Fall 2024
Doing Transmasculine Feminism
By: Riley Heath, Animation and GWST double major
Last semester in my Theories of Feminism class I read “The Transfeminist Manifesto” by Emi Koyama. This text spoke out to me as a trans person, and it introduced me to Koyama’s additional work on disability, sex work and intersex advocacy that has greatly increased my knowledge of other parts of the field. However, one thing I noticed throughout the text was the focus specifically on trans women and minimal reference to the experiences of trans men, apart from a couple of paragraphs in the gender-based violence section along the lines of “trans men also have something like this problem, we should also advocate for them.” Koyama herself at the end of the paper points out that while she did have the intention of transfeminine focus due to a higher visibility of injustice within transfeminine experiences, there is more information she could have covered on trans men’s experiences, and she invites the reader to think more on the topics not discussed (e.g. intersectional analysis, trans men).
I did some Google scholar and library archival research after reading this paper and found out there is indeed not very much overlapping scholarship on feminism and transmasculinity, specifically discussing how feminism applies to – and can be done by – transmasculine folk across the gender and sex spectrums. In response to this deficit I thought, “they should make a transmasculine feminism,” and then remembered that I am in fact someone who has a say in that!
What comes to mind (at least from my perspective) as an avenue to explore transmasculine feminism is the idea of recontextualizing our lived experiences from gendered experiences and embodiments that feminism applies to. Examples I’ve thought of include socialization growing up (sometimes referred to as “girlhood”), the treatment of our sexed bodies in the medical sphere (spaces commonly designated as “women’s” care, like gynecology practices), and ongoing experiences with how we are treated based on the gender others perceive us as, medically transitioned or otherwise.
I admit that while some may be comfortable discussing the controversial point of socialization, not all transgender folk may be as willing to discuss their socialized experiences in an assigned gender growing up, due to dysphoria that could come from this recollection. There are perfectly valid reasons some may avoid exploring this vulnerable topic in depth. I would like to propose that transmasculine feminism seeks to discuss how to comfortably acknowledge socialized experiences and recontextualize them for a greater understanding of where transmasculine bodies exist within feminism.
From thinking about Koyama’s call to action to include more transmasculine thought on feminism, my personal goal in my GWST academics is to formulate something along the lines of a “Transmasculine Feminist Manifesto.” This blog post is absolutely not intended to be a complete thesis statement on this research topic, nor does it claim to accurately accommodate for the vast spectrum of possible transmasculine experiences; I just wanted to put out my thought process for the start of this research. It feels like a very big task to come up with a personal Big Word for an Academic Thing and then justify to Big Academia why you think that should be a Thing, so I am quite daunted by that, especially considering I’ve been experiencing some intense burnout and having a difficult time putting words to my thoughts. But in the case of arguing for this from an embodied, phenomenological perspective, I suddenly have a lot more faith in my words than I have before.
Lifting As We Climb: A Black Feminist Perspective on Exhibtion Creation
By: Kayla Brooks, Historical Studies, M.A.
Last summer, I was granted the opportunity to serve as the Annie Bell Shepherd Curatorial Intern for the National Museum of African American History and Culture (NMAAHC). In this position, I worked on two major projects. The first was planning Forces for Change: Mary McLeod Bethune and Black Women’s Activism, an exhibition that opened this summer in the museum that showcases the multitude of Black women who have made strides in social justice advocacy throughout history. Additionally, I penned a collection story dedicated to the first Black flight attendants who broke their profession’s color barrier in the midst of the civil rights era. Being able to finally see the Forces for Change gallery in person this August was such a gratifying experience knowing that I helped it come into fruition. Similarly, it was an honor for Casey Grant, one of the flight attendants depicted in my collection story, to reach out to me and tell me that I did an excellent job researching herself and her peers!
Alongside these projects, my fellow interns and I were provided seminars from various museum professionals in topics relating to career development and advanced degrees. One thing about these seminars that really stuck with me was the importance of diversifying the field of historical preservation. According to the Census Bureau, Black archivists, curators, and museum technicians comprised only 4.23% of the profession’s total population; while women make up a predominant 58.6% of the workforce, Black women are vastly underrepresented in comparison to our white counterparts. To me, this communicates that it’s not only important to have diverse representation in the archival material displayed in museums and other historical institutions, but to have similar diversity in the professionals who perform the work that goes into displaying it.
Museums have been integral to fostering my passion for history. I have a strong desire to use history as a means for empowerment, education, and problem solving. As a current graduate student, I have learned a lot about how museums have acted as sites for the preservation and sharing of historical knowledge, particularly so for marginalized groups whose histories have routinely been undocumented, destroyed, and distorted.
