essays, identity politics

Things I, as a white sex educator, do to foster inclusivity in this community

On Facebook recently, Mollena asked: “White ‪#‎SexualityEducators‬: what are you doing to actively foster inclusivity? Diversify your audience? Support your Peers of Color?” [link.] I’ve been writing and writing and thinking about all of the things I’ve been reading and digesting around #blacklivesmatter and race and inclusion, and this question got me thinking hard, and answering with some clarity, and identifying some places I need to keep working.

1. Read, read, read.

And listen. And pay attention. And shut up. And witness. And try to learn, and unlearn.

2. Pay attention to whose voices I amplify.

I have a small reach, a small field of folks who read what I share, and I pay attention to what I put into that sphere and recommend. When I don’t pay attention, I tend to stay within my white privilege bubble and retweet, link to, and recommend other white folks. This is not because people of color are not saying things that are relevant to me (and to you all) or that they are not brilliant—because duh, they are. Rather, I think I do this because of my personal (and often invisible to me) bias of whiteness. It takes conscious work for me to not default to whiteness, but I want to change that. So I pay attention to who I share and follow and who I surround myself with.

3. Decline to participate in (unconsciously) all-white spaces and events and publications and projects.

To be fair, I’ve only declined a few times, and this is something I’m working on improving. I don’t always think to ask who else is in the book or on the panel before I say yes, especially if it’s something I know of and admire. But recently, a sex education book came out with twenty photos of the white faces of contributors on the back, and Aida Mandulay called it out and WOC Sexual Health Network followed up, it is incredible to me that nobody noticed that before publication, or that if they did, nobody worked to change it. However, I am sure I have been in anthologies that were all-white, but since most of my publications are erotica, photos of the authors are included very rarely. And the sexuality education field is incredibly dominated by white folks (because most fields are, because racism). Personally, I have noticed often recently that many of my small group collaborations are all-white, and I need to think about that more (and to keep noticing that most of my communities are white, and work on the underlying issues of why that is).

4. I pay attention to the language I use.

As a genderqueer non-binary person and a feminist queer, I know how much language matters. I pay deep attention when someone talks about racist language—mine or others—and I do my best to pay attention to the words I use, their origins, and their uses.

a) I love reclaimed language, but when there are words that have been used against a minoritized group, I recognize that I don’t have a claim to use them. I can reclaim words that have been used against me. As such, there are certain words I just don’t use, whose histories are too controversial, and whose communities I respect.

b) There are a lot of words that have snuck into our language which have oppressive and racially-based origins, and often I’ve just never thought about it or made the connection. Recently, with the protests in Oakland and Berkeley, my neighbors and I have watched a lot of the live feeds, and have seen the police show up with “paddy wagons,” and then we all had a brief chat about how that is a derogatory slur referring to Irish folks, and tried to figure out what else to call them instead. And when I hear folks use the word “gypped” to refer to being ripped off (which happens more often than I’d expect) I remind them that comes from the oppression of Roma people. Often, people reply with things like, “Oh yeah, right, I never really thought of that …”

c) Know the words I use and where they come from. The queer reading series I co-hosted and -produced with the late Cheryl B from 2010-2011 was called “Sideshow,” and once, a colleague pointed out that the “sideshow” has a pretty terrible history of showing off the “freaks,” and that they wouldn’t be participating. I liked the feel of it at the time, but I wouldn’t use that word again on a project. Especially because I recognize that as an able-bodied and generally mentally well person, it is not my word to reclaim (see 4A), it is my word to respect and stop using (see 4B). See also: Strange Fruit PR Firm [Changes Their Name] After Getting a History Lesson From Twitter.

d) Very deeply engrained in the english language is the dark/light dualistic binary and the use of the concepts of “shadow” and “dark” for bad, unknown, dangerous, and uncharted territory, and of “light” as all things good and holy. I would guess these concepts have more to do with the human psyche than race—however, when used in a racist culture, they reinforce racism subtly and intrinsically. I want to know more about this and do a bit more research on language and archetypes. Meanwhile, though, I am doing my best to avoid the dark/light dualism to stand in for bad/good, particularly when there are thousands of other more thoughtful and interesting metaphors to use.

Language is always changing, and I try to stay flexible in my relationships with words, even if I happen to love them (or have used or over-used them in the past, see 4D). Recently I’ve been discussing the usage of “minoritized” instead of “minority,” for example (still working on that distinction and curious about the reasonings). I’m curious how language changes and moves, how it both reflects and changes culture. This is some of my favorite language-nerdy stuff.

5. I call myself on my privileges.

When I talk about identities as concepts, and my own concepts, I don’t just give my marginalized positions (like queer, kinky, genderqueer, working class, survivor) but I also share the areas where I have privilege and am working to have more awareness (like white, able bodied, american, college educated).

6. When I’m up in front of a group or workshop, I listen when someone challenges my positions, and I call participants out.

