Associations with African American Vernacular English

Abstract: The current study examines the effect of dialect for a Black speaker, paying particular attention to the implications for criminal justice processing. Participants in this study heard an audio clip of a Black man describing his weekend and were randomly assigned to hear the account spoken in African American Vernacular English (AAVE) or Mainstream American English (MAE). For half of each sample, the audio clip was described as an alibi. Participants then evaluated the speaker across dimensions related to character and criminality, as well as his race (sic), education, and socio-economic status. 

Results indicate that the speaker was viewed as having worse character and a greater criminal propensity if he spoke using the AAVE guise rather than the MAE guise. Additionally, participants perceived the AAVE speaker to be more stereotypically Black, less educated, and lower socio-economic status. These findings raise questions about contemporary forms of bias in criminal justice processing. (Dunbar, King & Vaughn, 2024)

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- Dunbar, King & Vaughn (2024). Dialect on Trial: An Experimental Examination of Raciolinguistic Ideologies and Character Judgments. Sage Journals, link

- photograph by John H. White via

Internalising Ableism from a Young Age

Jóhannsdóttir et al. (2022) studied internalised ableism based on four focus-group sessions with young people (aged 18-35) who identified as disabled. The participants reflected on their childhood and adolescence and shared their experience that ableism made their impairment "a sensitive marker of something 'abnormal' and 'undesirable', which again made them even more aware of their (...) differences and negative portrayal in society". 

I understand it; I don’t know if I would date me, with everything that comes with it. So, I understand people, even if it is not the right attitude, or maybe not very modern. I cannot get frustrated or angry with people because I understand it 100%.

In fact, having to constantly fight notions of normality, abnormality, prejudice, and stigma, dealing with people's stares, patronising comments, aggression and micoraggression led to exhaustion, anxiety, depression and isolation. Adolescence was referred to as a particularly difficult time. Some participants mentioned isolation and disconnection to be everypresent. Being treated as inferior made them feel unworthy of both love and belonging, that again reinforced shame. And shame was strongly linked to mental health issues and negative body image. A few participants considered internalised ableism to be the main barrier to their wellbing in later life.

The extent to which internalised ableism developed was mediated by family support, peer interactions, networks and safer spaces. In line with prior findings, ableism started early ... sometimes even before birth when encountering doctors. Having a disabled child is often seen as a tragedy or a burden on the family. Some parents actively fought these notions, others identified with these ideas. One participant of the focus groups said:

It’s like if you are born disabled, your parents need education on everything their child can do. Not that the doctor comes and says, “This is what is wrong, and this … and this… and this.” Too often, a grim picture of the baby’s condition is painted. When rather someone should come and say, “These are the resources available for you …. Your child can do this … and this … and this.” The focus is too often on what is wrong with the baby but not what the baby is capable of.

Gender, ethnicity, social status and other intersections also had an impact on how strongly discrimination was felt.

For me, it is complicated to discuss relationships because I am a lesbian. (…) people connected that to my disability, saying that I just knew myself as a woman. And that I did not know men. That is why, according to them, I am attracted to women because it is the only thing I know! (everyone laughs)

The lack of socialising experiences with other disabled children was discussed in a controversial manner showing that this separation might hinder young people from identifying with other disabled people.

I had a very good paediatrician who fought for me to not associate with other disabled children, that is, I would not go to a special school, not go to the summer camps for disabled children, like my brothers. And yes, I spent much more time around non‐disabled children.

I started experiencing that when I was around disabled children. I did not understand what they were going through… I did… I disregarded my disability. Mine was not as important/valid as that of others.

Summer camps for disabled children, i.e., the forced segregation experienced, for many, were ...

Just really hard summers … where we, as young children, experienced the vulnerability of other children in this place. It kind of sticks with me, this vulnerability and aloneness of the other children. We were not experiencing one another’s strengths, you know. There is a huge difference between experiencing peer support through strength and empowerment and enduring what we experienced in that summer camp.

The feeling of disconnection, unlovability, and unworthiness can result in deep shame making people internalise ableism at a young age. There are other ways.

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- Ásta Jóhannsdóttir, Snæfríður Þóra Egilson & Freyja Haraldsdóttir (2022). Implications of internalised ableism for the health and wellbeing of disabled young people. Social Health Illn, 44(2), link
- photograph (Oksana with a leaf of cabbage from the garden of the Internat where she lives in isolation with more than 60 girls and women categorised as disabled. Pretrykhiv, Ternopil, Ukraine. 2016) by Carolyn Drake via

Escaramuza. By Constance Jaeggi.

