Consuming Black cultural goods, nurturing Blackness: intersections of race and class in France and the UK

This article positions the social violence against Roma in Eastern Europe during the COVID-19 pandemic in historical perspective. It is based on primary data derived from the project Marginality on the Margins of Europe – The Impact of COVID-19 on Roma Communities in Non-EU Countries in Eastern Europe, collected in 2020 by researchers in Albania, Bosnia and Herzegovina, Moldova, Montenegro, North Macedonia, Serbia, and Ukraine. This data is contextualised with the help of secondary literature on historical epidemics and pandemics, as well as societal responses to them, with a particular focus on the ensuing scapegoating of minorities in certain cases. The article first makes the case for the importance of historicising such responses to pandemics in different contexts as a safeguard against ‘exceptionalising’ either the ongoing pandemic or the Roma minority. Further, it argues against a reductionist perspective that treats the Roma primarily – or even exclusively – along the lines of their representing a ‘national minority’, a concept that is heavily tilted toward a cultural-linguistic definition of the group. In contrast, it posits that hate speech and racist incidents against the Roma in the context of the pandemic (and more generally) are better understood by factoring in the intersection of race and class, where the long-standing racialization of the Roma in Eastern Europe is inflected by the latter as much as the former. Finally, zooming out from the case study under consideration to consider other instances of ‘Othering’ encountered during the COVID-19 pandemic, it draws attention to the different scales at which exclusion operates, and to the advantages provided by an awareness of the multiple spatial and temporal layers constitutive of such a scalar approach.

Dans le cadre de la hierarchie sociale aux Etats-Unis, prenant en compte les facteurs de classe, d'ethnicite, de race, et de sexe, etude des relations entre femmes blanches ou de couleur et homme blancs, et de l'impact de ces relations sur le mouvement feministe blanc et de couleur

Reviewed by: Presumed Incompetent: The Intersections of Race and Class for Women in Academia ed. by Gabriella Gutierrez et al. Nadia M. Richardson Gabriella Gutierrez yMuhs, Yolanda Flores Nieman, Carmen G. Gonzales, and Angela P. Harris (Eds.). Presumed Incompetent: The Intersections of Race and Class for Women in Academia. Boulder, CO: Utah State University Press, 2012. 570pp. Paper: $36.95. ISBN 978-0-87421-922-7. This anthology, Presumed Incompetent: The Intersections of Race and Class for Women in Academia, is comprised of essays that explore the presumption of incompetence that arises when women of color pursue academic careers in culturally inhospitable institutions of higher education. The theme woven throughout the book is the experienced and, at times, internalized presumption that the women represented in these stories do not possess the intellectual competency to belong in the academically rigorous “ivory tower” traditionally equated with White male scholars. Although the civil rights movement in the United States is currently commemorating its 50th anniversary, affirmative action debates continue to rage, spurred on most recently by the Supreme Court’s decision to order an appeals court to re-rule on the most current affirmative action case, Fisher v. University of Texas). At issue is the questioned constitutionality and necessity of considering race in higher education admission processes in what some consider a postracial society. Institutions of higher education are caught in the crux of the debate and face the challenge of increasing campus diversity in environments that covertly resist such efforts by claiming liberal objectivity and academic freedom. Instead, scholarly uniformity may be rewarded with tenure, and social hierarchical power structures are reproduced along the lines of race, gender, and class (Evans, 2007; Tierney & Bensimon, 1996; Woods, 2006). Through interviews, academic research, and first-person accounts, Presumed Incompetent explores the intersection of race, class, gender, sexual orientation, and ethnicity in the professional experiences of women in academia. While the stories and research represent a variety of disciplines, a majority of them are legal academic narratives that utilize critical race feminism and intersectionality. Critical race feminism (CRF) is a theory that emerged in response to the essentialist portrayals of Black women in critical legal studies (CLS) and critical race theory (CRT) (Crenshaw, 1991; Williams, 1991; Wing, 1997). It deconstructs the allegedly neutral concepts of CLS and CRT by focusing attention on the sexual and racial aspects of power relationships and the multi-dimensional experiences of women of color who are subjected to multiple forms of discrimination based on their race, class, and gender. Combined with intersectionality, a concept that examines the “multiple systems of oppressions” that “simultaneously corroborate and subjugate to conceal deliberate, marginalizing ideological maneuvers that define ‘Otherness’” (Few, 2007, p. 454), CRF places women of color at the center of its analysis. Presumed Incompetent adeptly brings theory to life by providing powerful examples of overt and covert discrimination that women in academia face due to their intersecting identities. Presumed Incompetent consists of 30 chapters grouped in five parts. Part 1, “General Campus Climate,” focuses on ways in which institutions of higher education can foster hostile climates that contribute to the persistence of discriminatory stereotypes that negatively impact how students and colleagues perceive women of color. Part 2, “Faculty-Student Relationships,” highlights classroom challenges for women of color, especially regarding teaching evaluations and unexamined consumer-driven student expectations of faculty homogeneity. Part 3, “Network of Allies,” presents the struggle that women of color face in developing the professional networks and mentorship they need to advance their careers and secure tenure. Part 4, “Social Class in Academia,” is a rare and thought-provoking analysis of class bias in higher education with a particular focus on the performance of class, class bias, and the evolving acquisition and navigation of social capital. Part 5, “Tenure and Promotion,” showcases the institutional racism that pervades the often ambiguous path to tenure and the self-doubt and psychological harm that it elicits. Each story, study, and interview presented in the five individual parts deconstructs the layers of cultural incompetence and inequitable power structures that inform the contributors’ presumed incompetence. The women who contributed their stories, research, and time to this important anthology provide a wealth of cultural and professional...

