Rogers Brubaker on understanding “transracial”

Brubakers Mainstream society has grown increasingly accepting of various ways of reimagining gender. But what about someone who identities as a different race? Is the concept of “ancestry” losing its authority? In Trans: Gender and Race in an Age of Unsettled IdentitiesRogers Brubaker explores the controversial idea that one can be transracial and the ways ethnoracial boundaries have already blurred. Recently, Brubaker took the time to answer some questions about his book and shed light on what transracial means.

This book has taken you into new territory. What drew you to the subject?

RB: In the summer of 2015 I became fascinated by the intertwined debates about whether Caitlyn Jenner could legitimately identify as a woman and Rachel Dolezal as black. The debates were dominated by efforts to validate or invalidate the identities claimed by Jenner and Dolezal. But at the same time they raised deeper questions about the similarities and differences between gender and race in an age of massively unsettled identities. I had planned to spend the summer months working on a completely different project, but this “trans moment” afforded a unique opportunity to think systematically about sex and gender in relation to race and ethnicity as embodied identities that are increasingly – yet in differing ways and to differing degrees – understood as open to choice and change.

You begin with the pairing of “transgender” and “transracial” in the debates about Jenner and Dolezal. One common trope in the debates was that transracial is “not a thing.” Do you disagree?

RB: Of course transracial is not a “thing” in the same sense as transgender: there’s no socially recognized and legally regulated procedure for changing one’s race or ethnicity comparable to the procedures that are available for changing sex or gender. But I do think the term “transracial” usefully brings into focus the ways in which people do in fact move from one racial or ethnic category to another or position themselves between or beyond existing categories.

The second part of your book is called “thinking with trans.” What do you mean by this?

RB: The idea is that one can use the transgender experience as a lens through which to think about the instability and contestedness of racial identities. I distinguish three forms of the transgender experience, which I call the trans of migration, the trans of between, and the trans of beyond. The trans of migration – the most familiar form – involves moving from one established sex/gender category to another. The trans of between involves defining oneself with reference to both established categories, without belonging entirely or unambiguously to either one. The trans of beyond claims to transcend existing categories or go beyond gender altogether. I argue that each of these can help us think about race and ethnicity in fruitful ways. Racial passing (including “reverse passing” like Dolezal’s) exemplifies the trans of migration, the multiracial movement the trans of between, and indifference or opposition to racial or ethnic categorization the trans of beyond.

Doesn’t sex have a deeper biological basis than race?

RB: Exactly, but this presents us with a paradox. Morphological, physiological, and hormonal differences between the sexes, although not as marked in humans as in many other species, are biologically real and socially consequential. Nothing remotely analogous can be said about racial divisions. Yet as the debates about Jenner and Dolezal showed, it is more socially legitimate to change one’s sex (and gender) than to change one’s race.

How do you explain this?

RB: The distinction between sex and gender – a distinction that has no analogue in the domain of race and ethnicity – has made it possible to think of gender identity as an inner essence that is independent of the sexed body. Yet according to the widespread “born that way” narrative, this inner essence is understood as natural – as unchosen and unchanging. Changing one’s sex or gender does not mean changing one’s identity; it means changing the way one is recognized and classified by others. This usually involves changing one’s self-presentation and may also involve transforming one’s body to bring it into alignment with one’s identity. We have no cultural tools for thinking about racial identity as an inner essence that is independent of the body and knowable only by the individual. A key part of what is understood as constituting racial identity – notably one’s ancestry – is located outside the self and is open to inspection by others. An individual who identifies with an ethnic or racial category to which she is not entitled by ancestry cannot intelligibly make use of the “born in the wrong body” narrative to justify changing her racial classification.

The broad sympathy toward Jenner seemed to suggest that transgender, unlike transracial, had achieved a remarkable degree of mainstream public acceptance. Were you surprised by the more recent controversy over transgender access to bathrooms in schools?

