Ally Week: amplifying Fulbright Austria voices

26 September 2023
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25–29 September is Ally Week. In this article, alums Carla Harold and Roland Bailey talk about issues facing the LGBTQ+ community and women as well as the importance of intersectionality and allyship between groups in both the US and Austria. They take a critical look at recent events and politics in the two countries and share their thoughts on where they believe intersectional collaboration is vital to progress and the rights of individuals.

Carla Harold

Austrian Fulbright foreign language teaching assistant (FLTA)
2021–22

Growing up, TV shows, movies, and popular culture from the US were omnipresent. Although the depicted image had deteriorated from the „promised land“ my parents’ generation grew up with and the political situation was viewed more critically, most things American were still considered cool, interesting, and in a way desirable. My view of the US had, of course, become more nuanced by the time I graduated from university, and a lot of people around me had become more observant about what was going on across the Atlantic. Gun violence, systemic racism, recent elections, and the opiate crisis became frequent topics of conversations among my friends in Vienna. Although I was concerned with all of these issues as well, my view of the US was still ambivalent. As I have started to become more aware of and interested in issues related to discrimination and privilege, especially in educational contexts, I realized that research and academic discussions on gender, race, class, social justice, and access to education appeared to be far more advanced and nuanced in the US compared to Austria, where the public debate to related issues still largely concerned fears of gendered language disfiguring the German language. So when I left for the US as a Fulbright foreign language teaching assistant in 2021, I certainly had some preconceived ideas, but I was also very curious.

 

Most of my time in the US was spent on a beautiful and remote campus in rural New Hampshire. At a first glance, my expectations of the more open and supportive environment for first-generation, BIPOC (Black, Indigenous, People of Color) and LGBTQ+ (Lesbian, Gay, Bisexual, Trans, and Queer) students were met. The campus had community housing for students from different racial backgrounds, an office for first-generation students, gender-inclusive Greek houses—and several professors asked students for their pronouns. I was initially certainly impressed with all of the measures Dartmouth and similar schools were taking to accommodate their diversifying student body; the schools seemed to share a basic understanding that simply accepting students from marginalized communities does not lead to equitable access to education. Nonetheless, it didn’t take long for me to see that many issues related to the student experience of marginalized groups on campus still prevail. Students told me that the university grappled with sexualized violence on campus, they told me about the occasional homophobic slurs at frat parties, the challenges students who did not come from affluent backgrounds faced on campus, continuously being misgendered by professors, and they told me about several student suicides in recent years. In an analysis a student conducted on campus about the popularity and status of different Greek houses, the results showed that the gender-inclusive and Black Greek houses had by far the lowest status.

Although the extent to which full access and participation can be achieved without structural change is certainly debatable, it was still good to see increasing awareness and the effort that was put in from many sides to create a community aiming for broadening access and participation. It soon became clear to me, however, that the situation looked quite different outside this secluded campus and that a university could not be immune to the social and political climate in society at large.

In the spring of 2022 and my final term on campus,  the US Supreme Court’s possible overturn of Roe v. Wade, which protected the right to abortion, was reported on the news. Personally, I was truly shocked when I heard about this. At the time, I was taking a course entitled American Women in the 20th Century, and we had just watched a documentary on the horrors women with unwanted pregnancies went through before abortions were legalized in all states in the 1970s. Having grown up without access to abortion being in question, (although they are not fully legal in Austria either) I did not expect rights over bodily autonomy, once fought for and achieved, to be revoked again. I was not the only one in shock. The next day in class, a lot of students were very distressed and upset, and we spent half of the class-time discussing current events rather than the 20th century—although the discussed issue turned out to be the same. Several women in the class talked about their intentions to organize a protest, but when a protest and march was held on the university green that same week, only a small group of people joined, and judging from the large number of participants with graying hair, they had been around the last time similar marches were organized in the 1970s.

Although the extent to which full access and participation can be achieved without structural change is certainly debatable, it was still good to see increasing awareness and the effort that was put in from many sides to create a community aiming for broadening access and participation.

Right before I left the US in June 2022, Roe v. Wade was overturned, and with it ended the right to abortion in some states. Since then, a number of other restrictions on bodily autonomy have come into place, and gender-affirming care has been banned in several states. Apart from restrictions on bodily autonomy, the reports of hate crimes related to gender have increased as well.

By the time I left the United States, my view of the country had certainly become more nuanced, and I got a better understanding of how the country got to the place it is at now.

Although I really enjoyed my time in the US, my experience was certainly impacted by the shifting discussions on bodily autonomy, affecting the lives of women as well as trans and queer people alike. Since I left the US, the extent of your bodily autonomy has become increasingly dependent on your geographic location and whether you can afford to travel to another state to receive medical attention or not. 

