Linkage

On 14 February, the US Department of Education’s office of civil rights issued a letter providing notice to American educational institutions, schools and universities of the department’s new interpretation of federal civil rights law. The letter lays out new conditions for institutions to receive federal funding, including in the form of student loans or scientific and medical research.

Title VI of the 1964 Civil Rights Act prohibits discrimination on the basis of race, color and national origin in federally assisted programs or activities. The education department’s “Dear Colleagues” letter redefines the central targets of Title VI to centrally include supposed discrimination against whites. The letter was followed, on 28 February, with a set of guidelines for its interpretation. The novel understanding of anti-white discrimination in these documents is a chilling manifestation of educational authoritarianism.

[…]

The guidelines for what would count as a Title VI violation are vague. From the guidelines:

"a racially-oriented vision of social justice, or similar goals will be probative in OCR’s analysis of the facts and circumstances of an individual case."

The most straightforward way to read the letter and the guidelines is as defining “school-on-student harassment” as including Black history. The letter treats teaching large swaths of Black and Indigenous history as akin to a white professor consistently referring to all of their Black students with a terrible racial slur.

The “more extreme practices at a university” that “could create a hostile environment under Title VI” include “pressuring them to participate in protests or take certain positions on racially charged issues”. But reason, rationality and morality are sources of “pressure”. How does one distinguish the pressure placed on people by moral arguments for racially charged issues from other kinds of pressure?

The guidelines create a culture of fear and intimidation around history. If one discusses Black history, one immediately risks endorsing the view that the United States “is built upon ‘systemic and structural racism’”. The guidelines invite students to report their teachers and their school administrators for not adhering to a state-imposed ideology about history, as well as state-imposed ideology about gender, which threatens to make teaching critically about gender identity, or including trans perspectives, into school-on-student harassment. Failure to adhere to state ideologies about history and gender fits this new definition of “school-on-student harassment”. Billions in federal funding is at stake.

For anybody who loves British television from the 1970s and 80s, this is just delightful.

It is only comparatively recently that performance in arenas other than theatre and cinema has begun to receive serious academic attention. The ‘Spaces of Television’ project and the University of York’s ‘Playing the Small Screen’ symposium have each opened up discussions regarding the impact of production process and space upon television acting, yet little consideration has been given to those spaces in which performances were traditionally prepared prior to studio transmission or recording. This article attempts to address this by focusing on the BBC’s ‘Television Rehearsal Rooms’, better known by those who used them as the ‘Acton Hilton’, which offers a precise model of the ‘outside’ rehearsal process which characterised multi-camera studio production. A creative hub for not only drama, but also sitcom and light entertainment, the Hilton represented an extended community for the many performers who gathered there to rehearse – a community that has all but disappeared in the modern era of single camera location work, where prior rehearsal of the type conducted at Acton has virtually disappeared. Drawing upon a combination of archive research and interviews with practitioners, this piece examines the important role played by the Acton Hilton in the history of UK television acting.

Intersex advocates say that they have been shut out of the conversations about gender and health in the United States and that the January 28 executive order has far-reaching consequences for intersex kids, not just because it allows dangerous surgeries to continue.

“None of the EOs mention intersex people specifically — they are systematically scrubbing mentions of intersex people from government websites,” the intersex rights group interACT wrote  in an email to community members.

Several hospitals and doctors have complied with Trump’s order, announcing in recent weeks that they have halted gender-affirming care, though some have resumed care based on ongoing litigation. In some cases, those same health centers that have stopped gender-affirming care have also largely continued to perform controversial sex-altering operations in the form of intersex pediatric surgeries, according to interACT.

Intersex advocates say that juxtaposition lays bare the hypocrisy of the order and those following it. It’s been “striking” to see those same health providers continue non-consensual intersex surgeries, said Sylvan Fraser Anthony, legal and policy director for interACT.

“Hospitals have been so reluctant — flat out refusing or taking years before issuing some partial policy about whether they’re going to be changing practices related to these non-consensual surgeries on intersex children,” Anthony said. “They’ve taken years, if not decades, to review those [policies] and most have not been responsive at all to calls to review and update their standards and their practices for intersex children to respect their bodily autonomy. Whereas they’re responding within a matter of days and weeks to this executive order when no one is making them — rushing to make policy moves that harm trans patients.”

Utterly brilliant What she said:

A question that tormented me when I first discovered I’m trans was why I didn’t realize it until I was 45 years old. From what I see on Reddit, that question torments many late bloomers who don’t figure this out until well into adulthood. The pop-culture narrative says that trans people are supposed to have always known, right?

Well, I didn’t, and yet I was also definitely trans.

The torment only increased as I reflected back over my life, discovering one sign after another of my feminine identity. Some of them quite blatant. Why didn’t I know? Why didn’t I realize? Was I just stupid? A clueless idiot, bumbling my way through life?

That explanation was not dismissed so easily: it aligned with many of the messages I’d been given about myself over the years. Further, I often felt like a clueless, bumbling idiot because I just didn’t understand how boys work or how to emulate what they were doing. So maybe that was the answer.

