(VLS8c) Violence and Society III: Violence and discrimination

It can be argued that victim experience has re-emerged to enhance how we understand violent and/or victimizing events and our responses to them. In this session we seek papers that examine violence and aggression in all forms, from varied perspectives including, but not limited to, those of the victim(s), the offender(s), witnesses, the social context(s) in which violence occurs, reactions to norm violations from both formal (governments, police, courts, etc.) and informal systems, recovery and resilience, and prevention. Papers in this session are featured from multiple disciplines that examine harms and their effects, including papers that seek to re-imagine alternatives to how we identify and respond to violence. Tags: Violence

Organizers: Hannah Scott, Ontario Tech University, Michael Marcel, University of Victoria

Presentations

Tori Dudys, University of Ottawa

Uglification: Embracing "the ugly" as a vehicle for healing

Nickolas Hrynyk notes in the previous abstract that internalized queerphobia is deeply rooted in internalized discourses of ugliness. Given centuries of ableism, racism, colonialism, queerphobia, transphobia, and sexism, that which is deemed ugly is conflated with disability, racialization, gender nonconformity, and femininity. And we are aware that both queer and cishet people enact violence on the most marginalized queers because of these cultural evaluations of “ugly.” Drawing from feminist, disability, and critical race studies scholars’ theorizations of the transformative power of ugly (Mingus 2011; Howard 2018; Henry 2020), I posit that divesting in beauty and embracing “the ugly” can be one way in which the queer community can begin to heal and doing so could be a path towards reducing violence in the physical sense and the anticipatory sense. This is not to say that radical shifts in legal, economic, medical, and educational realms are not needed. They are desperately needed. For the purpose of this paper, however, I concern myself with potential interpersonal and intrapersonal transformation that embracing the “magnificence” of ugly can and does offer (Mingus 2011). Some aesthetics scholars note the potential that ugliness has to elicit progress because of its fluidity, as opposed to the fixed state of beauty, typically viewed in contrast to ugliness (e.g. Eco 2007). However, scholars within different critical fields of study argue for the importance of recognizing the value in ugliness for ugliness’ sake. Critical disability activist and scholar Mia Mingus (2011), does some of this transformational thinking. She explains that a turn towards the ugly can help shed the confines that queerphobic settler colonialism has placed on colonized communities and tries to remove the stigma from ugliness by equating it with “magnificence.” The concept is that our (supposed) ugly feelings (e.g. anger) (see Ngai 2005), ugly bodies (e.g. scares, cellulite, fat) (see Ward 2020), ugly thoughts (e.g. resentment) (see Halberstam 1993), and so on, are positive in their own right, not simply transformational because they spark “beautiful” potentials. With roots in ableism, racism, and queerphobia, the concept of ugliness (and its many related terms) must be studied through a decolonial and anti-oppressive lens. To argue for a “turn to the ugly” as a means of healing from queer violence, I put two works in conversation with each other, Yetta Howard’s (2018) book Ugly Differences: Queer Female Sexuality in the Underground and Alvin J. Henry’s (2020) monograph Black Queer Flesh: Rejecting Subjectivity in the African American Novel. These texts shed light on how turning towards the ugly might help to strip away colonial (and queerphobic) subjectivity to leave room for a rebuilding of the self. Howard and Henry similarly argue for the stripping of one’s subjectivity in order to heal from colonial, queerphobic, and patriarchal violence. Doing so allows one to reformulate the self outside of settler colonial constructs: patriarchy, queerphobia, racism, sexism. Through the use of art analysis (novels, poetry, and film), Howard and Henry develop theories for a deconstruction of self, one that might be harnessed on a practical level by queer people, Black people, and other marginalized individuals. Returning to Alok Vaid-Menon (see Orr and Mastrorillo’s abstract), Vaid-Menon (in Calahan and Zachary 2021) notes that “My beauty will still be here when I’m gone.” Vaid-Menon’s beauty is absolutely legendary and will continue to inspire people long after they are gone. I also wonder if all the possible generative ugly legacies that maybe all of us leave behind should be honoured as well. As the concluding presentation of a panel on (anticipating) violence and queerphobic violence, both past and present, this paper ultimately raises a discussion about how theoretical contributions to the topic of ugliness might be used to reframe the way queer people navigate healing from different forms of (internalized) oppression.

Bidushy Sadika, Western University

Exploring the Landscape of Hate: An Intersectional Analysis of Experiences in Ontario

