‘Policy learning’ describes the use of knowledge to inform policy decisions. That knowledge can be based on information regarding the current problem, lessons from the past or lessons from the experience of others. This is a political, not technical or objective, process (for example, see the ACF post). ‘Policy transfer’ describes the transfer of policy solutions or ideas from one place to another, such as by one government importing the policy in another country (note related terms such as ‘lesson-drawing’, ‘policy diffusion’ and ‘policy convergence’ – transfer is a catch-all, umbrella, term). Although these terms can be very closely related (one would hope that a government learns from the experiences of another before transferring policy) they can also operate relatively independently. For example, a government may decide not to transfer policy after learning from the experience of another, or it may transfer (or ‘emulate’) without really understanding…
This week I had to ask the Department of Work and Pensions Access to Work scheme to fund me taking my disability assistant to a conference on long term care in Copenhagen. They asked why I needed to go, and to take her. I explained that part of my job as a professor to attend international conferences, and that due to the fibromyalgia I couldn’t navigate my way through unfamiliar places, and I needed help with transport.
My assessor said ‘I didn’t know disabled people could be professors.’
Of course, I only thought of Professor Stephen Hawking twenty minutes after that – at the time I was too gobsmacked that the someone working for Access to Work (whose purpose is to support disabled people IN WORK) was surprised that disabled people could be academics. It, after all, a job that involves a lot of sitting down, and lends itself to the kind of practical and physical support that Access to Work can easily fund.
But the ableism didn’t stop there. Because I needed her to be with me at the conference to help me find my way around, and negotiate things like lunch queues and taxis back to the hotel, my disability assistant needed to be registered. Access to Work were obviously not going to fund her full conference fee: she was there to help me, not listen to papers on long-term care policy.
However, there was no way to register an assistant. At a conference designed specifically for academics to share research on care policy and practice, no-one had considered that a disabled person *needing* care might attend.
As part of preparing for her attendance, my assistant checked whether the boat trip planned as a social event would be accessible for me. Yes, she was assured, the gangplank was level, and there would be assistance on and off the boat. Well, good job she checked, and decided to accompany me, because access to the boat was down some very narrow and dangerous steps which I could not navigate without her help.
Copenhagen is the capital of a country which prides itself on its universal welfare state and delivery of long-term care. Citizens of Denmark have the right to access support services if they need them: unlike in the UK there is not a presumption that families will provide care and the state will only step in if families are not available or able to care.
However, in my experience of navigating airlines, transport and generally being in public as an obviously mobility-impaired disabled person, this meant Copenhagen was, in fact, curiously inaccessible. This inaccessibility stemmed, I think, from the assumption that a disabled person should not be *out*, working, but should be at home being cared for. And that if they were out, they would have a professional care worker with them.
Shops were frequently inaccessible due to steps, and when I attempted to enter using my crutches (and at times shuffling upstairs on my hands and knees because honestly, my desire for Danish pottery to take home as a present for my daughter is far stronger than any sense of personal dignity or shame), NO-ONE offered to help me. At cafes, noticing that I couldn’t balance a tray and crutches, not a single server offered to carry my tray for me. Taxi drivers seemed genuinely puzzled as to how to accommodate me and my crutch, and in fact I didn’t see a single wheelchair user or wheelchair accessible taxi the whole time I was there. Disability assistance at Copenhagen airport seemed to rely on the presupposition that you would have a carer with you to phone the wheelchair operators when you entered the building, as information directed me to line up in an enormous queue to check my luggage in and then ask for assistance at the check-in desk. ‘The WHOLE REASON I have booked disability assistance is that I CANNOT queue or stand for long periods’ I irately told the airline staff, who seemed to think this was not their problem. ‘Could you PLEASE call disability assistance here RIGHT NOW to help me before I fall over and block the queue?’
I have travelled extensively since my mobility and memory have worsened, and in my experience, this is very common in Nordic welfare states, and very UNcommon in neoliberal Anglo Saxon regimes. In the UK, Canada, the USA and Australia, in similar situations, shopkeepers, waiters, taxi drivers, airline workers and other customer focussed personnel fall over themselves to help me. Not only that, but they seem to be able to speak to me and ask me whether they can help, and what kind of help I need, rather than either assuming they know, or asking my disability assistant.
It’s a good job that intellectually and professionally the conference was amazing, because from the point of view of an ethnographic participative study of ableism in action, it was first class. I only wish I had thought to get funding and ethical approval to write it up.
I campaign and research and write extensively about the need for a comprehensive social care system to support disabled people. If we could rely on proper support, I often argue, just as we in the UK can rely on the NHS to treat and where possible heal us without bankrupting us, then disabled people could work, could volunteer, could parent, could participate as full citizens in society without having a burden of gratitude to a piecemeal network of families, friends and supporters. If we could rely on properly funded care we could flourish.
I still wholeheartedly believe that, and my research and personal experience still supports that belief. But every time I have an experience like that in Copenhagen (and similar ones in Oslo, Stockholm, Gothenburg and Helsinki, just to prove it isn’t a uniquely Danish thing) I wonder if the paternalism of the Nordic universal welfare state isn’t somehow stifling co-operative and support in civic society. Shops don’t need to be accessible if disabled people have carers doing their shopping for them. Staff don’t need to be helpful if everyone has a paid helper with them. And I wonder if somehow we have lost the idea of *mutual* care and support: the emotional part of caring that links us all in a harsh world.
