LGBTQ2+ Experiences of Public Safety in the Urban Form: Bringing Queer and Trans Voices into Creating Safe Inclusive Communities by Jen Roberton Honours B.A., University of Toronto, 2013 A THESIS SUBMITTED IN PARTIAL FULFILLMENT OF THE REQUIREMENTS FOR THE DEGREE OF MASTER OF ARTS IN PLANNING in THE FACULTY OF GRADUATE AND POSTDOCTORAL STUDIES (Planning) THE UNIVERSITY OF BRITISH COLUMBIA (Vancouver) April 2016 © Jen Roberton, 2016 ii Abstract The Master’s thesis, “LGBTQ2+ Experience of Public Safety in the Urban Form”, seeks to find out how LGBTQ2+ inclusive cities can be planned and designed. Geographies of identity around visibility and passing are used to frame perceived safety in public spaces. Using the City of Toronto as a case study, the thesis unpacks the current state of perceived and experienced public safety as articulated by LGBTQ2+ people. Focus groups, interviews, an online survey and secondary readings are the data sources used. Quantitative and qualitative data on hate crimes and discrimination in Toronto are also triangulated to contextualize queer and trans experiences of harassment, physical assault, discrimination, microaggressions, verbal harassment and sexualized violence. This study challenges conventional feminist safety planning and the concept of normal/abnormal uses espoused by proponents of Crime Prevention Through Environmental Design (CPTED) by bringing queer intersectionality to the forefront of discussion. Recommendations stemming from the collected data include sensitivity and inclusivity training for authority figures, poster campaigns on inclusivity, gender neutral bathrooms, better programming, and the breakdown of systemic barriers faced by LGBTQ2+ communities. iii Preface The research is conducted in partnership with METRAC, a Toronto based consulting non-profit that conducts safety audits with the goal of creating safer spaces for women and youth. METRAC was involved in the qualitative data collection for this thesis. A METRAC staff member co-facilitated with the researcher the focus groups conducted for this thesis. The interviews and online survey were conducted by the researcher alone. The data collected from the focus groups and interviews were coded and used to inform a report compiled by the researcher for METRAC. The UBC Behavioural Research Board at the UBC Office of Ethics Research approved this study on April 29th 2015 under the project title ‘Embodied Mobility Differences and Safety in the Urban Form: Participatory Planning and Design Strategies in Toronto’. An amendment to the study to include the online survey was approved July 14th 2015. The study was assigned the UBC BREB Number H15-00314. iv Table of Contents Abstract ........................................................................................................................................... ii Preface............................................................................................................................................ iii Table of Contents ........................................................................................................................... iv List of Tables ................................................................................................................................. vii List of Figures ................................................................................................................................ ix Glossary of Terms ............................................................................................................................x Acknowledgements ...................................................................................................................... xiii Dedication .................................................................................................................................. xviii Chapter 1 – Introduction ................................................................................................................. 1 Background and Research Problem Context ............................................................................... 1 Research Goals and Significance ................................................................................................ 3 Organization of the Thesis .......................................................................................................... 4 Chapter 2 – Toronto Case Study Context: Safer City, Safer Spaces ............................................... 5 Introduction ................................................................................................................................ 5 Mobilization and Polarity: Toronto LGBTQ2+ Context ............................................................10 Contemporary LGBTQ Safety Issues in Toronto ...................................................................... 20 Conclusion ................................................................................................................................. 24 Chapter 3 – Understanding CPTED, Gendered Identities and Queering Safety in Urban Spaces....................................................................................................................................................... 26 Introduction .............................................................................................................................. 26 Crime Prevention through Environmental Design (CPTED) ................................................... 27 Feminist Intersectional Analyses of Gendered Spaces ............................................................. 33 Gendered Spaces ................................................................................................................... 33 Intersectional Analysis .......................................................................................................... 35 Feminist Critiques of Planning and Designing for Safety ..................................................... 37 Queer Interventions .................................................................................................................. 38 Queering Planning ................................................................................................................. 38 Enclave Anxiety ..................................................................................................................... 40 Queering Safety ..................................................................................................................... 42 Trans Inclusive Safety ........................................................................................................... 45 Conclusion ................................................................................................................................. 47 v Chapter 4 – Methodology: Using Mixed Methods Research on LGBTQ2+ Perceptions and Experiences of Safety .................................................................................................................... 48 Introduction .............................................................................................................................. 48 Interviews .................................................................................................................................. 49 Focus Groups ............................................................................................................................. 