The GOP’s latest tactic for targeting trans kids
No images? Click here ![]() March 11, 2022 Bonjour Meteor readers! I am feeling mildly upbeat today—despite, you know, everything—thanks to the good folks at The Dan Lebatard Show, who literally created an entire musical about the Super Bowl. I had my doubts at first, but the whole soundtrack is Rock of Ages meets Chicago meets Rent. Give it a spin, and thank me later for the serotonin boost. And it’s a boost you will appreciate after today’s newsletter, which is a deep dive into the anti-trans legislation in Texas and how Republicans are using the bogeyman of forced sterilization to defend their stance. If you thought you were mad about it before, just wait until you get the full context from historians Dr. Lauren Jae Gutterman and Dr. Gillian Frank. But first, let’s check in on the news. —Shannon Melero ![]() WHAT'S GOING ON
![]() KETANJI BROWN JACKSON, BOOKED, BLESSED, AND UNBOTHERED (PHOTO BY ANNA MONEYMAKER VIA GETTY IMAGES)
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![]() THE FIGHT FOR TRANS LIVESThe Reproductive Ideology Behind Texas’s Attack On Trans KidsKen Paxton is abusing the history of forced sterilizationBY LAUREN JAE GUTTERMAN AND GILLIAN FRANK ![]() KEN PAXTON, TERRORIZER OF CHILDREN. (PHOTO BY DREW ANGERER VIA GETTY IMAGES) Over the past few weeks, the nation has witnessed an onslaught of attempts to ban gender-affirming treatment for minors. It’s been a competition to see who can go the furthest and be the cruelest: First, Texas Governor Greg Abbott directed the state’s child welfare agency to categorize gender-affirming care as “child abuse.” Then, lawmakers in the Idaho House voted to make such treatment a felony, with medical providers and parents looking at life in prison. And in Alabama, a similar bill, House Bill 266, would also force teachers and school counselors to out trans students to their parents. It’s all horrific. But as historians of sexuality, we are especially disturbed by lawmakers’ repeated invocation of the ugly history of forced sterilization to justify their anti-trans campaigns. It’s an attempt to cloak their cruelty in pseudo-feminist language—and it’s completely disingenuous. The forced sterilization connection was made most explicit by indicted Texas Attorney General Ken Paxton in his statement against gender-affirming care for minors. “Historically weaponized against minorities, sterilization procedures have harmed many vulnerable populations, such as African Americans, female minors, the disabled, and others,” Paxton’s opinion reads. Then he delivers the ideological punchline, poached from the language of the reproductive justice movement: “These violations,” he claims, “have been found to infringe upon the fundamental human right to procreate.”
Contrary to Paxton’s argument, irreversible surgical procedures are rarely, if ever, performed on youth under age 18. And the other, much more common gender-affirming medical treatments that these bans criminalize—such as puberty-blocking drugs and hormonal therapy—do not cause sterilization. They are also supported by the leading medical associations in the United States and proven to lower teens’ risk of suicide and depression. In the arguments lawmakers have made against trans kids’ participation in sports, legislators have demonized trans girls in particular, alleging that they have an unfair advantage against their cisgender peers. Similar bans on trans student-athletes have been enacted in 10 other states. But when it comes to gender-affirming care, instead of portraying trans children as threatening, Republicans have cast them as victims of their caregivers and medical providers. And in order to do it, they’re appropriating reproductive justice language—even though the actual history of reproductive justice affirms, rather than denies, the right to bodily autonomy for all people. The predominantly Black and brown women activists who have been drawing attention to forced sterilization in the United States since the 1960s haven’t simply been fighting for the freedom to reproduce. Rather, they’ve been fighting for the freedom to determine their own reproductive lives—to govern their own bodies. As the Committee for Abortion Rights and Against Sterilization Abuse wrote in 1979, “Policies that restrict women’s right to have and raise children—through forced sterilization or the denial of adequate welfare benefits—are directly related to policies that compel women to have children, on the view that this is their primary human function. Both kinds of policies constitute reproduction control by the state.” ![]() READ THE SIGN, LIVE THE SIGN (PHOTO BY DREW ANGERER VIA GETTY IMAGES) In one well-known case of that era, Relf v. Weinberger (1974), the Southern Poverty Law Center filed suit on behalf of two Black sisters, Minnie Lee and Mary Alice Relf, aged 14 and 12, who had been sterilized at a federally-funded Family Planning Clinic in Montgomery, Alabama. The girls were operated on without their parents’ knowledge or consent; a nurse told their mother only that they were going to receive “some shots.” Minnie Lee, Mary Alice, and so many others were targeted for sterilization because state caseworkers and clinic staff deemed them, based on their race, class, and perceived mental ability, as undesirable citizens—“unfit.” It is galling that Texas Attorney General Paxton cites Relf v. Weinberger as a precedent for his attack on trans teens, claiming that trans-affirming health care is equivalent to the compulsory sterilization of uninformed minors. However, the invocation of this history misses the main lessons of Relf: the need for informed consent and reproductive choice. The plaintiffs in Relf were not opposed to sterilization as a whole. What they objected to was the authorization of “involuntary sterilizations, without statutory or constitutional justification,” at a moment when millions of Americans sought out sterilization as a form of birth control, and many women who begged doctors for the procedure were denied. Well into the 1970s, in fact, many physicians followed the “Rule of 120,” a recommendation of the American College of Obstetrics and Gynecology, which withheld sterilizations from women whose number of children multiplied by her age was less than 120. Whether the case was coerced or refused sterilizations, at issue was a question of bodily autonomy. So why is the Texas Attorney General deploying the language of sterilization, child protection, and reproductive freedom? Like Senate Bill 8, the state’s recent legislation banning abortion after six weeks of pregnancy, it’s all about making reproductive anatomy into social destiny; from this perspective, anything that threatens to medically interrupt procreation is viewed as harmful. In the name of making children one day have children, Republican leaders in Texas are willing to stomp on the health of trans kids and the reproductive freedom of abortion-seekers. Right now, trans youth and those who love them are rightly terrified; multiple families are under state investigation. Using the legacy of human rights abuses against the Relf sisters and so many others to justify these human rights abuses is simply unconscionable. As 11-year-old Austin trans activist Kai Shappley has told the Texas leaders behind these recent attacks, “Just stop.” ![]() PHOTO BY PATRICIA JANG Dr. Lauren Jae Gutterman is Associate Professor of American Studies, History, and Women's and Gender Studies at the University of Texas at Austin. She is the author of the award-winning book, Her Neighbor's Wife: A History of Lesbian Desire Within Marriage, and co-host of the Sexing History podcast. ![]() PHOTO BY MATT KWONG Dr. Gillian Frank is a historian of sexuality and religion and co-host of Sexing History, a podcast that explores how the history of sexuality shapes our present. He is currently at work on a manuscript called A Sacred Choice: Liberal Religion and the Struggle for Abortion Before Roe v Wade. ![]() BEFORE YOU GO“Carbon Footprint” Was Bullshit This Entire Time???BY JULIANNE ESCOBEDO SHEPHERD If you’ve ever wondered what your carbon footprint is, and how to reduce it, here’s some illuminating information that you may not already know. On this week’s edition of UNDISTRACTED, climate journalist Mary Annaïse Heglar told Brittany Packnett Cunningham that the idea of one’s individual “carbon footprint” is a big load of garbage invented by BP, the megalithic oil and gas corporation. More specifically, she explains: “BP created the concept of a carbon footprint to … shift the responsibility for the climate crisis to the consumer that they are selling the oil and gas to.” And when companies like BP calculate their own footprints, “they don’t count the oil they sell to everyone else…So their carbon footprint is so much bigger than they even take credit for.” I echo Ms. Heglar’s sentiment that this is “some real evil shit.” To hear it with your own ears, as well as learn more about how the West’s dependence on Russian oil helped make that genocidal oligarchy so powerful, listen here. You'll also learn about what you can do to keep the heat on the fossil fuel companies—and the governments who enable them. ![]() FOLLOW THE METEOR Thank you for reading The Meteor! Got this from a friend? Sign up for your own copy, sent Wednesdays and Saturdays.
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Sex tapes were never really about sex
No images? Click here ![]() March 9, 2022 Hello, precious Meteor readers. I hope you’re taking care of yourselves—don’t be like me and immediately decide to doomscroll when you can’t sleep at 4 a.m. (Do NOT do it!) Events both domestically and abroad are grim, and many of us are feeling helpless and stressed, but we all need to keep our heads up in order to keep going. Instead, try sending some cold hard cash to the Trans Justice Funding Project, or this GoFundMe for Black people fleeing Ukraine, or the Missouri Abortion Fund. An objectively better thing to do than open Twitter before dawn! In today’s newsletter, Tracy Clark-Flory looks at the misogynist legacy of the celebrity sex tape through the lens of Hulu’s Pam and Tommy—and how the violation of a woman’s privacy is almost always the point. After that, Shannon Melero speaks to attorney Carrie Goldberg about how the law protects—and doesn’t protect—victims of revenge porn today. But first! The news! —Julianne Escobedo Shepherd ![]() WHAT'S GOING ON
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![]() REVENGE PORN AND OTHER CRIMESSex Tapes Really Aren’t About SexHulu’s Pam & Tommy is a reminder of the many ways we treat women’s pain as entertainmentBY TRACY CLARK-FLORY ![]() PAMELA ANDERSON AND TOMMY LEE, 1995 (PHOTO BY S. GRANITZ/WIREIMAGE) This week brought the finale of Hulu’s Pam & Tommy, a limited-series dramedy about the leak of a private sex tape that none of us should know anything about. We’re talking eight whole episodes reenacting the ’90s-era theft and viral spread of an explicit home movie starring celebrities Pamela Anderson and Tommy Lee. That’s more than five hours of television devoted to replaying a privacy violation. The tape’s leak in 1995 was paradigm-shifting and emblematic of a cultural moment, so it’s possible to imagine a worthwhile critical retrospective. Instead, Pam & Tommy is less a reconsideration of the leak than a nostalgic reliving of it. It’s less about the tape than of the tape, which ushered in an ongoing era of stolen moments treated as entertainment. Anderson and Lee’s video was historic as the first celebrity sex tape, spawning dozens of direct imitations, but also setting the stage for whole new privacy violations, like the 2014 hack targeting famous women’s nudes (a.k.a “The Fappening”). The tape’s leak teed up an explosion of nonconsensual entertainment online—and not just starring celebrities. Soon, everyday women had to reckon with the public humiliation of everything from “upskirting” videos to “revenge porn.” Fast forward over two decades and the majority of states have had to legally address nonconsensual pornography (or nonconsensual image abuse, as some experts now call it). The next challenging legal frontier: “deepfake porn,” where a person’s face is seamlessly swapped onto pornographic material.
