It was interesting to talk about the intentionality of the do-it-yourselfers and dot-commers, subcategories of the creative class, in class. Using the example of the bike lane that Nicki mentioned, do-it-yourselfers and dot-commers seem to claim space because they have an entitlement to it as long as they identify with that particular community. Although the bike lane was intended to serve the biking community, it created a major inconvenience and safety concern for automobile drivers. It’s difficult for me to imagine a claim to space, regardless of intentionality, going unchallenged. There seems to always be a group of people or an individual who is negatively impacted by the spatial claims the creative class makes. Yet, the degree of tension can vary depending on the quantity of people demanding change. I would argue that spatial claims and spatial changes are oftentimes well-received when they are results of collective action. Individual claims to space and place can be interpreted as self-serving and exaggeration of privilege. This doesn’t seem to always be the case on Bowdoin’s campus. At Bowdoin, individual students and student groups are all entitled to particular spaces and rights (even though some students feel more entitled than others). For example, students asked for more 24-hour study spaces and Bowdoin accommodated for that. Another claim I, as well as some of my friends, would like to make is taking food out of the dining hall. The dining halls are very strict about how much fruit can be taken out of the dining hall and hot food cannot be packed in containers. It’s always been sort of a mystery for me because many students have classes that run through lunch hours and they are unable to make it to Express. It would be extremely convenient if students could remove food from the dining hall; however, the staff actively stop them. I’ve seen many students bring back food to their table and then pack it into plastic containers so that they are not caught by the dining staff. This to me is mind-blowing because taking food to-go is a privilege I think students should have. It’s also a healthier alternative to some of the Express options offered. Although I see many students packing 4 bananas or 10 extra pieces of chicken tenders, I have never seen someone address this issue. While taking food out of the dining hall may seem like an insignificant problem, it is a privilege that students should be able to claim. If our tuition is paying for the food that we consume, I think we should be allowed to eat the dining hall food wherever we want.

Taking food from the dining hall may be one of the many limits to a student’s ability to claim citizenship. Although certain accommodations can be made, the rules of the institution do not change. Neither an individual student nor a student group can change the rules that Bowdoin forces its students to abide by. That is the limit of students’ citizenship. I wonder where the cut off is for people in their community to practice privilege and claim space, or if there even is a limit.

After our discussion, I’m curious how more recent protests like #Ferguson (and Black Lives Matter more broadly) should shape understandings of each of the three most prominent  theories of collective action in contemporary society.  This is particularly interesting given the expansive nature of these protests and their position seemingly at the intersection of mass collective action and crowd collective action.

Convergence theory suggests that “collective action happens when people with similar ideas and tendencies gather in the same place” (Class Notes, 12/4). Sparked by the murder of Michael Brown, many people gathered in Ferguson to protest police violence and brutality. This seems to be fairly well explained by convergence theory. However, twitter, as well as other digital and social media platforms, played a significant role in the #Ferguson protests and others at the core of the emerging Black Lives Matter movement. By nature, participants in digital-based protests do not have to be (and often are not) in physically close proximity as convergence theory would seem to demand. Bonilla and Rosa suggest, however, that tweets form part of [a] nonplace” (7). This notion intrigues me. Is it possible that digital social media has changed the social landscape so much that online spaces have become non-physical places in such a real way that convergence theory still explains them?

It seems possible to apply and translate contagion theory’s suggestion that “collective action arises because of people’s tendency to conform to the behavior of others whom they are in close contact” (Class Notes, 12/4) in a similar manner. Not only are the people who are actually in Ferguson compelled to act because of those with whom they’re in physically close contact, but the people in the “nonplace” of #Ferguson are encouraged to act because of their close digital proximity to others who are acting. This could also explain, at least in part, the behavior of white (and otherwise privileged) individuals who are compelled to protest digitally despite not holding a relevant “reservoir of grievances” to motivate protest behavior (Rosenfeld 499). Building on this, emergent norm theory’s focus on “keynoters” is certainly applicable in the context of #Ferguson and Black Lives Matter protests. Deray McKesson and Johnetta Elzie, for example, have risen to great prominence through their actions both on the ground and online related to #Ferguson and Black Lives Matter. It seems reasonable to argue that they created new norms for liberal, politically active “inhabitants of twitter who then made the individual decision to join the #Ferguson efforts.