It took years, but ultimately I came to realize that I was asking the wrong question. I shouldn’t have wondered why I didn’t know sooner. Rather, I should have been asking “what stopped me from knowing sooner?” 

[…]

Everyone else gets to play “be yourself,” while we play “fit in or die”. What we need is a disguise. A mask made of carefully-constructed persona that matches the expectations created by our gendered bodies. The better we build this disguise, the better we fit in, the less punishment we receive. The less danger of exile we face.

So, without even noticing that we’re doing it, we pull back from engaging with people. We observe more and do less, trying to figure out the unwritten rules. We over-think the heck out of every situation before we try anything, working out our best guess as to how we’re supposed to behave.

Such a lovely story:

Eventually, Miss Parsons tells us about her department’s annual production. It’s called Oakfield’s Got Talent, and she wonders whether James might perform? When I ask him, I get a fervent yes; to reduce the chances of anything unexpected happening, she agrees to the suggestion that I should accompany him on an acoustic guitar.

[…]

I reach for a piece of paper that is serving as a cue card, and James reads it out: “This next song was originally by the Velvet Underground, and it’s called” – he then slows down – “I’m. Waiting. For. The. Man.”

When we play it, James sounds like Mark E Smith from the Fall, barking out the words, and rising to the conclusion of each verse – “Oh, I’m waiting for mah man” – with a loud sense of triumph. A few times, he drifts away from the microphone, and yells the words into the air. We have worked out a procedure for this: I say “Microphone! Microphone!” out of the side of my mouth, and he returns to the right spot.

I don’t know if many of the audience quite understand what they are listening to: a less-than-wholesome song about copping dope in 1960s Manhattan, the grimness of withdrawal, and the rapturous pleasure of yet another hit of heroin. But they like it: we get a second round of applause, and I do that showbiz thing of camply extending my arm in James’s direction. There are a few whoops, and he picks his way down the wooden stairs to the right of us, before taking a seat in the audience.

Ginny and Rosa are there. To us, the meaning of the six minutes James and I have just spent on the stage is pretty obvious. If you are repeatedly told what your child can’t do, it starts to eat at you. Certain words hover over you: “severe”, “profound”, “impairment”. You miss superlatives; whatever successes your child achieves, they don’t tend to feel like the same ones other kids experience. But here is something James can do – brilliantly, fantastically, wonderfully – on the same terms as everyone else. Better still, he loves doing it, and it makes him the centre of attention.

It is a gorgeous summer evening, and everything feels as if it is surrounded by a lovely glow. When we get home, James does not sleep, but I do not mind at all. “I want to do that again,” he says. “I want to do that again!”

My partner and I found a lovely city park with a picnic area and gazebo to eat breakfast in after camping on National Forest land nearby. After a mug of coffee, I visited the public restroom. I didn’t expect a stranger to yell at me through the flimsy stall door.

“Hello? Are you a male or female?”

I was the only person using the restroom — the kids who had been in there a minute ago had left. I felt this man’s eyes on my sneakers and blue hiking pants under the stall. I was scared this harassment could escalate if I didn’t say something to diffuse the situation. I gulped and called back, “Hello?”

“Oh, you’re a female. My bad.” He sounded reassured by my quavering voice. I heard his footsteps leaving the room. My heart raced as I fumbled with toilet paper, fingers shaking. I felt nauseated.

My voice had immediately identified me as the “female” I didn’t feel myself to be — and all it took was two syllables. But my “female” voice had also saved me from further harassment. Would that man have dragged me out of the stall if I sounded “like a man” or remained quiet? Would he have looked under the stall? Would he have tried to check what was between my legs while my pants were down? Did he have any idea how much of a violation these real and imagined threats were to me?

And why was a man even in the women’s room, questioning me? Did a kid’s mother report me to her husband for looking too much like a man in the women’s room? Perhaps they were alarmed that I, with my short hair, had been in the restroom with their young kids. I felt physically ill at the troubling thought that someone would assume I would do anything harmful to children. I hadn’t said anything, made eye contact with anyone or done anything other than sit quietly in the stall in the room that matches my assigned sex at birth.

I felt bad for looking masculine to make myself more comfortable, because I didn’t want to make anyone else uncomfortable. Some part of me longed to return to my habit of looking more like a woman, but I also felt sick from not feeling right in my body. 

I can empathize with these strangers viewing me and my body as a threat because I have also viewed my body as a threat. I have been unhappy with the shape of my body, my appearance in the mirror and the tone of my voice. And to have that thrown back in my face in such a vulnerable moment — pants down, defenseless, forced by my body’s very personal needs to be in this gendered room — hit close to home.

Twenty-five years ago, trans women (those transitioning from male to female) outnumbered trans men (transitioning from female to male) two to one. Today, those seeking hormonal treatment for gender dysphoria are trending younger and are primarily trans men.