"Historically Charrería, which is the national sport of Mexico, was predominantly male. Charrería emerged from early Mexican cattle ranching activities and was eventually refined and formalized during the post-revolutionary era as a romantic, nationalist expression of ‘lo mexicano’ (Mexicanness). It is similar in many ways to American rodeo in its variety of competitive equestrian activities. Women, however, were not seen participating on horseback until the 1950s when they were finally brought into the sport as riders.

A discipline was invented for female participants called ‘Escaramuza,’ consisting of all-female precision horse riding teams who execute exacting maneuvers while riding sidesaddle at high speed and wearing traditional Mexican attire. The costumes and synchronized patterns they perform were inspired by the Soldadera or Adelita, the women who fought in the Mexican Revolution between 1910-1920. To this day, the events within Charrería remain heavily gender segregated. A charreada lasts up to three hours but the portion dedicated to Escaramuza makes up for three to five minutes of those three hours, so there is still a large discrepancy between the representation of genders within the sport.

Escaramuza is wide-spread in Mexico of course, and becoming increasingly established in the United States as Charrería keeps growing. Initially, I was drawn to the visuals. The dresses are colorful and intricate, and the performance is elegant and powerful, like a ballet on horseback. But it is the stories of the women I met that really captivated me. The dedication that they have for the sport and their drive to uphold this tradition is admirable. In Mexico, Charrería tends to be a sport practiced by the wealthy, while many of the charros and charras in the US work hard to be able to afford the costs associated with owning and competing with horses. A lot of the women I met are full time students, or have full time jobs, sometimes multiple jobs and are raising children.

The sport is also dangerous. The women ride side saddle in heavy, hand-crafted dresses. A team consists of eight riders, and they perform patterns, criss-crossing each other at high speed. Riding side-saddle is extremely difficult as you only have good control over one side of the horse. There is a narrative around immigration and the role it plays in the development of the sport in the US, shaped by this feeling that many of the riders expressed to me of “not feeling Mexican enough when traveling to Mexico, but not feeling American enough at home either.” 

Then there are the gender relations. Many riders expressed frustration regarding their inability to vote within the Charrería governing association, and the strictness of the dress rules they are subjected to, which is not the case for the disciplines practiced by the men. And finally, the parallels with the women who fought in the Mexican Revolution, the lack of historical research on their role, how they were remembered through time. Essentially, it felt like such a richly layered story, there was so much unpacking to do that I couldn’t look away. 

The women I photographed are from all around the US. They are for the most part first, second, third, fourth and fifth generation Americans. As I got to know these women personally, I became aware of the importance of their oral histories. I needed to bring their voices back into the work somehow. I started interviewing teams as I went. I met teams from California, Texas, Washington, Illinois, Iowa and Colorado, recording their stories as I photographed them. I tried to understand how they thought of their position in Charrería, what Escaramuza meant to them and how they wanted to be seen, which influenced the way I photographed them. I am continuing the project as I expand the body of work for an upcoming book, and attempting to cover as many of the US states as possible. 

Escaramuza translates to ‘skirmish’ in English, inspired by the image of the soldaderas sent into battle before the men to kick up dust and distract the opposing side. Women of course played a much more significant role than simple distraction during this complex and destructive civil war. They were activists in feminist movements, but a much larger number of women of rural and lower urban classes found themselves caught up in the struggle and had no choice but to be actively involved, whether it was as camp followers and caretakers for the soldiers, or as women who took up arms. 

I see parallels between the soldaderas’ contribution to the advancement of women’s emancipation in Mexico and the Escaramuzas I met who are pushing back on the machismo in their sport. Especially for the US-based Escaramuzas growing up in blended cultures. The image of the soldadera is a powerful historical example and reference point. It means that Escaramuza is much more than a way to connect with contemporary Mexican traditions. It also connects these women to their history, the history of their people and of women in their culture. It gives women a certain image of strength to refer to.  

One of the riders told me that she wanted to inspire other young women by showing them that they too could ride horses, be fierce and competitive and that they too could have a place in Charreria. Soldaderas provide evidence of women defying social expectations, and that has an impact. 