51 Online Survey ............................................................................................................................ 53 Ethical Considerations .............................................................................................................. 60 Limitations ................................................................................................................................ 62 Conclusion ................................................................................................................................. 63 Chapter 5 – Perceptions of Public Safety: Framing Safety, Framing Identity ............................. 65 Introduction .............................................................................................................................. 65 Feeling Unsafe Defined ............................................................................................................. 68 Passing and Visibility ................................................................................................................ 80 Spatiality and Perceptions of Public Safety............................................................................... 87 Conclusion ................................................................................................................................. 96 Chapter 6 – Discrimination and Reporting .................................................................................. 97 Introduction .............................................................................................................................. 97 Discrimination: A Comparative Analysis .................................................................................. 98 Reporting ................................................................................................................................. 102 Introduction ........................................................................................................................ 102 Reporting to Police .............................................................................................................. 102 Other Resources .................................................................................................................. 108 Conclusion ................................................................................................................................. 111 Chapter 7 – Planning for Safer Communities .............................................................................. 112 Introduction ............................................................................................................................. 112 Built Environment Interventions ............................................................................................. 118 Social Planning Interventions ..................................................................................................130 Conclusion ................................................................................................................................ 137 Chapter 8 – Conclusion ............................................................................................................... 138 Reflections for Future Research .............................................................................................. 140 Bibliography ................................................................................................................................. 142 Appendix ...................................................................................................................................... 158 Appendix 1.1 - Interview Questions ......................................................................................... 158 Appendix 1.2 - Focus Group Schedule with Questions ............................................................ 159 vi Appendix 1.3 - Consent Forms ................................................................................................. 163 Appendix 1.4 - Online Survey ................................................................................................... 165 Appendix 1.5 – Online Survey Results ..................................................................................... 194 vii List of Tables Table 1 - Types of Violence.......................................................................................................... 66 Table 2 - Recommendations for Safer Cities from Participants ................................................. 114 Table 3 - Gender Identity ............................................................................................................ 194 Table 4 - Pairing of Multiple Gender Identities by Respondents ............................................... 195 Table 5 - Sexual Orientation ....................................................................................................... 196 Table 6 - Pairing of Multiple Sexual Orientations by Respondents ........................................... 197 Table 7 - Age .............................................................................................................................. 198 Table 8 - Religion ....................................................................................................................... 199 Table 9 - Pairing of Multiple Religions by Respondents ............................................................ 200 Table 10 - Race ........................................................................................................................... 201 Table 11 - Pairing of Multiple Racial Identities by Respondents ............................................... 202 Table 12 - Ability ........................................................................................................................ 203 Table 13 - Income ....................................................................................................................... 204 Table 14 - Occupation ................................................................................................................. 205 Table 15 - Pairing of Multiple Occupations by Respondents ..................................................... 206 Table 16 - Education ................................................................................................................... 207 Table 17 - Housing Status ........................................................................................................... 207 Table 18 - Amount of Time Living in Neighbourhood .............................................................. 216 Table 19 - Neighbours Known by Participants ........................................................................... 216 Table 20 - Sense of Community ................................................................................................. 217 Table 21 - Safety Around Residence .......................................................................................... 218 Table 22 - Feeling of Safety around Residence by Gender Identity ........................................... 219 Table 23 - Daytime Safety .......................................................................................................... 