As political attacks intensify, a gender studies professor describes the growing surveillance, censorship and intimidation reshaping what happens inside her classroom.
I want to be obsolete. I want to go into a classroom full of friendly faces, excited to learn feminist histories.
I want to say: Can you believe there was a time when we had a two-term, twice impeached president who was found guilty of sexual assault by a jury of nine, six of whom were men? A president who had been credibly accused of sexual harassment or assault by at least 40 women and girls? A president who appeared in the files of an infamous pedophile and sex trafficker 5,300 times, including a reference to the sexual assault of a teenager? A president who called women journalists “piggy,” “ugly both inside and out,” “a maggot” and “stupid?” There was actually a time when the president appointed Cabinet members, advisers and even Supreme Court justices who had all been credibly accused of sexual assault. Can you believe that this used to be our reality?
Unfortunately, I do not start any of my Gender, Women & Sexuality Studies (GWSS) classes sharing this highly abbreviated list.
Rather, I welcome students, tend to first-day logistics while quietly assessing students’ body language. I casually scan the room for defiant scowls or recording phones. I try not to be distracted by the reality that someone may be there with the sole goal of undermining my authority and reporting me (again) to the manosphere. I work to establish my expertise and qualifications in ways men are not constantly forced to, reminding the students they are about to begin 10 weeks of learning about well-researched, well-documented feminist histories. And I remain aware that I at least have white, cis privileges, which many of my colleagues do not.
Teaching about marginalized communities, especially using a feminist anti-racist lens, now feels dangerous. We risk being placed on watchlists created by men who are threatened by our ability to explain the way patriarchy regulates our students’ lives. Our books are banned, which may prevent students from understanding that gender power arrangements are learned, thus patriarchy is dismantlable. We fear being doxxed and stalked by students who are unhappy with the events we organize, the communities we support or the material we assign.
I suspect I am not the only professor who never anticipated being afraid to walk into a classroom and teach a class. For decades, I have researched and taught the histories of U.S.-backed Latin American dictatorships, infamous for targeting students and intellectuals. I know that history, and it used to be just that: history. Today, it is reality—and it is truly terrifying.
For many of us, we weather the intimidation by watching our students’ passion-driven learning. Our students are explicitly grateful to learn their histories and feel seen. So many of our students navigate transphobia, xenophobia, white supremacy, misogyny and more on the daily, all of which have increased exponentially under this administration. Our course content and assignments tell these targeted students: You matter. Unfortunately, the actions and policies put in place by the current administration impede the goals of marginalized students discovering their agency, voice and literal majority status.
I have always known that GWSS matters, but honestly, I wish our work didn’t feel so urgent. This past quarter, I taught two classes that do exactly what those who shutter programs like Texas A&M’s fear most. In one, I teach about feminist, gender and queer social movements. In addition to learning activist histories, students acquire the skills to research and publicly document other marginalized histories.
In my other class, students learn via the power of feminist writing that their voices matter. Every text they read and every guest that comes to class validates their rage at being denied full bodily autonomy and emotional security. They learn that their pain and trauma are the result of structural factors that made them vulnerable, that it wasn’t caused by a bad decision on their part. They hear, often for the first time: I believe you, it wasn’t your fault, and you deserve to be enraged.
Part of me didn’t want to write this piece. I don’t want to draw any more attention to GWSS professors who are already feeling surveilled. But I also don’t want to preemptively capitulate like so many other institutions have done in the face of litigious bullies. I am proud of my students’ work: their publications; their research; and their voices.
Authoritarian regimes are afraid of GWSS because we teach that gender is not biological, and thus patriarchy and misogyny are learned structures, not scientific facts. Anything that is learned can be unlearned. GWSS teaches students they deserve to live their true, autonomous selves. Anyone who wants to take that right from them, via silencing their professors, is telling the students: You are not entitled to exist.
As a GWSS professor, I categorically reject this campaign to erase our curriculum and thus our students. I will continue to show The Librarians and teach about banned books. I will continue to assign Brittney Cooper’s Eloquent Rage so my BIPOC women students can also find their superpower as writers, activists or future professors. I will continue to use the Act Up Oral History Project as a model of feminist knowledge production for their own research. I will continue to assign Saving Five by Amanda Nguyen, so students know sexual assault survivors are not just victims but badass heroes. And I will continue to invite them to make their scholarship open access so we can fight against the erasure of GWSS curriculum in real time.
I would rather be obsolete. I would prefer we all raise a glass and say, Our work here is done. Unfortunately, the unrelenting attacks against scholars like me suggest the exact opposite is true.
Ms. Classroom wants to hear from educators and students being impacted by legislation attacking public education, higher education, gender, race and sexuality studies, activism and social justice in education, and diversity, equity and inclusion programs. Cue: a new series from Ms., ‘Banned! Voices from the Classroom.’ Submit pitches and/or op-eds and reflections (between 500-800 words) to Ms. contributing editor Aviva Dove-Viebahn at adove-viebahn@msmagazine.com. Posts will be accepted on a rolling basis.