(...) Escaramuza is an example of cultural preservation in an era where globalization often dilutes local traditions; a way of keeping customs and stories of past generations alive by passing down skills and technique from one generation to the next. It is a celebration of heritage. It is also a source of personal empowerment for many of the women involved, providing a strong sense of identity and pride and challenging traditional gender roles by showcasing women as skilled equestrians and leaders in their communities. This empowerment is not only personal but also communal, as it helps redefine gender norms within a cultural context."

Constance Jaeggi

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photographs by Constance Jaeggi via and via and via 

Men Untitled. By Carolyn Drake.

"I worked on the periphery of my subject for almost a year before turning to face it directly. Many months were spent scouting locations, arranging portrait sessions, searching for props, and hiring assistants before I decided that what I really needed was to get the men in front of me to take off their clothes. 

Despite having existed among them for half a century, I cannot claim to be comfortable around male bodies. The truth is, the male body is not a subject that I’ve ever been encouraged scrutinize the way we do women’s bodies. It’s as though the act of looking at men is inherently dangerous. Asking the men to remove their clothing introduced a degree of risk that propelled my fifty-year-old imagination even as sexual desire continued to elude it. 

Mostly, I photographed men who were older than me. Maybe I was more interested in seeing masculinity in decline than admiring male prowess. Or maybe older men are more visibly vulnerable, making me more empathetic towards them. Some of them unveiled their bodies with adventurous curiosity; others were willing to partly reveal themselves, letting go of their reservations as an act of generosity. Some got an erection and stood still in front of me, wondering where to direct their gaze. One person kept bending over to make sure I captured a view of his anus. 

Once I started stripping away the clothing and props and scenery, what I was left with was a body alive in time, like mine. Its authority dissolved when I took the liberty to look."

Carolyn Drake

"I really wanted to expose the body and demean it and play with the idea of seeing how far I could push men, even if they didn’t want to."

Carolyn Drake

"I realized that it was also a healing exercise for my psyche. I channeled a lot of pent-up anger to make the work, drawing from repeated dealings with misogyny in life and politics, including the restriction of women’s rights to abortion, over which I had no control."

Carolyn Drake

"I am a 52-year-old woman who has internalized a lot of personal and political rage over the years, most recently in response to the #MeToo movement and the U.S. Supreme Court decision on abortion rights. My hormonal impulses are also shifting. I wanted to channel all that onto the men: how can I subjugate the male body, and how will that look and feel to me? 

But on the other hand, photography for me is a way of connecting and empathizing with other people. So as I played with how it felt to look down on men and to mangle and twist and direct their bodies, I also found tenderness and began to see the ways they were fragile, and not at all fulfilling masculine stereotypes. 

I also wanted to look at the myths connected to masculine ideals, but without perpetuating them. The images are constructed, posed. I did not want to insinuate any of this as natural, so the feeling of staging and performance was important to me.

One of the main differences in the way I approached the men as photographic subjects is that I wanted to expose the vulnerability of their bodies and lay them bare. (...)

Wallace is a character I got to know pretty well over many photo shoots. Before he passed away in 2022, he ran a motorcycle club next to his house, and the inside, notably, was wallpapered floor to ceiling and all over the ceiling with centerfolds from Penthouse and Playboy magazines that he had collected over the years. This was always something on my mind when I visited his house to photograph him, so when one day he showed me an old picture he had taken of an ex-girlfriend, I knew I wanted to ask him if he would be willing to pose for me in the same position. He agreed to let me photograph him hanging upside down from a hook like a piece of meat only if I would also, and it felt natural for me to agree to it. What I chose not to do is publish the image he took of me. That final decision of what to show is where my power resides. This is about me authoring male bodies, not the reverse.

(...) The men weren’t all cis, actually, but I didn’t distinguish one way or another in the image titles. It’s not a project about youth culture and the diversification of gender identities. It’s about my feelings toward old guard gender structures whose power remains entrenched, and about how I too relate to individual people on that spectrum. Part of why I worked mostly with older men was that I wanted to see masculine strength in decline.

(...)

I had to let myself feel two things at once while making this project — anger I had boxed in and the empathy needed to make human portraits. One of the things they remind you in psychotherapy is that contradictory feelings can coexist. 

Regarding geography, the American South is where I began, but I eventually decided that the project is not about a particular region. It’s about an American brand of patriarchy and its strange attachment to white penises."

