Whiteness Club: Barriers that Whiteness Creates for Identity-Based Clubs
- Emrys Hodkinson
- Feb 25, 2018
- 15 min read
Updated: Mar 23, 2018
Co-Written with Charlie Burks
One of the numerous critiques of Beloit College’s Sexuality and Gender Alliance (SAGA) is that it is an extremely white space. This criticism, like many others about the club, is completely valid. Anyone who walks into a SAGA meeting or into the SAGA house will see that our membership is predominantly white. For a long time now, the club has struggled with finding ways to become more inclusive and make the space more welcoming to people of color. This seems to be a prevailing issue across many LGBTQA+ groups and safe spaces, as noted by individuals who use these spaces, journalists, and even academic scholars. How did this come to be, though? How did LGBTQA+ safe spaces become conflated with white spaces? In this paper, we examine how race operates in these sorts of identity-based spaces and why it has come to operate in the ways that it does. We will show how historical and cultural processes have shaped these spaces and affected who is included and excluded from them.
It is important to note that while we wish for this paper to be as objective as possible, there inevitably will be influences in our perceptions of these issues due to our positionalities. Both of us are white transgender college students of middle-to-upper class socioeconomic status. Therefore, we have race and class privileges that prevent us from fully comprehending people of color and people of lower economic status’ experiences, as we can never experience them ourselves. Also, these identities have influenced how we experience and understand our Queer identities, thus influencing how we define and perceive these types of identities. In addition, both of us are highly invested in LGBTQA+ education and activism, as well as in issues of inclusivity and diversity. We have been involved in multiple LGBTQA+ groups and so have personal understandings and viewpoints of these sorts of communities. The depiction of these spaces in this paper are thus influenced by our own experiences and personal knowledge of them. Finally, as current and previous presidents of SAGA, we realize we hold personal stake in this research, which has the possibility of affecting our analysis of our research.
As we will be discussing inclusivity in this paper, it would be useful to start with knowing what is typically meant by the word “inclusive.” This is a word that gets thrown around a lot on college campuses like Beloit. We strive as a campus to be inclusive, or so the administration claims, and we even have an Office of Academic Diversity and Inclusivity. However, no one ever really discusses what we actually mean when we say “inclusive.” To many, it seems to be understood to mean that people are not barred from spaces based on their identities. As defined by Merriam-Webster, the word means “covering or including everything.” Another more interesting definition is that from Google, which says that inclusive means “including or covering all the services, facilities, or items normally expected or required.” This definition seems to be more accurate to how inclusivity is actually put into practice, while the other definitions apply more to the theoretical practice of inclusivity.
As previously stated, Beloit’s group SAGA is not as inclusive as most would like it to be. This is not because the club outwardly prohibits people of color or other marginalized groups from joining the club. The racism and prejudice is at a much deeper level, and it comes out in more subliminal ways. SAGA and its beliefs have been built upon largely white conceptualizations of LGBTQA+ identities, a phenomenon referred to as “homonormativity” (Kacere 2015). Much like its counterpart “heteronormativity,” homonormative spaces centralize dominant identities such as whiteness, capitalism, patriarchy, and cissexism (Kacere 2015). For example, in most LGBTQA+ spaces, lesbianism has no history of being seen as a threat to any racial group, unlike black lesbianism. Indeed, the latter group has faced serious violence and prejudice at the hands of Black men and heterosexual Black women due to black lesbians being perceived as a threat to Black communities (Lorde 1984). Therefore, these white understandings of LGBTQA+ identities makes the space appealing and open to white people, as the ideas of the club are something they can relate to and understand. However, for people of other races who come from different backgrounds, these concepts are not as accessible; thus, they do not feel welcome in the space or comfortable there. This is where Google’s definition of “inclusive” comes in. SAGA is inclusive by the standards of the college and by white society. In theory, the space is inclusive of everyone, regardless of any identity (read: what is required by the college). In practice, though, the space is designed for white people and is only inclusive of people and beliefs that align with their own (read: what is expected by white society). Therefore, the concept of inclusivity in SAGA is already set up against marginalized racial identities, because whiteness is at the center of this construction of inclusivity. In other words, to make LGBTQA+ spaces inclusive for racial minorities, we must first redefine “inclusive” and the foundations of groups like SAGA.