Yet, Trump’s first executive order was titled “Defending Women from Gender Ideology Extremism and Restoring Biological Truth to the Federal Government.” The text of the order repeatedly states its intent is to protect women from “men (who) self-identify as women and gain access to intimate single-sex spaces and activities designed for women … (which) attack women by depriving them of their dignity, safety and well-being.”

If the majority of those seeking treatment for gender dysphoria today are primarily trans men (females transitioning to males), then why do women’s spaces need protecting? Nowhere in the executive order or in any of the various state legislative efforts claiming to protect women has there been any concern expressed for protecting men’s spaces from the trans men who will be entering them.

That’s because the language around protecting women is really about asserting dominance over the bodies of individuals classified as female at birth — whether they are cisgender or transgender. It’s about keeping the female body pure, normalizing bodily oppression and perpetuating rape culture.

The language used is also rooted in racism.

There is a reason those who study the rise of Christian nationalism in America emphasize its connection with white supremacy. The language around protecting women from predatory men has an unsavory history in the United States. It isn’t that long ago that Black men in America were lynched regularly, and far too often the reason given was to protect some white woman’s body.

Each financial crisis — Savings & Loan in the 1980s, the subprime mortgage crisis in 2008 — led to even greater centralization of housing finance, as short-term fixes reinforced the dominance of national lenders and government-sponsored entities. The repeated cycle of risk, collapse and bailout has made housing a primary vehicle for financial speculation rather than a stable, accessible market for homebuyers.

Today, the product isn’t a home; it’s the promise to pay contained in the mortgage note. The buyer isn’t an individual or a family; it’s a financial institution acquiring that mortgage note and the decades of promised payments.

The innovations and efficiencies of scale we see in the housing market today are innovations in finance, not in home construction. These financial innovations have not been good for homebuyers or for affordability.

[…]

Ironically, the one-dimensional efficiency of financialization has created a massive gap in the real market for homes. Large financial institutions are eager to fund single-family homes in bulk or large apartment complexes that fit their investment models, but they have no interest in small-scale, entry-level housing. A so-called "efficient" housing finance system has, in reality, left little to no capital available for small, incremental projects — like converting single-family homes into duplexes, adding backyard cottages, or financing small starter homes. This is despite the overwhelming demand for entry-level housing.

On Friday, President Donald Trump signed an executive order drastically limiting public service workers’ ability to obtain student loan forgiveness. Under the Public Service Loan Forgiveness (PSLF) program, workers at government agencies and 501(c)(3) nonprofits are eligible for loan forgiveness after 10 years of service. But Trump's order threatens to strip that benefit—specifically targeting employees at organizations that support transgender rights or diversity initiatives. If enforced, the order could have sweeping consequences, cutting off loan relief for workers at countless nonprofits, civil rights organizations, hospitals, and schools across the country.

“The prior administration abused the PSLF Program through a waiver process, using taxpayer funds to pay off loans for employees still years away from the statutorily required number of payments. Moreover, instead of alleviating worker shortages in necessary occupations, the PSLF Program has misdirected tax dollars into activist organizations that not only fail to serve the public interest, but actually harm our national security and American values, sometimes through criminal means,” says the order.

Organizations that would be barred from the order include what the order calls “subsidization of illegal activities, including illegal immigration, human smuggling, child trafficking, pervasive damage to public property, and disruption of the public order, which threaten the security and stability of the United States.” Further down in the order, this includes organizations that support “child abuse, including the chemical and surgical castration or mutilation of children or the trafficking of children to so-called transgender sanctuary States for purposes of emancipation from their lawful parents, in violation of applicable law” as well as organizations that are “engaging in a pattern of aiding and abetting illegal discrimination.”

Both of these are common administration euphemisms for supporting transgender people and diversity, equity, and inclusion (DEI) initiatives.

Amid all of Donald Trump’s power grabs over the past six weeks, one little-noticed executive order may in the long run have the largest impact on the viability of the country’s democratic system of governance.

The February 18 order, misleadingly titled, “Ensuring Accountability For All Agencies,” claims to prevent government agencies from going off on a tear creating policies that stand in conflict to the agenda of the country’s elected leadership. […] The executive order’s text gives the game away:

"It shall be the policy of the executive branch to ensure Presidential supervision and control of the entire executive branch. Moreover, all executive departments and agencies, including so-called independent agencies, shall submit for review all proposed and final significant regulatory actions to the Office of Information and Regulatory Affairs (OIRA) within the Executive Office of the President before publication in the Federal Register."

In other words, if Trump opposes a regulation, that regulation goes out the window.

The order states that, “The heads of independent regulatory agencies shall establish a position of White House Liaison in their respective agencies,” and goes on to say: “Independent regulatory agency chairmen shall submit agency strategic plans … to the Director of OMB for clearance prior to finalization.” In other words, independent agencies will no longer be independent but will instead be ruled over by political commissars, their every action now scrutinized to make sure they are ideologically sympatico to the aims of the MAGA movement.

The Director of the Office of Management and Budget, it should be noted, is Russ Vought, arguably the most fervent of the MAGA revolutionaries.