i have a major intellectual crush on bell hooks

a friend recently directed me to youtube videos of her cultural criticism and transformation, which i thoroughly enjoyed as a commentary of how race, sex, and class are portrayed in popular media. i eat this stuff up. :)

click the link and watch, if you feel so inclined!

calling all gays! stop the woman-hating...

I've noticed it more and more lately. Comments about girls being gross, "no vaginas allowed" proclamations at a party, references to "axe wounds," and conversations about "scary lesbians".

The misogyny of gay male culture has caught my attention in a way that has both shamed me and provoked me to be more outspoken against anti-woman, anti-lesbian, and anti-feminine comments I hear from those around me, non-hetero and hetero alike. It's not fun knowing that I have, at times, actively participated in such conversations, and made those comments. The feeling is similar to the regret I feel about the homophobic statements I made in high school when I was a fearful, closeted, self-hating gay kid. Because of that, I like to think this newfound awareness of anti-woman comments is a positive sign of my own maturing and expanding understanding of the world around me and how I participate in it.

With the release of Katy Perry's song "E.T.," I found myself enjoying the beat and the music until I listened to the lyrics. Suddenly, I realized that I could not support a song where a woman sings about wanting to be "a victim," "infected," and filled with poison. However, many of my gay friends who adore the pop princess have been dismissive of my opposition. Sure, it's a small example, but as a self-identified lover of pop culture, I struggle with many of the messages that pop culture advocates that I ultimately don't.

A large part of my cognitive dissonance regarding anti-lesbian rhetoric has emerged from my close friendships with several queer women who I love dearly, and who are not "scary." They are sensitive, strong, intelligent, beautiful women who may fit some lesbian stereotypes, but who are obviously so much more (just as I may embody many stereotypes of gay men, but exceed those stereotypes to become--guess who?!--me!).

By definition, gay men don't "like" women. We're not attracted to them, we don't want to marry them, and we don't want to have sex with them. We "like" men of course! However, I believe there is no place for making condescending or derogatory comments about women. This extends to all negativity toward the "feminine," which comes up in comments about "queeny" or "femmy" men. There is a definite hierarchy that is somehow understood by gay men that the "masculine" ones are somehow better than the "fems." It's everywhere on hookup sites and gay personals: "masc only," "no fems."

I post this in the hopes of holding myself to a higher standard in terms of my words and actions, in order to be more in line with my own values. I believe that when we become more aware of the impact our words have, and reclaim our responsibility over them, we do good to ourselves and to all those around us.

"Words are, in my not so humble opinion, our most inexhaustible source of magic, capable of both inflicting injury and remedying it." -Albus Dumbledore, Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows, Part II

professional/personal ponderings

The other day at the counseling center, while visiting with my clinical supervisor from last semester, I was approached by a senior staff member who asked me if she could briefly consult with me about something. She proceeded to explain that she was seeing a gay-identified client who was struggling with a relationship, and expressed ambivalence about keeping the client or referring him to a gay-identified therapist, such as myself. She asked me, "How do you feel about being called 'the gay therapist'?" Taken aback, I was about to answer when suddenly my current supervisor walked into the room, and I was suddenly surrounded by past and current superiors.

I felt the wheels of my mind spinning, trying to negotiate the power differentials, the sexual orientation differentials, and the flattery, as well as the tokenization, of being asked such a question. Finally, I responded. My answer is not so important as the effect of having to produce an answer, and the broader issues connected to this experience.

This situation was the first significant time I was approached about the connection between my professional identity and my sexual identity. How do I feel about being called "the gay therapist?" It's a question I have thrown around within myself since I took on the role of a therapist. Even earlier, as I started my program, I asked myself, "How do I feel about being 'the gay psychologist'?" Navigating the realities of being a developing psychologist and psychotherapist has been challenging, yet quite meaningful to me. My advisor explained to me at the outset that it was my choice on how much to include my personal identity in my professional activities. She explained that she knows LGBTQ-identified psychologists (researchers and practitioners) who make all of their work LGBTQ-related. At the same time, she knows others whose professional interests are completely unrelated to their sexual orientation or gender identity.

Since that discussion, I have pondered many times what balance I seek to achieve in my life. Thus far, I have arrived at some tentative conclusions, though they are certainly subject to change as I gain more experience.

First of all, I see my professional work as my activism. My research interests are geared toward the clarification and deconstruction of oppressive systems and ideologies, and emancipation and affirmation of marginalized groups. Whether as a researcher, teacher, or clinician, I strive to be aware of ways I can accomplish these goals.

Yet as strongly as I feel about that activist spirit, I also desire both professional and personal balance, recognizing that I have many other goals and interests that lie outside of LGBT-related issues. Thus part of my process has been to develop as a well-rounded researcher, teacher, and clinician. Yes, my being gay allows me a perhaps privileged and unique perspective on issues surrounding sexual minorities. However, I don't want to see LGBTQ clients exclusively, and don't want to research only LGBTQ-related topics. I feel that to send such clients to therapists with the same gender identity experience or sexual orientation ghettoizes those populations, and does a disservice to both clients and clinicians alike. A better approach, I believe, acknowledges uniqueness while also affirming the commonalities that exist between all of us. People of all sexual orientations, ethnicities, ages, body types, gender identities, etc. have relationship issues, which are largely similar in nature and understandable by any well-intentioned and empathic therapist. While I would love to see LGBTQ-identified clients, I would also like to put forth that any competent therapist should be able to help those individuals, and that I as a gay man and a "gay psychologist" am perhaps no better suited to help them.

The short answer is: No, I don't mind being referred to as a "gay-identified therapist" if that would benefit a client and if I could provide some unique service or perspective because of my own identity. However, I believe that a greater, and higher, principle is to appreciate the commonalities between all people, and to do our best to be affirming and understanding of people who are different from us, since that is the way life works.