Because of this, during my internship for NMAAHC, I was conscious of how important it was for me to do my work in earnest. I was able to get to where I am and where I aspire to be because of the women I researched for my projects. In return, it is my hope that the work that I do inspires other fellow Black women and girls to become as passionate about history as I am and open more doors for us in professional roles in the future. Having our stories told is not enough—we need to be active agents in telling those stories as well.
I would like to thank my thesis advisor Dr. Michelle Scott, as well as Katy Kendrick and Angela Tate who acted as my internship mentors at NMAAHC. With their support, I have learned so much invaluable information about history as a discipline and I hope to carry it with me throughout my future professional career in curation.
1Collection of the Smithsonian National Museum of African American History and Culture, Gift of Nilda Maria Comas
2Collection of the Smithsonian National Museum of African American History and Culture, Gift of Casey Grant in honor of Patricia Banks Edmiston, Patricia Grace Murph, and Eugene Harmond.
Why America Hasn’t Had A Female President
By: Aashna Gupta, Political Science and Journalism Double Major
November 5th would have been a groundbreaking day, had the election results been different. After a long night, I woke up and learned Kamala Harris had lost the election. That moment raised a question that has been in the back of my head since I was thirteen years old. Why hasn’t the United States had a female president? The answer is complex, I’m slowly learning.
As I scrolled through the news, a heavy weight fell over me, alongside a lot of anxiety. America hasn’t broken the highest glass ceiling, even though we came close with Kamala’s nomination to the presidency and Nikki Haley’s candidacy this year. Still, reading the text of Kamala’s concession speech, I was thankful she ran a strong race.
Political scientists argue that it is hard for a woman to be elected president of the United States because it is a very dominant role. Men are expected to be in such roles; women are usually behind the scenes. Also, female heads of government often have close male connections who support them. Kamala has no such connections, minus her friendship with Joe Biden. Women are often elected to symbolic roles, such as the presidents of Ethiopia and Greece (Jalalzai, 2024). Although these women have a lot of experience, much like Kamala’s past as a District Attorney and a senator, they are expected to win because of connections. There are many reasons why America has not had a female president.
Sadly, only 60 countries have had a female president, prime minister, or other leader. It is easier for women to become prime ministers, since they are not elected by the public. Women are also underrepresented in high-profile diplomatic positions (Mehara, 2024). Despite the gaps, they serve many leadership roles in American government. 13 governors and 141 members of Congress are women, as of now. In addition, 34 states have elected a female Attorney General, which is the highest legal officer in government.
Sitting near the back of my political science class, head down, I noticed the number of women around me, including Dr. Forestiere. There was not a smile in the room. However, my female classmates gave me a sense of camaraderie. As a woman hoping to pursue a graduate degree and become a public servant, I have realized that, as Kamala said in her concession speech, “only when it is dark enough you can see the stars”. With this lesson, I have maintained a love for politics for eight years.
Dysfunction
By: Anonymous Student
I thought I was broken. I had to have been – just add one more to the list of things I failed the first time. All of course, failures that it seems most could never understand. Worse still was that not even the professionals could be trusted to get it.
Even now, it feels wrong to talk about. You don’t talk about these things. It’s inappropriate. So many who suffer from the same affliction remain silent. I don’t blame them; how many are familiar with the term?
Vaginismus.
Don’t worry, it’s not contagious. Neither is it shameful, a measure of worth along with that flawed concept of virginity. Even so, we’re often caused to feel shame by the society that seems to value sex above so much else – and at the same time shames itself for doing so. Like an adolescent classroom hearing the words “penis” or “vagina,” giggling uncontrollably at the taboo of naming such things. Why not speak candidly about our own bodies, experiences, identities? Cultural reluctance to address the facts with maturity, neutrality absent of judgement, that’s just one of the many potential roots of vaginismus.
Another, more obvious cause could be sexual assault. It should be no surprise that trauma trains the body to react to future encounters in defense. And it need not be sexual trauma, either. Physical, emotional or psychological, that’s the nature of the condition. For some, there may be no underlying psychological reasoning. For all, there is the physical reality.
The phrase, “impenetrable fortress” comes to mind. All jokes aside, it’s not just about sex. For some, their condition may be so severe they can’t wear a tampon. Potentially life-saving examinations such as pap smears and transvaginal ultrasounds may be too painful to bear. Yet so many doctors (yes, even OBGYNS!) will tell you it’s all just in your head. Trust me, it’s not a matter of “just relax” when it feels like I’m being stabbed.
