Women of Color Being Policed

Women of Color Being Policed

Between 2017 and 2018, we conducted 49 interviews with young Black and Latina women in the San Francisco Bay Area about their perceptions and experiences of the police. This study came on the heels of nationwide outrage about countless police killings of Black men, including Philando Castile and Alton Sterling in 2016, as well as one woman, Sandra Bland, whose life was also stricken by the same violence in 2015. Now, sparked by the killing of George Floyd only a few years later, this outrage is reignited. 

To continue our #POCbeingPoliced series and further highlight the long-standing issue of racist police violence directed at women, we present the following video: “Women of Color Being Policed,” which highlights Black women’s voices, specifically.  We humbly thank the women who participated in this study, many of whom courageously shared their experiences with the sole intention of making a difference by amplifying the attention paid to women of color’s experiences with police violence. 

Findings from this study can be found here.

For more research on police violence and police use of force, see our public access bibliography.

For more information about Black women and police violence, see work from the African American Policy Forum’s #SayHerName campaign.

Voices on Police Violence

Voices on Police Violence

In recognition of the fortitude of those on the front lines; in honor of Ahmaud Arbery, Breonna Taylor, George Floyd, Tony McDade, and so many others whose lives have been cut short by police violence: Over the next few days the Center for Critical Public Health will highlight direct quotes from participants in our studies.

Since 2007, we’ve conducted interviews with people of color whose stories have included countless experiences with racial profiling, unjust stop and search, and police brutality. Though the studies they come from are not all focused on policing nor directly on violence, these quotes highlight how pervasive racist violence is. These participants and their experiences are unique, but the connecting thread of police violence is not.

Neither this violence nor the outrage it justifies are new. Immense gratitude to all of the participants who have generously shared their experiences with us. These voices, past and present, must be heard.

To follow this series, please join us on our Twitter or Facebook feeds. Since this material can be traumatic, we will use the hashtag #POCbeingPoliced consistently throughout the series so you can choose to mute it any time.

******************************
Update: Threaded quotes below
******************************

Continue reading
The what is and why bother with a critical public health

The what is and why bother with a critical public health


Continue reading

Truth-telling, trust and e-cigarettes

Truth-telling, trust and e-cigarettes

Headshot of Dana Scully from The X-Files, with caption "MULDER, THE TRUTH IS OUT THERE, BUT SO ARE LIES."

Lange, M. (1994, February 11). The X-Files. Young at Heart. 20th Century Fox Television.

It should go without saying that public health institutions and researchers have an obligation to tell the truth. In principle, there aren’t many stakeholders in e-cigarette research who would argue otherwise. But questions about whose truth and how information about e-cigarettes should be communicated have been highly controversial.

Partly this is because e-cigarettes haven’t been around long (relatively speaking), and research takes time.

But while influential figures on all sides of the e-cigarette debate in the US have increasingly acknowledged a body of evidence that vaping is less harmful than combustible cigarettes, the US public has increasingly come to believe the opposite. It’s unlikely that this outcome results from even-handed cautions against jumping to conclusions. People have been inundated with a particular message about the current state of research on vaping, and that message is false. Continue reading

Who does research on the researcher?

Who does research on the researcher?

Photo of antique typewriter holding a sheet of paper that has "What's your story" typed on it

(Image in public domain)

Since February of last year, I have been talking to Black and Latina women from the Bay Area about their perceptions of and experiences with police. These women that I have had the pleasure of speaking with have all been between the ages of 18-25. As I have sat with stories of their interactions with police, as well as their views of police and policing today, I couldn’t help but think: How have I not have had the experiences that these women have had?

I am a part of the same demographic of women who have participated in these interviews: young, in her mid-ish 20s, Black and from Oakland. Questions of how I have not had experiences similar to the young women of Color I’ve interviewed, as well as acknowledging my role as a researcher, dawned upon me during two separate interviews when two Black women from Oakland asked me if I had ever been stopped by police. When I gave them an answer and inquired about why they had asked, they followed up with statements like: “You’ve only been in a traffic stop, huh?” or “You don’t look like you’ve been stopped by the police because you look like you went to college.”

