Engaging with members of minority and vulnerable communities

So. We’re supposed to come up with the top three challenges for achieving effective online engagement. That’s tricky, because there’s probably a million challenges, or, as my step-daughter would say when she’s trying to think of a large number, a million billion thousand one hundred.

And I reckon that the top three challenges will vary depending on what you’re engaging about, who you’re engaging with, and what you’re trying to achieve.

So, I’m going to narrow down my focus to the challenges of engaging with people who are from disadvantaged and vulnerable groups.

Among others, this includes LBGTQI+, refugees, some minority ethnic groups, some minority religious groups, people with some types of disabilities, and people who have been victims of violence (domestic or otherwise).

And the reason I’m focusing on vulnerable groups is because I believe that it’s by engaging with these people that we can get the greatest benefits from online engagement. The privileged and powerful already have access to decision makers, and if we really want to improve our democracy, then we need to balance the playing field by finding ways to help the least privileged and the most vulnerable people access those decision makers as well.

And I’m going to do this by telling you a story about my experience advocating on behalf of one of those groups.

This particular story goes back about 20 years. That’s back in the dim dark ages before online engagement was even a possibility.

I joined an organisation called Agender, which is a real-world, face-to-face support group for transgender people. Back then it was all transwomen and cross-dressers. I was the first transman to join.

It was a pretty informal organisation of maybe a couple of hundred people across New Zealand. We held get-togethers each month in people’s homes in perhaps half a dozen cities and towns around the country for transgender people to meet, mainly just to be in a friendly place where we didn’t have to hide and we could just be ourselves.

“Just be ourselves” — that’s a gift and a privilege that most people have without even realising it, but which is so rare and so precious to people who were born with a body of the wrong sex.

If you get funny looks in public, or overhear people making snarky comments, or get shouted at, or physically attacked, or hear stories about people like you being murdered just for being who they were born to be, you crave a place where you can put those fears aside, even if it is only for a couple of hours a month.

Anyway, I got friendly with the couple that had founded the group, and I ended up on the national committee.

The national committee sort of fell into advocating on behalf of transgender people when the Ministry of Health started running a consultation process about what health services transgender people needed most.

We all knew we wouldn’t get everything we wanted, and the options were controversial in the community. Some people favoured mental health services to help transgender people cope with the emotional and psychological scarring that comes from living in the wrong gender and the abuse that they sometimes receive, some favoured electrolysis and vocal chord scraping to assist transwomen to“pass” as women (and therefore feel more like the women they were born to be and also be less subject to harassment), some favoured making hormone therapy available in the parts of NZ that didn’t provide it, and some favoured gender confirmation surgery (a.k.a. sex change surgery).

The committee wrote a submission under the Agender name for what we (the committee) thought was most needed. To do this, we relied on our experience of the journey of gender transition and on the hundreds of conversations that we had had with others about their challenges of transition. We didn’t consult with our membership. Given our combined experience, we didn’t think we needed to.

We had quite a bit of interaction with the Ministry on the issue. At one point they told us they really appreciating being able to engage with us. It’s difficult engaging with transgender people, they said, because they are so hard to find, so they appreciated being able to consult directly with an organisation that represented transgender people. It made their life a lot simpler.

And, at the time, I enjoyed being in such a privileged position, to be able to communicate directly with government on issues that were important me and to the community that I claimed to represent.

Why I am telling you this?

Because this was completely the wrong way for the Ministry to engage.

Although we (Agender) claimed to represent the transgender community, with the benefit of hindsight I can now see our limitations.

Firstly, our membership was very limited. Although it’s true that we had more members than any other transgender organisation, we only had Pakeha members, and none under the age of 30. So, although we claimed to represent the transgender community, actually, that was simply not true.

In other words, we had no mandate. But we acted as if we did. And the Ministry of Health acted as if we did too.

Secondly, there was a vast range of different opinions in the community, but we didn’t reflect that in our submissions.