I think we all have an obligation to be caring and respectful towards each other, and not just assume that is someone else’s job.
Radical feminists themselves disagree on whether #transwomen are women: Judith Butler says they are, Germaine Greer says they aren’t. There’s a lot those women write that I agree with, and a lot I disagree with. One of the great things about being a political and academic feminist is that feminism is a constantly shifting, self-questioning, and learning movement. If the definition of a woman is someone female by birth, then clearly #transwomen are not women. But feminism is not about biology. The oppression that women experience is not because they have wombs, vaginas or breasts; it is because a patriarchal society accords women lesser status. It gives men privilege and power over women, and puts social structures in place that reinforce that privilege and power.
#Transwomen grew up in that patriarchal society. As young boys, they, consciously or subconsciously, learned from it. They grew up in a society where boys were socialised to be valued, to be strong, to have power. They weren’t probably aware – how could they be, how can you experience something that you are not experiencing? – that at the same time the girls around them were growing up and being socialised to be under valued (or only valued for what they can offer to men), to be compliant, to only have limited power. Transwomen learned appropriate roles for boys and girls, and decided that the roles for girls were more in line with how they perceived themselves. So they decided they wanted to be women.
Many of them take a brave and radical decision to physically alter themselves, to undergo hormone treatment and surgery to biologically transition to being women. This is a painful and expensive process, and requires medical intervention. As UK law stands at the minute under the 2004 Gender Recognition Act, once they have undergone that, they can legally be women. They are entitled to all the rights and protections that women who are born women are entitled to. And here is where I part ways with my ‘TERF’ sisters like Germaine Greer because to me, transwomen who have taken that radical step are women. They have experienced trauma and abuse as a result of their gender identity. They have fought hard for the right to that identity. They deserve protection as a result of that identity. I’ll march to the barricades and shout down anyone who says they don’t.
It’s not surprising that many transwomen would like to become women without having to undergo that painful physical transition. Suggested changes to the 2004 Gender Recognition Act would enable that: those born into a male body who consider themselves to be women would have to go through a process of self-identification, but would be able to be women without undergoing surgery or treatment to physically alter their bodies to become female.
And here’s the problem. These transwomen did not grow up as girls. They never experienced the socialisation that has led to women’s oppression. They do not understand why having a penis in a female changing room is threatening to other women. They were never taught that penises were weapons of rape and violence. But we who were born girls were. So many of us learned growing up that men were powerful and men could physically assault and rape you if you stepped out of line. 1 in 5 of us got to experience it first hand, with many more experiencing sexual assault, harassment, intimidation on a daily basis. Every girl I know grew up knowing not to walk home alone at night, because if we were attacked by a physically stronger man, we would be blamed.
So many of us looking at the issue of self identification and transwomen are concerned. If a woman is still biologically a man, and grew up as a boy and a man, then they still have the socialisation that says they are powerful and entitled, and they have the physical capability to act on the power and entitlement.
And the worst transactivists – the ones who use TERF as a slur, who toss around accusations of transphobia as a way of silencing women – reinforce our concerns. These are people acting like entitled men. They are shouting about their rights, and silencing anyone that disagrees with them – and when those people are women, they are using violence and aggression to reinforce their power.
Men who commit rape and domestic violence have one thing in common: not race, class or education, but an overarching sense of entitlement. The (much, much smaller) number of women who use violence against men often are the victims of abuse themselves, or in thrall to a violent partner, or suffering with alcohol, drugs and poverty. Men don’t need those structural supports to make them violent: they grow up in a world where their violence is condoned, expected and rewarded.
So letting biological males who identify as women into women-only spaces is problematic. Women-only spaces – particularly to protect vulnerable women and girls, such as those who are the survivors of domestic violence – are there to reinforce a fundamental human right for women: the right to life, and safety. That right is far more important than anyone’s right to self identify as a woman if they still have the physical capacity to act as a man.
Transwomen who grew up as boys and are still biologically men are just as likely as other biological males to be violent, abusive and have a sense of entitlement. To be clear: ie, not very. Most men DON’T rape women. Most transwomen AREN’T violent. But a violent abusive biological man who identifies as a woman is still violent and abusive, and a threat to women and girls.
And that is why, as a feminist, I do not support the proposed changes to the Gender Recognition Act. Not because I am #transphobic: I neither hate nor fear transsexuals, on the contrary I fight ardently for their human rights. But because as a woman who has experienced abuse and rape, I understand, from the depths of my soul, that women and girls who need safety from abusive men need safety from men with biologically male bodies.
I support the right of #transwomen to self identify as women. And I would encourage the providers of most services and organisations aimed at women to include those who identify as women regardless of their biological status at birth or any other time.
But I would propose an amendment that states that the providers of any single-sex service recognised under the Equality Act 2010 can deny access to that service to anyone who self identifies as a woman but is still biologically male. Because those biological males are socialised as men and can abuse and rape, and my duty as a feminist is to protect them above all else. I would also point out the need for additional resources and services to protect #transwomen who are biologically male: transwomen experience domestic violence and rape at the same rates as women and need their rights to safety and protection to be recognised too.