RB: Not really. The shift toward public acceptance of transgender has been astonishingly rapid, but it has been uneven across regions, generations, institutions, and milieux. As transgender claims have moved from insulated settings like liberal arts colleges to mainstream settings like public school systems, and as courts, civil rights agencies, and legislatures have taken action to establish broad transgender rights, it’s unsurprising to see a backlash. Controversy has focused on access to bathrooms and locker rooms, tapping into public anxieties about vulnerable children, sexual predators, and the presence of people with penises in girls’ and women’s spaces. It’s also worth noting that to cultural conservatives, especially religious conservatives, preserving sex and gender boundaries is much more important than maintaining racial and ethnic boundaries. So while Dolezal’s claim to identify as black provoked fiercer opposition than Jenner’s claim to identify as a woman, transgender rights are likely to be far more controversial in the coming years than practices associated with choosing or changing race.

Rogers Brubaker is a sociology professor at the University of of California, Los Angeles. He also is the UCLA Foundation Chair at the University. He focuses on topics such as social theory, ethnicity, citizenship, immigration and nationalism. Brubakers is the author of the books Ethnicity without Groups, Nationalist Politics and Everyday Ethnicity in a Transylvanian Town and Grounds for DifferenceHis most recent book is Trans: Gender Gender and Race in an Age of Unsettled Identities.

An interview with Nancy Malkiel on the struggle for coeducation

MalkielAt the end of the 1960s, a change swept elite institutions in the United States and the United Kingdom: In a remarkably brief span of time, a large number of traditional, conservative, highly prestigious colleges and universities began admitting women. In her new book, Keep the Damned Women Out”: The Struggle for Coeducation, Princeton University professor Nancy Weiss Malkiel examines the historic shift, revealing that contrary to popular belief, the decision was less a moral response to female activists than a strategic one made largely by powerful men. Recently, Malkiel took the time to answer questions about her new book.

What led you to write a book about coeducation?

NM: It’s partly autobiographical. I had been a graduate student at Harvard in the mid-/late 1960s, when the relationship between Harvard and Radcliffe was beginning to be addressed. I joined the Princeton faculty in 1969 as one of the first three women in the professorial ranks; 1969 also happened to be the year when the first women undergraduates arrived. I served as dean of the college, with responsibility for undergraduate education at Princeton, for 24 years. At the same time, I graduated from and served as a trustee of Smith, a women’s college that decided not to go coed. I was very interested in how coeducation came to be embraced at Princeton and so many other elite men’s schools, in why Smith decided against coeducation, and in how women’s education worked in the institutions I knew best.

I was also very interested in processes of institutional change. How did very old, very traditional, very elite institutions decide to go coed? What factors influenced their decision-making? Who provided leadership? Who supported change? Who resisted change? How were competing interests adjudicated?

What made coeducation such a struggle?

NM: There was intense opposition to coeducation, mainly on the part of alumni who treasured their undergraduate experience and thought that admitting women would ruin the camaraderie, the special ambiance that had made all-male institutions so successful. The title of this book comes from a letter from one Ivy League alumnus who wrote, in opposing coeducation, “For God’s sake, for everyone’s sake, keep the damned women out.” Very often, coeducation was instituted over the very strong objections of these alumni. Many of these men later came to change their views when their daughters and granddaughters sought admission to their now-coeducational alma maters.

Your book focuses on decisions for coeducation in a very brief period of time – essentially, 1969-74. Why?

NM: There was a flood of decisions for coeducation in these years, both in the United States and in the United Kingdom. That’s when coeducation came to be instantiated at most of the very traditional, very conservative, very elite single-sex institutions on both sides of the Atlantic Ocean. The decade of the 1960s bore on the timing: with the civil rights movement, the student movement, the antiwar movement, and the women’s movement, it was no wonder that colleges and universities began reconsidering many aspects of the educational arrangements that had served them for centuries.

What was the most surprising thing that you learned in the course of your research?

