And It Breaks My Heart (Fidelity)

I’m so sad to say I’m putting this blog on indefinite hiatus. My life has changed in a way I couldn’t anticipate, and I no longer have the financial luxury of focusing on this kind of intensive project, as much as I still want to do it. The ultimate goal was always to provide financial stability for myself and others in my community, but now my financial situation will have to stabilize first and faster before I can spend time bettering my own life or anyone else’s. But one day, loves, as soon as I can, I promise I will.

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Planning a Collective

The readings this time around are particularly slow going. I find I have a hard time with self-imposed deadlines, and I’m not sure if a project that involves reading a bunch of wrong and boring bullshit was the best venue in which to test my self-discipline. I’m also realizing that I have more responsibilities and less time than the syllabus currently allows, so going forward I’m going to give myself three weeks for each unit. That’s what seems to be happening organically anyway.


What do I love more: that Forbes is giving me advice on passion or that a WordPress ad is contradicting it?

In the meantime I’m following the conventional (or, since I Googled it looking for a specific source and so rudely discovered, now unconventional) wisdom of following my passion in order to produce content. I want to talk about what the process of building a collective could look like. I spend much more time ruminating on this than amusing myself with bad sex ed content, although you probably wouldn’t know it. Bad sex ed content isn’t even amusing in and of itself; it’s depressing unless you envision an alternative. Here I was trying to build up a content base of criticism of bad content before properly propounding on the possible alternatives. I was sure to bludgeon everyone with the horrors of inaccurate information instead of inspire them to action.

This is a bad side-effect of my tendency to over-plan, to try to put everything in place before making a real move. I’ve only spoken of this project casually in conversation, dropped a few links here and there, waiting for the right time to lay out a proper vision, working on the assumption that that time will come after I’ve got it all planned out privately—you know, after I can be sure to ward off failure and rejection. That time would obviously be never. Excessive fear of failure may be a general foible of mine but it’s also a specific reaction to the extreme tendency of collectivist projects to nose-dive into flames.



With that in mind, it may be easier to talk about what I specifically do not envision for a collectivist project, and there are two possibilities that keep me awake at night. The first fail possibility is the common chaotic wreck of the disorganized left, (and if you’ve heard me complain about that recently, now you know why.) Leftist disorganization is so common a problem it’s more like a running gag, except that the end results are only funny in retrospect. I’ve watched disorganization turn to spectacular failure on at least a half dozen projects that I can specifically remember; there are many more that I’ve forgotten, either because the downfall was so swift it’s like it barely happened at all, or because the fiasco was so protracted I looked away and wiped it from my memory. I’ve thankfully only been directly involved in like 3 of these occurrences, but it’s been enough to establish a pattern.

The pattern goes: one or two or three people are really passionate about something. These people might be anarchists but they’re never operating in anarchist spaces (I’m sure they do, just not that I’ve seen). More often they’re general lefties in feminist or social justice spaces who have a passing familiarity with anarchist ideas like “DIY” but not enough to understand that it doesn’t mean “go in knowing nothing and just wing it!” Most of these projects have been in theater, which is a particularly brutal way to experience failure but also an illustrative one. When one or two or three people have a passion and need to convince other people to get on board, the passion is usually enough. But when it comes to organizing a successful project, the cracks show very clearly very early in the process.

Take the feminist collectivist attempt to put on a play (OK OK it was the Vagina Monologues) that began with the misunderstanding that if you had any prior experience with acting or directing it shouldn’t be utilized, because “no experts.” These one or two or three not-leaders not-decided we should cast the play collectively, without providing any ethical or aesthetic guidelines. There was another ad-hoc theater experience that began with the not-producer, not-director explaining that she didn’t believe in directing, because it was hierarchical. I’d read Theater of the Oppressed but still wasn’t catching her line of logic, so I asked her to lay it out by explaining who would be deciding on stage directions. “What are stage directions?” she replied. I explained, but she didn’t seem convinced they were necessary.