By considering convergence theory, contagion theory, and emergent norm theory in the context of collective action related to #Ferguson and Black Lives Matter, we are able to see the strengths and weaknesses of these theories. It seems that digital-based collective action is best explained if we consider social media platforms like twitter to be non-physical places.  Moving forward, I’m curious how the notion of “vicarious citizenship” is best applied in these contexts. Prior to our class discussions and Professor Greene’s lecture, I think I would have argued that this concept is the best way to describe protest behavior on digital platforms, but I’m now less certain. What defines a resident in a non-physical place? How do we best understand proximity outside of a physical context?

Do-it-yourselfers seem to be different from regular criminals, even though they are criminals themselves. Their actions of, well vandalism, are legitimized because they are not reprimanded by local authorities. If anything, they are praised for their illegal acts, because unlike Rios’s and Jacques’s and Wright’s teens, these people are partaking in “constructive resistance”, not self-destruction or communal destruction. Their resistance to their respective city’s inaction is for “the good of the community”. They alter signs to make them clearer to drivers, engage in “guerilla planting”, spray paint bike lanes onto roads, etc. Although these changes seem like positive modifications to the community at large, it begs the question: Do the DIYers have the right to make these changes? I think they have every right to recognize and address a problem they think they have in their community, but I don’t believe that they should be taking these matter into their own hands. Although they are residents, there are still certain channels they must navigate in order to enact the changes they are wishing for. Once people start to believe they can do whatever they want because they were not initially held responsible, a chaos will ensue that at some point the city will not be able to control lightly. There are processes for a reason, and although the residents who engage in urban modification refuse to go through said processes because “they might as well,” it doesn’t detract from the fact that going through the city is the legal route and all else is unlawful.

There’s also this sentiment that the changes by these residents could also be a nuisance for others. Bike lanes are a great idea until drivers begin to get pissed off because now the street is narrower. Planting food in an empty lot is great unless someone bought the land to develop a building on that plot. If someone gets hurt from perhaps a resident’s poor design of a bike lane or new road sign, who would be responsible: the individual or the city? I’d say the individual but then the city didn’t hold them accountable so they would be partly at fault as well. Some cities just are not built for these changes and so residents could cause unnecessary headaches for city planners. For example, Boston is a very old city, with winding roads that often don’t make a ton of sense.  Putting bike lanes in a lot of these streets would make the already narrow streets even narrower, maybe even leading to accidents like bikers getting hit during turns or running into an open door from a parked car. When many residents decide to make alterations, it is to help people but it isn’t to help everyone. If it isn’t going to help or please everyone, why go through the trouble and risk arrest or a fine? In addition, going about these changes alone makes the residents look selfish rather than activists. Partaking in collective action makes the issue seem more important and in need of a course of action instead of a self-centered resident who doesn’t like something and so changed it.

On Wednesday, we began class with my expert question which related to Brown–Saracino’s article about Ithaca. In particular, I wanted to unpack the tension between ambient community and Real Community, but I don’t know if my question was clear/engaging enough. Many members of the queer community in Ithaca claimed that Real Community was lost despite the fact that queer identity was embraced and accepted in Ithaca. American culture privileges an integrationist ideology that many oppressed groups adhere to, but to some degree, this ideology has failed the queer community’s ability to find “Real Community”. I wanted to engage the class by first asking, ‘if the cost of integrationist ideology is real community, then what ends should the American public and minority groups be striving for  when dealing with issues of diversity?’ Perhaps more simply stated, ‘is ambient community enough?’

Honestly, the class discussion started off with a solid couple minutes of awkward silence. The first answer, solicited by Professor Greene, was simply “I don’t know”. I got the sense that most of the class, in fact, did not know. I’m still unsure myself. Lucia brought up that Real Community seemed tied to oppression, or one’s marginalized identity. Real Community was thus a product of such circumstances. This provoked me to ask a follow up question, “Is all [normative] white community ambient community?”.