Carolyn Drake

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photographs via and via and via 

Time As We Know It. By Marna Clarke.

I am 81 years old, my partner 92. On my 70th birthday, I woke from a dream in which I had rounded a corner and seen the end. This disturbing dream moved me to begin photographing the two of us, chronicling our time together, growing old. 

Now, 11 years down the line, he and I face numerous physical challenges: decreased mental acuity, especially memory; the diminished quality of our skin, hair and teeth; mild disfigurement; as well as the need to tend vigilantly to our balance, hearing, sight, physical agility and getting adequate sleep. Inside we are learning to accept it, sometimes going from anger, impatience, sadness or fear to seeing the humor in the idiosyncrasies of aging. We realize that if we can be comfortable with our own aged appearances and limitations, then the potential exists that others will become more comfortable witnessing this transformation and possibly become more comfortable with their own. 

I have entered a taboo territory: aging and death. The creation of these photos is part of my own way of dealing with the inevitability of dying by bringing attention to it and accepting it. I have come to embrace the photographs as a tribute not just to our lives but also to the demanding and courageous task of growing old gracefully, graciously, and aware. A certain wisdom is evolving from years of living and observing, eventually unveiling previously unseen associations, patterns and similarities. I am gaining a much-appreciated perspective that was not available to me previously.
Marna Clarke

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photographs by Marna Clarke via

Drummies

London-based, South African photographer Alice Mann started her series "Drummies" after reading a newspaper article about drum majorettes in 2017. Mann photographed eleven teams (school teams and club teams) in two provinces in South Africa. Some of the girls are from underprivileged backgrounds. To them, being a drum majorett means a lot since, as Mann notices, it can open doors (via)

“As a young, white, South African photographer, I am very aware of my position when making photographic work, and I always try to let this awareness affect my process. The ways that images have been used in South Africa, as a tool of colonialism, as a tool of apartheid, has a very violent history. So it is important to me that I can create work that empowers and elevates the people I work with. Particularly as I am often working with women, and with younger people, I need to ensure that the resulting images are challenging the representation of these individuals as victims.”
Alice Mann

“I’m interested in examining the relationship between community versus individual identity; how does a sense of belonging affect the way we perceive ourselves? I think wanting to belong is something that everyone identifies with, and this is an idea I return to often in my work… I’m fascinated by the way that feeling a part of something can reinforce an individual’s sense of self.”
Alice Mann

“The sport is a very empowering one for young women to be involved in. You can see how being part of the team creates a powerful sense of belonging and is a safe female space where the girls are very supportive of each other. There are a lot of accolades associated with being a drum majorette, and the discipline and hard work required says a lot about the person who can commit and put in the hours. The girls feel very proud to be majorettes, and this pride is evident.”
Alice Mann

“Photographs are so ubiquitous, and these images have such a powerful role to play. As an image-maker, I wanted to contribute in a way that might prompt people to re-examine the set ideas we have, because of what we are used to seeing,”
Alice Mann

photographs by Alice Mann via

The Demolition of Ableism. By Linda Williams.

"To the Government Agency whose top down directives erase, speak over, and maintain ableism in our society: we are calling you out. This is the demolition of Ableism. 

To the Charity whose top down directives erase, speak over, and maintain ableism in our society: we are calling you out. This is the demolition of Ableism. 

To the Medical “Expert" whose top down directives erase, speak over, and maintain ableism in our society: we are calling you out. This is the demolition of Ableism. 

To the Executive Teams whose top down directives erase, speak over, and maintain ableism in our society: we are calling you out. This is the demolition of Ableism. 

To the Media, Print, Film, and Television Industry whose top down directives erase, speak over, and maintain ableism in our society: we are calling you out. This is the demolition of Ableism. 

To the Consumer Goods Industry whose top down directives erase, speak over, and maintain ableism in our society: we are calling you out. This is the demolition of Ableism. 

To the Education Systems whose top down directives erase, speak over, and maintain ableism in our society: we are calling you out. This is the demolition of Ableism. 

To the Demagogues, Charlatans and Profiteers of disability whose top down directives erase, speak over, and maintain ableism in our society: we are calling you out. This is the demolition of Ableism. 

Real social change begins in ways that are not always stylistically graceful. It is unruly, messy, and very real. But this is how we start."

