Tag Archives: Intersectionality

When You Said You See Me

This blog post is a part of the series, “So Good,” developed by the APAGS Committee for Sexual Orientation and Gender Diversity. This series will discuss current events and how these events relate to LGBTQ+ graduate students in psychology. If you are interested in contributing to the “So Good” series, please contact Mallaigh McGinley (they/them).

When You Said You See Me

By Aldo M. Barrita

“But do you see me?” – this is the question I often ask as I navigate academic spaces that were never meant for people like me. Exploring the intersectionality of my salient identities as an immigrant Latinx queer graduate student while facing gaslighting statements of inclusion from a system that fails to acknowledge the harm of their oppression is a daily routine in my existence. For some, choosing how to “show up” in academic spaces is as simple as choosing what to wear for the day, for others like me, the process is much more complex as, I must moderate parts of who I am in white-hetero spaces to prevent yet another attack. Being queer and Latinx means having to negotiate pieces of my soul, in order to make it through a heterosexist, heteronormative, white supremacist world. 

            Every time I talk, there must be control: “Don’t move like that, don’t sound like that.” It never stops! It wasn’t enough growing up in a traditional macho Latinx house where femininity was simply unacceptable; it continues to replicate in academic spaces where there seems to be a clear preference for and comfort with normative gender roles. I am a cis-queer man who often benefits from hetero/cis-normative spaces. This has led to a lot of internalized homophobia, especially when I am reminded of it with things like “I couldn’t tell you are gay,” while thinking what that would even mean and what I unconsciously have done to silence a part of me in an effort to exist. I remember being asked on a professional interview, “so you identified as queer, is that like gay?” triggering an internal negotiation, thinking what would make them feel safer to accepting me and then responding “Yes!”while losing another part of myself. You see, the beauty for me about being queer is that I do not conform, yet with every question, I am being asked to, fit into a box less threatening for them. When would it be enough, when would I be enough?

            Being Latinx – from an indigenous background of Zapotecan heritage from the beautiful region of Oaxaca, Mexico – comes with other layers of continuous invalidation: the anxiety before speaking up in a class or in a presentation, thinking about the “proper” colonial pronunciation I must adhere to before saying a word. “Interesting accent”, someone says as I realize I have been identified; I have been othered – knowing that my audience has focused on the discomfort of hearing my immigrant accent, the dare to sound different, instead of the message, the knowledge I tried to communicate. How am I supposed to excel in academia, when my own voice is used to keep me from fully entering these spaces of knowledge? When I first immigrated at the age of 16, I was warned by a Latinx school counselor, “You should work on losing your accent.” feeling betrayed, as I was asked by someone who looked like me to let go of who I was in order to fit. I resented them; I still do.  

            I was told grad school would be difficult, and I knew being a first-generation student would present additional challenges. However, the difficulty does not manifest in the rigorousness of the academics, but in the effort to erase people like me. I am a Latinx queer person, who is minoritized by a system that keeps trying to make me small, a statistic. I am not under-represented in these spaces; these spaces are systematically and intentionally excluding people like me. 

As long as conversations of inclusion and equity are made about the person impacted and not about the system that impacts them, the real issue is avoided, and white cis straight academia lives another day. Using performative rhetoric to claim that we belong while continuing to see only what is safe and comfortable harms marginalized students – forced to choose between leaving their dreams of higher education or staying while continuously giving up part of themselves in order to exist. Perhaps it’s time for academic programs to SEE the systems of oppression that surrounds marginalized students, the ways they foster it, perpetuate minoritized students, and replicate the harm. Perhaps it’s time for these institutions to first SEE themselves for who they are and acknowledge the damage they continue to cause (and often ignore to recognize), to those they describe as “minority”. Perhaps it’s time to be intentional and action-oriented when condemning systems of oppression, increasing funds for D&I initiatives, and adding value to the invisible labor marginalized scholars constantly engage in in order to survive academic spaces.

So, I ask again, when you say you see me, do you see me, do you REALLY see me?