I particularly listen when someone challenges me in areas where I am less expertise or have privilege and am less aware of how those oppressive dynamics work. I don’t always know I try to notice it when someone says something that expresses a bias or privilege, and to say something, to call them on it. That’s pretty hard for me and I’m not perfect at it, and I often freeze up or get caught in holding the space of the workshop, and I can’t think of what to say. So I’ve taken to at least saying exactly that: “I heard you just say ___ and I can’t really think of what to say, but I think you have some bias there.” Then I try to move on.

7. I call out (or call in) when I see something.

I do call out when someone I know and feel some closeness with has done something I think has some overlooked bias in it, but I mostly do that privately and offline. I don’t spend much time calling out in the general conversations online, or chiming in when someone else has been called out. I sometimes fear that I should and have some guilt that I should participate in that more, but I also know how I am deeply introverted and more witness is better than more conversations for my energetic ability. I witness other’s calling out constantly and I read read read and listen and try to learn what went wrong, what was going on, and to apply that to my own work. With some folks I’m close to, we have spent a lot of time digesting and thinking about the project and how to do better in the future. See also: Calling In: A Less Disposable Way of Holding Each Other Accountable.

8. When I fuck up, I apologize, listen, fix it (if I can), and do better next time.

There’s a fine balance: I am trying to recognize that we’re all human (including me) and I fuck up sometimes, but not to dwell in the fucking up so much that it makes me paralyzed to keep trying, and to still do the best I can to make up for, apologize for, and understand for my mistakes. I am a creator and I want to make art and writing that reflects culture and my inner world, and a huge piece of that is my desire to make it better through social activism. And because I am making things, not just witnessing and critiquing, I have messed up before and I will mess up again. I am doing my best to be okay with that inevitability, and to know that messing up is a necessary part of the process of trying and improving. I have strategies to both protect myself (and my highly sensitive person / high reactive / intuitive empathetic poet self) but also to listen, learn, back up, integrate changes, apologize, and move forward.

I’m sure there’s more I could do.

I am always pondering the ‘more’ of activism and the new, previously unknown parts of my own privilege to which I am still blind. But for now, this is what I’m doing, and I see a lot of room for growth in just what I’ve laid out here and what I’m already doing.

It’s been very interesting to reflect on what I am doing, actually. Reading the original thread on Mollena’s Facebook page gave me lots of ideas and more insight into how I engage the way I do, and what is good for my particular personality and skills. I’d love to hear what you all are doing, too, if you feel like sharing.

Published by Sinclair Sexsmith

Sinclair Sexsmith (they/them) is "the best-known butch erotica writer whose kinky, groundbreaking stories have turned on countless queers" (AfterEllen), who "is in all the books, wins all the awards, speaks at all the panels and readings, knows all the stuff, and writes for all the places" (Autostraddle). ​Their short story collection, Sweet & Rough: Queer Kink Erotica, was a 2016 finalist for a Lambda Literary Award, and they are the current editor of the Best Lesbian Erotica series. They identify as a white non-binary butch dominant, a survivor, and an introvert, and they live outside Seattle as an uninvited settler on traditional, ancestral, & unceded Snoqualmie land.

10 thoughts on “Things I, as a white sex educator, do to foster inclusivity in this community”

  1. Claire says:

    What a beautifully written reminder to check in with, examine, and challenge individual privilege in all assets of life. As complicated as examining this portion of how we interact with the world can be, I think ultimately it helps us on our path to becoming much more compassionate to one another. Great post!

    1. Sinclair says:

      Thanks Claire. Been thinking about this stuff a whole lot lately, in lots of areas of my work. Glad some of my thoughts are useful.

  2. Lynn says:

    What a great post! Sinclair, I do appreciate your dirty stories (I really, really do ;-) but what drew me to Sugarbutch was your work as an educator. I appreciate the thought and integrity which you put into your writing and this post is a great example of that. I think point #1 is a great mantra to use whenever someone has the privilege of working with other people. Thank you!

  3. Bex says:

    Some really powerful things here to think about. In particular I really appreciate the part about dark/light as metaphors for bad/good. And I think it has some implications in gender as well, since traditionally in many prominent cultures, the darkness is considered feminine and the light masculine. I’ll be thinking on that point in particular quite extensively in the coming days…

  4. Quinn says:

    Thank you so much for this. I’ve recently been realizing how lacking I am in my understanding of some of these issues. Going back to #1, I’m wondering if you have any suggestions for good introductory books to read.

    1. Emme says:

      I think you should check out this book by a professor of anthropology named Audrey Smedley called ‘Race in North America: Origin and Evolution of a Worldview’. She REALLY breaks down the history of race and racism, the differences between the different racial systems that exist in the world, and why racism in North America and apartheid South Africa were and are PARTICULARLY distinct from the other forms of white supremacy and anti-blackness that we see across the globe. Some other good books are: Eduardo Bonilla Silva’s VERY PRESCIENT book, ‘Racism Without Racists: Color-Blind Racism and the Persistence of Racial Inequality in the United States’; ‘Living Color: The biological and social meaning of skin color’ by Nina G. Jablonski an anthropologist and palaeobiologist, known for her research into the evolution of skin color in humans; ‘White Race Discourse: Preserving Racial Privilege in a Post-Racial Society’ by John D. Foster; and ‘Two-Faced Racism: Whites in the Backstage and Frontstage’ by Leslie Houts Picca, Joe R. Feagin.