Reviewed by: Intersections of Race, Class, Gender, and Nation in Fin-de-siècle Spanish Literature and Culture eds. by Jennifer Smith y Lisa Nalbone Óscar Iván Useche Jennifer Smith y Lisa Nalbone (Eds.). Intersections of Race, Class, Gender, and Nation in Fin-de-siècle Spanish Literature and Culture. Nueva York: Routledge, 2017. 214 pp. Jennifer Smith and Lisa Nalbone's edited volume is a timely and necessary addition to the current scholarship in peninsular studies. The nine essays included in the collection explore the intersection of race, class, gender, and nation as the point where many of the processes of identity formation in fin-de-siglo Spain converged. As the editors make clear, the unstable nature of Spanish identity was the result of complex dynamics of social exclusion that affected cultural production at all levels. This intricacy prompts a vast array of subjects of analysis that makes the overarching goals of the compilation at once ambitious and enlightening. To facilitate the dialogue among contributions, Smith and Nalbone grouped the essays around three thematic axes: transatlantic interactions, race, and national identities, an organization that also serves the purpose of highlighting the most urgent preoccupations that surfaced in the country after its demoralizing decline as imperial power at the turn of the twentieth century. Given the richness of topics and problems studied, the editors recognize that "there is no single conclusion to be drawn from the texts" (16); instead, Intersections constitutes a sort of reference volume in which Hispanists will find a collection of innovative and fresh approaches to the study of nineteenth- and twentieth-century Spanish cultural production. All the essays in the compilation acknowledge and draw from the most recent scholarship on race, gender, social class, and national identity in Spain. Authors such as Jesús Cruz, Joshua Goode, Susan Martin-Márquez, Lisa Surwillo, or Akiko Tsuchiya are widely discussed throughout the different contributions. From those analytical perspectives, the studies explore the multiple symbolic mechanisms with which writers, intellectuals, and artists in fin-de-siglo Spain incorporated the racial and social other into their assessments of the country. The inclusion of Hommi Bhabha, Sander Gilman, Judith Butler or Edward Said's ideas in the theoretical framework proposed by the editors thus provides the conceptual guidelines to follow the essays' innovative take on social heterogeneity. These thinkers theorize our problematic fascination with the other from psychoanalytical and postcolonial perspectives, proposing that stereotyping and rejection are some of the social devices we develop to cope with the anxieties of confronting difference. One context where these mechanisms become particularly visible is the sometimes-overlooked relationship between Spain and its late colonies. The first section of the text focuses precisely on these exchanges, offering a gendered vision of colonialism that reframes the issue of purity and ultimately questions Eurocentrism. In chapter one, "Challenging Pasts, Exploring Futures: 'Race,' Gender, and Class in the Fin-de-siècle Essays of Rosario de Acuña, Concepción Gimeno de Flaquer, and Belén Sárraga," Christine Arkinstall contends that for these three authors belonging to the Spanish nation depended on an artificial social scaffold built upon racial and gender categories. To explain and justify this discriminatory structure, in their essays the writers focus on liminal subjects that underline the contrasts between the metropolis and its colonies, between the [End Page 115] working classes and the bourgeoisie, and between rural and urban spaces, divergences that in the end speak for the regulation of feminine desire as an organizational device (25). For Arkinstall, one of the most valuable aspects of these perspectives on colonialism is the fact that the writers were "themselves colonized within their patriarchal context" (39) and, at the same time, they were colonizers from the point of view of their social status and racial origin. This dual condition, however, boosted their deconstruction of colonial subjectivities and refined their assessment of the fears and hopes of a declining society. Arkinstall's essay works well as a critical framework to understand how the cultural production of the time contributed to the construction of transatlantic imaginaries. While Acuña, Gimeno de Flaquer, and Sárraga's non-fiction works present different perspectives on the colonial...