By Aldo M Barrita

View other posts in the So Good series:

The Only Queer Latinx in Ohio: The Start to My Graduate School Experience During a Global Pandemic

This blog post is a part of the series, “So Good,” developed by the APAGS Committee for Sexual Orientation and Gender Diversity. This series will discuss current events and how these events relate to LGBTQ+ graduate students in psychology. If you are interested in contributing to the “So Good” series, please contact Mallaigh McGinley (they/them).

Going into graduate school during a global pandemic was not in my plans when I was applying to programs in the fall semester of 2019; it was also not in my plans when I received an acceptance to a Ph.D. program in Counseling Psychology in February 2019. What was in my plans was the fear and process of needing to find a community of queer people of color in a new location. Surprisingly, this process was easier than expected despite being in a time where isolation is sanctioned. While this pandemic has created much uncertainty and anxiety in my life, it has also opened my eyes to the importance of community. The Latinx community I grew up with all my life prepared me to understand that community provides support and can relate to experiences I thought I was going through alone; this is what I needed as I began my journey into a new graduate program as the only queer Latinx. Over the last nine months, I have seen my grandparents lose their income source, I have moved to a different state, and I have never had more access to a supportive community than I do now. 

My birthday was the first day of quarantine in the state of Illinois back in March 2020; it was also the day I realized my maternal grandparents had lost their source of income. Ever since my grandparents moved to the United States from their hometown in Aguascalientes, Mexico, they have been working as photographers – taking photographs for baptisms, confirmations, quinceñearas, and weddings in churches in Chicago. Unfortunately, they have not been able to earn an income since the start of lockdowns. Thankfully, the Mexican community in Chicago is very community-oriented, and because my grandparents are well known with many Mexican Catholics in the area they have received a lot of support. Their connections in the community were not evident to me until I helped my grandma pick up food at a Chicago Public School food drive and we were waiting in line. During the one hour it took for us to go through the line, my grandma talked to all those around us, about how their daughter was doing, how they were dealing with lock down, and memories from Sunday church, among many other things. Even during a time of uncertainty and isolation, my grandma fostered connections to others and thrived emotionally from a social distance. In my experience, I always understood that being Mexican meant being in a tight-knit community that supported each other, but the depth of that connection did not hit me until I saw my grandmother smile through her face mask while talking to others in the line.  

I regretted not forming that kind of connection at home with others who shared that identity as I began my journey to moving away from home and my family for the first time. Moving from Chicago to Akron, Ohio was a terrifying endeavor, not only because I would be in a place I had never been to before and away from those I love, but because I did not know how much those around me would accept me. A queer Latinx is not a new concept in the middle of a big city, but was it new to a small city in the Midwest, much less my program? It has felt like it as I have looked for panaderias on Google and have only come up with the Wonder Bread factory 0.7 miles away and a Starbucks located on campus. It has felt like I was the only nonbinary individual at my university every time I have needed to correct a professor about my pronouns. I know I cannot be the only queer Latinx in Ohio, but this is how I felt as I began navigating my first semester of graduate school. I did not inherit my grandparents’ ability to find community wherever they went and this was clear with every pang of homesickness. 

My circumstances were not all that hopeless as I did have a supportive cohort and graduate program. Ever since the interview weekend, I introduced myself with they/them pronouns. While I have heard my professors slip up in using them, they continue to do better and catch themselves when they make a mistake. My cohort members have been consistent in using my pronouns, even offering to correct our professors if they use the wrong pronouns. Although these people have been the ones I interact with the most, they are not the only supportive group I have found. Surprisingly, the COVID-19 pandemic has opened many doors to me for finding my community, and it has done so virtually. Through social media, I have been able to join groups where people share my identities and share resources. One of these resources has been virtual meetups to network with others, one of which was specifically directed at transgender and nonbinary graduate students in psychology. Here, I was able to ask questions that no one in my graduate program could satisfy, such as “Should I disclose my pronouns to my students?”, “How open are you about your identity with faculty?”, and many others. There have been so many more groups I have been able to join through virtual means that have helped me to feel closer to those in my communities and my own identity, even if I am living in an unfamiliar place. 