NM: Coeducation was not the product of organized efforts by women activists. Decisions for coeducation were made by powerful men (Mary Ingraham Bunting, the president of Radcliffe, is the sole exception here). And they were acting not on some moral imperative, not on a high-minded commitment to the education of women, but on straightforward self-interest: Coeducation was embraced as a means of shoring up applicant pools that were declining because many students no longer wanted to go to single-sex institutions.

How did you decide which colleges and universities to write about?

NM: In the United States, I focused on the men’s schools that were generally regarded as the influencers, the agenda-setters, the institutions that others looked to, modeled themselves on, and emulated – in other words, Princeton, Yale, Harvard, and Dartmouth. As for women’s colleges, Vassar was clearly the most prestigious women’s college that chose to admit men; I included Smith and Wellesley for comparative purposes because both of them had high-level reports in this same period that recommended coeducation, and both of them backed away from admitting men. In the United Kingdom, I wrote about the first three men’s colleges at Cambridge to admit women (in 1972) – Churchill, Clare, and King’s – and the first five at Oxford (in 1974) – Brasenose, Hertford, Jesus, St. Catherine’s, and Wadham.

It’s important to note that lots of other American institutions went coed in this period – men’s schools as well as women’s schools, colleges as well as universities. But the others were less influential, less precedent-making, than the elite institutions I focused on.

What were the biggest differences between coeducation in men’s colleges and coeducation in women’s colleges?

NM: When a men’s college coeducated, there was no question that it would attract a large number of highly qualified women applicants. When a women’s college coeducated, it was much less clear that there would be a sufficient pool of highly qualified male applicants.

Why did you want to compare American and British universities and colleges?

NM: A very similar phenomenon – the advent of coeducation at very old, very traditional, very elite institutions – was occurring on both sides of the Atlantic Ocean. The movements of the 1960s affected colleges and universities in both countries. Colleges at Oxford and Cambridge were fully aware of what was happening in the United States, and there were some explicit connections between some of them and institutions like Princeton and Yale. There were also similarities in alumni resistance to coeducation. Heads of colleges at Oxford and Cambridge sought to assuage the concerns of their alumni by reminding them of the decision taken many decades earlier to remove the requirement of celibacy for fellows (faculty members) of the colleges – suggesting that coeducation, like married fellows, would soon come to be seen as perfectly normal.

Nancy Weiss Malkiel is a professor of history at Princeton University. From 1987 to 2011, she served as Dean of the College, overseeing the University’s undergraduate academic program, making her the longest serving dean. Malkiel’s current research centers on the decisions for coeducation at elite colleges and universities in the Unites States, as well as the United Kingdom, from 1969 to the mid 1970s. She is the author of  Whitney M. Young, Jr., and the Struggle for Civil Rights and Farewell to the Party of Lincoln: Black Politics in the Age of FDR (both Princeton). Her most recent book is “Keep the Damned Women Out”: The Struggle for Coeducation.

An interview with Nancy Woloch, author of A Class by Herself

Nancy Woloch’s new book, A Class by Herself: Protective Laws for Women Workers 1890s-1990s, looks at the historical influence of protective legislation for American women workers, which served as both a step toward modern labor standards and as a barrier to equal rights. Recently, Nancy took the time to answer some questions about the book, her reasons for writing it, and the modern day legacies of this legislation, from pregnancy law, to the grassroots movement to raise the minimum wage.

Woloch jacketWhy did you write this book?

NW: Conflict over protective laws for women workers pervades twentieth-century US women’s history. These laws were everywhere. Since the early 1900s, almost every state enacted some sort of women-only protective laws—maximum-hour laws, minimum wage laws, night work laws, factory safety laws. Wherever one turns, the laws spurred debate, in the courts and in the women’s movement. Long drawn to the history of these laws and to the arguments that they generated, I saw the opportunity to carve out a new narrative: to track the rise and fall of protective laws from their roots in progressive reform to their collapse in the wake of Title VII of the Civil Rights Act of 1964, and beyond. Here was a chance to fuse women’s history and legal history, to explore social feminism, to reconstruct a “constitutional conversation,” and to ferret around all the topics that protective laws touch — from transatlantic connection to social science surveys to the rise of equal rights. Above all, the subject is contentious. Essentially, activist women disrupted legal history twice, first to establish single-sex protective laws and then to overturn them. This was irresistible.