Ambient Community provided residents of Ithaca with all of their basic needs: Close personal ties, access to community spaces, activity-based ties, a sense of belonging, etc. Queer Resident of Itacha were, however, missing things like community: centers, support groups, a Pride celebration, “Sexy Spaces”, etc. The lack of Real Community seemed to be felt most by newcomers to Ithaca, who were perhaps looking for something different than what they found.

In retrospect, I wish I had used a different quote to engage the class. I think reading Brown–Saracino’s piece was difficult for me because the experience that many of the lesbian women were expressing seemed to be one of privilege… but it feels wrong to say it like that, yet I still don’t have better words to express my confusion. Instead, I wish I had used this quote:

Presenting violence against women as an urban issue examines this form of violence as a spacial, location-based issue rather than a systemic one. Violence against women occurs at high rates regardless of location, race, ethnicity, or socioeconomic status, and therefore operates as a systemic issue. I took issue with assigning gender-based violence an urban brand, because of the way that hierarchies of power and control that feed violence against women exist on individual levels as well as societal ones, regardless of physical location. Additionally, posing rape and sexual assault as an urban issue suggests that these crimes exist because of the structure of a city, that there are more dangers to women and more rapists in places with higher populations and more anonymity. This feeds into the false narrative that a person is more likely to be a victim when exposed to circumstances like dark city alley ways, when in reality most rapes are committed by an acquaintance or intimate partner. I do not think that the existence of an urban setting enables the act of rape more than a rural or suburban setting. 

However, our discussions in class proved that there is value in examining violence against women from the urban lens to see the ways in which the state fails to resolve such a widespread crime and perpetuates the social control that rape and assault create. Asking the question of whether cities are safe for women proves useless because women aren’t fully safe anywhere, but it is useful to ask what ways are cities marginalizing to women specifically. Based on our conversation in class, the existence of the slut walk movement in response to victim blaming by authorities, and the widespread mistreatment and neglect of rape evidence, it is clear that the urban structure marginalizes victims of assault. While this could certainly mean men and non-gender conforming individuals too, a high percentage of sexual assault victims are women, making this widespread neglect by the authorities a gendered issue.  

I use the term “neglect” intentionally. In response to my own expert question of whether the untested rape kits were an act of neglect rather than a resource problem, I believe that it certainly represents state perpetuation of violence against women and is deliberately neglectful. Of course, the department in Detroit “did not see the accumulation of untested rape kits as a problem” (Campbell, Shaw, and Fehler-Cabral, 157), meaning they did not publicly recognize their complicity in the act of neglect. One police officer commented that the uproar following the discovery of the rape kits was “just a big broo-ha-ha about nothing” (Campbell, Shaw, and Fehler-Cabral, 157). This impression differs dramatically from the conclusions of the investigative team, which stated that, “Based on their analysis of 400 randomly sampled kits, it appeared that the overwhelming majority of the SAKs in police property had never been adequately investigated, the survivors had been treated in retraumatizing ways by police personnel, and the community needed a long-term plan for change” (Campbell, Shaw, and Fehler-Cabral, 154). While the existence of such a problem is in itself a form of neglect and systemic violence against the victims of these assaults, it is also distinctly problematic that the department did not even recognize the issue. Perhaps they were simply deflecting the criticism by diminishing the issue. But the possibility of the department genuinely failing to see the problem in neglecting the evidence of 11,000 cases of assault speaks to a hegemonic violence against women that is thoroughly normalized in society.  

