Fugitive Life: Race, Gender, and the Rise of the Neoliberal-Carceral State

Fugitive Life: Race, Gender, and the Rise of the Neoliberal-Carceral State A DISSERTATION SUBMITTED TO THE FACULTY OF THE GRADUATE SCHOOL OF THE UNIVERSITY OF MINNESOTA BY Stephen Dillon IN PARTIAL FULFILLMENT OF THE REQUIREMENTS FOR THE DEGREE OF DOCTOR OF PHILOSOPHY Regina Kunzel, Co-adviser Roderick Ferguson, Co-adviser May 2013 © Stephen Dillon, 2013 Acknowledgements Like so many of life’s joys, struggles, and accomplishments, this project would not have been possible without a vast community of friends, colleagues, mentors, and family. Before beginning the dissertation, I heard tales of its brutality, its crushing weight, and its endlessness. I heard stories of dropouts, madness, uncontrollable rage, and deep sadness. I heard rumors of people who lost time, love, and their curiosity. I was prepared to work 80 hours a week and to forget how to sleep. I was prepared to lose myself as so many said would happen. The support, love, and encouragement of those around me means I look back on writing this project with excitement, nostalgia, and appreciation. I am deeply humbled by the time, energy, and creativity that so many people loaned me. I hope one ounce of that collective passion shows on these pages. Without those listed here, and so many others, the stories I heard might have become more than gossip in the hallway or rumors over drinks. I will be forever indebted to Rod Ferguson’s simple yet life-altering advice: “write for one hour a day.” Adhering to this rule meant that writing became a part of me like never before. It showed me that, like queerness, writing could be a way of life. It also meant I lived a life no one told me was possible as a graduate student—a life filled with short workdays, long bike rides, and friendships bigger than the classroom or conference. Rod helped me find my way when I got lost and showed me—no matter what—to follow the ethics of the work. The way out is in front of you; you just have to see it. Rod’s patience, kindness, generosity, and brilliance will always be a model for me as I navigate a world that so often leaves people unable to laugh in the face of so much i stress, frustration, and despair. Perhaps most importantly, Rod taught me how to read, a task so simple it eludes me still. I hope to show others how to read as well. In my second year, Regina Kunzel taught me how to write. I used to surround myself with stacks of books and mimic the authors who brought me to the page. Reg pushed me for years to center my own thoughts, words, and voice. It took that long to find the confidence, but now when I write all I need is a cup of coffee. Her own writing showed me the power of a sentence just four words long. I no longer mistake brilliance for density and how many breaths I have to take to read a single sentence out loud. This has also made me a better thinker. There is not time now, but one day I will attempt to write a comprehensive list of the awe-inspiring things she has helped me with, taught me, and shown me. (My future employers at the freethinking Hampshire College, a place I would not be headed without her, will probably let me do this for my tenure file.) I have no words for her dedication, compassion, generosity, and profound humility. I hope there is pizza and more two-person reading groups in our future. One day there will be time. Jennifer Pierce championed me before I knew where I was going. A summer fellowship with her turned into my first publication, but more importantly, we spent a number of summer afternoons on the University’s dime talking about Jenny and Max on The L Word. I was lucky enough to take the most courses with Jennifer. She showed me a model for teaching that will remain with me for years to come. She also showed me how to be bold, confident, and how to laugh at adversity. I hope I remain so strong. Kevin Murphy, my secret style guide for the job market, is a model for me in so many ways. Laurie Ouellette is an inspiration as a teacher and scholar. ii A.J. Lewis read much of this project, giving it his time, energy, and vivid insight. Myrl Beam was always there when I needed him as a friend or scholar. I hope his compassion comes through here. Ryan Murphy and Michael Franklin were mentors and friends the whole way through—they gave me a path to follow. And thank you to Raechel Tiffe for her support, excitement, and wonderful food. I wouldn’t be here without my “non-grad school friends” who kept me sane and grounded. Ian Brannigan and I have traveled the same path for the last 20 years; I’d be lost without him. With Owen and Henry, I always feel at home. Conrad and I have been through everything, and I owe him as much. Caitlin’s