But let’s be clear: leaked sex tapes aren’t really about sex. The most famous ones—as with Paris Hilton and Kim Kardashian—are defined by entitlement, trespass, violation, and embarrassment, vis-à-vis a woman. This is a fundamental part of the attraction: these videos provide forbidden access. Kevin Blatt, a self-described celebrity sex tape broker, says the appeal is seeing something you “weren’t supposed to see.” Even when there are questions about a sex tape being leaked for fame and publicity, there’s still the suspension of disbelief that allows viewers the fantasy of crossing boundaries, of getting what is not freely given. The entire meaning of the tape changes if a woman intentionally and openly participates in its creation and release. Pam & Tommy itself adds another layer of non-consent to the original violation of the tape’s leak: Anderson wanted nothing to do with the series. (While Lee has voiced support for Pam & Tommy, Anderson reportedly finds its release “very painful.”) The show was made anyway—and then promoted as “feminist” for being sympathetic to her experience. In reality, the show identifies at the start with Rand Gauthier (Seth Rogen), the contractor who stole the tape after remodeling the couple’s mansion. We’re given a comedic, rollicking justification for the theft: Tommy Lee (Sebastian Stan) is an over-the-top asshole clad in a banana hammock who barks unreasonable orders at Rand. These early episodes are driven by laughs—take the scene where Tommy has a conversation with his own penis, which talks back via cringey animation. We’re living in a cultural moment of re-evaluation around the sexism of the ’90s and ’00s, which no doubt helped greenlight Pam & Tommy, but the show’s true impulse is to laugh and wax nostalgic.
The series does eventually get around to inviting identification with Pam (Lily James), instead of literal and figurative dicks. It depicts Pam’s struggle to be taken seriously as an actor as her Baywatch lines are cut to prioritize zoomed-in shots of her butt. After the sex tape is leaked, Pam & Tommy spotlights her pain, portraying Pam as having a devastating miscarriage amid the stress of the violation. The series feels like an unintentional meta-commentary on the many ways we are entitled to, and entertained by, women’s pain—not just with leaked sex tapes but also with limited-run TV series dramatizing leaked sex tapes. Eventually, Anderson is shown in a brutal and shaming deposition for her lawsuit against Penthouse’s Bob Guccione, as she tries to stop the magazine from publishing stills from the tape. She is cross-examined about her sex life and even forced to watch parts of the tape in a room packed with men. We’re meant to feel outraged, but that outrage arrives after Pam & Tommy has already had its giddy fun. ![]() LILY JAMES AS PAMELA ANDERSON DURING HER DEPOSITION. (SCREENSHOT VIA HULU/ANNAPURNA) The tone-deafness of the first half of the series is only matched by the inappropriateness of its handling of partner violence. Though it’s not depicted in the series, Lee was sentenced in 1998 to six months in jail for felony spousal abuse following an incident in which Anderson accused him of kicking her while she held her 7-week-old son; she had “a broken fingernail and red marks on her back,” according to police. The series portrays several early red flags in the relationship—like Tommy calling Pam non-stop and following her uninvited on a trip to Mexico—but treats them as fun material. Pam & Tommy leaves Lee’s arrest, and their divorce, as a literal postscript at the end of the series. It’s a sanitized version of events, referring only to “a physical fight in the couple’s kitchen.” Hulu has cheekily promoted the show as “the greatest love story ever sold.” All these years later, it’s tempting to believe that we have enough perspective to critically revisit this long-ago sex tape leak and other misogynies of yore. Instead, the last two decades have created a convenient new cover for exploitation: Pam & Tommy delights in replaying the violation, only to abruptly pivot toward superficial wokeness. It makes claims of a redemptive narrative while risking retraumatizing one of its subjects. Ultimately, the show is an accidental testament to the many ways women’s suffering is consumed as entertainment. You can call it “reflection,” but we’re not nearly as far away from these events as we might like to think. ![]() ASK A LAWYERDoes the Law Do Enough to Protect Victims of Revenge Porn?BY SHANNON MELERO ![]() CARRIE GOLDBERG (PHOTO BY CRAIG BARRITT VIA GETTY IMAGES FOR GLAMOUR) Decades after Pamela Anderson unwillingly introduced the broader public to the concept of revenge porn, has the law gotten any better at protecting victims? I asked lawyer and author Carrie Goldberg—owner of victims’ rights law firm C.A.Goldberg, PLLC. What are some of the barriers to trying revenge porn cases? Is it particularly difficult to prove guilt/intent? Carrie Goldberg: All states have criminal laws that make it illegal to film or record somebody without their consent in places—the bedroom, bathroom, changing room—where the person has the expectation of privacy. These laws are usually called video voyeurism or unlawful surveillance….And 48 states now have laws that criminalize the nonconsensual publishing of intimate images and videos. The problem is that it’s up to law enforcement to decide when to prosecute. Unfortunately, crimes that predominantly impact women and girls—like sexual assault, revenge porn, and intimate partner violence—are notoriously under-prosecuted. One reason that law enforcers don’t prosecute is that many criminal laws require proof of the offender’s motive and, specifically, a showing that the motive was to harass or abuse the victim. But we know from working with victims that [predators can have] a range of other motives such as money, clout, boredom, or entertainment. About a dozen states also have civil remedies for victims. In other words, a victim can sue their offender…[But] suing never resolves what is often a victim’s main priority—getting that material the hell off the internet. The internet, as they say, is forever. So what happens to victims who [do pursue criminal charges] over materials uploaded online? Does the law offer any assurances that those images will be removed, and if so, whose responsibility is it to remove them? There is no legal fix for getting pictures off the internet. Criminal cases have the goal of punishing the offender, while civil cases have the goal of “making the victim whole” through financial recovery. But, there is federal law, Section 230 of the Communications Decency Act, which has been interpreted by our courts to shield platforms (i.e. Instagram, Facebook, YouTube) from any responsibility for material that users post. It really falls on the victim to try to use things like copyright law and appeal to the goodwill of websites and social media companies and to be persistently searching the internet for material. What needs to change to better protect victims? The current laws are not adequate….While we’ve made so much progress in the last decade with getting new laws, we still need federal law. In honor of International Women’s Day, several lawmakers reintroduced the Stopping Harmful Image Exploitation and Limiting Distribution Act (the “Shield Act”). This is bicameral and bipartisan legislation that makes the nonconsensual dissemination of intimate images a federal crime. Another gulf in our laws involves celebrity victims. We’re now seeing defendants try to claim that sharing nude images of celebrities is protected speech. With Pamela Anderson, we saw a court hideously claim that she had no legal rights because her body belonged to the public. We need the right of privacy to extend to everybody—whether you are a teacher, student, nurse, congress member, cashier, or supermodel. ![]() You have our enthusiastic consent to share this newsletter with all of your friends. FOLLOW THE METEOR Thank you for reading The Meteor! 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There's no vaccine for stupid
No images? Click here ![]() March 4, 2022 I am first a fraud or a trick. Or perhaps a blend of the two. Hello pals. This riddle has been rattling in my brain for a solid two days since watching The Batman, starring reformed vampire Robert Pattinson. The movie was pretty good if you’re into darkness and brooding. Speaking of darkness, Jennifer Finney Boylan writes this week about the start of the most difficult time in recent memory—the start of the coronavirus pandemic, which unimaginably began two years ago on March 11. I still remember those early days when we thought it would last just few weeks; two pandemic puppies later, I’m still working in pajamas, and you may be too. Also in today’s letter, Julianne Escobedo Shepherd recommends some escapism for those of us who still need it. Thoughts on The Batman (when I say thoughts, I mean please give me the riddle answer), the end of the pandemic or anything else? Send us some Batmail at [email protected]. —Shannon Melero ![]() WHAT'S GOING ON (IN UKRAINE)
WHAT ELSE IS GOING ON
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![]() TWO YEARS LATERThere’s No Vaccine for StupidThe world we’re returning to is not the one we leftBY JENNIFER FINNEY BOYLAN ![]() NURSES AT THE VA HOSPITAL IN THE BRONX, NEW YORK DEMANDING BETTER PROTECTION AT THE START OF THE COVID 19 PANDEMIC (PHOTO BY SPENCER PLATT VIA GETTY IMAGES) It was going to be just like old times. I’d been preparing for a reunion of my best friends from high school, that weekend in March 2020. The four of us—members of the class of 1976—were going to gather at a shore house in Atlantic City. My hope was that all those old faces might make me feel young. Then I learned that, as of that Sunday night, there had been a total of 31 confirmed deaths from the virus in this country. Damn, I thought. I guess we need to make another plan. By Friday the 13th, my classes at Barnard had gone remote, and the reunion with the boys was canceled. I grabbed a ride with my daughter back to our home in Belgrade Lakes, Maine. And there, with a few exceptions, I would stay for the next twenty-two months. There was an election. There was an insurrection. There was an inauguration. I got two Moderna vaccines, and a Pfizer booster. There was Delta, and Omicron. Finally, in New York at least, the number of cases began to subside. Like so many others, I began, tentatively, nervously, to return to the world. This January, I found myself back on the Barnard campus, walking down the familiar corridor in my department known as the “English channel,” and trying my key, for the first time in almost two years, in the lock of my office door. As it swung open, I thought of the description of archeologist Howard Carter opening the burial chamber of King Tutankhamun—100 years ago this November. “At first, I could see nothing, the hot air escaping from the chamber causing the candle flame to flicker,” he later wrote, “but presently, as my eyes grew accustomed to the light, details of the room within emerged slowly from the mist.” ![]() A MEMORIAL IN AUGUST OF 2020 FOR THOSE WHO HAD DIED FROM COVID-19 (PHOTO BY MICHAEL M. SANTIAGO VIA GETTY IMAGES) There they were: all the pieces of my life, right where I’d left them. There was a stack of books I’d borrowed about Zora Neale Hurston, Barnard’s first African-American graduate; I’d been planning on writing a column about her. There was a stack of graded papers I’d never returned to their authors. On one wall was a long to-do list of things I had to write, and the deadlines. There were details for the national book tour I was supposed to go on. That tour, of course, been cancelled, along with so many other things: my son’s in-person graduation from the University of Michigan, my daughter’s wedding. For a moment I found it hard to remember the person I once had been. I sat down at my desk, intending to get started with the semester’s business, but instead, I just sat there for a long moment, feeling the tears in my eyes. They were tears of sadness, of course, sadness for everything, and everyone, we’ve lost. But they were also tears of rage. This crisis ought to have been a time when we got to see how good people can be. And we did see that, in sacrifices big and small; health care workers, and grocery store employees, especially emerged as heroes. But so many others showed us their cruel and narcissistic sides instead: distrusting and hobbling government, when what we needed was good governance; mocking and questioning medicine, when what we needed was reliable science; and above all, singing the songs of conspiracy and selfishness at a time when what we needed above all was to be looking out for, and caring for, one another.