The problem of the definition of “inclusive” speaks volumes about the current state of racial inclusivity in college LGBTQA+ spaces. Because SAGA and other American LGBTQA+ spaces are designed around white concepts of LGBTQA+ identities, people of color often feel marginalized by those communities. For instance, in an article for the website The Stranger, eight teens described how many LGBTQA+ spaces did not have the resources to help or the ability to understand the struggles of LGBTQA+ people of color. For instance, a teen named Feral described their experience as being a LGBTQA+ person of color in American society as “it’s like you must assimilate or you are rejected from the group” (Knauf 2016). Another teen, Sophia Lee, described how their culture intertwined with their gender identity by discussing how difficult it was for them to come out to their family, as their Asian culture viewed coming out as selfish (Knauf). These teens clearly feel that they do not fit into typical LGBTQA+ communities, and those spaces seem to have little resources for helping people of color and people from other cultures. These issues do not just pertain to young adult LGBTQA+ spaces, though. As Ernest Owens, a gay black journalist, explains, when he tried to voice his thoughts on racism in LGBTQA+ communities, he got responses from white gay men saying he was “‘trying to start a problem that didn’t exist’” (Owens 2016). He also notes that the only accepted queer black identities are those of drag queens or hypersexualized people, and all other black gay expressions are excluded for not “catering to the white queer gaze” (Owens 2016). This reinforces the idea that LGBTQA+ spaces are constructed around whiteness, and anything that does not fit into white ideas/conceptualizations is excluded.
It is also important to note how gender intertwines with racial identity in LGBTQA+ spaces and creates a whole other type of operation. Traditionally, LGBTQA+ women have been more discriminated against than men, even within the LGBTQA+ community. Still today, people believe lesbianism can be “righted” if lesbians only meet the right men, and transwomen suffer from violent discrimination and even murder for their identities. This oppression only worsens when coupled with minority racial identities, both within society at large and identity communities. As two white authors, though, we do not have the authority to speak on LGBTQA+ women of color’s experience; therefore, we will allow for these women to speak for themselves. As previously noted, Audre Lorde explains, “The Black lesbian has come under increasing attack from both Black men and heterosexual black women,” who view her as a threat to the Black community (Lorde 1984). Indeed, Black lesbians are seen by these communities as “race traitors” (Fox and Ore 2010). Outside of the U.S., Israel is another country guilty of these double oppressions, albeit its oppression centers around nationalism and race. As Lauren Kacere discusses in her article “Homonormativity 101,” Israel prides itself on being a “gay utopia” in an attempt to distract countries away from their human rights violations against Palestine, an issue known as “pink-washing” (2015). Thus, while Israeli Queers receive rights and freedom, Palestinians Queers do not, and they have the added issues of being subjected to the violence and control of the Israeli state (Kacere 2015). Therefore, attacks on racial minorities in LGBTQA+ spaces only increase and become more intense when paired with other oppressed identities such as gender and certain nationalities.
As we have revealed, these communities are basked in a fake notion of inclusivity, rather than being truly inclusive. To understand how this came to be, we must delve into the history of LGBTQA+ spaces and how they were designed. The formation of these spaces has largely been controlled, like many other social justice movements, by those with the most privilege—white middle-class men who fit into heteronormative societal structures. This is why marriage equality was such a huge fight in the LGBTQA+ community this century, for, as LGBTQA+ author Mattilda says, “gay people with the most privilege...have repositioned their desires as everyone else’s needs” (Rasmussen 2005). This positioning ignores other serious and more pressing issues, most of which involve intersecting racial and class identities, such as police brutality and the inability to attain housing. Furthermore, it also promotes the idea that Queer romance should mimic heterosexual romance and family structures; thus, those who did not fit into those structures such as polyamorous people also are ousted and discriminated against (Kacere 2015).
Part of how people with the most privilege came to construct these spaces was the use of binary logic. As Catherine O. Fox and Tracy E. Ore explain in their article “(Un) Covering Normalized Gender and Race Subjectivities in LGBTQ ‘Safe Spaces,’” “The discourse of safe space...relies on a binary logic that focuses on the elimination of homophobia/heterosexism, thereby creating a singular, marginalized identity around which the spaces are organized” (2010). Thus, all other types of oppression are ignored by this model, and all other marginalized identities are tacked on as additives and seen as experiences separately from their LGBTQA+ identities. By making other identities additives, current LGBTQA+ discourse promotes the understanding of LGBTQA+ identities through a white lens. For instance, because “Blackness” is differentiated from “lesbian,” Black lesbians’ experiences can only be understood through the lens of white lesbians’ experiences. This results in a very narrow and inaccurate understanding of black lesbianism, because, as we have already discussed, there are important cultural and historical factors behind black lesbianism that are excluded when seen through a white lens.