A nurse practitioner asked me if I had tried Prozac. (Yes, in fact, I have – it was a miserable experience!) It’s insulting, really, to be suggested an SSRI for sexual dysfunction when SSRIs are well known to cause that. SSRIs may even cause persistent sexual dysfunction long after being discontinued; it’s called post-SSRI sexual dysfunction, or PSSD, and may even be irreversible. Of course there is little research on this, particularly regarding female bodies. Thankfully, I was able to find enough information about information about vaginismus that I was able to make some use of that OBGYN appointment with a referral to a physical therapist specializing in the pelvic floor.
Through physical therapy and further research of my own, the extent of my condition revealed itself to me: hypertonic pelvic floor. A hypertonic pelvic floor is characterized by a state of constant contraction, causing vaginismus through uncontrollable muscle spasms. Apart from sexual dysfunction, a hypertonic pelvic floor can cause a whole lot of unpleasant symptoms, such as pain in the pelvis, hips and lower back, constipation and an urgency to urinate. Injuries to the pelvic area, connective tissue disorders and hypermobility, pregnancy and childbirth, chronic stress both physical and emotional are all potential factors underlying pelvic floor dysfunction. As such, individualized treatment plans may be necessary to effectively reduce symptoms.
Needless to say, recovery from vaginismus is quite the journey. Treatment requires retraining your body and your mind, learning to accept the unfairness of not being able to do something that everyone else seems to do (and just loves to brag about) with no difficulty or effort. In my experience, that emotional pain is far, far worse than the physical.
One of the saddest things about vaginismus is how common it is. You’ve likely met someone who has it, but when is there ever a time to talk about such things? If only there was a pill to take, then vaginismus might be as well-known as erectile dysfunction. Then I might not feel the need to write this at all. But here we are, in a world that continues to devalue women, something that has become so internalized that half or more of the population doesn’t even realize it. When our health, our ability to choose and even access to contraceptives may be threatened, we have much bigger problems to worry about than the need for vaginismus awareness. Still, it doesn’t hurt to start recognizing it now.
Burnout, The Grind and My Activist Work: A Vent
By: Riley Heath, Animation and GWST double major
Whenever something big and horrible happens, one of the biggest coping mechanisms I have is to redirect any overwhelming crushing despair or anxiety I have about it into doing my part, and doing what I can. I’m an artist, so I know I can make art about it, and I’m a Gender + Women’s Studies scholar, so I know I can write about it.
That is, I would be able to. IF I DIDN’T HAVE SO MUCH WORK TO DO.
I am unemployed so I am taking 15 credits this semester, 3 of those including an (UNPAID!) internship where I have to produce 55 entire pages of full illustrations, 5 of which have animated components. I am 3 whole weeks behind on that work, and my timing should work out but it is going to be awful and crammed and I feel sick just thinking about how much catch-up I have to do. I’m not getting paid but it’s good work that I can use in a future portfolio, and it’s for a good cause (books suited to an older reader demographic while providing illustration and comprehension assistance for readers with cognitive disabilities). Meanwhile in my actual classwork I have a major final project with a deadline coming up alarmingly soon that I want to get perfect because it’s an analysis of a video game (ULTRAKILL) and a topic (Jack Halberstam’s Queer Art of Failure) that I really care about. So I am already diverting energy into two interdisciplinary activist/GWST-related things I genuinely want to get exactly right. And I feel confident in saying that I am Burnt Out.
All of this was already stressful before, you know. WEDNESDAY NOVEMBER 6TH 2024.
My social media pages that day were full of posts encouraging me to get organized, make art, write thought pieces detailing my unwillingness to give in to the doom and roll up my sleeves. And I would love to participate in any movements that are mobilizing in the context of The Horror That Is Unfolding Before Our Eyes. I know I have the skill to contribute art and work beyond just sharing resources and mutual aid drives (though that is always helpful). And I know I shouldn’t hold myself to the standard of a “good” project being one that is always perfect and brilliant and revolutionary. But in times like this the pressure to make art that perfectly encapsulates the rage just adds to the crushing pressure of the world itself.
It’s a rage I fear I can’t put into words, and seeing all of the art and performance work in activist movements I’ve been introduced to through GWST makes me feel like I have something to live up to. But that potential I have to stand up for what’s right is shrouded by the labor required to survive, to get a job, to build a portfolio, to get a degree. And I am grateful that this is labor I can direct passion into, but just I wish it was easier. I wish I had time!!!!!!!