The vast majority of people dying from COVID now are unvaccinated. With over 900,000 Americans dead, rather than publicizing the efficacy of vaccines, a whole cohort of frauds and blowhards has instead advocated horse de-wormer. Another genius suggests drinking your own urine. In Florida, Oklahoma, Texas, and Utah, laws were put into effect preventing schools from mandating the masks that could hinder the spread of disease. Because freedom, I guess. I am hopeful that COVID will eventually subside into something like the seasonal flu—an endemic virus that, within reason, we will be able to control and endure. But how do we live with the knowledge that, at the moment of greatest crisis, so many of our fellow Americans opted for ignorance instead? In fits and starts, we are slowly returning to our lives. But we are forever changed by what we have been through, and by what was revealed about so many of the people with whom we share this country. What was revealed to you? Did you find new sources of resilience and hope? I found some of that, to be sure. But I fear the pandemic has shaken me forever—not because of the disease itself, but because of what it forced me to see. Omicron may be on the wane, but the virus of heartlessness and ignorance is thriving. It may yet end us all. ![]() Jennifer Finney Boylan is the Anna Quindlen Writer in Residence and Professor of English at Barnard College. She is a Trustee of PEN America and a Contributing Opinion Writer for the New York Times. ![]() THE METEOR RECOMMENDSWhy I’m Binging a Fantasy Show About DruidsBrittania's Trippy EscapismBY JULIANNE ESCOBEDO SHEPHERD ![]() SOPHIE OKONEDO AS HEMPLE ON BRITANNIA (IMAGE VIA METRO-GOLDWYN-MAYER STUDIOS/EPIX) Like a lot of people, the last two years of social distancing has turned me into a voracious television consumer. In the absence of seeing friends or going dancing, I just binged what seems like every show ever made and, thanks to glut and languishing, promptly forgot 95 percent of any given storyline. But one genre of TV has stuck with me: ancient historical fiction in which women are situated as the most powerful, interesting characters. This week, Netflix released its sequel series to the great Vikings, Vikings: Valhalla, which is currently in its top two most-watched shows, and includes great fictional portrayals of real-life heroines Freydís Eiríksdóttir and Queen Emma of Normandy. I binged it, as well as the Netflix show The Last Kingdom (also about Vikings), but my favorite of all these early historical dramas is Britannia on Epix, which is set in 43 AD and concerns the Romans trying to get over on the Celtic Druids, who have a lot of tattoos. Britannia also has a fantastical element, with the Druids getting looped up on psychedelic brews and talking to their gods about prophecies, all to a classic rock soundtrack. (Its theme songs include Donovan’s “Hurdy Gurdy Man” and “Season of the Witch.") But the plot mostly hinges on Cait (Eleanor Worthington Cox), a young Celtic girl who embarks on a mystical hero’s journey to discover she is the Chosen One, meant to protect the Druids from the murderous Romans and basically rescue all humanity from war along the way. Season three is airing now and I’m thrilled by it, particularly as it’s added the great Sophie Okonedo to the cast—she’s one of the best actors alive and is brilliant and terrifying as a powerful high priestess. Truly, I will proselytize to anyone about how much I love this show. I’ve been watching all the other stuff, too—ask me about 2020 when I saw approximately 236 episodes of Love Island in nine months—but the immersive and often funny tone of Britannia has hit my perfect escapist sweet spot. (Though, let’s be real: I am also just a sucker for a big budget and a tattoo.) ![]() You can't spell friends without s-e-n-d! So be a pal and share this newsletter with all of your faves, we'd really appreciate it. FOLLOW THE METEOR Thank you for reading The Meteor! Got this from a friend? Sign up for your own copy, sent Wednesdays and Saturdays.
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Reinventing the girlboss
No images? Click here ![]() March 2, 2022 Hi, and welcome to the day after the State of the Union. Last night, Biden was in prime presidential form, which is to say his face was beat to the gods. On the issues, well—aside from his support of Ukraine, which included a solemn and moving ovation for UN ambassador Oksana Markarova, for me, his big shining moment was when he spoke up to defend trans kids and their parents via the Equality Act (though, as the journalist Katelyn Burns pointed out, the Equality Act won’t be passed as long as the filibuster exists). Generally, I liked what Rep. Rashida Tlaib said in response to the speech: that Biden should use his executive powers to cancel student debt and reduce carbon emissions, and everyone needs to get back to enacting Build Back Better (which of course won’t *presses rewind* happen as long as the filibuster exists). Also, I learned that a lot of powerful people (including the President) still don’t know what Defund the Police actually means. But more on that in the news below, along with Shannon Melero’s look at the current TV trend—via Inventing Anna and Hulu’s upcoming Elizabeth Holmes show—of pinkwashing female white-collar criminals with a girlboss sheen. Hope that you and yours are well and safe. —Julianne Escobedo Shepherd ![]() WHAT'S GOING ON
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—JES ![]() CRIME TIMEThe Yas Queenification of White Women ScammersThere’s a reason we’re so fascinated with Anna SorokinBY SHANNON MELERO ![]() JULIA GARNER AS ANNA DELVEY, JUDGING YOU FOR YOUR OUTFIT (IMAGE VIA NETFLIX) In 2018, when every New York glossy started covering the escapades of Anna Sorokin—a young woman who had defrauded her “friends” and several financial institutions (including City National Bank) by posing as a German heiress named Anna Delvey—I largely ignored it. The woes of New York’s elite monied classes simply weren’t of interest to me—that part of New York is so disconnected from what I know as a native New Yorker that it may as well be a fantasyland. If those over-educated Patagonia vest wearers got conned by some girl, that was their business. I saw no reason to engage with the Anna Delvey news cycle. Ultimately, the joke was on me: Recently, I spent an entire weekend glued to Netflix’s Inventing Anna, a fictionalized version of the New York magazine story that first broke the news of Sorokin’s crimes. After a solid two days of talking at my husband (he didn’t watch, so I had to reenact some scenes for clarity) about all the different angles the series covers, it occurred to me that the whole thing functions as a bit of a Rorschach test: Is the viewer looking at a criminal or just a misunderstood girlboss? If you haven’t seen the show or read the articles, think-pieces, and best-selling book about Anna Delvey, here’s the quick and dirty. Delvey got herself one step away from securing a $25 million loan from a bank to fund what she called the Anna Delvey Foundation, her concept for an exclusive social club for the mega-wealthy in New York. To create the illusion that she was a wealthy German heiress and hide the fact that she had no money and nowhere to live, Delvey (born in Russia) stayed in some of the most expensive hotels in New York City and skipped the bill at nearly every single one. She was arrested twice in 2017 for failure to make payment, and was ultimately found guilty of almost all of the charges brought against her, including first-degree attempted grand larceny, theft of services, and second-degree grand larceny—just to name a few. It is an incredible crime story that not even the writers’ room of Law and Order could have conceived, but what’s more fascinating is the story that came after the story: The heroic myth of Anna Delvey. ![]() CONTRARY TO POPULAR BELIEF ANNA WAS NOT CHARGED FOR THE CRIMINAL ACT THAT IS THIS EYELINER/MATTED LASH COMBO (IMAGE VIA NETFLIX) Shaping the latest retelling of this myth is Inventing Anna creator Shonda Rhimes, who’s constructed a series that deals in a certain degree of subtle manipulation. One episode at a time, it chips away at the perspective that Sorokin is a scammer who got off easy (she served the minimum length of her sentence), giving her just enough girlboss and pseudo-feminist rhetoric to imply that maybe, just maybe, she was simply a savvy business person faking it till she made it. What Inventing Anna manages to portray so expertly is the iron grip that girlbossery had over the masses during the 2010s, when Anna began her climb to and subsequent fall from the top. She is a scammer; there's no two ways about it. But her scam worked thanks to one nefarious aspect of girlbossology: because she is a white woman who came from nothing and almost created a social club without a dime to her name, she enjoyed a unique benefit of the doubt from bankers, hotel managers, socialites and the public—which is played up in the series. And this is where Inventing Anna starts weaving in the girlboss narrative. TV Anna, played by Julia Garner, makes sweeping speeches about how women aren't taken seriously in business. Even as she sits in a prison cell, her reputation as an entrepreneur is more important to her than her freedom. One ancillary character describes the way Anna had to change her appearance—ditching the blonde for serious girl brunette, putting on glasses, wearing all-black power suits—to even be heard in the offices of some of the most powerful bankers and lawyers in New York, a strategy that somehow worked.