warmth and joy have kept me going. Jaime and Jacob (and now Vera) are always there, and I know they always will be. Megan Holm always warmed the room even on the coldest and darkest nights. Eren and Naomi fueled me with coffee, food, angst, love, and support. I know Iowa City will always have a place for me. Marjorie Jolles was my first real teacher and has helped with every step of this journey. Matthew was always there with music and laughs. I am also always awed by how much Wolf has to give. For that, I thank her. My twin sister Michelle cheered me on every step of the way. We have been together since our first breath, and the last seven years in Minneapolis together will always be with me. My parents, Michael and Marcia, were always there with questions, support, and encouragement even when I could only leave them confused. My brother Jeff will always be my intellectual sparring partner; he has made me a sharper thinker. Kevin is always lighthearted, even when things feel so heavy. iii Finally, Allison Page has read, edited, and commented on every single thing I have written for the last decade. I hope her brilliance shines through. I owe her everything and more. iv For Allison Page, Always and Already v Abstract Fugitive Life: Race, Gender, and the Rise of the Neoliberal-Carceral State examines the forms of knowledge produced by anti-racist and queer women activists in the 1970s as they contested the demise of the Keynesian-welfare state and the unprecedented expansion of the prison system in the United States. As economic policies based on deindustrialization, deregulation, and privatization left cities in ruins, mass incarceration emerged as a solution to the unrest produced by a new wave of racialized poverty. In short, the social state of the mid-twentieth century turned into a penal state by the mid- 1980s. Although some scholars have analyzed this process at the level of social and economic policy, what remains unexamined are the intimate ways in which gender and sexuality have been integrated into, and affected by the entrenchment of racialized state power in the form of mass incarceration. Fugitive Life turns to culture—the memoirs, communiqués, literature, films, prison writing, and poetry of leftist women activists in the 1970s—to provide an analysis of the centrality of race, gender, and sexuality to a new mode of state power that I term “the neoliberal-carceral state.” By contextualizing feminist, queer, and anti-racist activism within neoliberal economics and law and order politics, Fugitive Life offers a reinterpretation of post-1960s activism in relation to the emergence of neoliberalism and the rise of mass incarceration. Throughout the project, I document how leftist feminist and queer social movements theorized and challenged the ways that deindustrialization and privatization required incarceration. I argue that women activists in the 1970s anticipated and challenged the formation of the neoliberal- carceral state. At the heart of Fugitive Life is a critique of the racialized and gendered dynamics at work between an emergent neoliberalism and the rise of the world’s largest prison system. For example, in the first chapter, I examine how imprisoned black feminist activists made sense of the prison in relation to the legacy of chattel-slavery and a changing economic system. In so doing, the chapter expands scholarship on incarceration and neoliberalism by connecting the sexual and gendered politics of nineteenth century chattel-slavery to late-twentieth century neoliberal economics. The second chapter examines how the queer organization the George Jackson Brigade and the Women’s Brigade of the Weather Underground connected the gendered production of poverty to the expansion of policing and penal power in their films, communiqués, and political statements. The third chapter examines the formation of what I term “neoliberal freedom”—a conception of freedom that requires the prison—in the writings of the economist Milton Friedman. I compare Friedman’s theorization of freedom to the ways underground and fugitive activists conceptualized freedom in their poetry and memoirs. The final chapter is a study of the writings of imprisoned lesbian activists held in a High Security control unit in Lexington, Kentucky. This chapter turns to prison writing in order to explore the relationship between the larger political and economic changes implemented under neoliberalism and their relation to sexuality and the queer female body. Most broadly, Fugitive Life repositions and expands studies of late-twentieth century social movements, the prison system, and neoliberalism in relation to race, gender, and sexuality.

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