Hate-motivated crimes targeting individuals based on attributes such as religion, sexual orientation, race, or ethnicity have witnessed a notable increase, as highlighted by recent observations in Ontario (Province of Ontario, 2022). The Mosaic Institute—a non-profit organization advocating for those facing prejudice—partnered with the Network for Economic and Social Trends (NEST) at Western University to conduct a comprehensive study of hate, supported by funding from the Province of Ontario. The primary aim of the study was to gain an in-depth understanding of hate experiences in Ontario, with a specific focus on intersectional identities. Between April and May 2023, an online survey was administered to 3,035 adults who lived in Ontario for the past 3 years. The survey was available in English and French and facilitated the collection and analysis of both quantitative and qualitative data. Participants were recruited through the Leger Opinion Panel, and census data was used to ensure that the sample was broadly representative of the Ontario population in terms of age and gender. Respondents commonly defined hate as negative attitudes or behaviors, bias, prejudice, discrimination, intolerance, harm, rejection of equality, and a complex phenomenon. Origins and influences of hate included factors like a lack of empathy, fear, greed, patriarchy, envy, social hierarchies, and economic stress. The majority of participants agreed with the Ontario Human Rights Codes definition of hate crime but suggested expanding it to non-criminal acts and including additional target groups. Findings indicated that 65% of Ontarians experienced hate in the past 3 years, with mocking/belittlement and verbal threat/abuse being prevalent. Impact-wise, respondents reported feeling angry, alienated, anxious, targeted, and experiencing low self-esteem from the hate they experienced. Respondents reported that they had been targeted due to their race, ethnicity, age, physical appearance, gender, religion, and beliefs about social/political issues. Many participants clarified that their experiences of hatred did not involve any legal violations. Hate incidents were typically instigated by an individual, often a stranger, but often it was by someone known as an acquaintance or colleague. Additionally, it was noted that these instances of hate were not observed by any bystanders. Coping strategies included self-care, focusing on strengths, avoiding triggering situations, suppressing emotions, and withdrawing from familiar places. Subsequent analyses were conducted to explore the variations in respondents’ experiences of hate across different demographic categories, such as age, gender, sexual orientation, race, and religion. Recommendations were provided on how researchers and stakeholders can use the results of this study—including the disaggregated, publicly accessible dataset—to address and dismantle hate in Ontario. This study aligns with the conference theme, "Challenging Hate: Sustaining Shared Futures," as it adopts an intersectionality perspective to investigate how individuals encountered hate in diverse settings, stemming from various causes and manifesting in different forms. The insights from the study findings offer valuable knowledge, enabling the formulation of recommendations for multiple sectors. These recommendations aim to nurture shared futures for individuals across diverse groups. In particular, this research aligns with the session, "Violence and Society" by highlighting how Ontarians from diverse groups experience victimization through various types of hate incidents and hate crimes. It also identifies the perpetrators of hate and examines the support mechanisms for Ontarians in place. The study sheds light on the occurrence of such incidents in diverse social contexts and explores how individuals cope with and build resilience against such experiences.

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Non-presenting authors: Rachel Mansell, Mosaic Institute; Cornel Grey, Western University; Kaitlynn Mendes, Western University; Mohammad Jawad Zawulistani, Western University; Caden Reyes, Western University; Heather Martin, Huron University College

Celeste Orr, University of New Brunswick; Alessia Mastrorillo, University of Ottawa

Re/defining violence: Anticipating discriminatory violence as violence

Alok Vaid-Menon (2020, 16), a trans non-binary person of colour, writes, “I still cannot go outside without being afraid for my safety.” Marginalized people fear and expect violence, often daily. This prompts us to ask, is anticipating violence violence in and of itself? Violence is tricky to define because, in part, it relies on a perceived expert to tell us the “truth” of violence: what violence looks like, how it manifests, what can be classified as violent. Typically, violence is defined in very rigid ways, namely physical (e.g. a punch). Given the usual narrow definition of violence as physical, and the oppressive power relations involved in who has the authority to deem something violent or not, scholars have long sought to broaden definitions of violence to name ignored forms of violence that marginalized people experience as violence: sexual violence against women, specifically women of colour (Hamad 2020); representational violence (hooks 1996); curative violence (Kim 2017); epistemological violence (Namaste 2009). These forms of violence are not always understood as such because they “do not map onto prototypical exemplars” (Hamby 2017, 167) and because they involve marginalized people who are overwhelmingly discredited as hyperbolic. Building on the work of the violence and trauma studies scholars (Westengard 2019; Root 1992; Brown 1991), critical race studies scholars (Washington 2021; Hamad 2020; hooks 1996), as well as feminist, gender, and queer theorists (Halberstam 1996; Berlant and Freeman 1992), we argue that anticipating discriminatory violence is violence in and of itself. To do so, we contest two commonly held assumptions about violence that are often reproduced in scholarly works (see Hamby 2017) and by organizations (see World Health Organization 2014). First, we question the idea that violence is intentional. The idea that violence needs to be intentional is a long-held myth that functions to deny various forms violence and absolve people who have enacted violence. Combatting the idea that violence needs to be intentional, the phrase “intent doesn’t equal impact” has gained traction (Utt 2013). Second, we challenge the idea that violence requires a clear perpetrator. Systems of oppression and discriminatory ideologies are violent and enact violence, but there often is no clear perpetrator (Dill and Zambrana 2009). When we are preoccupied with claiming that violence involves an intentional actor, we neglect to attend to the ways in which oppressive ideologies, systems, and discourses structure culturally devalued people’s daily lives and experiences of anticipating and experiencing violence. This line of argumentation is in part a response to psychiatric theories of trauma and violence (Freud 1895; Janet 1984; LaCapra 1994; Caruth 1996) that rely heavily on isolated events to locate the source of a subject’s injury. More contemporary work from trauma studies, decolonial studies, and critical disability studies, argue that violence, or the threat of violence, is bound up in the everyday lives of minoritarian subjects. Living under our current Western capitalist cisheteropatriarchal regime renders the “everyday,” rather than singular events done onto individual people, as a site of trauma and violence. We are interested in turning toward the intimate and unspoken yet quotidian dimensions of violence to render systemic oppression visible and to denaturalize the demonization of marginalized people under systemic oppression. This framework for reconceptualizing what “counts” as violence creates space to move beyond violence in its most traditional forms: the punch, the slur, the denial. Turning towards the anticipation of violence invites us to see violence, for marginalized populations, as a “structural underpinning of life itself” (Matties-Boon 2018). Anticipating violence is the logical consequence of insidious violence, insidious trauma, and living under systems of oppression that devalue people. When a group of marginalized people collectively anticipate violence and develop a geography of fear (Lawson 2007) – women/girls expecting violence from men/boys; 2SLGBTQI+ people expecting violence from cishet people; racialized people expecting violence white people; colonized people expecting violence from colonists – it is clear violence has already happened. The very act of anticipating discriminatory violence reveals violence is happening all around us and in the most innocuous ways. This paper is part of a broader panel that reconceptualizes anticipations of queerphobic violence, both past and present, as inherently violent phenomena that shapes queer ontologies and queer desires.

