms and raping or gawking at women. There is no evidence this is actually a thing, my sparring partner said that “there are cases” but didn’t care to be more specific. In any case, for the sake of argument let’s grant that this is a problem that needs to be addressed with a new law.

Assuming your state is not also budgeting to have people stationed at public restroom doors to check birth certificates, or requiring businesses to do so, then people are going to be on the honor system.

So now our fictional cross-dressing rapist can walk into a women’s restroom with complete confidence without changing his clothes. All he has to do, if questioned, is say “I was born Jane Marie.”

Clearly the legislators have not thought things through. Does pointing this out mean I don’t care about safety? Well, my conversation partner felt so. I gather he had passionate feelings about safety.

I read an interesting story in the Atlantic a day or two after this happened.

In a study published in the British Journal of Criminology in 2012, Moore, along with Simon Breeze, observed 20 public toilets in London and Bristol, and interviewed the men and women who used them. She found that though both sexes had plenty of complaints, women’s were more about the cleanliness and quality of the facilities than anxiety about other occupants. They were more relaxed and social overall, chatting with strangers in line, watching doors for each other, sharing makeup.

Men, on the other hand, were on edge. Moore goes so far in the study as to say that for men, public toilets are “nightmarish spaces.” The anxiety they reported was centered around “watching”—being watched by other men, or being perceived to be watching other men—and that this watching was linked to the possibility of sexual violence.

The theory Moore lays out is that, in public, the gender hierarchy makes women the ones who are watched (under the “male gaze,” as it were). But in the bathroom, sans women, men worry about being the object of another man’s gaze, a feeling they don’t often confront in other places. This can make them fearful, even if there’s no real threat present.

This may explain why my male counterpart was much more spooked by this issue than I was when the danger is supposed to be in the women’s room. It seems it is the men who are really anxious, and they are projecting because it is more socially acceptable for them to make the case that women and children must be protected than to say that they are kind of freaked out.

If this is the real issue, maybe designing men’s rooms for more privacy is the answer.

 

 

 

 

The Others

This was the darker side of community. For a group to have a sense of cohesion, a sense of being “us,” it had to define what was outside of the group. It had to define a “them”— the excluded. Who “they” are changes over time and from society to society, but the process never changes. It is part of the nature of community life. To have an inside, a tribe must have an outer boundary. For most of the members of Paul’s community, young men dancing in gay clubs, people like Andy, were not “us” but “them.” Judging by his own reactions, Paul had to admit with some shame that he felt the same way. “I am not like him.”

I find that I have been thinking about this passage from the novel “Angel” quite a bit lately.

Something has happened this election cycle. It seems as though an epidemic of “othering” has descended upon us. To some extent this has always happened in election years. People dig in their heels, politicians try to differentiate between their views and those of their opponents. Republicans and Democrats try to set the stakes high and make it seem as though the people in the other party want to harm the country and only they can save it.

Then there are the pundits, covering the horse race and predicting how blocks of people vote based on demographic categories and stereotypes about them. “This area is rural and those will be big Ted Cruz voters…” “This area has a lot of students so they will vote for Bernie Sanders.” “Secretary Clinton expects to do well in South Carolina because of its large African-American population.”

The Los Angeles Times ran a story today by Liana Aghajanian in which she expressed her disillusionment with this kind of stereotyping.

After Bernie Sanders won Michigan, the media and its pundits were whipped into a frenzy, touting shock and confusion of how Arab and Muslim Americans — who constitute a healthy portion of the population in metro Detroit — could have supported a candidate who is Jewish.

The only way it felt appropriate to respond was to ask: Why wouldn’t they? Why do we so easily fall into these polarizing traps set up by mainstream media that paint and pit two communities against each other and then accept the idea as truth?

To assume anti-Semitism on behalf of an entire, very large population is not just irresponsible, but as the International Business Times wrote, “Reveals how much reporting on American Muslims is still rooted in an unsophisticated naiveté about what motivates them.”

Every four years we’re treated to this superficial analysis and asked to see our fellow countrymen as representatives of different groups.

“I can’t help feeling wary when I hear anything said about the masses,” the English chemist J.B. Priestly once said. “First you take their faces away from ’em by calling ’em the masses and then you accuse them of not having any faces.”

All of this is depressingly par for the course in elections.