These projects were both blessedly limited in time and scope to the performance of the piece. One resulted in an okay performance and the other was a moderate disaster—again, pretty easy to gauge with theater—and although the processes for both were chaotic wrecks, the ultimate okayness or failure of each colored how the not-cast felt about the whole process. The moderate disaster left everyone frustrated and bitter and did more to fracture community than build it. With something like a sex ed collective, where the time and goals are both open-ended and money is more of a motive, the potential for disaster and the potential of that disaster to ruin relationships, fracture communities, and destroy finances are sky-high. I am trying to build enough of a knowledge base to avoid a “What are stage directions?” scenario and more so, to avoid a “Who gets what money and when?” scenario.

Of course you cannot build a collective by yourself, cannot make these decisions for a collective by yourself, or else you become the Director in the worst way.  You can only prepare to bring your own knowledge into a collective. I just want to make sure I know as much as possible about stage directions —uh, so to speak.


A good-ass book on worker cooperatives you should totally read.

One of the things that I am learning is the amount of work and the extent of risk inherent in building a worker cooperative; again, the scope is exponentially greater than a theater performance in both time and goals. I am building a blog as the first step in letting people know this project might exist that they can get on board with, but I am also building the foundations for something I can begin as a solo project and later transform into a collective, if a solo launch is what ends up happening. Because it may very well be that people have the interest but not the capacity to build something from the ground-up with me. (If they do, the plans change according to collective desire, but we’re setting that possibility aside for now because obviously I can’t possibly address what the collective desires might be.)

This is where things get ethically tricky, where I need to ask not only, What can I build first by myself? but What should I build first by myself that does not benefit only myself but still provides directly for me and can be transitioned into a collective project that provides directly for multiple people? Put in more starkly economic terms, if I need to raise seed money myself for a future collective, how do I do that in a way that a) gets other people aware of and excited about the project and future collective collaboration and b) does not exploit (in Marxist terms) other people’s labor for my own benefit? I sometimes even wonder if someone in my position as a white cis woman should attempt to do this, but then I acknowledge that I have a clear financial need for self-employment and can only do my best to achieve that in an ethical way; self-denial is the surest way to avoid oppressing anyone but it’s also cowardly to choose martyrdom over earnest and well-researched attempts at community empowerment.


Still working on #1

So, I am attempting to build this in a way that can be replicated by other, perhaps more oppressed individuals, in sharing the intellectual resources I gather with them. I am also laying out the first draft of my plans here for feedback before I go any further. Here are the steps I’m envisioning: Continue reading

Some Shit About Relationships

(Syllabus Weeks 5 and 6)



Relationships, man. Shit.  Credit: Keith Haring

Here’s some shit about relationships. I named this section of the syllabus “Some Shit About Relationships” well before reading any of the chapters, and I assumed I’d title the blog post something less flippant.  After all, relationships (sexual, romantic and otherwise) are the foundations of human society— heck, they’re the building blocks of humanity itself!— and they deserve serious consideration. Alas, these chapters (Patricia Hill Collins, as always, excluded) are not considerate. They are exactly what I had intuited: some shit.

Specifically, they are devotional texts to the sanctity of blissful, lifelong, sexual, monogamous relationships (BLLSMR, pronounced ball-smear, because why not?) This is the 21st Century and these are liberal texts, so BLLSMR aren’t just for cisgender heterosexuals: LGBT people can and should and, like, probably must have them, too. What a wonderful world, where LGBT people can kill for US imperialism and have their relationship issues medicalized in the same ways as cisgender heteros.

The medicalization— if not pathologization— of everything that isn’t blissful, lifelong, sexual, monogamous relationships is what disturbed me while reading these texts. It’s one thing to hold up BLLSMR as the only functional option; it’s another to assert that those who don’t meet the standards of BLLSMR must choose between dysfunction and treatment of the medical variety; if you need counseling, well, other than religious counseling, medical counseling is your only option. I’m sure I’ve known that for quite some time, but it hasn’t really bothered me until now: you’re supposed to see a medical professional to address infidelity!