This is one of the subtle manipulations happening in the show: it’s so easy to relate to this moment. Who among us hasn’t tweaked her appearance to some degree to be perceived a certain way in the workplace? These moments of relatability between Anna and the audience work as perfect distractors from the fact that she also took large sums of money from non-rich, non-white acquaintances who were left to pick up the pieces. The show even goes so far as to subtly place blame on these individuals by making it seem like they deserved what happened to them because they had benefited from their friendship with Anna. Instead of focusing on the nature of the crime, the focus is on transactional relationships—before you know it, you’re thinking about that one friend who is always out but never pays for anything. It’s truly a masterclass in don’t look over here, look over there! Inventing Anna’s affinity for Sorokin is put to its biggest test during the incident between Anna and Rachel Deloache Williams—a writer and friend of Anna who was allegedly scammed out of a large sum of money and eventually cooperated with the police to apprehend her—which functions as a sort of line in the sand in the series. You’re either on Rachel’s side or Anna’s side; there’s no room for middle ground. Rachel believed she was defrauded out of more than $60,000 on a trip to Morocco. Anna (and her attorney) painted Rachel as a weak social climber who was just mad that she had to pay for a lavish vacation that she had planned. Now don’t get me wrong, in the Rachel episode, Anna’s behavior is deplorable and frightening. But as the series progresses, it tosses out tiny breadcrumbs in Anna’s defense and raises questions about Rachel’s responsibility in the Morocco ordeal. If Rachel could not afford her share of that suite, then why book it? Why did Rachel bring a work credit card on a personal vacation? What the fuck is up with that garden? Everyone is wrong, and no one is wrong. (Everyone is also a winner here: In real life, Williams turned a few pretty pennies for selling her story, and Anna Sorokin was found not guilty on that specific charge.) ![]() KATIE LOWES AS RACHEL DELOACHE WILLIAMS (IMAGE VIA NETFLIX) The series also makes abundantly clear that Anna could only achieve what she did because she was white and able to move in certain circles without anyone giving her a second glance. Her achievements are entirely rooted in her whiteness and ability to position herself close to powerful white men. This is one aspect of the storytelling that the show gets right. But her portrayal as a girlboss—an unyielding byproduct of feminism as corporate branding—is far too generous for someone who carried out a staggering amount of white-collar crimes in such a short amount of time. It’s an unearned framing that only worked because she was able to fool so many men and for that aspect alone, the series awards her a proverbial Yas Queen trophy. It’s also a stark contrast to the way creators are compelled to cover “bad” men like Bernie Madoff or all of the investor bros from The Big Short. Where is the philosophical exploration of their manhood being the biggest motivating factor for their actions? On Thursday, March 3, another scorned girlboss will get the starlet treatment when Hulu releases its limited series on Elizabeth Holmes, The Dropout (there’s also a book and documentary about Holmes, if fiction doesn’t do it for you). It tells another story of another white woman who built another castle of sand, was praised as if she was the first woman in the history of women to accomplish anything, and watched it all come apart because she was selling her own pipe dream (and defrauding investors). I will absolutely watch it because I am a child of television, doomed to view whatever my overlords offer me. But underneath my own insatiable hunger for storytelling, I feel resistant to projects like The Dropout or Inventing Anna. It’s not that I’m against works that glorify crime—there are plenty of great movies about mobsters and murders (The Godfather is not one of them, come at me). Instead, it’s the implication that because these criminals are women, they are noteworthy in some way—or motivated by something greater, some higher calling from Lilith or Eve to commit crimes for the advancement of womankind. But sometimes, a crime is simply not that deep. ![]() Shannon Melero is a Bronx-born writer on a mission to establish borough supremacy. She covers pop culture, religion, and sports as one of feminism's final frontiers. ![]() READER QUESTION WEDNESDAY!Earlier this week, The Meteor held a briefing on the state of the caregiving crisis, which you can watch here. We’d love to hear from you on that issue. Tell us: Have you left your job in the past two years in order to care for a child or other family member? And if so, what would you have needed to be able to stay? Send your responses to [email protected], and we might feature your answer in next week’s newsletter. ![]() We're new here and we'd appreciate it if you help us get by with a little help from your friends by sharing this newsletter with them. FOLLOW THE METEOR Thank you for reading The Meteor! Got this from a friend? Sign up for your own copy, sent Wednesdays and Saturdays.
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When your existence is illegal
No images? Click here ![]() February 25, 2022 Hello Meteor readers—it perhaps goes without saying that it’s been a rough week in the world; as I write this, Russian troops have invaded Kyiv, and stories are pouring in about people fleeing Ukraine to Poland, having walked on foot for a full day. We’ve compiled a list of ways to help Ukrainians on our Instagram here. In today’s newsletter, we’ve got four transgender writers reflecting on how Texas Governor Greg Abbott’s hateful decree—and the transphobic legislation being passed across the country—affects their lives. After that, read Shannon Melero’s interview with Anna Gifty Opoku-Agyeman, editor of a new book called The Black Agenda: Bold Solutions for a Broken System, which elevates Black expertise in areas where it’s rarely sought. There is some good news, thank goodness. President Biden has nominated Judge Ketanji Brown Jackson to the Supreme Court; he kept his promise that he would nominate the first Black woman to SCOTUS, but what’s most exciting is that he’s nominated the most progressive judge among the candidates he was reportedly considering. (Lawyer and writer Dahlia Lithwick predicted her nomination in a recent edition of our newsletter.) More on that below. Hold the line, everybody. And drop us one, too: [email protected]. —Julianne Escobedo Shepherd ![]() WHY IS IT ALWAYS TEXASOur Existence Is a Crime ![]() TEXANS PROTESTING PROPOSED BANS OF TRANS ATHLETES IN TEXAS, 2021 (PHOTO TAMIR KALIFA VIA GETTY IMAGES) On Wednesday, Texas Governor Greg Abbott signed a decree that essentially criminalizes trans kids and their parents, demanding that the Department of Family and Protective Services investigate parents who support and affirm their kids' gender identity as child abuse. Abbott also ordered doctors and teachers—and deputized individual citizens—to report trans children receiving life-affirming care. This draconian, hateful step was the most recent measure in a right-wing war on trans people in multiple states, which includes 125 anti-trans bills currently on the table, according to the Human Rights Campaign. So what does the Texas news mean to the people most affected? The Meteor founding member Jennifer Finney Boylan asked four writers to answer that question here. Brynn Tannehill
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How equal-pay victories really happen
No images? Click here ![]() February 23, 2022 Hi, and welcome to our Wednesday edition. I’m still reeling from yesterday’s New York Times crossword (IT WAS A REBUS! BASED ON 2/22/22! Come ON) and freaked out by the fact that it’s 61 degrees in Brooklyn today. Empirically, I feel confident in saying that we are having a climate crisis. In today’s newsletter, we’ve got Shannon Melero fulfilling one of her life’s goals: writing about (and celebrating!) the U.S. Women’s National Soccer Team settling their long-running equal pay suit against U.S. Soccer. Believe her when she says she’s been following this case closely for six years like Nancy Drew with a magnifying glass. She’s cautiously optimistic, but also asks the important questions, like: when are all the other women’s sports teams going to get paid equally, too? But first, the news! And if you’d like to email us about what’s on your mind, or just tell us what you’re up to today, we’d love to hear from you: [email protected] —Julianne Escobedo Shepherd ![]() WHAT'S GOING ON
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—JES ![]() THE BEAUTIFUL GAMEThe History of the U.S. Women’s National Team’s Fight for Equal PayI hope these women are drinking champagne out of a trophy this weekBY SHANNON MELERO ![]() AN ASSEMBLY OF WINNERS (PHOTO BY BRUCE BENNETT VIA GETTY IMAGES) I cried when the United States Women’s National Team (USWNT) won their fourth World Cup in 2019. They were tears of excitement, tears of joy, and tears of immense pride at seeing these women—some of whom I’d watched play on a college field in Piscataway, New Jersey, because their league team didn’t have a stadium—be recognized by hundreds of millions. But they were also tears of anger. In the same year that the USWNT won that historic victory, they had, as a team, filed a gender discrimination lawsuit against the United States Soccer Federation (USSF) for unequal pay. Their claim argued that they were being paid less than the US Men’s National Team and were being given unequal resources—even though they had more World Cup wins than the men’s team, which to this day has won a total of *pulls out abacus* zero World Cups. On Tuesday, the USSF and USWNT finally reached a settlement in the lawsuit—to the tune of $24 million. This is an enormous achievement for the team. But as with everything that has to do with labor and money, it’s a little more complicated than that. For casual soccer fans, this case became news fodder on International Women’s Day 2019, when all 28 players on the USWNT filed that lawsuit. But this really all started in colonial America when the European settlers imposed their—just kidding! We don’t need to go back that far. (We could, but we won’t.) The struggle began in earnest in 1999 when the now-famous ’99ers won the Cup in a dramatic penalty kick-off against China. Don’t remember that match? I’ll bet you remember seeing a photo of Brandi Chastain, who scored the winning goal, kneeling on the grass, fists up in the air with nothing but her shorts and a sports bra. It’s the photo that launched a hundred sports bra campaigns. ![]() THE ICON BRANDI CHASTAIN ON THE DAY SHE INVENTED THE CONCEPT OF ATHLEISURE AS FASHION (PHOTO BY RICH LIPSKI/THE WASHINGTON POST VIA GETTY IMAGES) But it also marked a more critical turning point: Over 90,000 people showed up to the stadium for that game, and 40 million tuned in to ABC to watch from home. Women’s soccer—which at this point didn’t have an American professional league—was finally in the spotlight. The ’99ers capitalized on the moment to expose just how poorly America’s champions were being treated. They went on strike, refusing to appear in a scheduled tournament in Australia, to protest not just the pay gap between themselves and the men’s team but the complete lack of maternity leave. In an interview with a few of the ’99ers, the Washington Post described the USSF’s stance as “treating[ing] pregnancy as a “career-ending injury,” where players like gold medalist Kate Markgraf weren’t offered contract renewals because they’d given birth. Thanks to public pressure, and the desire to ensure the top players showed up at the 2000 Olympics (where they won silver), the ’99ers were able to get maternity language introduced into USWNT contracts. (The policy wasn’t great, but at least women could no longer be cut from the team because they’d had a child.) After 2000, women’s soccer struggled to translate into a profitable American league, and the pay discrepancy issue was silenced by the fact that the men’s league, Major League Soccer, was thriving. Out of sight, out of mind. And the National Team itself had its own internal strife over differing views on LGBTQ representation. This changed in 2012 when the National Women’s Soccer League (NWSL) was established, and talents like Ashlyn Harris, Christine Sinclair, Tobin Heath, and Alex Morgan brought back the excitement of soccer on a season to season basis. Then, in 2016, Hope Solo, Megan Rapinoe, Alex Morgan, Carli Lloyd, and Becky Sauerbrunn filed a wage discrimination action with the Equal Employment Opportunity Commission. Their charge: Unequal pay and treatment between the men’s and women’s national teams, and even though the USWNT was doing superior work, the movement they began was called Equal Play, Equal Pay. (Just in case you forgot, the men’s team had not won a World Cup by this point, while the women’s team had three World Cup wins and four Olympic golds.) After that suit was filed, the team spent months carrying out their contractual obligations and negotiating a new contract behind the scenes—and according to a recent Instagram post from Hope Solo, the 2016 suit “still stands.” (It’s worth noting here that Solo does not see this settlement as a win, and is not entitled to the backpay included in the $22 million. She also does not believe the team will be able to successfully negotiate equal pay into their next contract.)