These systems of oppression are further enforced by the definition of these spaces as “safe” spaces. Just like “inclusive,” the definition of the term “safe space” has been constructed in a way so as to protect those with privilege and oust minorities. Due to the homosexual/heterosexual binary, LGBTQA+ people believe their spaces are designed to not discuss any issue outside of homophobia. This can result in incidents such as the one Fox and Ore describe, where some feel their space is “being infringed upon by students who brought discussion of race and gender to the table” (2010). Moreover, they defined their “safe space” as being one where they could be comfortable saying and doing whatever they pleased (Fox and Ore 2010). In this way, “safety” becomes conflated with “comfort,” which eventually leads to these “safe spaces” being unsafe for many participants. Because members feel they should be able to speak freely without worrying of consequence, racist and sexist comments get thrown around openly. Adding to the issue is that the conflation of “safety” and “comfort” is designed to aid white men. “Safe spaces” are often based on the notion that in our heteronormative society, all non-heterosexual people face “gay shame,” and thus need a space to feel prideful and comfortable. This “gay shame” discourse is founded in people being denied privileges because of their sexuality, an issue most prevalent to gay white men, as Queer women and people of color have multiple and violent structural oppressions to combat (Fox and Ore 2010). Therefore, “safe spaces” are designed to not be safe, but instead be spaces for those with the most privilege to feel free to speak and act however they desire.
These deeper issues in the construction of LGBTQA+ spaces allow for the development of more apparent issues. In fact, LGBTQA+ spaces are not the only spaces that face both types of problems and promote whiteness while silencing people of color. White feminist spaces are also at fault for this behaviour, so we will compare how this operates in feminist spaces and how common problems can be seen in Queer spaces as well. Aîda Hurtado describes the case of how power interacts in feminist spaces and how Black women are often marginalized by white women because of the inability to separate their whiteness from their identity (Hurtado 2001). The same phenomenon is seen amongst white Queer people because of their lack of understanding of how race impacts their privilege. For example, one can be a gay white male and still have privilege, but admitting to that is the part where queer people fail, which creates a divide amongst the community. There is also this idea that we are all lumped together into one community under feminism or LGBTQA+, another product of our binary logic. This leads group to equate all issues and believe they work in similar ways of oppression. White women do this in feminist spaces by equating that white women have the same problems that Black women do, for they ignore racist societal structures (Hurtado 2001). This works similarly in Queer spaces, as cisgender gay men do not have the same privileges as transgender gay men because of how society ranks them on a hierarchy based on the white cisgender heterosexual male. Thus, there is a need for breaking down these identity categories and seeing how the problems intersect based on more than just gender or sexual identity (Hurtado 2001).
In history, there have been numerous cases of exclusionary rights movements, and their exclusiveness is still causing repercussions today. For instance, there was a fight for rights of women, and this movement was not intersectional. The main focus was on obtaining voting rights for women; when white women got the right to vote, though, they were finished. To them, there was a sense that the job was done. Black women were fighting for the right to vote with white women, but when the latter’s need was met, white women abandoned Black women (Hurtado 2001). This event was mirrored by the fight for marriage equality. As previously mentioned, in the Queer community, the pressing issue was marriage equality, and it was designed by and centered around whiteness. While many white gay men were celebrating June 26th 2015, many transgender and Queer people of color were not satisfied. They helped fight for Queer rights, but as soon as that was met, many Queer white people did not care. While white LGBTQA+ people want to get married, LGBTQA+ people of color are dying in the streets and facing a lot more than just the denial of marriage, and this is something white Queer people are not fighting for. There is this constant battle of inclusion that the people in power do not think about. There is a sense of self-centeredness around whiteness that needs to be acknowledged.
Part of the problem behind the focal point of whiteness is that white people do not acknowledge that they have race. In American society, white has been ingrained to be seen as the “default” or the “normal” race. All other races are simply deviations from this, and whites should thus view them as outsiders. The structure of current LGBTQA+ and other identity based groups or “safe spaces” purports this. As noted earlier, these communities are centered around protecting its individuals from one particular type of oppression: in LGBTQA+ spaces, that is anti-gay oppression. Due to this focus, it completely ignores the other oppressions its members might be facing because of their intersecting identities, such as racism and sexism. Thus, this supports the concept that only people of color and women have race and gender. Because the issues of sexism and racism are seen as not generalizable to an entire LGBTQA+ group, they become irrelevant to that space. Since gay white men, the center of most LGBTQA+ “safe spaces,” are not directly affected by these issues, than they figure that they do not have racial or gender identities. This allows for white and male privileges to be ignored and to even be supported.