The chapter on infidelity in Principles and Practice begins by stating that, “Infidelity is not a sexual dysfunction. In fact, it is not a mental disorder” (399). In fucking fact?! And yet, it is being treated by a medical professional, with a medicalized approach to therapy, and this medical approach feels like fingernails on a chalkboard. There are two researched and recommended medical treatment models for infidelity: “the intersystems approach, [which] asserts that infidelity is a relationship issue: partners suffer together and must heal together,” and “the integrated approach, [which] describes three phases of recovery: 1) dealing with the initial impact 2) developing a shared understanding of the contributing factors and 3) reaching an informed decision as to how to move on— separately or together” (italics mine) (405) . For a profession that values neutrality to the point of upholding white supremacy, it’s pretty striking that there isn’t even an attempt at considering infidelity in a value-neutral way.  The word ‘infidelity’ itself has been selected over ‘nonnegotiated non-monogamy’ because “it is easier to employ” (408). There is zero explanation offered for this choice, so forgive me for speculating: it’s easier to employ a word with negative connotations when you mean to impose the medical value of healing or recovering from suffering. 

I might be willing to grit my teeth and shrug this off if the healing options were useful. But, again, they elevate blissful, lifelong, sexual, monogamous relationships as the gold standard, from which the major deviation is being miserable and/ or alone. There is little discussion of non-sexual romantic relationships (not just a Tumblr thing!; actually quite common among older, long-term partners), casual romantic relationships, multiple relationships, poly communities, serial monogamy, and various kinds of non-romantic relationships. There isn’t even an attempt to clarify what the values of BLLSMR are, let alone to help the individuals in such a relationship identify what their own values are and whether these values conflict with those of BLLSMR. Other questions that remain unanswered: what if an individual has internally dissonant values that are causing distress—  can they be resolved? If the partners have conflicting values, might they be mediated in a way that could result in a compromise, and could that compromise open up other options in the relationship like consensual non-monogamy? Silence. The only discussions are of healing or relationship death. No possibilities open up after death; it is implied that the subsequent events are limited to another BLLSMR or eternal loneliness.



The advice to heal or to kill a relationship purports to be supported by research, which should clue us in that there are some experiences— say, alternative lifestyles or particular intimate arrangements— that academic and clinical knowledge production can’t approximate the wisdom of. Instead, the conventional wisdom is confirmed through bias in the construction, implementation, and interpretation of academic and clinical studies. This false wisdom is passed down from one accredited professional to another and from all to their peon patients. It is certified with the seal of approval from an endless chain of doctors who don’t have one single relevant personal experience among them to know that you can be something other than alone or in a BLLSMR.

Knowing better isn’t limited to relationship options. There are some things you’d think any sexuality professional— and certainly a psychiatric doctor— would know better than to do—  like, say, surprise his clients with a guided visualization of a sexual fantasy of child gang rape. (!?!?!!???!!!) But this is exactly what David Treadway, Ph.D. does to a couple in a sexless marriage in the New Directions chapter, “Hearts’ Desires.” He is attempting to get the couple to talk about taboo fantasies. Instead, he triggers one half of the couple into silence and then sobbing. The poor man eventually reveals he’s a survivor of child sexual abuse and— of course!— this leads to a breakthrough for everyone. Lessons are learned! How any therapist could learn that child sexual abuse survivors exist through triggering one and not express any shame about his dangerous ignorance, I don’t know. Is there anything that shitty old white people with doctorates won’t pretend to know best about?

No, there isn’t. However! This is slightly less infuriating when their knowledge is accurate. Only about half of the official information on sexual relationships is incorrect conventional wisdom; the other half appears to be the sort of accurate wisdom most of us possess but can’t always identify or articulate on our own. To whit: the importance of communication and the various kinds of love. These were the major take-aways of Janell Carroll’s two chapters this week, and if we ignore her intimations that love and communication occur mostly in BLLSMRs, we can actually learn to articulate a few things we may already know. I break down these lessons about communication, love, and intimacy in the notes, where I also detail Patricia Hill Collins’ sociological discussion of  Black love relationships, the DSM‘s bizarre categorizations of issues affecting relationships, Principles and Practice’s surprisingly insightful chapter on body image and sexual relationships, and New Directions strange model of ‘good enough’ sex in long-term relationships.