In 2017, the USWNT negotiated a new Collective Bargaining Agreement (CBA) that addressed portions of the discrimination action. They were given increased per diems, better base salaries, and improved accommodation. It was a short-lived win. The women’s team had gotten a shred of parity, but it was in comparison to the old contract the men had. Once the men’s team got to the negotiation table with the USSF, there was another drastic change. The men were offered an entirely different (and lucrative) pay-per-play bonus structure which still saw them making more money per match than the women. As The Guardian calculated in 2019, the women’s team earned a $37,500 bonus (per player, with rookies expecting slightly less) for qualifying for a World Cup. On the other hand, top players on the men’s team would have been paid over $108,000 if they managed to qualify. The numbers become more staggering from there once you factor in brand sponsorships, appearance fees for post-match events, and base salaries. The women had to perform twice as well to get close to the income of a men’s team that couldn’t win their way out of a pie-eating contest against a toothless infant. (Not you, Tim Howard, you’re okay.) But now, six years, two medals, one documentary, and several hundred pages of legalese later—here we are. ![]() ACCURATE SIGN IS ACCURATE. (PHOTO BY IRA L. BLACK VIA GETTY IMAGES) I cried when I saw the news Tuesday morning, not because I was joyful and overwhelmed. But because I was so shocked to read it that I literally dropped my phone on my face during my morning Twitter scroll. Like every fan and sportswriter who has followed this story through its nonsensical twists and turns, I am optimistic, but cautiously so. The 28 players who filed suit will have to agree on how to split $22 million in back pay, while an additional $2 million will be placed in a fund to support their post-career ambitions and charities (each player can apply for up to $500,000 from the fund). That money is contingent on the ratification of a new CBA, but that’s a necessary formality; they’ll get their cash. “Once a new CBA has been ratified, the district court will be able to schedule the final approval of this settlement,” The Athletic's Meg Linehan reported. But as any union member knows, the key to pay equity in the long term isn’t a one-time payout; it’s a solid contract that codifies equal pay as a basic standard, an outcome that Hope Solo does not believe is imminent. The plaintiffs in the 2019 case have said on numerous occasions that the fight is about more than just the back pay. It’s about ensuring the women who come after them will never have to go through all of this to get paid what they deserve. On that score, things look promising–but I’m too much of a cynic to call it certain. The Federation is pledging that under the new contract (the current one expires in March), they’ll work with the Player’s Union to establish equal pay between the national teams, and there’s reason to believe they’ll hold true to this promise. Cindy Parlow Cone, the current USSF president, has already made enormous strides in good faith, most notably in December, when the USSF agreed to equal working conditions for the teams. So yes, let’s all celebrate and anticipate a fair contract. But tomorrow, when the confetti is cleared and the hangover lifts, there are still equity battles to fight in the NWSL where Trinity Rodman signed a four year $1 million contract making her the highest-paid player in the league—which is $13 million less than what the 2021 MLS rookie of the year was given just to switch teams. Let’s also not forget the many fights still ahead at the WNBA, a league that has some of the best, most interesting athletes ever to touch a basketball but still gets asked to prove they deserve the financial and media investments the NBA takes for granted. There is still so much to do in the landscape of women’s sports, but what the US Women’s National Team has shown everyone is that it’s possible. It’s not easy, fast, or simple, but it can be done. So to borrow a line from Megan Rapinoe: “Let’s fucking go.” ![]() Shannon Melero is a Bronx-born writer on a mission to establish borough supremacy. She covers pop culture, religion, and sports as one of feminism's final frontiers. ![]() BEFORE YOU GODo you ever wonder why the US doesn’t provide paid parental leave when some of our global neighbors have already proven it’s possible? Why does it feel like there is a news item about child-care nightmares with parents and teachers clamoring for help every other week? Do you wish someone could give you concrete steps to address these issues without going absolutely nuts? If you answered yes to any of these questions, then you’re a) human, and b) officially invited to join us Monday night for a special briefing. With America’s care economy in crisis, it’s time to talk about what’s next in the movement for child care, family leave, and sustainable wages for care providers. Join us on February 28 to find out more. We’ll be joined by SuperMajority Executive Director Amanda Brown Lierman, Caring Across Generations chief of advocacy and campaigns Nicole Jorwic, Marshall Plan for Moms founder Reshma Saujani, and activist, writer, and filmmaker Paola Mendoza. ![]() Thank you for being a friend. We'd love it if you threw a party and invited everyone you knew to read this newsletter. FOLLOW THE METEOR Thank you for reading The Meteor! Got this from a friend? Sign up for your own copy, sent Wednesdays and Saturdays.
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What book bans are doing to kids
No images? Click here ![]() February 19, 2022 Cheers to the BookTokers, book worms, book lovers, and even actual books–this newsletter is for you. The subject of book banning is everywhere right now—but for school librarians, it’s more than just a talking point. So in today’s issue, Julianne Escobedo Shepherd spoke to the president of the American Association of School Librarians, Jennisen Lucas, about what it’s like to be on the front lines of this “life-or-death” issue. We’ve also got Suzan Skaar, a rad librarian from Wyoming, with a personal account of what happened after members of the organization Moms for Liberty challenged books in her Cheyenne school district. “The whole country is divided,” she says, “and Wyoming is no exception.” Before we dive into all that, a small favor. We’re new here, and we’d love it if you sent this email to a friend, or three! Or pop it in the group chat. Consider it your good deed of the day. Call us, beep us, if you wanna reach us at [email protected]. —Shannon Melero ![]() WHAT'S GOING ON
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—SM ![]() LIBRARIANS AT WORKWhat Are Book Bans Doing to Kids?“It leads to ‘I’m all alone’ kind of thinking”BY JULIANNE ESCOBEDO SHEPHERD ![]() SOME CLASSIC READS ARE BEING CHALLENGED BY MOMS FOR LIBERTY, A GROUP BENT ON LIMITING THE LIBERTIES OF KIDS WHO JUST WANT TO READ. (PHOTO VIA GETTY IMAGES) The image above depicts just a few of the books that have been banned or challenged over the last few years, though today, some are considered cornerstones of American literature. And now in 2022, the censors are back at it, with legislators, school officials, and parents across the country engaged in a new, frenzied effort to ban certain book titles from school libraries. These ban attempts often cite “pornographic material” as their concern, but in reality, work to suppress certain points of view: The book Gender Queer, for instance, an illustrated memoir by nonbinary author Maia Kobabe, has been especially targeted in the last year, as have books like Angie Thomas’s The Hate U Give, which deals with police brutality, and George M. Johnson’s All Boys Aren’t Blue, about growing up queer and Black. And last month, a Tennessee school board banned Art Spiegelman’s Maus, a canonical graphic novel about the Holocaust, citing cursing and the apparently objectionable nudity of cartoon mice. Many of these challenges have been spearheaded by members of Moms for Liberty, a conservative organization championing “parental rights.” (There is, hearteningly, a counterinsurgency of suburban moms called Book Ban Busters.) And while bans have been most successful in conservative states like Florida and Texas, books have also been challenged in nearly every state in the country, turning typically sleepy school board meetings into hotbeds of right-wing grievance. I spoke with Jennisen Lucas, president of the American Association of School Librarians, an organization on the front lines. Book bans and challenges are happening across the country. What are your broad, bird’s-eye-view thoughts about what’s been going on? Jennisen Lucas: This is, to me, extremely concerning [because] it’s so widespread and so large. At the American Library Association (ALA) and the Association of School Librarians, we’re trying to figure out, “How do we work with this at this huge large scale?” We definitely stand against censorship; we stand for intellectual freedom and the idea that students have the right to decide what they’re reading. [But conservatives] have branded ALA as being a very liberal organization and not somebody that you want to listen to. So how do we motivate people to say that there are definitely a lot of people out there who don’t think that we should be banning books? We tend to go with the idea that parents should be talking to their children about what they’re reading and not whole-scale trying to remove things from them. And then the fact that [the bans are] very specifically targeted: they’re targeting LGBTQ, they are targeting race. So it’s a challenge to erase those voices. And that’s not something that is really good for our constitutional republic. Most of this seems to come from Moms for Liberty, which consists of parents and seems extremely well-funded. It’s definitely a very well-funded and well-organized movement. But they are approaching this as, let’s get people riled up so that they go and talk to their school boards themselves. [The ALA says], Well, you do have rights for your kid, and when a parent comes to a librarian and says, “Hey, I’m concerned that my child should not be reading this,” we back the parent up. That’s their prerogative as a parent. The issue gets much bigger when it’s like, “No. I need that removed because I don’t think any kids should have access to that.” And we’re also being hit with a lot of varying definitions because people are coming in with, “Oh, that’s pornographic.” For most of them, this is normal teenage activity and has been for generations.
When you think about the books that have been banned—books like Gender Queer or The Hate U Give—it seems like they’re not just targeting whatever they think might be salacious material. They’re targeting specific identities in children. What we’re seeing as a national trend is a conflation between “pornography” and LGBTQIA+. Even if there is not any sex at all in the book, [book banners are] still claiming pornography because that’s not what they approve of as a society. Part of [our] concern is that the conversation itself is harmful to our students that identify in any of those categories; that when they’re hearing people say, “Hey, this is pornographic, and this is not acceptable, and this is just disgusting”—and these are some of the words that are coming from parents—that is not good for the mental health of our students. Each of our students needs to be able to see themselves in books and have that representation. It’s extremely important, and personally, to me, this is a life-or-death situation for some of our kids. If they are completely turned off from and denied access to materials like that, it leads to “I’m all alone” kind of thinking, which is a precursor to severe depression and suicidal thoughts. I wanted to ask you about that—I feel like we’re having this national conversation about politics, but the actual students and how they feel are getting lost. I have talked to my students about this, and it’s interesting to watch them get heated up about it. Especially our high school kids, who are preparing for adulthood and are in that situation where today I’m 17 and a minor and tomorrow’s my birthday. You’re at that cusp of legally being able to do all of this stuff on your own. They almost feel micromanaged. But the number of students around the country who are forming banned book clubs who are standing up and speaking at school board meetings—it’s all [types of students, even if they don’t identify as LGBTQ or BIPOC]. Books with LGBTQ content, books talking about race, and the history of race are for all kids. Everybody needs to be able to see that perspective. ![]() Julianne Escobedo Shepherd is a Wyoming-born Xicana journalist and editor who lives in New York. She is currently at work on a book for Penguin about her upbringing and the mythology of the American West. ![]() CHEYENNE, WYOMINGReport from a Red State LibrarianA CONVERSATION WITH SUZAN SKAAR, BY JULIANNE ESCOBEDO SHEPHERD ![]() LET THE TEENS READ! (PHOTO BY JOHN KEEBLE VIA GETTY IMAGES) So how does it feel to be a librarian in one of the schools Jennisen Lucas describes? Suzan Skaar, a librarian at South High School in Cheyenne, Wyoming, knows. Last December, books by two authors—Tiffany D. Jackson and Ellen Hopkins—were challenged in Cheyenne by local members of Moms for Liberty. Though the upset seems to have died down now, it alarmed members of the school district, including teachers and librarians. Skaar talked to us about what it was like to be a school librarian at the center of one of these challenges. The whole country is divided, and Wyoming is no exception. Right now, there are seven certified secondary librarians in Cheyenne—we’re a pretty tight group. [Before the local book challenges], we worked with our new superintendent, and we prepared some information to put on the district homepage about book selection and how you can challenge books, that kind of thing. We’re lucky enough to have a really good board policy around selection and collection development. So we kind of met it head-on, in a very subtle way. What they were specifically challenging was Ellen Hopkins; she writes about issues kids are influenced by or have to deal with in their lives. [Hopkins’ YA novel Traffick focuses on the lives of five teens who escaped sex trafficking.] And, and so for some reason, they picked on her—well, she’s always picked on, she’s probably one of the most likely authors to be challenged. Then they picked up on Tiffany D. Jackson, and I spent Christmas break reading all of her novels. She’s a Black American author who writes about social issues that are really close to more urban-area Black teens, but they’re things that my kids identify with. [They’re so popular that] I can’t keep them on the shelf; I had to actually go read the books from the state app because all of my books were checked out over Christmas.