What is your book’s most important contribution?

NW: My book shows the double imprint that protective laws for women workers left on US history. The laws set precedents that led to the Fair Labor Standards Act of 1938 and to modern labor law, a momentous achievement; they also sustained a tradition of gendered law that abridged citizenship and impeded equality until late in the century.

Which groups of women activists first supported women-only protective laws?

NW: I focus on members of the National Consumers’ League, a pressure group formed in 1898 and led as of 1899 by reformer Florence Kelley. One of the most vibrant and successful reform organizations of the Progressive Era, the NCL enabled the campaign for protective laws to move forward. I also focus on the federal Women’s Bureau, started in 1920, which inherited the mission of the NCL: to preserve and promote protective laws. Other women’s associations, too, were involved; so were women labor leaders. But the NCL and the Women’s Bureau were most crucial. Women who promoted women-only protective laws endorsed a dual rationale: the laws would redress disadvantages that women faced in the labor force and provide “industrial equality”; they would also serve as an “entering wedge” to labor standard for all workers. The dual rationale persisted, with variations, for decades.

 How did you come up with the title?

NW: “A Class by Herself” is a phrase used by Justice David J. Brewer in Muller v. Oregon, the landmark Supreme Court decision of 1908 that upheld a state ten-hour law for women workers in factories and laundries. Woman, Justice Brewer stated, “is properly placed in a class by herself, and legislation designed for her protection may be sustained, even when like legislation is not necessary for men and could not be sustained.” Two issues intersect in the Muller case: Can the state impose labor standards? Is classification by sex constitutional? The fusion of issues shapes my narrative.

The Muller case remains fascinating. I am stunned with the exceptional leverage that Florence Kelley grasped when she intervened in the final appeal of the case. I am struck with the link that Muller’s lawyers posited between employers’ interests and equal rights; with the fragile relationship between the famous Brandeis brief and the Brewer opinion; and with the way that Justice Brewer challenged Brandeis for dominance. I still ask myself: Who took advantage of whom? Looking back on Muller, I find an intriguing contrast between that case and the Supreme Court case that terminally rejected the Muller principle, UAW v. Johnson Controls (1991). This is when single-sex protective laws definitively expired. Johnson Controls also offers a counter-image of the 1908 case.

Did classification by sex ever help women workers?

NW: Yes, of course. Women-only state protective laws might provide benefits to women workers. In many instances, they provided shorter hours, higher wages, or better working conditions, just as reformers envisioned. But women-only laws always had built-in liabilities. Laws based on “difference” perpetuate difference. They entail hierarchy, stratification, and unequal power. They can quash opportunity, advancement, and aspiration. Once embedded in law, classification in sex might be adapted to any goal conjured up by lawmakers, or, as a critic in the 1920s pointed out, used to impose whatever restrictions “appeal to the caprice or prejudice of our legislators.”

What sort of challenges did you face as an author?

NW: Protective laws were tough customers. They fought back; they resisted generalization; they defied narrative. Part of the challenge was that I deal with a great mass of legislation –several hundred state laws — and each type of law followed its own trajectory. I also cover the laws and their ramifications over many decades. To estimate the impact of protective laws on women workers at any given time was a hazardous undertaking; one could not easily measure the negative effects, or what one critic called the “debit side.” Changing circumstances compound the problem; the effects of the laws were always in flux. Not least, protective laws generate controversy among historians; to tackle this subject is to stroll through a minefield. A special challenge: to cope with the end of protective laws in the 1960s and 1970s.

What was the biggest surprise you encountered in writing this book?