First I want to end this summary on this point, about wisdom we learn from living versus wisdom that is received. Ultimately, helping people identify and articulate what they’ve learned from relationships and sex is one  major purpose of radical sex education.  Its underlying principle is that people are the experts of their own lives, and from this same principle we draw a second purpose: sharing the wisdom from our unique experiences with other people who haven’t experienced the same things. This is especially important where the commonly received wisdom about the experience diverges sharply from the lived reality, and doubly so where the reality is oppressed and criminalized: for sex workers, for queer people, for transgender people, even for Black people in ‘opposite’-gender BLLSM relationships, who, in Collins’s words, are resisting white supremacist notions of gender and sexuality by “loving the unlovable and affirming their humanity” (250). These are the things we so often cannot learn from professionals.



There is a third and final purpose of radical sex education: taking what we can learn from professionals and de-professionalizing it. We should widely disseminate medical facts about things like genital function and appearance, puberty, menopause, safer sex, pregnancy, abortion, birth and STIs. These are common sexual or sex-related physical experiences we may not understand without better access to information that has been unfairly tucked away in medical textbooks and hidden in ivory towers. Medical professionals obviously have incredible value— I have not gone full ‘anarcho-primitive’ here— but when they extend their professional realm past their expertise and hoard the knowledge they do have, their dominance should be resisted.



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Diversity is a Corporate Strategy, Cultural Sensitivity is a Psychiatric One

(AKA Weeks 3 and 4: In Which (Some of) the Main Texts Pretend to Care About Race and Its Relevance to Sexuality Studies)


Angela Davis said, “I have a hard time accepting diversity as a synonym for justice. Diversity is a corporate strategy.” Psychiatric texts deploy the term ‘cultural sensitivity’ in a similar way. Ostensibly it’s a claim of inclusion, but functionally it serves to increase profits by extending the market (in this case, of psychiatric services) to People of Color. If the goal is to allow People of Color full access to care, including psychiatric sex therapies, we’d have to radically change what psychiatry means, not ask therapists trained in a white supremacist discipline to attend a workshop on ‘cultural sensitivity’.

A real starting point would be reworking the common understanding of the relationship between race, gender, and sexuality. They aren’t intersections that appear only when therapists map out the psyches of racialized patients. They are mutually constitutive categories of social control. In other words, you cannot understand gender or sexuality– as abstract concepts or as they are embodied in any individual– if you don’t understand race.

This is obvious if you’ve heard or read anything of the actual histories racialized peoples. Historical systems of white domination (historical meaning invented and implemented years ago but still in operation today) like chattel slavery and colonialism were justified through hegemonic ideas about the deviant genders and sexualities of racialized peoples. White supremacy pretty much invented gender oppression and sexual oppression, yet very many white sex educators give no more than lip service to race in their work. This tells you they’ve neither read nor thought much about anything other than their own sexualities.

I know because I was once such a white person. I am, obviously, still a white person, and so I’m still able to enact racial oppression and will always benefit from the racial oppression that other white individuals enact and the structure of white supremacy as a whole. It’s my responsibility as a decent human being to constantly work to understand and undermine this structure. Even if I had no ambitions to be decent, I would still need to understand white supremacy and racialized constructions of gender and sexuality to understand my own white gender and sexuality. The same goes for all white sex educators out there: we gotta stop being know-nothing assholes. That’s where this week’s supplementary readings come in.

They include four chapters from academic nonfiction books and two journal articles, and they’re only diving-off points. I hadn’t originally included Morgensen’s, Puri’s and Mann’s writing in the syllabus, because the point of this endeavor was to learn what the major texts had say about sexuality and only supplement that a little where necessary. But after reading the textbooks in weeks 1 + 2, the words of more People of Color and scholars of racialized histories felt not just morally imperative but intellectually necessary; there was SO much missing that the supplementary text couldn’t just be one work by Patricia Hill Collins. Otherwise? Reading all these shitty textbooks might just rot my brain, and I’d end up a know-nothing asshole again.

I don’t want any of us to wind up that way, so I chose texts that are all available for free online (see the reading list for sources). However, if you can afford to pay for these works or other works by these authors, you should. (That’s the principle on which I construct my alternate reading list, too.) And if you’re short on time as well as cash? Hang on, kid, this summary’s got you covered! You can also skip ahead to ‘The Fantastic Parts’ section of the notes below.