I have to admit that during my time in the US, I idealized some aspects of my life in Austria. Among other things, this included the healthcare system, free access to education, sick leave, and vacation days, but especially the lack of a public and legal debate on further restricting the bodily autonomy of women and of trans and queer people. However, as I returned to Vienna, the idealized image I had created for myself of my home country quickly crumbled.

Although I really enjoyed my time in the US, my experience was certainly impacted by the shifting discussions on bodily autonomy, affecting the lives of women as well as trans and queer people alike.

It almost felt as though what I had observed in the US had followed me back home, as rallies against story hours for children held by drag queens were organized and abortions became effectively unavailable in some parts of Austria because the only provider was about to retire.

In the year of 2023, I’d hope to have a more positive outlook on solidarity and allyship. But given the current political and social climate, I think it is essential for women and for trans and queer people to stick together and to look out for one another. 

Roland Bailey

Popular wisdom dictates that if a motivated (and sadistic) person drops a frog into a pot of boiling water, the shock of being placed into such an extreme and unfriendly environment will result in the frog promptly jumping out of the pot. Grievously injured, perhaps, but having reacted quickly enough to survive. Meanwhile, a frog placed into lukewarm water and slowly heated will fail to notice the gradually mounting temperature. It’ll boil alive.

And then you can have frog soup or whatever it is you were making. You couldn’t have just made it out of a dead frog? Sicko.

Frogs notwithstanding, there’s a strange dreamlike haze that surrounds my memories of growing up in America. My early memories consist of my grandparents frothing at the mouth, spouting the most unpleasant and close-minded opinions of nearly every group you can imagine. My mother, still young and sporting a thin-lipped grimace, hadn’t yet lost the frantic, Sisyphean urge to please them and therefore couldn’t contradict them in any way besides from privately telling me that those kinds of thoughts were wrong and that she would love me no matter what.

I, meanwhile, at the tender age of five or six, was still trying to figure out why my grandparents’ hostility towards the LGBTQ+ community in particular sent a hot coil of anxiety and discomfort squirming through my stomach.

And then we had the Obama years, and we had Obergefell v. Hodges, and for a second I thought things might really be improving. But we all know what happened in 2016, and the so-called party of small government swiftly revealed its hand as wanting to actually be the party of knowing exactly what you’re keeping inside your pants (seriously, let us see). My home state of Kentucky quickly became one of the states with the worst anti-trans laws on the books.

And this isn’t even dipping a toe into the concentrated attack on reproductive rights. Following a number of Supreme Court justices perjuring themselves during their confirmation hearings by insisting they wouldn’t touch Roe v. Wade, we now live in a society where someone’s fundamental right to choose is completely dependent on which state they live in.

I feel comfortable and resolute in my decision to declare that under the current political climate, I do not feel safe returning to the United States for any period of time. It’s a weird feeling that I haven’t been able to properly parse in therapy yet. I’ll let y’all know if I do. But the real horror for me is watching Austria, my chosen home, begin to fall into some of the same pitfalls. Lower Austria throwing a temper tantrum over “gendern” (gendering). Tyrol discussing starting a database of women who get abortions. For all the lip service in regard to opposition towards the Americanization of Austrian life and culture, certain politicians seem all too happy to grab American-style moral panic, sensationalist talking points, and extremist rhetoric with both hands.

We now live in a society where someone’s fundamental right to choose is completely dependent on which state they live in.

I feel comfortable and resolute in my decision to declare that under the current political climate, I do not feel safe returning to the United States for any period of time. It’s a weird feeling that I haven’t been able to properly parse in therapy yet. I’ll let y’all know if I do. But the real horror for me is watching Austria, my chosen home, begin to fall into some of the same pitfalls. Lower Austria throwing a temper tantrum over “gendern” (gendering). Tyrol discussing starting a database of women who get abortions. For all the lip service in regard to opposition towards the Americanization of Austrian life and culture, certain politicians seem all too happy to grab American-style moral panic, sensationalist talking points, and extremist rhetoric with both hands.

Of course, the whole thing about the frog boiling anecdote is that it isn’t true. A frog flung haphazardly into boiling water will die from its injuries. Instantly, in many cases. Meanwhile, a frog finding itself in water steadily increasing temperature will surely jump out once their internal homeostasis monitors start going haywire. What does that say about all of us, metaphorical frogs in a society that’s already started to steam and with the hands of many politicians inching the dial towards ever more hellish temperatures?

Maybe it’s not too late. Maybe we can jump out. Maybe we can overturn the pot.

Maybe we can kill the heat.

Watch Carla and Roland's Ally Week interview

Carla Harold was an FLTA at Dartmouth College in New Hampshire during the 2021–22 program year. Roland Bailey was a USTA in Upper Austria in 2020–21 and in Vienna in 2021–22. Both currently reside in Vienna, Austria.

Are you interested in allyship and in connecting with members of the Fulbright Austria community to discuss diversity-related topics? Please send us an email.