Other| May 01 1995 Revising the Klan: Intersections of Race, Gender, and Class in the 1920s Ku Klux Klan Nancy MacLean, Behind the Mask of Chivalry: The Making of the Second Ku Klux Klan. New York: Oxford University Press, 1994. $30 (cloth). Lynn Dumenil Lynn Dumenil Search for other works by this author on: This Site Google Radical History Review (1995) 1995 (62): 244–247. https://doi.org/10.1215/01636545-1995-62-244 Cite Icon Cite Share Icon Share Twitter Permissions Search Site Citation Lynn Dumenil; Revising the Klan: Intersections of Race, Gender, and Class in the 1920s Ku Klux Klan. Radical History Review 1 May 1995; 1995 (62): 244–247. doi: https://doi.org/10.1215/01636545-1995-62-244 Download citation file: Zotero Reference Manager EasyBib Bookends Mendeley Papers EndNote RefWorks BibTex toolbar search Search Dropdown Menu toolbar search search input Search input auto suggest filter your search Books & JournalsAll JournalsRadical History Review Search Advanced Search The text of this article is only available as a PDF. Copyright © 1995 by MARHO: The Radical Historians' Organization, Inc.1995 Article PDF first page preview Close Modal Issue Section: The Past in Print You do not currently have access to this content.

Purpose – Recent theoretical analyses examining the intersection of race, class, and gender have resulted in exciting new epistemological frameworks in the social sciences. However, feminist researchers have yet to articulate concrete strategies for capturing this intersectionality empirically.Methodology – On the basis of ethnographic research conducted in Cuba, we build on previous feminist epistemological insights and begin to develop methodological strategies that can be used to capture the intersection of race, class, and gender in the context of cross-cultural research.Findings – The major contribution of our work is the articulation of theoretical insights into methodological guidelines that can guide research both inside the United States, the site where much of this theorizing takes place, and beyond our borders.Research limitations – The primary limitation of our research is the lack of collaboration with Cuban researchers. Given the political rancor between the United States and Cuba, and limitations on their academic freedom, is difficult to work with Cuban scholars without compromising their security. Cuban scholars who are critical of the state are fearful of potential reprisals.Originality – Nonetheless, our work provides a unique analysis of how to capture the intersection of race, class, and gender empirically from a cross-cultural perspective.

Beyond Machismo. Intersectional Latino Masculinities

What are the pressing issues around questions of ethnic and cultural diversities in acting training today? Nina Lee Aquino (moderator), Michael Greyeyes, Alanis King, Mieko Ouchi, Joseph Jomo Pierre, and Marcus Youssef discuss key issues around the ethics and politics of representations of ethnicity in the context of a former settler-invader colony, the ways in which the canon reinscribes dominant and generally Euro-centric norms around casting, intersections of patriarchy and racism in training situations, intersections of racism and class in training situations, and potential solutions to training situations that disadvantage students of colour.

Social justice education recognizes the discrepancies in opportunities among disadvantaged groups in society. The purpose of the articles in this special topic on social justice is to (a) provide a critical reflection on issues of social justice within health pedagogy and youth sport of Black and ethnic-minority (BME) young people; (b) provide a framework for the importance of intersectionality research (mainly the intersection of social class, race, and ethnicity) in youth sport and health pedagogy for social justice; and (c) contextualize the complex intersection and interplay of social issues (i.e., race, ethnicity, social classes) and their influence in shaping physical culture among young people with a BME background. The article argues that there are several social identities in any given pedagogical terrain that need to be heard and legitimized to avoid neglect and “othering.” This article suggests that a resurgence of interest in theoretical frameworks such as intersectionality can provide an effective platform to legitimize “non-normative bodies” (diverse bodies) in health pedagogy and physical education and sport by voicing positionalities on agency and practice.