In Black Sexual Politics, Patricia Hill Collins explores the interrelated processes of racialization and sexualization. Both of these are inflicted ON Black bodies, from the beginnings of the transatlantic slave trade through to what Collins identifies as the post-Civil Rights era . Collins argues that in order to understand ‘the new racism’ (racism not explicitly encoded in the law) we must understand these historical processes and the ways they continue to play out today. Her major contention is that Black genders and sexualities are always classified as deviant under white supremacist hegemony: “African Americans have been evaluated within the context of a sex role theory that by its very nature disadvantages Black people,” she writes on page 44. Collins goes on to write against a ‘politics of respectability’ as useless to dismantling these white supremacist norms.

In the second chapter of her book, Collins gives a detailed history of Black sexual politics in the United States, and I’d make it required reading for anyone with an interest in sex education (or racial justice, or gender justice, or economic justice, or, or, or…) From “the political economy of chattel slavery” (55) which relied on commodifying Black sexuality, to “racial segregation and the rural south” (61) which justified segregation and vigilante violence through the pathologization of Black sexuality, to”racial segregation and urban ghettoization” (69) and “the post- civil rights era” (75) which are defined by gendered economic disenfranchisement and control of the surplus population through the expansion of the prison industrial complex, this whole chapter is illuminating and vital.

The history of Black sexual politics is of course present in all other racialized histories, but the exact process of white supremacist domination is never repeated exactly for other racialized groups. I chose Scott Lauria Morgensen’s article on gender, sexuality, and settler colonial studies as an introduction to this issue as it relates to the indigenous peoples of the Americas. Because he is writing for an academic journal, Morgensen’s prose is denser than Collins’s, but it also offers more obvious summaries of its points. These main points are that “colonialism is produced, extended, and illuminated by gendered and sexual power” (3) and “colonialism has sexualised indigenous lands and peoples as violable, subjugated indigenous kin ties as perverse, attacked familial ties and traditional gender roles, and all to transform indigenous peoples for assimilation within or excision from the political and economic structures of white settler societies” (4). Morgensen takes care to note the limitations of his academic knowledge production and acknowledges marginalized experience as a site of knowledge production that can “displace the epistemic frame of settlers” (3).

From this marginzalized knowledge production comes definitive answers to questions that White Feminism cannot stop arguing over, such as the validity of transgender identities. Guess what? They’re valid! When we understand that the cissupremacist gender binary is a Western construct that is violently imposed on indigenous societies, there’s no debate as to whether denying trans women’s identities is violent; it is a function of settler colonialism and cultural genocide, so of course it is. Morgenson helps us understand how this violence was operationalized. He explains that this Western gender binary was not incidental to settler colonialism. Rather, “the targeting of persons who today might be called Two-Spirit for violent elimination instantiated colonial heteropatriarchy and a sex/ gender binary as a precursor to establishing a new economic and legal system”  (14) (italics in the original). Cissupremacism is a central aspect of white supremacist violence, and it is only now undeniable to white people because of the work of Two-Spirit activists and queer indigenous scholars.


I chose Morgenson’s and Collins’s writing to fill in general gaps in knowledge about race and gender, but I chose Susan Mann’s and Jyoti Puri’s pieces directly in response to the first round of readings. Remember the Sexuality Now account of ‘Sexuality in Ancient Asia‘ that amounted to no more than brief list of stereotypes? Puri’s “Concerning Kamasutras” and Mann’s Gender and Sexuality in Modern Chinese History are here to put them to rest. First, Puri’s blistering account of how Victorian-era British colonists essentially invented the Kamasutra as part of their orientalist colonial project and how 20th-Century Indian nationalists attempted and failed at reclaiming it because they were working from “androcentric nationalist impulses that sought to establish a compatibility between a select national tradition and Western, colonial modernity” (621). Puri’s article is a particularly focused and illuminating account of how white supremacist patriarchy exoticizes and pathologizes the sexuality of racialized peoples to subjugate and control both colonial subjects and white women.  Puri also explains how this process instills or strengthens forms of structural subjugation within colonized societies, in this case casteism and Islamophobia in India. Sexuality Now! couldn’t even acknowledge the existence of Muslim peoples within India, because acknowledging pluralism in racialized nations would complicate one-dimensional stereotypes.