[After the initial objections at the December board meeting], our superintendent asked us, “So how many of you have had a request for the form to start a challenge process?” And not one of us had received an official challenge from the community. That just makes you wonder: it’s a national trend, but is it just a lot of yelling, or is it really a concern? I don’t believe that in a democracy, this should even be an issue. In Wyoming, we’re a little bit of “live and let live,” you know. “My kids are gonna read what I want them to read, but you can’t influence what my kids read—we all get to do that for ourselves.” I want to tell you something that happened this morning. We had a pep assembly, and we had a bunch of kids that didn’t want to go, so I let them come in here. And one little girl was looking around, and I said, “Can I help you find something?” and she said she wanted to look for a specific mental health disorder. So we went to the catalog, and I showed her how to look for it… and took her to the section. And her eyes strayed from the Mental Health section and went straight to LGBTQ Nonfiction. She said, “Oh my god, do you have this book? Can you have this book in this state?” And I said, “Well, so far, we do. I purchased [it] for our students because there’s a high interest in that topic and a lot of questions.” And she grabbed it—I don’t know if you’ve heard of the book, This Book Is Gay—and she goes, “Forget about the mental health. I’m checking out this one.” I have trust and hope in the generation coming up. They’re more savvy about how to deal with all the information that’s thrown at them. ![]() WE'VE GOT A QUESTION FOR YOUDid you read in school? Of course you did! What's a book you remember reading that might be banned now and what did you get out of reading it? Tell us at [email protected], and we'll feature a few of your responses in a future newsletter. FOLLOW THE METEOR Thank you for reading The Meteor! Got this from a friend? Sign up for your own copy, sent Wednesdays and Saturdays.
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Still Surviving the White Gaze
No images? Click here ![]() February 16, 2022 Hello and happy Give Zendaya an Emmy week! In today’s newsletter, a very personal take on race, adoption, and what it means to be let down by those you love. Rebecca Carroll contemplates the year she’s had since first publishing her memoir, Surviving the White Gaze, including the ways her parents reacted to it. If you know any of Rebecca’s work, I don’t need to tell you how moving this essay is; it feels like receiving a gift to be let so intimately into her world. And if you’d like to hear more from Rebecca after reading, she’ll be in conversation with the author Ijeoma Oluo (So You Want to Talk About Race) on Twitter Spaces today, February 16, at 6 p.m. EST. Join them here. But first, the news. And as always, if you have questions, comments, or want to tell us how we’re doing, hit us up at [email protected]. —Julianne Escobedo Shepherd ![]() WHAT'S GOING ON
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—JES ![]() ON RACE AND FAMILYStill Surviving the White GazeWhat happened after my memoirBY REBECCA CARROLL ![]() REBECCA CARROLL AND HER FATHER, 1974. (PHOTO COURTESY OF REBECCA CARROLL) A year ago, I published the work I am more proud of than anything I’ve ever written—Surviving the White Gaze, my memoir about growing up as a Black child adopted into a white family, and raised in an all-white, rural New Hampshire town. Every memoir writer knows that mining the truth can be a fraught and risky endeavor, and I certainly anticipated some fallout, hurt feelings, differences in remembrance. I could not have imagined, though, how keenly the response from my family would reflect not merely the truth in the book’s pages, but also the truth of America. My mom called it a gift, until my dad called it an injustice, and then she agreed with him that they should consider hiring a lawyer to sue me. Their accusation: defamation of character. Their issues were not with me writing about the racism I endured during my youth, which went almost entirely unacknowledged within my family, but rather, with how I wrote about them; their unconventional marriage, my father’s ego. (He was upset that I’d included the fact that earlier in my life, I had misguidedly suggested there had been some blurred lines between us; I was wrong and said so in the book, but he still felt it was damaging to his reputation.) I had invited my dad to read the book when it was still in manuscript form, when changes could still be made, but he had declined, which I can’t deny hurt my feelings deeply. We were very close when I was growing up—made countless mixtapes for each other, stayed up watching Late Night with David Letterman together, and shared a love for gallows humor, Swiss-German expressionist artist Paul Klee, the swoony crooning of Bryan Ferry and Roxy Music, romance languages, and romance in general. I absolutely worshiped him. ![]() REBECCA CARROLL, 1973. (PHOTO COURTESY OF REBECCA CARROLL) When I left for college, we maintained a fiercely dedicated written correspondence, dad’s letters characteristically endless in page count, handwritten in his tiny, exquisite penmanship, detailing his findings in the local swamps and wetlands, his sanctuary, where he still spends hours finding and tracking painted and spotted turtles. But as I got older and grew more into myself as a Black woman, the more it became clear that I no longer fit within the narrative he had created for our relationship, and more broadly speaking, for our entire family. Like many white male artists with outsized egos, my dad created a microcosm with him, the infallible genius and hopeless romantic, at its center, buoyed by the near constant presence and adoration of women. It was a racially segregated space, into which I had been placed through careful, well-intentioned curation. But I didn’t want to be curated into whiteness, idyllic as it may have seemed to my parents and siblings. I wanted to be Black among Blackness. How was this never made available to me? I stopped worshiping and started questioning. And then I started to get angry. Why hadn’t my father tried to connect me with my community?
And, of course, it wasn’t just my dad. My mom sewed me a Black doll and found me a Black dance teacher. But still—my dance teacher was the first Black person I had ever seen in real life. I was six years old. I didn’t go to a Black hair salon until I was 12 years old. My first real Black friend wasn’t until college. My book grappled with those realities—it expressed my love for my parents, but also my anger. It expressed my reality, as lived and experienced by me. And they were outraged. It’s an outrage I’ve come to know too well. In December 2021, the Supreme Court heard oral arguments from state attorneys seeking to uphold Mississippi’s 15-week abortion ban. In her remarks, Justice Amy Coney Barrett, herself the white mother of two Black adopted children from Haiti, suggested that abortion isn’t really even necessary when adoption is right there. I found her remarks hideously cavalier, a callous trivialization of the complexities surrounding adoption, particularly transracial adoption, and the responsibility white parents take when they adopt Black children. I launched a thread on Twitter (as one does) saying so. The thread outlined the ways in which I believe transracial adoption can be seen as representative of the foundational dynamic between Black people and white people in America, which is inherently traumatic. It was retweeted thousands of times, but the backlash was swift. ![]() THE AUTHOR AND HER CHILD. (PHOTO COURTESY OF REBECCA CARROLL) My comments were full of endless fury. One (based on her avi) white woman tweeted: “TRAUMA???? What would the trauma had been if you were still with your birth mother? How the fuck UNGRATEFUL can one person be. Disgusting.” A white guy whose Twitter bio includes “just a dude” wrote: “So the argument is... it’s better for black children to be aborted than adopted by white people? I’m not sure a lot of black children would agree, but, I’m no expert.” Perhaps the most egregious responses came from right-wing commentator Dinesh D’Souza, who tweeted: “If it’s ‘enduring trauma’ for you to be adopted by a white family, you might consider that 1. The black patents [sic] that gave birth to you didn’t want you 2. There were evidently no black couples that chose to adopt you. Aren’t you grateful someone did?” Twitter was making it clear: White parents get to decide how a family is made. It’s the very essence of America, where white parents, both figurative (the forefathers) and literal (adoptive parents), have set the standard of everything. And if you are a Black child who is lucky enough to be part of that construct—taken in either from foster care or, in my case, by a handshake agreement between your parents and the white teenage girl who was pregnant with you—well, you had better feel grateful. Imagine presenting what you consider to be your career-best work, an impassioned plea to be seen, only to have your parents condemn it because of bruised egos. Now try to think of one moment throughout history when this same dynamic hasn’t played out similarly, if not exactly, between Black and white America. My parents did not sue me—there were no grounds—but ironically, their threat made me feel more Black than I’d ever felt before. It felt like a reminder that in America, if you are white, you can arbitrarily decide what constitutes an injustice, while threatening to bring law and order down upon anyone who says otherwise—in this case, a Black woman who wrote her story into existence. If not for the support of the family I made and chose, generous reviews, and the overwhelmingly positive response from readers—of all different backgrounds, but in particular Black and biracial transracial adoptees, and other transracial adoptees of color—I might have thought it was all for naught. But they wrote me, in droves. “I feel a little taller, less broken, less angry and grateful to be in this black skin,” wrote one of the adoptee DMs and emails I received. “Thank you for this book...from the whole entireness of my heart. I have to go cry now.” Hard same. ![]() ILLUSTRATION BY IRMGHARD GEHRENBECK Rebecca Carroll is a writer, cultural critic, and podcast creator/host. She is the author of several books, including her recent memoir, Surviving the White Gaze. Rebecca is Editor at Large for The Meteor. ![]() BEFORE YOU GODon't forget to reserve the best seat on your couch for a Twitter Spaces conversation with Rebecca Carroll and Ijeoma Oluo happening today, February 16th, at 6 p.m. EST! We'll be waiting for you right here. FOLLOW THE METEOR Thank you for reading The Meteor! Got this from a friend? Sign up for your own copy, sent Wednesdays and Saturdays.