These statements not only provided a fraction of these women’s perceptions of and experiences with policing, but also provided some insight into the role(s) of a participant and a researcher. I was glad that these women asked me questions as I had asked them many. I was elated that they knew they had the space to ask me questions. I have done many interviews where participants felt that I was looking for a particular answer or felt pressured to answer questions in a particular manner.

As a qualitative researcher, I am interested in the experiences and narratives that others share with me; but I realized that I often miss other narratives and experiences as well: How does a participant see me as a researcher? What do they think my stories are and how does this influence how we interact with one another? What does all of this mean in regard to “building rapport”?

As much as I can understand and acknowledge esoteric statements and experiences of those I relate to, I realized that barriers can still exist: I am still a researcher and I am still the one asking the questions.

Welcome to the Neighborhood!

Welcome to the Neighborhood!

“I think moving to the Bay Area, moving to Berkeley and Oakland and being in the East Bay where there is more exposure to just more self-love culture and what that looks like, and then also just witnessing my queer friends and kind of being an observer of the queer community and really admiring and wondering where all of these people got their strength from to be themselves in the world. I remember asking myself who told them that they were – I don’t remember what I thought. I think I thought, who told them that they were so fabulous?”                                                                                            –Kimmy, 30

 

As an interviewer for our LGBTQ Adults and Tobacco Stigma study, I heard countless stories like the one above. Stories of heartbreak and struggle and triumph and solidarity and love.  While each story was different, a distinct pattern emerged.  I was reminded over and over again just how important a sense of community is.  When I asked our participants what was most needed in the Bay Area LGBTQ+ communities, so very many of them expressed a desire for a central place to access medical, housing, job, and mental health resources.  A central place to meet people and socialize.  A central place to simply “be themselves in the world.”  On September 7, the Oakland LGBTQ Community Center opened its doors.  From all of us at the Center for Critical Public Health: Welcome to the neighborhood!!!

Anthro-less or anthro-lite at mid-career: Diagnosis and remedies

SfAA 2017 meeting logo
Ed. note: This is a version of Namino Glantz’s thought-provoking and inspiring talk at the 2017 meeting of the Society for Applied Anthropology (SfAA). You can find the program for the 2017 meeting here (pdf), and more information about SfAA here.

I am so grateful for this chance to confess to you active social scientists about my applied anthropology career crisis, and explore with you potential ways to weather and even prevent such a crisis for me, perhaps for you someday, and maybe even for the discipline.

Many people study anthropology and we embrace it as part of our identity. In fact, per the National Science Foundation and the National Center for Educational Sciences, an estimated 400,000 people in the United States have anthropology degrees, including about 20,000 PhDs and 50,000 masters, presumably many in applied anthropology. Further, the American Anthropological Association (AAA) boasts over 10,000 members and the Society for Applied Anthropology (SfAA) about 2,500.

These organizations often have a different set of values that compete with our applied anthropology tenets, and this culture clash sets us dyed-in-the-wool anthropologists up for conflict.

Of AAA members, 75% are employed in higher education or students of anthropology, and it’s safe to assume that these folks practice anthropology daily. What about those who aren’t in academia? What do they do? Just about anything and nearly everything, with more or less success at incorporating our anthropology learnings in a sustained way. Those of us not in academia work for governments, development agencies, NGOs, tribal and ethnic associations, advocacy groups, social-service, health, and educational agencies, and businesses. These organizations often have a different set of values, methods, and priorities that compete with our applied anthropology tenets. And this culture clash sets us dyed-in-the-wool anthropologists up for conflict.

Take, for example… me! I was an applied medical anthropologist before I even heard of the term. I came of age on the Navajo Reservation, hearing stories from my step-mom, an Indian Health Service doctor. As a high school student, I pondered ways to prevent kids from being bounced out of pick-up truck beds. I envisioned policy to enable my friends preparing for military deployment to both take peyote in their protection ceremony and pass their pre-deployment drug test. I devised a group prescription system that would allow my high school girlfriends to obtain and take birth control pills together as a community, a way that would prevent more pregnancy than each of us playing roulette by taking turns popping out pills from a single, shared pill pack. Continue reading

Smoking in the wrong bathroom

Smoking in the wrong bathroom

Restroom gender and no-smoking signs

How wrong is the wrong bathroom?
(Image CC BY-SA Critical Public Health Research Center)

Max told me a lot about smoking. And gender. And freedom.