The preface and introduction of Susan Mann’s book-length history of modern (19th + 20th Century) Chinese gender roles also includes a necessary discussion of pluralism and subjugation within China. Mann gives an account of the Manchu conquest of the majority Han ethnic population that begat the Qing dynasty.  She also hints at the great regional cultural variation within China, mentioning all-female households in the Canton delta and sisterhoods of women in southern Hunan province (12), and cites the various influences of Buddhism, Daoism, and Confucianism on Chinese gender idiologies– a welcome correction to Sexuality Now!‘s inane ‘yin and yang’ summary.

Sexuality Now! also failed to offer an insightful analysis of the practice of footbinding, but Mann illuminates the history of the practice in her discussion of the subjugation that followed the Manchu conquest. After Manchus banned the practice, Han women began to engage in it as form of anti-colonial resistance; what had started as patriarchal paradoxically became a way to defy hegemonic control, as Han women used it to express ethnic pride and affirm their marginalized gender performance (17). Mann explicitly offers at the end of her introduction that this historical understanding of “sexuality and gender relations in a different cultural context … challenges the universalizing claims of Western modernity” (23).


Imagine a DSM-5 that captured any of these histories in the Sexual Dysfunction, Paraphilic and Gender Identity Disorder categories. You can’t, really, because then these three sections would mostly cease to exist.  The American Psychiatric Association has been forced over decades to acknowledge cultural difference in constructions of pathologies, but they mostly do so where it opens up possibilities for further pathologization. For example, the DSM-5 includes a section on Cultural Formulation, which explores how culture affects “key aspects of an individual’s clinical presentation and care” but it never questions whether that care (or ‘care’) is even necessary  within other cultural understandings (750). And of course it doesn’t, because if ‘the individual’ is already in the room, the clinician can’t just let her leave; he has to bill her. Ultimately, culture may affect someone’s diagnosis or treatment protocols but it won’t be allowed to interfere with continued insurance payments.

 Like their unwavering guide, the DSM, the sex therapy textbooks also must address (minoritized) cultures. Each contains one chapter on ‘cultural sensitivity,’ and neither attempts to impart any historical understanding of how white supremacy operates on sexuality or through the field of psychotherapy. Instead, they both offer liberal blandishments about being open and understanding (how one can understand without the prerequisit background knowledge is anyone’s guess).

At the beginning of New Directions‘s cultural sensitivity chapter — after the author has made a tasteless joke about the differences between Christian, Jewish and Muslim women’s sexuality in order to illustrate how wrong it is to make such tasteless jokes!– the reader is confronted with a quote from ‘Pope and Vasquez’ that “‘Therapists who ignore cultural values, attitudes and behaviors different from their own deprive themselves of crucial information and may tend to impose their own worldview and assumptions on clients in a misguided and harmful approach’ (p. 227)” (161) (italics mine). Here is the underlying philosophy of sex therapy, the classic liberal fallacy that neutrality is not only a possibility but a virtue. A radical approach– a decolonial approach, which decenters Western enlightenment notions of scientific neutrality– would not seek to do the impossible and eliminate personal bias but to expand personal viewpoints through education while acknowledging their constructions and limitations. This may be the major difference between sex therapy and sex education: the former is a necessarily liberal project and the latter can be approached from any ideological standpoint. In order for sex education to be radical, the understanding and destruction of white supremacist philosophy must be a foundational aspect of the project.



The Profoundly Questionable Parts

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Taking an Orbitoclast to the Head of the APA

(AKA Weeks 1 and 2: The Introductions, Part the Second)


You cannot do it in the dark. You cannot do it in a park. You cannot do it on a train. You should probably do it if you have something weird with your brain, though, and/ or if you have been entangled with the psychiatric system from the age of nine like I have— you should read the Diagnostic and Statistical Manual of Mental Disorders. You don’t have to read it from start to finish (unless, of course, you do, but my OCD is in remission). Instead, you should read all the introductory and how-to bits (Section I), since this is where the sad little soul of the DSM is hidden.