Contents Foreword Acknowledgments Introduction: From Seinfeld to Obama: Millennial Masculinities in Contemporary American Culture / Marc E. Shaw and Elwood Watson Part 1. Masculinities and the Market: Late Capitalism and Corporate Influence on Gender Processes 1. Masters of Their Domain: Seinfeld and the Discipline of Mediated Men's Sexual Economy / C. Wesley Buerkle 2. Sexually Suspect: Masculine Anxiety in the Films of Neil LaBute / Brenda Boudreau 3. The Might of the Metrosexual: How a Mere Marketing Tool Challenges Hegemonic Masculinity / Margaret C. Ervin 4. Fathers, Sons, and Business in the Hollywood Office Movie / Latham Hunter Part 2. Beyond Gender Alone: Defining Multidimensional Masculinities 5. Popular Memory, Racial Construction, and the Visual Illusion of Freedom: The Re-mediation of O.J. and Cinque / John Kille 6. Obama's Masculinities: A Landscape of Essential Contradictions / Marc E. Shaw and Elwood Watson 7. The Male Rapunzel in Film: The Intersections of Disability, Gender, Race, and Sexuality / Johnson Cheu and Carolyn Tyjewski 8. Masculinities in Dating Relationships: Reality and Representation at the Intersection of Race, Class, and Sexual Orientation / Jimmie Manning 9. Do You Have What It Takes to Be a Man?: Female-to-Male Transgender Embodiment and the Politics of the Real in A Boy Named Sue and Body Alchemy / Michel J. Boucher Contributors Index