At Beloit, this operates all of the time in identity based clubs. Clubs like Feminist Collective and Beloit Cross Disability Coalition understand their identities as not being intersectional with their race. There is also this idea of trying to be the most oppressed person so that people do not have to take accountability for their exclusion. White feminism tries to do the same thing with women of color, as there is no acknowledgement of how there is still privilege in whiteness. Not all women experience the same oppressions, but yet, as noted earlier, this is not often recognized by white women (Hurtado 2001). This is another cause of exclusion in Queer spaces. There is no acknowledgement of privileges that are held by white individuals or by cisgender individuals, due to their inability to see themselves as racialized or gendered and the binary design of their spaces. There is a need at Beloit for white people to engage in their own racialized and gendered identities and privileges in order to understand the broad picture of oppression in the group as a whole, and thus allow the group to become more inclusive (Hurtado 2001).
There is also a sense of accountability that is important when dealing with privilege and having these conversations in identity based spaces. White fragility is a delicate idea to confront in SAGA, because members are ready to defend themselves against being seen as racist or as oppressors. Sherry K. Watt describes and deconstructs the reaction of privileged individuals when confronted (Watt 2007). When people are confronted, they often times deflect the responsibility and come up with excuses to try and rationalize why they are right (Watt 2007). When SAGA was confronted with complaints from people on campus, one was that the house was exclusive and not welcoming to outsiders. An executive board member immediately deflected the question and made it about the physical space of the club, which is in a house on campus. There was no personal accountability in the answer, which leads to no discussion taking place and thus no learning of diversity and inclusivity. There is this fear of being “called out” or being seen as privileged (Watts 2007). This is quite similar to the idea of “safe spaces” being places for people to say whatever they want. People with privilege in those spaces feel threatened when other types of oppression are discussed, thus suggesting they themselves are privileged; as a result, they claim they feel “unsafe” (Fox and Ore 2010). Therefore, there is a need for SAGA to become more aware and open to dialogue and discussion on inclusivity, which means it should not deflect criticism (Watt 2007).
Before we conclude, we wish to present a successful attempt made by SAGA to be more inclusive and diversity. A successful SAGA event that happened in the Fall semester of 2016 was a combined event with Voces Latinas, another identity based club on campus. We came to discuss hate crimes happening in Guatemala. When Lou walked into the room, the first thing they noticed was that they were one of the few white people there. It was different than the usual club meeting. When beginning the discussion there was talk of the hate crime that happened in the modern time and then a free discussion about whatever the group wanted to talk about. The conversation led to discussion how race interacts with sexuality in South America, with many people from Voces bring their personal experiences. There was an acknowledgement that race and class had a stake in how people’s identities were understood and treated (Hurtado 2001). This led to a productive conversation that a majority of the room felt included in. With this comes importance to the research question at hand, for how we interact with issues to be more intersectional is vital to how we create spaces for more than just white queer people. This is exactly the sort of meeting that makes SAGA inclusive and intersectional, as it allows for an understanding of intersecting forms of oppression and for people affected by those oppressions to speak and educate more privileged individuals.
In conclusion, there are various aspects of identity and privilege that operate in Queer spaces. Ways in which race is acknowledged in these spaces is minimal, but it needs to be addressed in order for these spaces to become spaces for all LGBTQA+ people. In SAGA and other identity-based groups on club, we need to understand what we mean by “inclusivity” and “safe space” and how we define them in order to see who is included and excluded from this space. We also have to look at the history of Queer spaces, which is mostly focused on the gay white male, and explore how we can make up for this. It is not enough to simply acknowledge this history; we must also change what is happening and what conversations are being had in those spaces by learning from this history. We have to learn how to not be defensive of ourselves or else we unintentionally support the ostracization of minorities from out group. Critiques and concerns must be taken seriously and must be unpacked so they can be resolved. Thinking critically at all times will help the club become aware of how Queer white people privilege whiteness without realizing it and how that damages the space in terms of inclusivity and activism.
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