  5. Emme says:

    This is interesting. I’m a black femme and I’ve been reading your website for years and I don’t ever think I’ve seen you directly address race and racism in such an in-depth and direct way before. I really appreciate what you had to say about the dark/light dichotomy, which is part and parcel of colorism. Its something really annoying that I notice white people tend to do a lot. I feel that dichotomy particularly negatively affects me as a black woman because on a subconscious AND conscious level we’re all beaten over the head with the idea that “light skin” = “feminine” and “dark skin” = “masculine”/ “hyper-masculine”. And “femininity” = “beauty.” Thanks to the racial hierarchy we’re considered to be “opposite races” that are literally in opposition to each other. SMH. Anyway, I say all this to say that feel that speaking openly about race, white supremacy, colorism, and black womanhood forces people to engage the notions of womanhood and feminism in a more nuanced and intersectional ways.

    Because of racism and colorism, black women are seen as “sapphires”/ “angry black women”/ “strong black women” who are impossible to harm or victimize, fall in love with, and find attractive let alone have functional and happy marriages with. Womanhood and even girlhood OFTEN don’t mean the same thing to black women that it means to white women – white women want to be viewed as MORE then wives and mothers, while I’m fighting for black women like myself to be viewed as valid wives and mothers IN ADDITION to all the other things we are. I still feel that way as a lesbian. I want all black women and girls of all shades to be seen as beautiful, feminine, and worthy of protection. And I want our marriages and our motherhood to be respected. When the time comes, one of the first things I want to be known as is good a wife and a good mother to my babies. [Mind you, not everybody’s children like a mammy, but my OWN black children.] Both racism and colorism work to privilege white and light skin and Eurocentric phenotypical features, and then we all need to work to deprogram ourselves and others. We’ve literally been brainwashed.

    1. Nestor Notabilis says:

      One of the things I found interesting when I was researching West African history (modern day Benin mostly) was the different view of light/dark. You might find it interesting too-

      In terms of skin tone there was a similarity to Europeans of the same period: a tan meant you did manual work and so weren’t as wealthy (I’ve found no suggestion that it *therefore* meant you were less attractive though, especially when hard work seems to have been highly valued in all genders there). But in terms of what was holy it is/was radically different to the Abrahamic. The creator/High God is a dualistic being, with the male half being associated with the sun and lightness precisely *because* he is hyper-masculine. The sun, aggressiveness, anger and paternal authority linked there in a way that made lightness masculine. In contrast the female half was seen as nurturing, caring, giving and associated with the night, darkness.

      Whether or how you see that as relevant to you I don’t know. I’m not American, I’m not black. The time I’ve spent looking at blogs that discuss race and racism has mostly left me with the impression that race and racism in America is markedly different to race and racism in (most of) the Old World. One of the images of women in West African culture (historical, religious, modern literature too-) that I keep seeing again and again is of motherhood: of women being celebrated as mothers, for supporting, educating and improving their children. It’s often wrapped up with the image of women as breadwinners, sometimes explicitly but mostly implicitly ie these women are good mothers because they can support their children even without their husbands. (In some cultures their husbands could be male or female and it saddens me that colonialism made many of these cultures less accepting) I guess what I’m trying to say is I think it’s sad that’s been taken from you or reduced or that it isn’t a common image in your country. It’s one of the most powerful imaginings of women I’ve seen in any traditional context because it expects them to have agency, drive and power.

  6. Emme says:

    Oh and if you haven’t checked this out already, this is a pretty good article I read about racism on Everyday Feminism:

    And here are a couple of articles that help articulate what I’ve been referencing with the particular anti-black misogyny that black women face:

    A)“Hit it and Quit It: Responses to Black Girls’ Victimization in School” option=com_content&view=article&id=1664:blackgirlsvictimization&catid=72&Itemid=215&showall=&limitstart=5

    B)”‘Defend Black Women & Die’: Racial Terrorism, Misogyny & Pregnant Silences”

    C)”Race, Gender, and the School to Prison Pipeline: Expanding our discussion to include Black girls”

    D) “The Persistent Problem of Colorism: Skin Tone, Status, and Inequality”

  7. Tie says:

    Hey another black femme here. I have been reading your site for years and I respect your work and love your dirty stories. Part of my respect comes from your introspection and growth. It’s very brave to evolve consistently gracefully and transparently. I am not use to any recognition or inclusion of black femmes in queer white spaces particularly when any bdsm/kink is in said space. This was heartening. Thank you.

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