Linda Williams, Invisible Disability Project

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photographs (A Self-Portrait of Depression) by Jenn Terrell via

The Holy Week Uprising

After Martin Luther King, Jr. was murdered in April 1968, riots erupted in nearly 200 US-American cities. During the days that followed his death, the U.S. experienced the greatest wave of social unrest after the Civil War (via). These riots were a direct reaction to King's assassination. His assassination is, however, not seen as "the" reason. Tensions had already been high before King's death. Segregation was officially over but still part of everyday life. Being Black meant discriminatory housing policies, income dispartities, poverty, and lacking job opportunities. Due to these conditions, Black US-Americans often had to move to (Black) low-income areas which were not only poorly maintained but also meant being hassled by local police (via)

(Above: "A crowd described as "militant, dancing and chanting" takes part in a memorial to Martin Luther King Jr. in Garfield Park on April 7, 1968. This photo was published in the April 8, 1968, Milwaukee Sentinel. The banner depicts black activist H. Rap Brown, who famously said the previous summer, "Violence is as American as apple pie.") 

58,000 National Guardsmen and Army troops assisted law enforcement officers in handling the violence. 43 people were killed, around 3,500 were injured, 27,000 were arrested and 54 of the cities affected saw more than 100,000 dollars property damage, Washington D.C. experienced the most property damage. There, twelve days of unrest meant 1,200 fires and 24 million in insured property damage (174 million dollars in today's currency). It took decades for some neighbourhoods to fully recover. The fires had destroyed buildings, made thousands of people homeless and jobless, too many had died in burning buildings. In Baltimore, which came second to Washington in terms of damage, crowds first gathered peacefully to hold a memorial service. After a couple of small incidents, 6,000 National Guards arrived and protests erupted (via).

“If I were a kid in Harlem, I know what I’d be thinking right now. I’d be thinking that the whites have declared open season on my people, and they’re going to pick us off one by one unless I get a gun and pick them off first.”
President Johnson

"America must see that riots do not develop out of thin air. Certain conditions continue to exist in our society which must be condemned as vigorously as we condemn riots. (A riot) is the language of the unheard."
Martin Luther King

"For years, many white Americans mistakenly conceived of racism as a “Southern problem” and believed that Jim Crow only resided south of the Mason-Dixon Line. The racial violence of the 1960s throughout the country rudely awakened the nation to the speciousness of this belief. 

Yet no sooner had that belief been discarded than it was immediately replaced with a new and equally false one: that America’s race problems extended only to our large cities and their inner-city ghettos, but not beyond that. The terms that we used — and still use — contributed to the misunderstanding of what was taking place. By using the term “riots,” we reinforce the notion that these acts of “collective violence” were spontaneous and apolitical and that they were disconnected to the protests for civil rights in the South. But a closer examination of them, individually and collectively, proves otherwise. 

This flawed understanding had real consequences. Focused on large cities, the national media gave sparse coverage to the revolts in York and other midsize and small cities, despite the fact that the majority of them occurred in such places. In 1969 alone, revolts rocked midsized cities like Hartford, Conn., Harrisburg, Pa. and Fort Lauderdale, Fla."
Levy, Washington Post

photographs via and via and via and via and via and via 

Distraction

“The very serious function of racism is distraction. It keeps you from doing your work. It keeps you explaining, over and over again, your reason for being.”

Toni Morrison

photograph of Toni Morrison by Jill Krementz (1974) via

Home for the Golden Gays

The Home for the Golden Gays is a Philippine non-profit organisation founded by lawyer and activist Justo Justo (1941-2012) in 1975. Justo envisioned "a care home for aging members of the outcasted gay community". After his death, the community were evicted and some members became homeless. Only in 2018, they started renting a house again (via and via and via). Its status, however is still precarious since the shelter depends on irregular and insufficient donations. The elderly residents continue working, giving performances or side gigs as street vendors or haircutters. It is no coincidence that the official slogan they chose is "Don't get sick" (via).

To be old and LGBT can be particularly difficult. Official statistics on the elder LGBT community remain scant, but a survey of LGBT-identifying Filipinos aged between 50 and 74 released in June found that 40% of respondents lacked money for necessities like food and medication. According to the survey, 48% of the respondents feared losing their homes within 2022. Some were unstably housed and others said they lived on the streets or in parks. (via)

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photograph by Hannah Reyes Morales via