Instead of the disembodied abstraction that is typically the norm, I begin and end by remarking on my own embodiment as a white female scholar of popular culture reflecting on comics studies by reviewing four books written by white male scholars, all of whom make significant contributions in theorizing comics form. Queer theory teaches us to question the naturalization of norms, so while I observe that all four are male-authored texts that focus mostly on male characters, creators, and audiences, I do not assume bodies neatly match up with genders and sexualities. Instead, guided by queer of color critique, I emphasize each book’s contributions in theorizing heroism and comics form while asking whether and how they engage, illuminate, limit, or even refuse analysis of intersections of gender, race, sexuality, and nation as intertwining social constructions. Three are studies of male superheroes. The fourth, Bart Beaty’s Twelve-Cent Archie, explores a world organized around a male character who is the antithesis of a hero: Archie is “a young man to whom things happen; he is not someone who makes things happen” (16). Overall, I am struck by the significance of gender (especially masculinities), sexuality (especially heterosexuality), race (especially whiteness), and nation (especially the United States) for the objects, creators, collaborations, audiences, and industries under discussion. On the other hand, imagining female, feminist, and queer readers and readings of comics is largely foreclosed, while maleness and masculinities are often reified and underexplored as historical constructs, even in work that makes significant contributions.One of my guiding premises is that queer studies and especially queer of color critique have much to offer comics studies. As Siobhan Somerville (2014, 203) explains, queer since the 1980s functions both “as an umbrella term that refers to a range of sexual identities that are ‘not straight’” and as an analytic that “calls into question the stability of any such categories of identity based on sexual orientation,” thereby exposing the latter as constructions that “establish and police the line between the ‘normal’ and the ‘abnormal.’” In addition to this guiding premise, I build on queer of color analysis modeled by scholars such as Roderick Ferguson, José Esteban Muñoz, and Fatima El-Tayeb, all of whom examine gender, race, sexuality, and nation as intertwining social constructions. Ferguson (2004, 149n1) defines queer of color critique as “a heterogeneous enterprise made up of women of color feminism, materialist analysis, poststructuralist theory, and queer critique” that interrogates such “social formations as the intersections of race, gender, sexuality, and class, with particular interest in how those formations correspond with and diverge from nationalist ideals and practices.” Ramzi Fawaz (2016, 32) further theorizes the post–World War II “superhero as a distinctly queer figure of twentieth-century popular culture” by approaching “popular fantasy and its political effects” from the perspective of queer theory, which “is a body of knowledge that concerns itself with the ways queer or non-normative figures generate alternative desires, bring into view unexpected objects of passionate attachment, and facilitate the production of novel forms of kinship and affiliation.” Although none of the books I discuss here draws much or at all on queer theory, all take up comics form in ways that both illuminate and swerve away from queer figures, alternative desires, unexpected objects of passionate attachment, and nonnormative social and sexual relations. The figure of the “little boy” as privileged subject and imagined reader and scenes of intergenerational transmission of comics among fathers, sons, and brothers also recur, suggesting that masculinities and relationships among men are central to almost all of these comics as well as the communities and networks that transmit their meanings.The story of Captain Marvel and his alter ego Billy Batson, Brian Cremins tells us, “starts with a kid and his books” (3)—namely an editor and writer for Fawcett Publications, Bill Parker, who as a boy read about King Arthur and the Knights of the Round Table and later invented Captain Marvel. But Cremins focuses especially on cartoonist and critic C. C. Beck and writer Otto Binder as cocreators of “one of the best-selling characters of the 1940s” (8). By recovering Beck’s theories of comics form in fanzines, letters, and other archival sources, Cremins does valuable work situating Beck as a figure “like [Will] Eisner” whose “body of work remains one of the great achievements in twentieth-century comics in the United States” (9). Cremins also explores Binder’s career as a pulp science fiction writer and his invention of the animal character Mr. Tawny as his autobiographical surrogate. Here Cremins’s remarks on the importance of fantasy and on animals as expressions of “a shadow self, one hidden from the world” (51–52) suggest that animals can function as queer figures, as in Jack Halberstam’s (2011) work on animated animals. In a discussion of how Billy Batson’s black valet, Steamboat, remains fixed in place while Billy’s movement and mastery of spaces signal his heroism, Cremins also denaturalizes racial categories and explicitly names white supremacy as a problem. He foregrounds as exemplary the story of Steamboat’s removal after objections from New York City junior high school students in the local Youthbuilders program. “If the form is as flexible and promising” as Eisner and Beck believed, Cremins argues, then it also “offers the means and opportunity” (103) to subvert racial stereotypes. Drawing on work in literature, psychology, and memory studies as well as fanzines, he examines relationships among the “medium of comics, the lure of nostalgia, and the art of memory” (4).Cremins concentrates especially on Billy as “a fiction of lost innocence, a marker of the idealized notions of boyhood and masculinity in America in the 1940s” (56). He assumes the comic targeted boy readers (and, during World War II, soldiers) who found appealing the story’s fantasy of “sheltered innocence” (75). Cremins also analyzes the comic as an extension of the boys’ adventure genre, which goes back to the nineteenth-century dime novel, when white boy adventurers, often accompanied by a subordinate person of color, explored exotic, often racialized spaces far from home (see Saxton 1991 and Streeby 2002). While boys and masculinity are the main focus of this study, Cremins dedicates it to his grandmother and cites cartoonist Trina Robbins’s memories of her “childhood discovery” of Captain Marvel, Billy, and most significantly Captain Marvel’s sister Mary as a “pretty major inspiration” for her own career (quoted on 13). Cremins’s brief mention of fanzines publishing photos of children in Mary Marvel costumes made me wonder about girl fans, as did Beck’s remark in a footnote about how much his daughter and granddaughter enjoyed the series. At the end, Cremins