I also think it is important to look at the difference in response to crime against women versus other forms of crime. The police department in Detroit blamed the problem partly on a lack of resources. As JP Hughes commented in class, it is surely possible to gather enough resources to test rape kits regularly, as exemplified by the police department in Georgia that he mentioned, who mobilized the resources to test all their kits after a backlog of kits. Thinking back to the ways in which police departments in cities handle other forms of crime, particularly crime associated with low-income, Black and Latinx men, the excessive use of resources to incarcerate these men discredits the argument that the authorities are hurting for resources. Sociologists Victor Rios, Alice Goffman, and others demonstrated that the hypercriminalization of these men meant that extensive amounts of resources were expended by urban police departments across the country to enable the mass incarceration of men of color. Regardless of the triviality of the offenses committed by these boys and men, the system called for punishment, in ways that appear deliberate. Why do the authorities treat gender-based violence so dramatically differently?  

Furthermore, does the state have interest in the continuation of gender-based violence? This is a radical statement, but it is important to examine how the established neglect of the state could be completely intentional. Is the widespread neglect of evidence for assault cases a similar political act as the hypercriminalization of low-income Black and Latinx men? Are the authorities mistreating rape cases deliberately? This posits that the state is actively engaged in perpetuating gender-based violence, rather than passively aiding in its existence. If this is the case, how do we fight back against a culture of violence when the state is deliberately supporting it?  

In Monday’s class we grounded our discussion in a review of the core ideas related to the role of sexuality in the city. Following this we jumped into my question in which I referenced Brown-Saracino’s work. Dialogue focused primarily on the concept of ambient community, which is defined as feelings of belonging or connection that arise from informal, voluntary, and affective ties. We grappled with whether or not Bowdoin can serve as an ambient community or whether students forge community in diverse ways.

The other readings and expert questions for this day inspired conversation about if we can consider cities as safe spaces for women or not. While there were comments in favor of each argument, after hearing various points of view, I believe that certain cities may be equally as dangerous as certain suburbs. The massive quantities of people living and traveling through cities are definitely daunting, and this sense of anonymity can make people feel uneasy about those around them. However, as someone mentioned, this constant flow of individuals potentially provides more active bystanders in problematic situations. Additionally, a classmate reminded us that sexual violence, which is a major safety concern for a lot of women, occurs most frequently from people with whom someone already has close personal ties with rather than from strangers. While we often structure the sexual violence conversation around women, it is important to keep in mind that these issues also affect men.

We touched on the numerous consequences of framing sexual violence as a “woman’s problem.” Of these results, I believe the most toxic to be the culture we have allowed to support and perpetuate it. This brings up another one of the readings that covers the 11,000 untested rape kits in the Detroit Police Department. In class we considered some of the potential reasons why these kits, that potentially contain scientific evidence, were not tested. The author emphasizes a lack of resources as the main underlying factor, but I think it is crucial to reflect on how greater cultural factors might have influenced this decision. Why is it that we often hear about sexual violence cases going unresolved? Would we ever see scientific evidence related to a homicide ignored and discounted in this same way? What is so different about sexual violence that creates this double standard? Is this due to the tricky nature of the “he-said, she-said” aspect that is often present in rape and sexual assault cases? Is physical scientific data not enough to accurately take action in these cases? Would the unimpressive judicial outcomes that we typically see in these types of trials not justify the resources spent to test these kits and analyze all of the information made available? Our class discussion raised important questions about our cultural norms.

If we want to change the way these issues are talked about and dealt with in society, I think we will need to be able to identify the foundation of the problem in order to modify it. To do so we will need to address whether issues of sexual violence are related to a gender, race, or socioeconomic status. Most likely these issues are interwoven between many if not all of these facets of identity, which complicates the prospect of finding a simple resolution.

I was initially struck by what One lays out when discussing sexy communities because – on a surface level – it seems to fit Bowdoin so well. He talks of a “spirit of the night” that would infiltrate spaces, and that even though sex may not outright be taking place, it’s a community driven (in part) by sex and sexuality. I thought this sounded familiar, even putting to one side some of the more exotic things one may encounter while e-hosting a college house party. The mere fact that, over the years in one form or another, there have been a number of different student group campaigns designed to push back against certain stereotypes/expectations shows that there is an underlying understanding there that I think can be illuminated by what sees in sexy communities.