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The deadly act of telling the truth
No images? Click here ![]() February 11, 2022 This week, it was reported that the Taliban is currently detaining at least nine foreigners in Afghanistan, including two UK journalists who were in Kabul to report for the UN. But we’ve long known about the Taliban’s hostilities toward journalists, especially women journalists—and of course toward women in general. That’s why today’s newsletter feels so urgent. First, Mariane Pearl sits down with the incredible Afghan women behind Rukhshana Media, a news organization that reports on women in Afghanistan and the Taliban government from the ground, at great personal risk. After that, Shannon Melero writes about France’s shameful new ban on hijab in sport and her own experiences as a hijabi athlete. In a week of headlines questioning whether foreign policy can truly be feminist, this edition will convince you that it’s more important than ever. As ever, if you’ve got thoughts—on what you’re reading, or what you’d like to read—we’re all ears: [email protected]. —Julianne Escobedo Shepherd ![]() THE COST OF AN UNTOLD STORYSix Months of the TalibanWhat life is like for women in Afghanistan now—from two journalists fighting to get their stories out BY MARIANE PEARL ![]() A WOMAN AND HER CHILD ON THE ROAD IN KABUL, JANUARY 2022. (PHOTO BY SCOTT PETERSON VIA GETTY IMAGES) Six months ago next Tuesday, Kabul fell to the Taliban, plunging Afghanistan’s citizens, but especially girls and women, into panic and despair. Rukhshana Media is one of the very few woman-run media outlets in the country; its two founders, Zahra Joya and Zahra Nader, now live in exile, working 18 hours a day to ensure coverage of the systematic oppression of women at the hands of the Taliban. I spoke with these extraordinary journalists in late January over Zoom. MP: Rukhshana Media, the news agency you created, is named after a victim of Taliban oppression. Can you tell us about her, and why you started the agency? Zahra Joya: For nine years, prior to creating Rukhshana, I sat in newsrooms, most often the only female to be seen, and saw how much women and girls’ lives were ignored by the media. We had no space, no opportunities to show our worth. Men genuinely believed we couldn’t do the job. So, I founded Rukhshana in 2020 with my own savings to tell our stories, drive change and foster a national dialogue about and with all women in Afghanistan, regardless of ethnicity or religious beliefs. Rukhshana herself was a 19-year-old girl from central Afghanistan who, in 2015, tried to flee an arranged marriage to be with the boy she loved. The Taliban accused her of adultery, dug a hole in the ground, leaving her upper body out, and stoned her to death. I chose her name so that each time we pronounce it we honor her—and fight against the risk of oblivion. Zahra Nader: My biggest fear is that young women who are taught history in the future will say, “I can’t believe there were once female journalists in our country.” There are only 100 female journalists left in Afghanistan (out of 700 before last August). You have reporters working inside Afghanistan and rely on volunteers. Can you explain how people bring stories to you? And are they in danger? ZN: They are not quite volunteers because we insist on paying our collaborators. Women have lost their jobs [since the Taliban took over], so this is also a way of encouraging them to join us and speak out. Some of the women now working with us are not journalists; they were students or teachers, so we train them on the job. ZJ: Right now, we have four female journalists and two men inside Afghanistan. We are looking for someone to cover the Eastern region, but the situation there is beyond control. Despite the danger, our reporters are doing remarkable work. In February alone, they wrote about two abducted women’s rights activists, the ban on women’s voices and music, and how former security forces fear being hunted down when applying for passports, among other critical reporting. We are constantly tracking our collaborators, making sure they are okay, but we don’t want them to take risks. Journalists themselves need to decide. No story is worth a human life, but the cost of an untold story is also very high. ZN: If we need to contact Taliban officials for comment, we do it exclusively from abroad. One time, I made such a call, and the next day, two women contacted me, pretending they needed help; these calls came from the Taliban trying to measure my vulnerabilities.
Afghanistan has one of the youngest populations on earth, with 63% of its people under the age of 25, meaning most Afghans don’t remember what life was like under the Taliban, which held power over roughly three-quarters of the country from 1996 to 2001. Do you have any memories of life under Taliban rule? ZJ: I was nine when the Taliban left. In order to go to school, I had been dressing up as a boy and called myself Mohammad. The ’90s were particularly harrowing for women. Now at least we have platforms, social media, and networks. They didn’t have any of that then. My mother told me there was no bread on the table. They didn’t even know that there were doctors and clinics that could save their lives. ZN: When the Taliban came the first time around, I moved to Iran, where I wasn’t allowed to go to school [because I was a refugee]. The concept of home became a very big deal. The day my parents told me we were going back was the best of my life. I went to school and held my head high. To me, school meant change—the Taliban were in history books, a mere nightmare from the past. We were a generation that was going to change this country for the best. Where were you last August, when the Taliban took Kabul? ZJ: That first day, I went to the office as usual, but my colleagues told me to leave immediately, so I went back home. The only thing I was able to grab was my diary. I was evacuated to London three days after the takeover. I lost everything. ZN: I was working on a story about women’s reactions to the Taliban. Suddenly on television, I saw one entering the presidential palace in Kabul. I knew they were coming, but that image brought it home. I didn’t think it would happen so fast. I sat there just crying. It wasn’t only the fall of a country I was witnessing; it was the death of the hopes of my generation. The Hazara community to which you both belong is being specifically persecuted by the Taliban. What do we know about Hazara women and what is happening to them? ZJ: We have always been discriminated against. Many Afghans believe that we don’t belong there as we are mostly Shia Muslims, and the majority [of Afghans are] from the Sunni sect of Islam. And if you are a Hazara woman, you are buried under several more layers of discrimination between your ethnicity and your gender. Yet, as journalists, we are very conscious about not letting labels and nationalism prevent us from representing all women. ![]() RUKHSHANA CO-FOUNDER ZAHRA JOYA. (PHOTO COURTESY OF ZAHRA JOYA) The Taliban promised to respect women’s rights “according to Islam.” But “according to Islam” is a vague, and in this case threatening, formulation, as the interpretation of the Quran is complex and varies widely depending on the individual. ZN: In May 2021, I asked the Taliban to define what they considered women’s rights. Every Muslim country has its own interpretation of how women should live. Pakistan, Saudi Arabia, Iran—they are all different. The Taliban never answered the question or defined anything. But they are slowly pursuing their agenda and imposing a very narrow interpretation of Islam. The word “misogyny” lacks the power to represent their ideology towards women. One of the first Taliban decrees stated that “women are human beings.” They actually had to wonder about that. How at-risk are the women who were most visible during the last 20 years? Journalists, of course, but also women working in the armed forces, as lawyers or activists? ZN: Rukhshana is doing everything we can to answer that question. We hear about so many stories of women being killed but often we can’t run them because we can’t reach anybody to confirm the facts. When we can talk to the family, friends or relatives, we reach out to the Taliban and they simply deny responsibility: They say these women have died because of family feuds. How is it possible that so many public, visible women are suddenly all dying from family feuds? It’s so easy for Talibans to find and execute these targeted women. All the public data, fingerprints, census and personal information are in their hands now.
In January 2022, a delegation of Taliban was hosted in Oslo to speak with world representatives. Officially, the meeting was to address the economic crisis, but activists see that meeting as a first step towards legitimizing the Taliban government. What do you think? ZN: When we challenge the fact that the Taliban should not be invited to the world table, we are told that Afghanistan has too many problems. That we should resolve the economic crisis first, then we can talk about women. But how do you resolve starvation if half of the country is under house arrest? I was saddened by the lack of protests from the Norwegian people, who ultimately paid for the expenses of that meeting. How can the international community help Afghan women? ZJ: The best way is to put pressure on your governments, to tell the world that you disagree with what is happening. Ultimately, this is about all women and the way we can be treated when men are at their worst. Show what you stand for, challenge inertia. Another way is to support Afghan women who are now outside the country. You can help them help us. ![]() PHOTO BY JUAN LEMUS Mariane Pearl is an award-winning journalist and writer who works in English, French, and Spanish. She is the author of the books A Mighty Heart and In Search of Hope. ![]() WHAT ELSE IS GOING ON
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—JES ![]() HATERS GONNA HATEThe French government makes another move in its battle against hijab BY SHANNON MELERO ![]() FRENCH WOMEN'S SOCCER TEAM, LES HIJABEUSES, PROTESTING THE HIJAB BAN AT JARDIN DU LUXEMBOURG (SCREEN GRAB VIA LE PARISIEN) “How are you going to do all of that with that,” a doctor once asked me during a visit. The that she was referring to was my hijab, and the all of that was a Spartan race I was participating in that fall. In my short life as a hijabi, it was the first time I had considered whether my choice would hinder my athletic pursuits. I shrugged and said, “I think they have sports hijabs online.” It seemed like a simple enough solution, and my appointment carried on as usual, with my doctor telling me to bring my medal to our next visit. As I soon discovered, the intersection of hijab and activewear was a hotbed of debate—not just from consumers who found fault in nearly every product but from entire governments who sought to legislate against hijab in sport, all in the name of women’s liberation. It turned out that it wouldn’t be my hijab hindering me, but global ignorance, manifesting itself in an obsession with a small piece of fabric that some women choose to place or not place over their hair. That ignorance has steadily grown since my days of obstacle course racing. Just three weeks ago, the French government voted to ban hijab wearing in sports competitions to assert “neutrality” on the field. Technically, “all conspicuous religious symbols” like yarmulkes or turbans would fall under this ban, but given France’s history of hostility toward Muslims, the rule was clearly targeted. Just last year, the government limited the religious freedoms of over 5 million Muslim and immigrant citizens by placing strict regulations on homeschooling, the finances of religious organizations, and strengthening France’s “neutrality principle,” which “prohibits civil servants from wearing religious symbols like the Muslim hijab and voicing political views.” ![]() THE AUTHOR, IN HER PRIME, TWO SECONDS BEFORE SHE FELL INTO A MUD PUDDLE. (IMAGE COURTESY OF SHANNON MELERO) This latest affront to hijab in sport is particularly unsettling considering the political climate of the Olympics. This year, an Uyghur athlete, Dinigeer Yilamujiang, lit the Olympic flame in Beijing, despite the Chinese government being accused of carrying out human rights violations against the Uyghur Muslim population, equivalent to “a campaign of genocide.” The 2024 Summer Olympics, to be held in Paris, will have its own issues, as sporting authorities decide how the country’s ban will affect international competitors. But even without an Olympics looming, the ban is symptomatic of the lingering mistrust of Islam in predominantly Judeo-Christian nations that believe themselves too superior to fall into the trap of theocracy. It’s all infuriating. The choice to do anything in hijab–go to work, play a sport, draw breath–opens the wearer up to an endless stream of vitriol. Hardened athletes like English boxer Safiyyah Syeed and Olympic bronze medalist Ibtihaj Muhammad manage to soldier on with fearlessness and hijabs that don’t slip. (How!?) But when I think of these laws, I think of the millions of women who will have to consider leaving their club or school teams—women who just want to play the game. I never bought that sport hijab. Partly for personal reasons pertaining to where I was with my faith at the time and because I was experiencing some hearing loss. The sport hijabs available at the time would have covered my ears, making it harder to be aware of any fellow racers trying to pass me on uneven terrain. I finished that Spartan race in what my friends jokingly called hijab-lite–everything covered but my hair. By the end of it, I felt like I had climbed a mountain (I had) and didn’t give a second thought to what wasn’t on my head. As for the hijabis I met up with later in the week, they didn’t care either; they wanted to see the medal. ![]() A previous version of this newsletter stated the Taliban held power in Afghanistan from 1986-2001. In fact, it was 1996-2001. We regret the error.