Almost a year since the beginning of the COVID-19 pandemic, I have seen my grandmother still feel connected to her neighborhood, I have become the first in my family to move out of state and to pursue a graduate degree, and I have felt connected to my identity through the support of my cohort and from those online. Despite living through a time where isolation is expected, I have never felt more linked to others in my life. Knowing what I know now, I would advise my younger self and others that face similar challenges to find their community and supporters. While it may not look how I expected, it turned out better than I could have hoped. Going to graduate school during a global pandemic was never in my plans, but I am glad to have gone through my first semester knowing I have others I can look to for support and I am excited to continue doing so for the next five years. 

Janessa Garcia is a doctoral student in counseling psychology at the University of Akron. They received their bachelor’s degree in psychology and women’s & gender studies from Roosevelt University in Chicago. Their research interests are focused on the evolution and exacerbation of post-traumatic stress symptoms for those who experience gender-based violence. 

#SomosOrlando: Latinx LGBTQ+ being Ignored while Simultaneously Killed

SomosOrlandoThis blog post is a joint collaboration between: James J. García, Chair of the APAGS Committee for the Advancement of Racial and Ethnic Diversity (CARED), Roberto L. Abreu, Co-chair of the National Latina/o Psychological Association Orgullo Latinx: Sexual Orientation and Gender Identity SIG and Division 45 Student Committee Co-liaison, & Laura P. Minero, Student Representative of the National Latina/o Psychological Association

Disclaimer: The opinions in this blog represent the personal opinions of the authors and not necessarily those of APA, APAGS or NLPA.

Across the nation, many of our hearts were broken by the massacre of 49 LGBTQ+ individuals and 50+ wounded during Pride Month and “Latino night” at a nightclub in Orlando. As photographs and names of the victims began to pour in, it was undeniable that most of the LGBTQ+ victims (90%) were Latinx, mostly Puerto Rican and other Latinx backgrounds. We also know that some of the victims came from mixed status families or were undocumented themselves. These challenges add further complexity to the grief and trauma they (and their families) historically have, and will continue to, experience on a daily basis.

As reporters in popular news channels struggled to pronounce the last names of the victims, the racial and ethnic identities of the LGBTQ+ victims were ignored. Many reporters refused to utter the letters “LGBTQ;” comments such as “this is an attack on all of us” were used to generalize this issue to all Americans. Although these statements were meant to show support and solidarity, indeed it concerns all Americans, these messages felt invalidating as this attack was directed at LBGTQ+ people, particularly us the Latinx LGBTQ+ community. This points to a larger systemic and historic problem in the United States: the attempt to sanitize, strip away, and demonize Black, Brown and LGBTQ+ bodies from their identities via a system of oppression, power and privilege sustained by White supremacy, heterosexuality and cisgender identities.

Within the sociopolitical context, we are negatively stereotyped by the media as unsuccessful, a group of criminals, foreign born, and only Spanish-speaking. These stereotypes disregard us as a diverse group of people by ignoring the heterogeneity within our communities. The blatant ethnic gloss against us is not new nor is it the result of recent political rhetoric; rather, there is an extensive history of hostility, which perpetuates a failure to acknowledge our intersections as Latinx LGBTQ+. For those of us who identify as Latinx LGBTQ+, we cannot help but feel that we are being ignored while simultaneously being killed.

There are three points of discourse missing from the current media narrative:

  • First, the sorrow of our Latinx LGBTQ+ community is being used to fuel hatred against the Muslim community and marginalize LGBTQ+ Muslims; however, our plights are similar, as we all live in survival mode to exist in a system that has set us up for disadvantage.
  • Second, there is no mentioning of homophobia and heterosexism within the Latina/o community, which pushed us to create our own spaces where we can temporarily break free of the violence, prejudice and discrimination from our own familias.
  • Lastly, the conversations seem to gloss over racism against LGBTQ+ people of color and those who are biracial/multiracial within the LGBTQ+ community.

Dauntingly, what can we do as psychologists-in-training?

Interpersonal level:

Departmental level:

  • Develop, create, and host healing spaces for LGBTQ+ people of color
  • Advocate for a statement/comment from your Department/University
  • Attend Pride and remembrance events as a Department

Societal level:

Living at the intersection of Black, Brown and LGBTQ+ is to expect that you can be discarded at any time without getting the chance to exist in your own skin. To this end, we, as psychologists-in-training, need to continue having these conversations to effect change together and at different levels of our society.