NW: The role of “surprise” itself was a surprise. Progressive reformers who promoted women-only labor laws in the early 1900s could not see around corners, anticipate shifts in the economy, or envision changes in the female work force. Nor could their successors or their opponents. Much of my narrative is a story of close calls and near misses, of false hopes and unexpected consequences, of accident and unpredictability. The theme of the unforeseen peaks with the addition of “sex” to Title VII of the Civil Rights bill of 1964; the impact of the amended Title VII on women-only protective laws was yet more of a surprise. I was surprised myself, as narrator, by the complexity of the downfall of protective laws. I was also surprised to discover the key role that “overtime” played in my story and the gradual mutation in its meaning over the decades.

Does your subject have present-day legacies?

NW: Definitely. In a sense, single-sex protective laws sank totally out of sight when they capsized in the 1970s. But in another sense, many facets of the history of protective laws reverberate; the echoes pervade current events. Labor standards are now a global issue, as illustrated in Bangladesh in 2012 and 2013. The fire in a garment factory on the outskirts of Dhaka that killed 117 workers, so reminiscent of the 1911 Triangle fire, and the yet more lethal collapse of an 8-story building, with garment production on its upper floors, underline the need for safety regulation everywhere. Closer to home, the drive to improve labor standards continues. Most recently, we have seen a grassroots movement to raise the minimum wage and efforts to revise federal law on the threshold for overtime. Reconciling work and parenthood impels discussion. Pregnancy law remains a challenge; enforcement of the Pregnancy Discrimination Act of 1978 has spurred more litigation than anyone expected. A recent case is Young v. United Parcel Service (2015). Beyond that, demands for compensated parental leave proliferate. President Obama’s proposal to fund parental leave, though unlikely to move forward right now, at least keeps the issue on the table. Finally, equal employment opportunity cases remain a challenge, from the Lily Ledbetter case of 2007 to the dismissed Wal-Mart case of 2011. Title VII, which catalyzed the end of single-sex protective law, turns out to be a work in progress.

Deborah Jordan Brooks’s Double Whammy: He Runs, She Runs: Why Gender Stereotypes Do Not Harm Women Candidates Wins Two Awards

Deborah Jordan BrooksA round of applause for Deborah Jordan Brooks: the celebrated Princeton University Press author has scooped up not one, but two awards for her latest book, He Runs, She Runs: Why Gender Stereotypes Do Not Harm Women Candidates.

The first comes courtesy of the American Political Science Association, who has named the book the Winner of the 2014 Victoria Schuck Award. This prize is awarded annually for the best book published on women and politics and carries a prize of $1,000. Initially established to honor the legacy of Victoria Schuck and her commitment to women and politics, the award recognizes and encourages research and publication by women in the field.

The second, awarded by the International Society of Political Psychology, has dubbed Brooks’s book the Winner of the 2014 David O. Sears Award. This prize is awarded to the best book published in the field of political psychology of mass politics, including political behavior, political values, political identities, and political movements, released during the previous calendar year. In keeping with the scholarship of David O. Sears, the award-winning work must “demonstrate the highest quality of thought and make a major substantive contribution to the field of political psychology.”

Deborah Jordan Brooks is an Associate Professor in the Department of Government at Dartmouth College. She received her B.A. in both Politics and Psychology from the University of California, Santa Cruz, and completed both her M.A. and Ph.D. in Political Science at Yale University. From 1998 to 2003, Brooks also served as the Senior Research Director for the Gallup Organization, which “provides data-driven news based on U.S. and world polls, daily tracking, and public opinion research.”

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Deborah Jordan Brooks is the author of:

7-9 HeRunsSheRuns He Runs, She Runs: Why Gender Stereotypes Do Not Harm Women Candidates by Deborah Jordan Brooks
Paperback | 2013 | $26.95 / £18.95 | ISBN: 9780691153421
Hardcover | 2013 | $65 / £44.95 | ISBN: 9780691153414
240 pp. | 6 x 9 | 18 tables. | eBook | ISBN: 9781400846191 |Reviews Table of Contents Chapter 1[PDF]