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The Great Unionization
No images? Click here ![]() February 9, 2022 Is it hot in your inbox or are you just happy to see us? Today we’re bringing fire-emoji-worthy content from Esther Wang, who interviews Association of Flight Attendants president Sara Nelson about the shifting tides in the labor movement, plus the joy of saying the word “strike.” Then, Julianne Escobedo Shepherd talks to journalist Dahlia Lithwick about the recent SCOTUS vote on Alabama’s congressional map, and what that means for the future of the Voting Rights Act. I’ll give you a spoiler since we’re all friends here: it’s not good! But on the bright side, Lithwick also predicts a great new justice. If you want to tell us how we’re doing, how you’re doing, or even what shows you’re watching, drop us a line at [email protected]. —Shannon Melero ![]() ON LABORThe Great UnionizationWhy Flight Attendants Union President Sara Nelson is the labor leader we needBY ESTHER WANG ![]() THE GREAT SARA NELSON. (PHOTO BY TOM WILLIAMS VIA GETTY IMAGES) Sara Nelson, the charismatic head of the nation’s largest flight attendants’ union, loves the word “strike.” During our 50-minute conversation recently, Nelson, who’s often described as America’s “most prominent labor leader,” used the term no less than a dozen times. It’s fitting, as it was her invocation of a general strike, uttered in January 2019 during a speech that subsequently went viral, that helped to end Donald Trump’s government shutdown. “Strike, strike, strike, strike, strike, strike, strike. Say it—it feels good,” she once proclaimed in the New York Times. A strike is a reminder of the ultimate power that workers possess—the power to withhold their labor and their time. In embracing it, Nelson is a bit of a throwback, and maybe also a figurehead that the U.S. labor movement needs in this particular moment. Her industry needs her too. Flight attendants have been on the frontlines of the pandemic, and subject to shocking levels of abuse and at times physical violence from irate passengers. Last year saw a 500 percent increase in the number of violent incidents on airplanes, according to the Federal Aviation Administration. In May 2021, to cite just one example, a Southwest Airlines flight attendant was punched by a woman after she asked her to put on her mask and follow other safety procedures. And airline executives have only made the lives of flight attendants more miserable, furloughing and laying off staff disproportionately, and pushing to reinstitute alcohol sales on planes. The Association of Flight Attendants-CWA began a union drive at Delta shortly before the COVID-19 pandemic, but it picked up steam in December 2021 after the airline publicly pushed the Centers for Disease Control (CDC) to reduce its recommended quarantine period for people with breakthrough infections—a move that Nelson described as “brazenly choosing the economy over workers’ lives.” She and the AFA-CWA immediately went on a media blitz. “This wasn’t just about being critical of the CDC and Delta,” which had pressed the CDC for the change, Nelson said. “This was about being as loud as we could” to “spread the word to workers everywhere and get it into everyone’s consciousness—do not force people to come back to work.” As for Delta, the company eventually budged, amending its original policy in response to the union’s criticism. “They didn’t give us credit for that, but they changed their policy,” Nelson said, more than a hint of satisfaction in her voice. ![]() NELSON AND MEMBERS OF THE ASSOCIATION OF FLIGHT ATTENDANTS FIGHTING FOR COVID RELIEF PACKAGES IN 2020. (PHOTO BY BILL CLARK VIA GETTY IMAGES) Flight attendants aren’t alone in their demands for the safer workplaces and fairer pay that they—and all of us—deserve. Workers across industries are increasingly fed up, fueled by the indignity of being pandered to as “essential workers” even as they were being thrown to the wolves. During the pandemic, “what we saw was a consistent view of workers being disposable,” Nelson said. “And so now workers are like, listen, it’s not just that there’s all this inequality,” she said. “You don’t even give a damn about our lives. You don't care if we live or die.” To Nelson, there is “a recognition that nothing is going to change if we don't change it collectively.” This, she says, explains why support for unions is at its highest point in decades, and the flurry of unionization drives at Starbucks stores and Amazon warehouses. “Workers are saying, ‘Wow, the only way to take on someone who could be a trillionaire—and who leaves the rest of us with a burning Earth as he shoots off to Mars—is to organize in our workplace,’” Nelson said. That’s the hope, at least. What has been dubbed the “Great Resignation”—a turn of phrase that neatly captures the mood of millions of Americans—is less a mass movement than a whole lot of individuals fed up and finding better jobs. But while workers may have a little more negotiating power now, that can change quickly. (Better pay and benefits, as anyone who has been sexually harassed on the job knows, are not the only markers of a decent workplace.) “The only way these gains are lasting is if we organize in the millions,” Nelson told me.
I asked Nelson what she would tell someone who wanted to bring that Norma Rae spirit to her own job—a working mom, for example—but was unsure where to begin. “Join unions, run unions. It’s that simple,” she said. If your workplace isn’t unionized? “Figure out how to organize one.” Easier said than done, but Nelson, who began her career as a flight attendant in 1996 before becoming the president of her union in 2014, is keenly aware of how unions can transform the lives of women. She recalled going to the White House in 2012 for a forum on women and the economy, where much of the discussion centered on closing the gender wage gap. At one point, she raised her hand to speak. “And I said, ‘You know, we’ve talked about the wage gap all morning. But why have we not talked about the one thing that would immediately close the wage gap and give women power in their workplace and give women power to actually collectively bargain, and bargain for their worth together? Why have we not talked about making it easier for women to join unions?’” According to Nelson, silence ensued. “And the moderator waited a minute, and then just called on someone else. And that was it.” A lot has changed in the decade since. Fast-food workers are organizing for a union not just to raise their wages, but to combat pervasive sexual harassment. In June, Nelson may challenge current AFL-CIO president Liz Shuler for the federation’s top job. (“That's something that feels like a real calling and a duty,” she told me when I asked, declining to give a definitive answer.) And in the meantime, she says she loves the work. “I just have to share with you that my day started off right today, because the first thing that I got was a picture of Delta flight attendants over at the Starbucks in Atlanta, where they’re organizing,” Nelson told me, her voice cracking with emotion. The name one of the flight attendants gave the barista for her order? “Solidarity.” ![]() Esther Wang is a New York City-based writer who covers social movements, immigrant communities, and the intersection of culture and politics. ![]() WHAT ELSE IS GOING ON
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![]() PACK THE COURTS IS THE NEW UNICORNA Few Important SCOTUS Questions For Dahlia LithwickThat Merrill ruling, your next justice, and moreBY JULIANNE ESCOBEDO SHEPHERD ![]() SAY CHEESE, WE'RE DISMANTLING DEMOCRACY! (PHOTO BY ERIN SCHAFF VIA GETTY IMAGES) Dahlia Lithwick is a brilliant lawyer and writer best known for her columns and podcast at Slate, which analyze the state of the law in the United States and Canada. She is an extreme genius, to me, in that she makes often-boring legalese legible, and that is a crucial skill right now, especially with a right-wing supermajority and a brewing war over who President Biden might choose to replace Justice Stephen Breyer. (For more on that, read Lithwick and Mark Joseph Stern on the double standard applied to the presumptive Black women nominees.) On Monday, SCOTUS issued a stay in Merrill v. Milligan, a decision which seemed to greenlight racist gerrymandering of Congressional voting districts, in Alabama and beyond. I had questions for Lithwick; she made me 100% more informed if 85% more depressed. JES: Does the Merrill order set the stage for the decimation of the remaining provisions of the Voting Rights Act countrywide? DL: In one sense it’s hard to know what the Merrill order does or does not do to what remains of Section 2 of the Voting Rights Act (VRA), because there is no actual order or reasoning offered. We quite literally have a stay—meaning that the District Court’s ruling [which would have put a stop to the gerrymandered maps] is halted, and a decision to hear the case.... someday. But there’s no new law. That is different from saying there are no legal consequences. The voters are stuck with the gerrymandered map. Now there’s a weird concurrence signed only by Justices Kavanaugh and Alito explaining, in a shadow docket order, why there is nothing wrong with shadow docket orders. Then Kavanaugh really does make some new law by insisting it’s too close to the next election to draw new maps…But it’s not all that close to the election. Which at least seems to suggest that from now on, it will always be too close to the next election to challenge a map…and it will be impossible to bring VRA cases if there’s an election even a year away. The entirety of my Twitter timeline seems to think the solution to SCOTUS’s hyper-conservative majority, is to pack the courts—for Biden to expand SCOTUS from 9 to 13 justices. What do you think, and is packing the courts really that easy to do? Um, yeah. Pack the Courts is the new Unicorn. If folks really wanted to press this issue the time to do it was a year ago, when Biden set up a commission to examine (but not make recommendations on) the issue. Nobody did. The commission finally issued a report that didn’t push court reform. For Biden’s purposes, the issue is resolved. It would require massive organizing and messaging and work to do structural court reform, and we can’t even reauthorize the VRA. I agree that court reform is likely the only solution, but it almost ended FDR’s presidency and other than a handful of Senators and Congressmen who have started to push for it in earnest, I think we missed the moment. I say none of this with satisfaction. It’s just a huge, huge lift that needed to happen a year ago. Who do you think is Biden’s most likely nominee to replace Justice Breyer? My money is still on D.C. Circuit Judge Ketanji Brown Jackson because she only just got confirmed last year and garnered three GOP votes. I think that is the easiest path to get something akin to bipartisan support in this Senate, and I think that will be appealing this close to the midterms. She’s a terrific nominee, as are most of the women on the various shortlists. It’s thrilling to see. Listen to Lithwick’s podcast, Amicus, here. ![]() THE METEOR RECOMMENDS Before you go, here’s a movie rec from Ayesha Johnson, director of operations at The Meteor. When she’s not busy directing all of the operations, she’s watching The Fallout on HBO Max. Take it away, Ayesha! ![]() JENNA ORTEGA DELIVERS A HEARTWRENCHING PERFORMANCE IN THE FALLOUT. (PHOTO COURTESY OF WARNER MEDIA/HBO MAX) Opening with high schooler Vada Cavell (played by Jenna Ortega) brushing her teeth half-asleep and drooling with toothpaste as her younger sister busts through the bathroom door, The Fallout captivated me with its nuance, as it depicts a journey of loss and healing after a school shooting. This is Megan Park’s screenwriting and directorial debut, and I think she’s especially good at exploring relationships—with yourself, among friends, between parent and child, and between sisters. Park’s thoughtfulness enriches each character. The music, composed by Billie Eilish’s go-to producer (and brother) FINNEAS, adapts with the film’s tone, so slight in its shifts that it’s reminiscent of Labrinth’s score for Euphoria's first season. I won’t give away too much of what happens, but I’m sure you’re going to sit with this film, long after its end. —Ayesha Johnson ![]() FOLLOW THE METEOR Thank you for reading The Meteor! Got this from a friend? Sign up for your own copy, sent Wednesdays and Saturdays.
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