Now we have Donald Trump, a candidate who elicits cheers and sighs of relief for saying “we’re too politically correct,” implying, of course, that those of us who do not agree that Muslims should all be treated as suspected terrorists or that illegal immigrants should be thought of as rapists do not actually believe what we are saying and are simply being polite.

There is room for polite disagreement on immigration policy. This is not about that. I am concerned that it is becoming increasingly acceptable to other and dehumanize groups of people. This is not a political problem, but a cultural one and, as photographer Brandon Staton put it in his viral open letter to Trump, a moral one. (If you want any more proof of this, and you have a strong stomach, you can scan the comments on his open letter for the phrase “you people.”)

To pillory “political correctness” is to overlook the fact that language does matter. There is a difference when you say that an immigrant “pops out a baby” or that she “has a child.” In the first case, you are speaking of her as something less than fully human.

“Is that why they pop out babies? To make them U.S. citizens? Is that why you popped out yours?”

What is the result of constant exposure to the idea that a group is not only “other” but “less than?” A racial empathy gap. As Lisa Wade wrote in Sociological Images:

Psychologists continue to document what is now called a racial empathy gap, both blacks and whites show lesser empathy when they see darker-skinned people experiencing physical or emotional pain. When white people are reminded that black people are disproportionately imprisoned, for example, it increases their support for tougher policing and harsher sentencing. Black prisoners receive presidential pardons at much lower rates than whites. And we think that black people have a higher physical pain threshold than whites.

This bears repeating: Somewhere in the uncritical parts of our minds, we actually believe that dark skinned people feel less physical pain than we do.

Talking about the civil rights movement, Martin Luther King, Jr. once said, ” “Instinctively we struck out for dignity first because personal degradation as an inferior human being was even more keenly felt than material privation.”

The only moral thing to do is to stand up for the dignity of other human beings, whether they are our fellow citizens or not, whether they share our religion or not, whether they speak the same language or not.

By the way, when Marco Rubio sent out a tweet in Spanish, he immediately received a predictable response.

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This is, of course, demonstrably untrue if “we” are taken to be all U.S. citizens.  More than 300 languages are spoken in the U.S. according to the U.S. Census Bureau. America has the world’s second largest population of Spanish speakers, more even than Spain. We have a growing population of Vietnamese, Russian and Chinese speakers. There are native speakers of Pennsylvania Dutch, Navajo, and Hawaiian. (In the latter two cases, they were here first.) There are even 1,000 speakers of the Pacific island language Samoan in Alaska. The only way to make this statement true is to define “we” as people who live in America and speak English. In that case it is true, but it is a meaningless tautology. (“We who speak English and live in America, speak English.”)

The strange thing is that illegal immigration has become such a hot button issue now as the number of Mexican immigrants leaving America is now actually greater than the number coming in.

But clearly the scope of the problem is much less important than the political value of having someone from the outside to blame for our ills.

Recently I questioned a Facebook friend who supported Trump and wrote about Mexicans “popping out babies” and getting free stuff in America.  In defending her views, she pointed to her own family history and contrasted it with the baby poppers of Mexico. Her grandfather fled Russia when the communists took over, and was forced to leave all of his possessions behind.

What fascinated me about this response is that being the descendant of a refugee did not produce empathy for other refugees, assuming that she agrees with Trump’s proposed Muslim ban. (I did not ask.) When her grandfather came to the U.S. he was fortunate that we distinguished between him and the people he was fleeing and did not keep him out because he and the communists were both Russian.

We can debate immigration policy. We can disagree. We can do it with respect.  But we cannot, as a moral nation, accept the notion that empathy is weakness. There is a way to take a hard line on immigration, and do it without dehumanizing people in the process. It is important.

In fact, empathy is hard. You have to work at it. You have to examine your own comfortable blind spots.  You have to be willing to adapt to others and not only assume they will adapt to you. It matters when we dehumanize people. Language matters.

 

 

 

Publishing Contracts

An article came to my attention today through my social media feed. It is written by Kameron Hurley and has the title Traditional Publishing, Non-Compete Clauses and Rights Grabs.

In it, Hurley takes exception to certain standard contract terms offered in publishing contracts. In particular, she feels that non-compete clauses prevent authors from making a living wage and that they should be a violation of labor law.

“One of the big issues we’ve been dealing with the last 15 years or so as self-publishing has become more popular are the increasing rights grabs and non-compete clauses stuck into the boilerplate from big traditional publishers terrified to get cut out of the publishing equation,” she writes.