Nicholas Hrynyk, Thompson Rivers University

Genealogies of queer fear in activist periodicals: Examining internalized queerphobia

Danny Cockerline never thought to anticipate queerphobic violence in Toronto’s ever-flourishing queer community in 1984. As a man who enjoyed wearing eyeliner to the gay bar, Cockerline found out the hard way that such transgressions of gender were not appreciated by some at the Toronto bar, Cornelius. Cockerline was evicted from Cornelius and (understandably) complained of his eviction to readers of The Body Politic, then Canada’s largest lesbian and gay newspaper (The Body Politic 1985). Cornelius, despite being a gay bar, apparently enforced a strict dress code that centered on cisheteronormative (cishet) ideas of gender performance. Cockerline challenged that dress code. Beginning with internalized queerphobia and extending the politics of desire to race, dis/ability, class, gender, and sex, I explore the ways in which queerphobic violence within the queer community is part of a broader historical legacy. It traces a relatively recent history of queerphobic violence, anticipations of violence, and knowledge of violence as it has shaped queer self-preservation and self-protection and notions of sexual “deviancy” within 1970s and 1980s queer Toronto. I argue that instances of (anticipating) queerphobic violence are rooted in debates about the tenuous nature of queer desire, a culmination of moral panic around disease and death, a conservative backlash against the social(ist) and political activism of the 1970s and 1980s, and growing economic uncertainty spurred by a recession (Kinsman and Gentile 2010; Adams 1997; Kinsman 1996; Robinson and Kimmel 1994). These forces led queer community stakeholders to regulate and police gender, sexuality, dis/ability, and “deviancy” in new ways. Against the backdrop of institutionalized queerphobic violence, violence has been, at times, replicated by queer people themselves because of their own anticipation of violence (Machado 2019). It should come as no surprise as to why queer people anticipate violence, why anticipated violence haunts their daily lives. Not only were queer people navigating this institutionalized queerphobia and fearing the consequences, but they were also acutely aware that their cishet peers, parents, grandparents, and even great-grandparents were taught that homosexuality and queerness was a sin, a sickness, a dirty way to live, and rationale for physical, emotional, financial, and social violence (Shahani 2013). Using historical analyses of activist periodicals, along with primary documents from racialized and queer people with disabilities, I connect contemporary examples of violence within the queer community to historical debates around the objective of queer rights and organizing in the 1970s and 1980s. Evidence within The Body Politic reveals the ways in which queer communities were policed by queer folks themselves, some of whom were trying to cling to some sense of control in a landscape that was full of pain, trauma, and turmoil as a result of state-sanctioned violence and the HIV/AIDS epidemic (Hrynyk 2022). Concerns around internalized queerphobia have been evident since formal gay liberationist organizing in the 1970s and has since become the focus of numerous studies on queer mental health, cultural attitudes towards gender performance and desirability, as well as the political agendas of queer organization (Namaste 2000). However, internalized queerphobia – and, in turn, internalized discourses of disability and ugliness – has also led to other forms of queerphobic discrimination, such as transphobia, interphobia, fatphobia, racism, ageism, and ableism to manifest within the community. For example, the silencing of Black people’s voices is not a new phenomenon and many white gay male activists in the 1970s and 1980s endorsed a neoliberal understanding of sexual desire that negated concerns of racism and ableism in the name of “sexual liberation.” This paper is part of a larger panel that proposes to offer nuanced insights into the historical legacies, discrimination, and violence prevalent in queer spaces. It presents a comprehensive exploration of the challenges faced by queer communities, bridging the gap between historical contexts, contemporary issues, and theoretical concerns. In doing so, this paper—and by extension our panel—prompts a critical reflection on the dynamics that have shaped and continue to shape the queer community, fostering a deeper understanding of its complex history and ongoing struggles