I expected to unreservedly loathe the DSM-5 (the latest edition) based on my interactions with so many dozens of its owners and also this terrifically amusing review in the The New Inquiry that assess the tome as “a new dystopian novel” with obvious Borgesian influences. The DSM-5 explicitly cautions against the New Inquiry reading—which also happens to be the reading of a good number of psychiatric professionals—  “that every person’s illness is somehow their own fault, that it comes from nowhere but themselves: their genes, their addictions, and their inherent human insufficiency.” The shocking plot twist of the DSM-5 is not that “its originator can’t even tell that they’ve subsumed themselves within its matrix” as an obsessive-compulsive cataloguer with poor insight (the TNI review again); it’s that the originator has perfect insight into its own limitations but knows its reader will refuse to heed these same limitations. As such, it’s more compelling than repelling.

It is even occasionally likeable. Consider, for a moment, it’s necessity. Something like the DSM-5 would have to exist even in a perfect world, because it allows for “guiding treatment recommendations, identifying prevalence rates for mental health service planning, identifying patient groups for clinical and basic research, and documenting important public health information such as morbidity and mortality rates” (5). In other words, we need to have some sort of taxonomy of mental dysfunction in order to so much as discuss it. The problem is (wait for it, wait for it, wait for it) how such taxonomy must function under capitalism and within an adversarial mental healthcare system that pits patient against doctor against insurer.

The DSM-5 sucks primarily because it is the bible for a mental healthcare system in which care has been commoditized and therefore rationed and therefore must be explicitly justified through pathologization. Pathologization in turn creates its own problems, including overly rigid diagnostic criteria and diagnostic boundaries that exclude and obscure more problems than they delineate. (“We recognize that mental disorders do not always fit completely within the boundaries of a single disorder,” the author writes pitifully in the Preface.) This tragedy is captured in the prosody of the index listings: “312.34 (F63.81) Intermittent Explosive Disorder (466)/ __.__ (__.__) Conduct Disorder (469) /Specify whether:/ 312.81 (F91.1)”… and so on and so forth, lists of numbers and letters that have significance only in the bureaucratic bowels of the insurance industry.
The competence and foresight of the DSM-5 render it compelling, but the ultimate fact is that the DSM-5 knows what evil ends it will be used for. Don’t mourn the scribes at the American Psychiatric Association; they aren’t the victims of this tragedy. Their ranks are swarming with the villains, and those who aren’t directly guilty are the complicit sad saps who whine to the victim-cum-hero when she returns for revenge wielding an orbitoclast, “Well what did you expect me to do?” I expected you to do better, my dudes, but you didn’t, and so now I have to fuck you up.


Where the DSM goes, all other psychiatric texts follow, and so I bring my metaphorical orbitoclast to bear down on Principles and Practices of Sex Therapyand New Directions in Sex Therapy as well. Most of my ire is reserved for the former, which is preternaturally invested in preserving the abusive power of the psychiatric establishment, especially as it affects transgender people (ugly details below). New Directions seems to be written directly in response to its brutality, the liberal wing of the sex therapist profession responding to the violence of men like Dr. Kenneth Zucker with suggestions of alternative treatments that are more aptly described as ‘toothless’ than ‘compassionate.’
Both books repeatedly demonstrate the absurdity of pathologizing dysfunction and professionalizing therapeutic approaches to sex. The editors seem acutely aware that the informal psychiatric specialization of ‘sex therapy’ describes nothing more than a mixture of regular psychiatric therapy, sex work, and sex education, though of course they don’t describe it as such. Instead, they moan about sex therapy being ill defined and wring their hands over whether it is becoming outmoded. Ultimately, like a petition for a multinational corporation to feature more same-gender couples in their advertisements, these textbooks aren’t offering up critiques so much as spinning their wheels within the system.



The Scaffolding of Trump’s Gilt Elevators

AKA: Weeks 1 and 2: The Introductions, part the first

Weeks One and Two were mostly spent in bed, first with a cold and then with a sinus infection and also, since the 9th, wrestling with a depressive episode. I did all the reading, took notes, thought too much, wrote something else, refreshed and refreshed my phone to see the newest round of photos of a different white supremacist looking bilious in the gilt glow of the Trump Tower elevators, and didn’t write about learning about sex. Everything feels very pointless, but nihilism is the philosophy of fascism, and I promised I’d write something by today so here I am. I’ll try again tomorrow, tackling the Sexuality Now excerpts and posting those responses first so things feel more manageable.