analyzes a 1981 photograph of himself, surrounded by other “white middle-class boys” (148) and wearing a Shazam! T-shirt with an image from the Captain Marvel–inspired Saturday morning cartoon. With no memory of its origins, he speculates about the significance of wearing a T-shirt “with a character created for children in the 1940s” and concludes “the weight of nostalgia is literal,” for the boys had “inherited a nostalgia for the popular heroes of the generations that preceded us” (149) even though the author did not read the original comics until much later.In Paul Young’s monograph on Miller’s Daredevil, on the other hand, the author centers his own responses as a twelve-year-old boy and teenage fan, which he, unlike Cremins, remembers very vividly, even describing his study as a “masochistic project” and an “exorcism” (18, 20). Starting with the question, “Why did Miller’s Daredevil blow my twelve-year-old mind?” (5), Young admits he still fears that writing a book will not “purge” either “the images or the rotating feelings of attraction and apprehension they inspire” (9). As “wretched” as he finds Miller’s gender politics especially, he is “still haunted by what those images showed me and what they meant to me beyond what they depicted” (10). In a dialogue between Young as a boy and his older self, he explores the “hold” the comic exerted on his imagination in order to “shed some light” on Miller’s success “and what that success meant for the discourse of superhero comics past, present, and future” (10). Throughout, Young frequently refers to his past as a minister’s son growing up in small-town southern Iowa, foregrounding his and his brother’s responses to comics, which continue today in their biweekly podcast, To the Batpoles! Along the way, Young also shows how Miller helped lead the creators’ rights movement and contributed to the “mainstreaming of superhero comic books beyond their traditional market of children and lifelong fans” through “grim, violent, and/or erotic ‘adult’ content and successful Hollywood franchises” (5). Miller did so, Young suggests, through a range of formal strategies, including breaking with 1940s superhero conventions of reverence for life and modeling “looser, cartoonier drawing styles and non-Code-approved violence” (210). Young contends that Miller used subtlety, irony, and complexity to muddy the good/evil binary of previous superhero comics and raise thought-provoking questions about the relationship between justice and the law. In each chapter, Young credits Miller with achieving a self-consciousness and formal complexity that expose “the act of creating comics” (72) and the conventions of the genre.Although Young incorporates insights from feminist film theory and at times addresses masculinity as a construct, I found myself a resisting reader when he moved from a particular, embodied, twelve-year-old, white-heterosexual-male “me” to a universalizing scholarly “we.” Toward the end, Young alludes to Miller’s saying, of 300’s Spartans and vigilante superheroes such as Batman, that maybe “cultures need guys like that”; Young further clarifies, “I do mean guys—the reckless male narcissists who can’t or won’t make subtle distinctions between good and evil—to do the dirty work of ‘preserving civilization as we know it’” (227). Clearly Young is criticizing the problem of reckless male narcissism and paternalistic investments in defending a racialized “civilization,” but when he says Miller “lets us sit with that ugly possibility” and “squirm at our own enjoyment and/or disgust” (227), I feel the force of my own disidentification, as Muñoz (1999) put it. Although many female readers undoubtedly enjoy Miller’s work, I am not part of the “us” who receives enjoyment, even if ambivalently mixed with disgust, from comics that explore whether white male narcissism is necessary or desirable to “civilization.” I suspect that gender, sexuality, race, and nation shape such enjoyment in ways that also merit analysis and that considering their intersections in the field of superhero comics might teach us something about the construction of masculinities and imagined relationships among men.Scott Bukatman also mentions his past as a young reader, but unlike Young he only started intensively reading Mike Mignola’s Hellboy as a Stanford professor with research funds available to purchase new Dark Horse oversize library editions of the comics, which originally debuted in 1993. Bukatman insists he was not “returned to the world of my childhood,” however, which he observes “isn’t a place I especially want to revisit anyway” (6). Although he includes a chapter on convergences of technique and materiality in children’s books and comics, he does not single out the figure of the boy reader, instead emphasizing how color can “provide a space apart that absorbs a reader” and “provides an antidote to pedantry” (99), enabling a “nonlinear mode of reading” (100). Bukatman suggests that Hellboy deviates from many other superhero comics in making its forensic detective protagonist “our surrogate” rather than “a figure of identification,” such that “our interest is deflected or dispersed into the world itself” (198). Bukatman also emphasizes Mignola’s “handmade ethos” (109) and “increasingly non-naturalistic” art, with its “refreshing attention to—and pushing of—the formal properties of the medium of comics” (9). Arguing that Mignola’s art is not strongly shaped by a realism primarily indebted to cinema and television (9), Bukatman turns to a variety of media, “children’s books especially, but also sculpture, pulp fiction, cinema, graphic design, painting, and medieval manuscripts” to “understand effects or possibilities in the medium of comics and to find vocabularies that will help articulate what it is that comics do” (10).For readers seeking to explore queer possibilities in this beautifully illustrated volume, Bukatman’s emphasis on Hellboy as “a comic steeped in the heretofore taboo genre of supernatural horror” (47) might be one place to start, since horror and the gothic are privileged genres in queer studies. The connections to Lovecraftian weird fiction and the occult detective could also open up questions about sexuality, gender, race, and nation, as could Bukatman’s comparison of Hellboy to James Fenimore Cooper’s Leatherstocking, who is “able to cross between civilization and destiny, retaining the morals of white culture while avoiding its decadence” (74). Hellboy’s resistance to following his destiny might be understood as a queer deviation: “Resisting one’s destiny is hard and lonely work—those horns can grow back” (77). Mignola’s fondness for “nonchronological stories and his use of nonlinear narrational devices” (181) might also be illuminated by recent work on queer time by Elizabeth Freeman, Halberstam, and others. Gender and sexuality are rarely the explicit focus, though openings pop up here and there, such as a footnote where Mignola explains that he felt he needed more female characters but “couldn’t draw” them since he was “terrible at drawing women” (227). Elsewhere, Mignola says he was surprised to discover that many of Hellboy’s fans are women and girls; it would be interesting to know more about audiences and to test the hypothesis that Mignola’s focus on nonnaturalistic elements that work in ways other than through identification may enable female and queer affiliations and pleasures.While the three books above focus on superheroes, Beaty’s Twelve-Cent Archie explores “one of the most lowbrow examples of a particularly lowbrow art form” (3): “nostalgic” and “completely out of fashion” Archie, whose comics sold millions of copies a month in the 1960s and early 1970s (4). Although Archie superhero comics were briefly introduced, they lasted only sixteen issues collectively. Beaty calls this a failed “experiment” (195) since “an action hero” is something Archie is not, for Archie is “a comic about nothing” (192). But Beaty argues that, far from being a defect, this everydayness was one of the comic’s great virtues: Archie was “the quintessential everyman—the typical American teen” (17) and Archie comics played with “the possibilities of everyday life in middle America, taken to certain logical or narrative extremes” (20). Beaty claims the greatness of Archie comics was inseparable from their nonliterary qualities as well as their attention to the quotidian. For instance, artist Harry Lucey was “one of the great masters of comic-book storytelling through body language” (21), known for “the amazing pliability of his characters and variety of their poses” (13), which supports Beaty’s claim that body language is another way comics are closer to the visual arts than to literature. Contending that “scholars have focused nearly exclusively on those works that can be most easily reconciled within the traditions of literary greatness . . . or those of contemporary cultural politics,” Beaty charges that such “cultural cherry-picking” leaves “enormous gaps in both the history and cultural analysis of comics” by excluding “the genuinely popular” (5) in the form of “children’s comics and humor comics.” These comics, he suggests, were “replete” with “self-referential formal play”: they included “wordless comics, metareferential comics, and avant-garde and abstract visual tendencies” (6). Thus Beaty hopes to right “the scholarly wrongs done to Archie” by “addressing the works as both typical and exceptional” during Lucey’s 1961–69 tenure as lead artist (6), works in which Beaty discovered “a level of complexity and interest that was totally unexpected.” The comics’ form—“their lack of continuity, their brevity, and their independent functioning within a larger narrative system”—contributed to that complexity, and Beaty especially praises “the efficacy and cogency of the interrelated short-story comics form as a significant alternative to graphic novels self-consciously modeled on literary parameters” (8). Indeed, one of the many pleasures of reading Twelve-Cent Archie is its exemplification of what we might call such a queer nonlinearity. Like the comics he studies, Beaty’s book is nonlinear and can be read in any order, while each of his chapters is “like every Archie story,” which can “exist independently of the rest” (7).Beaty addresses these comics’ queer potential most explicitly in his remarks on Jughead, who he suggests is asexual but whose “disdain for women” is often “read as a suggestion of queerness” (64). Beaty rejects such a reading since he finds no evidence that Jughead desires Archie and understands the couple instead as an “asexual male pairing” (65). If, however, we conceive of queerness not (only) as an identity but (also) as an analytic that denaturalizes socially and historically constructed identities, then a queer reading of Jughead’s asexuality is certainly possible. Instead, Beaty emphasizes how the male creators of Archie comics centered an asymmetrical on Archie, and thereby creating a that was for a male reader” so much so that is a between the success of Archie comics and the of of and He observes that is of and and are for color and and a range of male body while is only one female body At the he Archie comics were popular with a young female and speculates that the of and in that that Archie comics were a of female Beaty could enjoy and their since theories of reading” teach us that do not what they read while white were within stories created by Beaty the of characters in Archie comics, which the social of the rights Indeed, in the 1960s was a of white and where all could be on his own in Beaty observes that was for a white kid growing up in a of in the a of his own only Although Beaty the of in Archie comics, he their He the book by remarking on his enjoyment in his own who is the Beaty was when he read his the world of as I used to do” about female and the of Archie comics made me on my own reading I was in in Iowa, a that was then mostly though home to a significant of and that is about of where Young I as a Archie and comics after from around the then around the to read them my was Archie from to thereby the of Archie comics and in I was reading them at the of their I to they were so with the color, the art, and the I of their could them with could them up and them even when a and most of all their and could purchase them at the and many other in my to and I my to them for me at the they were and that might do it even though I had three brothers also for things and my had a hard time I moved on to and and had mostly lost interest in Archie by my As a twelve-year-old, I enjoyed the Shazam! television that preceded the Saturday morning animated on Cremins’s mostly lead was a often in and I was also to a Shazam! the superhero in the body of a female I Archie comics were and for a America that but like Beaty I Lucey’s art, and the meant were to the which me even though I like either As a white I as did but did not with was and I was by how were the for some weird which I would later as white a I was to the and alternative that included women in The and after through the of a local that sold and comics to By the time I to I had in with the independent comics that both in the local the from the in and in my of especially and which up science fiction, and all in one I especially the and since Lucey’s Archie comics were a major on my Archie In and about comics with a white man from one of my He with me how in a place he was as a by the male bodies and queer in the superhero comics I so I with this in order to suggest are still many possibilities for and queer figures, alternative desires, unexpected objects of passionate attachment, and queer and nonnormative affiliations and kinship even in comics created by white men and mostly at a white male in about form and heroism in comics studies are still many questions to about intersections of sexuality, gender, race, and Streeby is professor of studies and and of the at the of books World and American and the of of and the of through and of Streeby an on reading comics as fiction in and and is for with Ramzi Fawaz and