I wanted to talk with this participant all day, but Max is in a band and had to leave to get ready for a gig.

I felt connected to Max in a way I can’t make sense of with words, plus the politics of trying to name that connection are complicated, and even more so by the professional/official context of our conversation. Max expressed experiences that are intimate to my heart and have become foundational to my identity and sense of the world – yet we use different names to describe them. I wanted to share my own experiences and ask what Max thought the difference was, but those are my personal interests and biases that I’m supposed to keep out of the interview: it’s about the participant, not about me. We both got emotional during the interview – sometimes for different reasons, sometimes the same.

At one point though, Max seamlessly boiled down so many of the things we’d been talking about into a rhetorical question that made me laugh louder than I normally would in an interview. The phrase was so relevant I didn’t even realize how truly apt it was to our study on stigma and tobacco control in LGBTQ+ communities until afterwards.

Max said, “Are you smoking in the right bathroom?”

To me, as a trans man and as a smoker, this question consolidates a constellation of others, many of which are accusatory rather than inquisitive.

“Are you in the right bathroom?”
You’re in the wrong bathroom.

“Are you supposed to be in here?”
You don’t belong here. You don’t look right.

“Are you a boy or a girl?”
You aren’t good enough at either; you have failed to give me necessary information about your humanity.
Also, what’s in your pants?
What kind of genitals do you have?
Do you have a penis? Do you have a vagina?
You don’t have a penis.
You don’t have a vagina.
You’re not a real woman/you’re not really a woman.
You’re not a real man/you’re not really a man

“Are you smoking?”
You shouldn’t be smoking. Are you stupid? Do you want to die?
Do you want to kill me?
Are you just rude and careless?

“Are you smoking inside?”
Are you insane? Reckless?
That’s illegal, you’re a criminal, and a menace.
And an idiot jerk.

Are you smoking in the bathroom?
You’d better not be.

Are you in the wrong bathroom?
You’d better not be.

Some of this constellation of questions and accusations is also internal. Am I in the right bathroom? Which is the right bathroom? How wrong is the wrong bathroom? Am I allowed to be here? What’s wrong with me? I don’t feel like I belong here. Am I safe here? What should I do? I don’t know what to do. I should probably just hold it. Should I just go have a cigarette? I could use a cigarette.

When is it okay to police other people? Their bodies? When does your health come before theirs? How do I explain the similarities of this kind of policing – of genders, of bodies, of behavior, of smoking, of the morality of health – without equating them?

These aren’t all the questions. Not all of these questions are always asked, or even relevant. Most of them never get answered. Sometimes when they are I wish they hadn’t been.

I am very grateful for the honesty, earnestness, depth and complexity that Max brought to our interview. I won’t soon forget it.

We’re all freaks here: Queer community, punk identity & cigarettes

We’re all freaks here: Queer community, punk identity & cigarettes

We're all freaks here. ('Identity', X-Ray Spex)

Today I’m interviewing Tabatha, a young woman in her 20s with a cloud of curly red-tinted hair, who wears a jacket and skirt with combat boots and a septum ring. Her nails are painted in elaborate two-tone patterns, and her voice is low and husky. Tabatha identifies strongly with the Bay Area punk community, describing the punk ethos as come-as-you-are, a place for “freaks.” “We’re all freaks here,” she says.

Tabatha also identifies as: queer, sexually compatible with all genders but homoromantic, femme, cis, and a woman of color. She describes herself as “white passing” and says that she is privy to racist conversations among white people who assume that she is white. Similarly, she says that she is not perceived as queer as often as women who look more butch; she “passes” as straight, and finds herself reminding straight people that they’re talking to someone queer.

In the queer community, though, she says being femme can be hard to navigate. She’s in a double bind where she’s seen as not-really-femme if she makes the first move to initiate a relationship — yet since she is also seen as not-really-queer, other women don’t make the first move either. In that context, passing as an insider can leave her caught between worlds.

Tabatha started smoking when she was 12. She likes the aesthetics of cigarettes, and says that the smokers of her 12-year-old imagination were artists, writers, musicians and thinkers. Romantic outsiders, people who did not expect to live long. She says she did not expect to live long either. Continue reading

  • 1
  • 2