I think part of the reason why there was initially such struggle in our discussion in class to see Bowdoin this way was because of the way in which I asked the question. When Justin pointed out that most of what happens on the Bowdoin campus isn’t sex or sex-related, it made me realize that I was thinking of a certain, narrow conception of Bowdoin – that of the Thursday, Friday, and weekend night. It was because I was so easily ready to segment the different aspects that the Bowdoin experience constitutes, that I was conflating the community as a whole with one of its pastimes.

Nobody looks back at their time at Bowdoin and thinks about all the sex that they had… at least primarily. Yet, at certain times while they are here, it is all that is on the mind. So, in reforming my question, I feel that I am answering it. Justin initially took issue with seeing the campus as a sexy space, and Hannah pointed out on weekends that it is. Thea raised the point that it is not just about sex, but about sexual energy, aka feeling good, and professor Greene asked what if it isn’t necessarily producing community, but driving divisions between one already existent.

In short – its complicated. And no Bowdoin experience is the same for two. However, I think the various comments brought up echo the basic sentiment that we all know to be true – if one is looking for sexy community on Bowdoin’s campus, they can find it if they look for it.

In Jonathan Wynn’s “Music/City: American Festivals and Place-making in Austin, Nashville, and Newport”, Wynn writes about how festivals are changing the way cities function.  Wynn believes that these festivals provide a different and better opportunity for cities to grow.  These festivals allow more people to attend because they cost less than attending traditional sporting events.  Also, festivals and concerts will bring in tourists from outside areas to help grow local economies.  Cities are straying away from building traditional sporting venues because of the increased benefits of hosting festivals.

There were a few interesting points brought up in class that I wanted to touch on in my blog post.  When we spoke about Bowdoin acting as an entertainment machine, it was interesting to hear different perspectives of Ivies and the effect it has on the community.  On one side, loud music, inebriated kids wandering all over the place, and plenty of littering all take place in Brunswick, which can weaken ties between Bowdoin and the community.  On the other hand, Bowdoin students have an increase consumption throughout Ivies week.  Students buy more alcohol and more food, which can help the local economy.  Also, the increased purchase of narcotics can also help bolster the underground economy.  Although it can be argued that Ivies brings out some bad habits in students, it is certain that helps out the Brunswick economy.

Another interesting point brought up in class was how Bowdoin can act as an entertainment machine in different ways.  Throughout the year, Bowdoin provides entertainment outlets for students and the larger Brunswick community.  Sporting events, concerts, art exhibits, lectures, and many other events allow students and non-students interact as audience members.  These events last throughout the school year and summer.  However, during Ivies, Bowdoin changes and is strictly an entertainment machine for the students.  During Ivies, many of Bowdoin’s drinking policies change, which is something I have never really understood.  Security monitors every Ivies event but does not really step in unless students are doing something extremely stupid.  Drinking games and sometimes even hard alcohol are permitted.  It is an interesting dynamic that also allows Ivies to be more fun, and also makes Bowdoin even more of an entertainment machine compared to a regular weekend.

While we spoke a lot about Ivies, I was curious to see what people thought about cities straying away from traditional sporting events as entertainment.  Boston, which is the closest city to me, has taken a noticeable shift away from sports and put a lot more emphasis on hosting concerts and festivals.  In the past two years, Boston has said no to hosting the Olympics and no to building a soccer-specific stadium.  Boston has revamped “Boston Calling”, which is the summer festival is hosts and doubled the size of it.  Although it wasn’t mentioned in Wynn’s work, Boston is another example that he could have used to back up his argument.

In Boystown, Orne describes how recently many of the bars and gay spaces in the town are becoming increasingly less gay. There is a gentrification that is occurring with outsiders coming into the town and joining the Boystown culture often unwantedly. Orne describes the newcomers as on a “safari” coming to these gay spaces and watching rather than participating in the actions. In class we discussed whether or not “Disneyfication” and a “safari” were different or in the residents of Boystown were they the same. Orne uses the word safari to bring a level of danger to the actions of the newcomers. Those on a “safari” do not participate in the same way. They like to watch and observe the new and erotic actions happening in the back of these bars, some things they have never experienced before. “Disneyfication” is viewed as those viewing and participating in certain places like a theme park, unlike a “safari” these places do not seem dangerous.