This study examines the intersectionality between professional identities and race/ethnicity among Latina/o school leaders. Stemming from a larger study at the National Latina/o Leadership Project, we examine the contributions of Latina/o school administrators in the state of Texas in relation to their leadership in K-12 schools. Two hundred twenty-six respondents inform this study. Descriptive and content analyses of data revealed that the intersectionality of race and class as influencing the work of school administrators and described how, among major influences, their own schooling experiences had an impact in the development of their professional identities.

This study explores The God of Small Things by Arundhati Roy through the lens of intersectionality, focusing on the interconnected systems of colonialism, race and gender that shape the experiences of marginalised woman characters. The existing literature written from the standpoint of feminist analysis of the novel could be divided into four broader categories: first, the woman has been conceptualised as subaltern who are denied to speak for themselves; Second, the oppression against woman and their strategies for reclaiming their agencies have been discussed; Third, the discrimination against woman through the framework of liberalism has been discussed; Fourth, the concept of intersectionality has been used in which the intersection of caste and class in marginalisation of woman has been discussed. This study aims to expand and contribute to the fourth category of literature. The existing literature written from the standpoint of intersectionality only discusses class and caste and does not incorporate the intersection of race. This study aims to fill this gap by exploring and analysing the intersection of race, and gender in the marginalisation of women in the novel The God of Small Things. This study employed Kimberlé Crenshaw's and Chandra Mohanty framework of intersectionality, to investigate how the intersection of colonialism, race and gender within the novel, particularly in the lives of female characters Ammu, Mammachi, Baby Kochamma, and Rahel.

Visibly Invisible: Stigma and the Burden of Race, Class and Gender for Female Students of Color Striving for an Academic Career in the Sciences

This chapter provides a basic overview of peacemaking criminology, and demonstrates ways in which peacemaking criminology can contribute to a study of the intersection of race, class, and gender. Peacemaking criminology is an attempt to better understand the human condition and create practices with the goals of peace and social justice. Peacemaking criminology often focuses on the social and structural arrangements of society, particularly US society, and the implications of such arrangements for harmful behavior. Peacemaking can also strive for change at the institutional level, through the development of alternative methods of conflict resolution, such as mediation and reconciliation. Peacemaking has clear implications for studying the intersection of race, class, and gender. A key tenet of peacemaking is that the suffering of all has a very basic and common root, it is a part of the human condition, and it is exacerbated by current structural and discipline-oriented conditions.