I can assure you, however, that these clauses– including the one most featured in her article– have been around much longer than easy self publishing has. The non-compete, as Hurley calls it, usually comes in the form of a right of first refusal of the author’s next book-length manuscript. In theory this is actually great for the author because it means the publisher will consider putting out another book and the hardest thing in publishing is not the writing but persuading publishers to take a chance on you and your book idea– and this is true whether you have written one or 16 books.

In practice, however, for a mid-list, non-celeb writer to make a living from book writing she must sell at least two books a year and almost no publisher is able to work at that pace. They want to see how the book performed before they commit to your next idea, which means waiting six months to a year for the book to come out, another three or four as per the contract to see how it performs and time to consider the next proposal. At that point, they’re just as likely to say no as yes. So the clause does, indeed, become a barrier to a writer being able to earn a living.

I have had success throughout my career asking to have that clause removed from my contracts. Sometimes you have to persuade agents to ask for what you want, because in my experience they will sometimes say a clause is standard and can’t be changed simply because no one has asked them to change it before.

I would like to play devil’s advocate here for a moment regarding another part of Hurley’s article:

When houses are investing in books and not authors, there’s less impetus to make congenial arrangements in contracts. They are buying widgets, not nurturing relationships, and every widget is a potential golden goose.

Is it not a bit unfair of us to complain on the one hand that we are contractors and should not be tied to a relationship with a publisher, and then to complain that the publishers are not nurturing relationships with us? When we want the freedom to go shopping around for the best deal on every title on our own timing regardless of what the publisher has done for us in the past, we too see every publisher as a “potential golden goose.” The fact of the matter is, the small and mid-size pulishers are struggling to stay in business these days too. I find in negotiations it helps to try to understand the publisher’s concerns as well. Do they really stand to make money from your title? What would need to happen with your book for it to be a gain and not a loss for them?

This old world where writers were nurtured in-house by publishing mentors is something of a myth. It has always applied to a few outliers who we imagine were typical because we so rarely hear the biographies of the mid-level struggling writers of the past.

The independent publishing revolution and ebooks have done a great deal to reduce incomes for writers. But writing has never been an easy profession.

It is understandable that publishers would like to have the one-sided option to hold on to an author who has a hit but not to have to publish another book from an author whose title flops or who has only one book in him. They will ask for what they want if they can get it, just as you would ask for a $50,000 advance if you thought you could get it regardless of whether the publisher stood to make that much on your book.

The truth is there are not a lot of writers out there actually trying to make a living from books, and the publishing industry is built on the premise that writers have day jobs or supporting spouses. Publishers are prepared for negotiations. But the playing field is tilted in their direction because few writers, when it comes down to it, are willing to walk away. We want our books in print– or a payday– more than the publishers need our particular title.

Do What You Love. The Money Won’t Follow.

There was an excellent review of the series Mozart in the Jungle in the L.A. Review of Books today. Although it is framed as a review of the series and a comparison to the book on which it is based, it is more than that a consideration of the state of arts funding in the 21st Century and that strange drive that pulls artists towards a careers that requires a vow of poverty of its practitioners and how the ethos that certain careers should be done for the love not the money can be used to exploit idealistic workers. (This is a particular pet peeve of mine as you can see by reading any of the posts tagged with “love and money.”)

It’s also very funny, because it’s built out of a hilariously unanswerable question. Why make art that no one wants to pay for?

It’s unanswerable because there is no reason; it is, literally, an irrational thing to do. And irrational people are at their funniest when they insist on continuing, and when — in order to continue — they must insist that doing so is the only reasonable thing to do. In this way, the show is a comic saga about art during our austerity, about the survival and suffering of the artistic vocation in the face of the endless and remorseless de-professionalization we are experiencing, as, year after year, it gets harder and harder to make a living doing the things you love.

David Bowie

Heroes

“We can be heroes just for one day.”-David Bowie

When I was describing the art I wanted to my book cover designer, I said I wanted a rock star, but not any rock star.  He had to embody theatricality and glamour. I wanted a figure who played with his identity, who created a persona that inspired imagination and fantasy in his audiences. Someone whose public self was as much a work of art as was his music. The early draft came back with a long-haired, Woodstock-esque figure.

“Like David Bowie.” I explained.

The designer then understood exactly what I meant.