The lessons I learnt from this are:

1) Advocacy organisations and community organisations have no mandate.

Not all transgender people are members of Agender. Not all intellectually disabled people are members of IHC. Not everyone with a disability is a member of CCS. Not everyone who has been subjected to domestic violence are members of Women’s Refuge. Therefore, Agender, IHC, CCS, and Women’s Refuge have no mandate. These organisations claim to represent their communities, and they certainly do advocate for and support their communities, and they have a voice that needs to be heard. But they cannot speak on behalf of their communities because not everyone in their communities is a member and therefore their communities have not given them a mandate.

2) There is a range of opinions within any community.

The transgender community had a range of different opinions on what they needed most from the health system. When it comes to pre-birth testing, parents of people with Down syndrome have different opinions on whether or not it should be legal to abort foetuses with Down syndrome. When it came to same-sex marriage, some lesbians supported it, and others wanted marriage banned altogether as oppressive to women.

The lesson here is: don’t assume that any community has one opinion about something. Every community is diverse, and you need to engage with enough people from throughout the community to ensure that you capture the full range of that diversity.

OK, enough of banging on about that, let’s move on.

The next story I want to tell you is about when we did the pre-birth testing online engagement right back at the beginning of the course. Let’s be blunt. I didn’t want to do it.

I assumed there would be trolls, and insults, and a range of other nastiness that assaults you on the internet. If it wasn’t compulsory for the course, I wouldn’t have done it.

And I guess that’s because I’m especially sensitive to the impact that trolls can have on people who are members of vulnerable communities. When you’re used to being the subject of odd looks from people, or harassment, or bullying, or the threat of violence, or actual violence, or seeing your friends after they have been beaten up, then you learn to hide. Even online. Sometimes, words hurt more than fists.

The point of this story is to illustrate that you should never underestimate the impact that bullying, and harassment, and even violence has on silencing minorities. And never underestimate the fear that creates.

And never underestimate the impact that bullying and violence can have on people’s decisions on whether or not it is safe to participate. Even online.

People who feel victimised can withdraw rather than engage, because withdrawing can feel safe, and engaging feels scary.

And don’t assume that, just because some people in those groups have the courage to come forward, that they actually speak for their entire community. The fact that they have the courage to come forward suggests that there is something about them or their experience that is different from others’. Maybe they come forward because they are too angry too hide. That’s great that they can turn their anger into action. But don’t forget that anger can also blind them and warp their perspectives.

You also need to get input from the people who are so scared they are hiding.

So that’s my three challenges about engaging with vulnerable communities:

1. Don’t rely on using advocacy groups as a proxy for the people you are trying to connect with. They don’t have a mandate.

2. Don’t assume that everyone in the community has the same opinion about an issue. They don’t.

3. Don’t assume that everyone in the community will feel safe in engaging online. Because many of them won’t, and the ones that don’t feel safe are the ones that are the most important to engage with.

Alright, I think I’ve gone on long enough about the problems. The question now: is there a solution?

It’s tough. But my recommendation is to make personal connections and use your networks.

Start where you can — a colleague, a friend of a friend, someone at a Ministry or agency that covers the types of people you want to connect with. Or an advocacy group.

Build trust with those people, face-to-face. Convince them of the sincerity of your intentions, the impact of the work you’re doing, and the importance of hearing from as many people as possible, especially the most vulnerable.

Then use those people to make the next connection for you. If they use their credibility to make the next connection, you will come with the credibility they give you. And then that person can use their credibility to find you the next connection. And so on, until you find the social networks that people have already formed that link them together, and your message will spread through those social connections. Both offline and online.

But don’t take my word for it. I’m only one person. I can’t speak for everyone from a minority, vulnerable, or disadvantaged community. I have no mandate. There are many different opinions out there, and I am one of those that has the courage (sometimes) to come forward.

Find them, and ask them yourself.