Weeks One and Two: Take Two. Here are my reflections on the main text, Sexuality Now, Ch. 1: Exploring Human Sexuality Past and Present and Ch. 2: Understanding Human Sexuality: Theory and Research.


         I don’t know much about the formal art of education, but I do know this: there are a few things about which it’s better to teach nothing than very little. One of these things is Freudianism, and another is nonwhite foreign cultural mores. Janell L. Carroll briefly touches on— by which I mean, prods and pinches and then impatiently flicks away— both of these things in the first two chapters of Sexuality Now, and she herself should know better. After all, she begins chapter one by assuring us of her expertise.

“I’ve travelled extensively throughout the United States and around the world,” Carroll writes in the chapter introduction, “consulting with sexuality teachers, experts, researchers, and interviewing ordinary people about their sexuality” (xlii). I would’ve delighted in an explanation of the term ‘ordinary people,’ as I’ve diapered at least a dozen of them, smeared peanut butter on the taints of a few more, and kicked, like, fifty of them in the nuts but still have no idea who or what they might be.  Alas, ‘ordinary people’ is not one of the highlighted vocabulary terms. But enough about me and what I don’t know. We were talking about Carroll, about how “[her] education, training, and research about the interplay of biology, society and culture gave [her] knowledge, but experiencing other societies and cultures gave [her] understanding [italics in the original]” (xlii). It must have been the academic hubris that gave her the idea she could write informatively about Freudianism in nine simplistic paragraphs. Carroll did her best (I guess? I don’t know, I’m just being nice here) but her intended reader would still come away from the text thinking Freud had discovered something called the ‘Electra complex’, and that ‘thanatos’ is “aggressiveness motivation” (p. 28).

But pretty much everyone gets Freud wrong! Who cares?; he was a jackass. What’s morally repugnant is the collection of microwaved stereotypes Carroll passes off as “Sexuality in Ancient Asia.” It must be her unchallenged white supremacy that allows her to call herself an expert on other cultures while writing racist drivel like, “Chinese and Indian civilizations also had unique views of sexuality. In Indian culture, Hinduism and rebirth give life direction. In Chinese culture, people work to live in harmony with the Tao, which is made up of yin and yang” (7).

Literally no part of that is true. “Ancient Asia” is far greater than the sum of Chinese and Indian cultures. There is not and never was one coherent ‘Indian culture’ or ‘Chinese culture.’ “Indian” does not equal Hindu which does not equal rebirth. “Chinese” does not equal Tao which does not equal yin and yang. And the following paragraphs on karma, patriarchy, female infanticide, the Kama Sutra, and polygamy (all highlighted vocab terms!) are a horrorshow whose only value lies in demonstrating the ways in which white supremacy indoctrinates white students and alienates students of color. If you’re wondering how the fuck America has a President-Elect whose chief strategist is a neo-Nazi propagandist, look right here at the building blocks of our liberal education, in this textbook our public-school-destroying future Secretary of Education would ban for being too progressive. Here is the scaffolding for Trump’s gilt elevators.

White supremacy is not the only oppression that is built up from misinformation; all systemic domination starts with the mythologizing of history. In this process, causality suddenly becomes easy to follow: evil is inevitable and so is the eventual triumph of good; economics is rendered as the afterthought of culture, which is the driverless car of social change; whole classes of perpetrators are invisibilized in passive sentence construction or subsumed into singular historical figures (‘slaves were brought to America’, ‘Hitler killed 11 million people’) and victims are rendered completely without agency. In these chapters on the histories of human sexuality and the study of human sexuality, Carroll performs the same ritual she did with Asian people again with Jews, Muslims, African Americans, women, trans and gender nonconforming people, same-gender attracted people, the working classes and sex workers. The best that I can say of her historical accounts are that, in certain parts, like the history of feminism, you come away feeling like you’ve learned nothing at all instead of several deeply damaging and incorrect things.

Thank fuck the historical accounts come to an end halfway through chapter two. At this point Carroll tackles contemporary sexuality research, and her overview of various theoretical approaches and methodologies, their strengths and weaknesses, is decent enough. Almost all of the interesting and useful information in the first two chapters is in these last thirteen pages.