Similar to the social preservationists and the creative class pushing out locals of new, hip neighborhoods, the original residents of Boystown are finding themselves wanting to relocate away from their new neighbors. More heterosexual couples and families are moving into neighborhoods like Boystown because of their safety and also their convenience to restaurants and local nightlife. Similar to how the food standard was rising in Portland with the Creative Classes’ desire for niche restaurants, these incoming families to Boystown are looking for a specific culture filled with activities, but also safe neighborhoods to raise their family. Like how members of the Creative Class are entering predominately black neighborhoods and gentrifying the space, these families are gentrifying Boystown in a second wave. As more of these families move into this neighborhood, I am interested to see what happens to the culture of Boystown. If more of its gay residents are moving out of the neighborhood will they be willing to go back and participate in the nightlife or will the seek out for a more exclusive place to express their culture.

Unfortunately for city officials, it is difficult to make rules to keep a certain culture alive. If the residents of Boystown want to keep the town and its nightlife culture the same it is up to institutions like bars and clubs to make the rules to maintain the culture. Like how Orne explains many of the backroom fees are no shirts, whether you’re male or female. This type of rule keeps those from solely watching and forces them to participate. Many gay residents of Boystown do not mind the heterosexual couples participating in the backroom actions, because they are participating rather than observing. Those who only observe, like bachelorette parties or even new gay people make the originals feel like an entertainment act. Bars have started to not allow groups like Bachelorette parties into their establishments. Keeping these groups away keeps the original and intended users of the establishments happy and helps them continue to feel comfortable in the environment they have decided to reside in.

A neighborhood, originally safe haven for queer men has now became a booming entertainment district that “…sells straight women a gay lifestyle of fun fashionable drinks in stylish surroundings… offers a place for women to escape straight clubs’ ever-present possibility of violence” (ORNE 23). However, this disneyfication of Boystown as a playground, has led to the transformation of spaces and has led to the rise in heterosexual women appropriating bars and social apps designed to meet the needs of gay men in the Gayborhood.

Orne describes how heterosexual women on safari in the gayborhood have a “tourist gaze” and expect gay men to become their gay best friend for the night and for a specific set of events to occur for it to be considered an authentic experience. This is especially true when a woman used the Hole as a space to stare at the gay men having sexual encounters, rather than respecting and appreciating the purpose of the space. Specifically, Orne writes, “… so she walked over and stuck her head in, again giggling at what was happening inside. Marcus came over and explained the area was for sex. If she wasn’t going to be having sex, she shouldn’t go back. Five minutes later, she was at it again, poking her head around the corner. Marcus, ever patient with customers even he could be stern, told her to stay out” (ORNE 31).

This quote prompted my question which asked if there is a way for sexiness and sexual intimacy to be reintegrated into the community undisturbed. We touched on how the gayborhoods are projecting watered down versions of themselves to accommodate for the rise of non-queer people occupying queer spaces. For instance, originally a day to celebrate the anniversary of the Stonewall riots, pride day has become a day when heterosexual men and women take part in the festivities, because it is the “cool” thing to do. Heterosexual couples even bring their children which results in the sanitation of sex from the original sexy culture in Boystown. This is one of the main drawbacks of a postmodern urban society, because the space utilized is taken for granted and turned into a spectacle by those who the space wasn’t intended for.

Throughout the text, Orne suggest that the original safe space provided by Boystown can only be rehabilitated through sex and sexual intimacy-without it, Boystown would be lost. This led to my question of it being impossible to reintegrate sexiness now that heterosexual women on safari have become interwoven into the culture of Boystown. In the class discussion, I wanted to focus on the idea of reintegrating sexiness into the community even though heterosexual women currently have a strong market relationship in Boystown. One option is to completely ban women from entering these spaces, however, it is illegal to ban a group of people unless there is a clear and violent threat. Also, Boystown relies on the huge economic presence of the women, as they throw bachelorette and birthday parties and convene there for fun nights with friends and to socialize with others.