220 Table 24 - Feeling of safety alone or in a group daytime by gender identity ............................. 220 Table 25 - Nighttime Safety ........................................................................................................ 221 Table 26 - Feeling of Safety Alone or in a Group nighttime by Gender Identity ....................... 221 Table 27 - Overall Neighbourhood Safety .................................................................................. 223 Table 28 - Feeling of Safety Overall by Gender Identity ........................................................... 224 Table 29 - Discomfort Entering Spaces ...................................................................................... 225 Table 30 - Visibility, LGBTQ2+ and Neighbourhood Comfort ................................................. 232 Table 31 - Visibility, Race, LGBTQ2+ and Neighbourhood Comfort ....................................... 235 Table 32 - Visibility, Religion, LGBTQ2+ and Neighbourhood Comfort ................................. 236 Table 33 - Ability and Safety ...................................................................................................... 237 Table 34 - Age and Safety .......................................................................................................... 238 Table 35 - Safety Affected by Following Determinants ............................................................. 240 Table 36 - Has Discrimination Been Experienced ...................................................................... 241 Table 37 - Identity Targeted by Discrimination ......................................................................... 242 Table 38 - Pairing of Multiple Reasons for Discrimination by Respondents ............................. 243 viii Table 39 - Number of Discriminatory Incidents ......................................................................... 244 Table 40 - How Recent was Discrimination ............................................................................... 244 Table 41 - Discrimination Expressed .......................................................................................... 245 Table 42 - Physical Assault Rates Broken Down by Identity Targeted ..................................... 246 Table 43 - Sexual Assault Rates Broken Down by Identity Targeted ........................................ 247 Table 44 - Anonymous Phone Call Rates Broken Down by Identity Targeted .......................... 248 Table 45 - Being Chased or Followed Broken Down by Identity Targeted ............................... 249 Table 46 - Being Spit On Broken Down by Identity Targeted ................................................... 250 Table 47 - Having Rocks Thrown at You Broken Down by Identity Targeted .......................... 251 Table 48 - Glances or Staring Broken Down by Identity Targeted ............................................ 252 Table 49 - Ignoring Broken Down by Identity Targeted ............................................................ 253 Table 50 - Written Threats or Slurs Broken Down by Identity Targeted ................................... 254 Table 51 - Verbal Threats or Slurs Broken Down by Identity Targeted .................................... 255 Table 52 - Other Verbal Comments Broken Down by Identity Targeted ................................... 256 Table 53 - Not Having Access to Services or Locations Broken Down by Identity Targeted ... 257 Table 54 - Discrimination Over Social Media Broken Down by Identity Targeted ................... 258 Table 55 - No Response Rates Broken Down by Identity Targeted ........................................... 259 Table 56 - Other Discrimination Broken Down by Identity Targeted ........................................ 260 Table 57 - Location of Discrimination........................................................................................ 261 Table 58 - Support Accessed after Discrimination ..................................................................... 262 Table 59 - Harassment, Assault or Unsafe Situation Other than Discrimination ....................... 267 Table 60 - Public Sex .................................................................................................................. 269 Table 61 - Reporting to Police .................................................................................................... 273 Table 62 - Safety in LGBTQ2+ Inclusive Neighbourhood ........................................................ 289 Table 63 - Discrimination, Harasssment or Discomfort in LGBTQ2+ Inclusive Neighbourhood..................................................................................................................................................... 291 ix List of Figures Figure 1 - Former Municipal Boundaries Before the Amalgamation of Metropolitan Toronto ..... 6 Figure 2 - Hulchanski’s (2007) Three Cities 1970 ......................................................................... 8 Figure 3 - Hulchanski’s (2007) Three Cities 2005 ......................................................................... 9 Figure 4 - Men loving boys loving men 1977 article .................................................................... 12 Figure 5 – Photographs from Riots Post-Operation Soap ............................................................. 16 Figure 6 - Photographs from Riots Post-Operation Soap ............................................................. 16 Figure 7 - Queer Spaces in Toronto .............................................................................................. 19 Figure 8 - Crowe’s (2013) Container Theory ............................................................................... 32 Figure 9 - Survey Representation by FSAs in Toronto................................................................. 55 Figure 10 - Toronto Density Map by 2011 Census Tract Data..................................................... 56 Figure 11 – Participant Experiences of Violence ......................................................................... 67 Figure 12 - Streetcars Old ........................................................................................................... 120 Figure 13 - Streetcars New ......................................................................................................... 120 Figure 14 - Subways Old ............................................................................................................ 121 Figure 15 - Subways New ........................................................................................................... 121 Figure 16 - Bloor Viaduct ........................................................................................................... 123 Figure 17 - St. James Town ........................................................................................................ 126 Figure 18 - Humber Loop ........................................................................................................... 128 Figure 19 - Mural in Toronto’s Gay Village ............................................................................... 131 x Glossary of Terms Note: Terms referring to sexual and gender identity are subject to personal usage and interpretation. The use of ‘man’ and ‘woman’ in the glossary includes anyone who self-identifies with these terms. These definitions are merely a guide to be used for clarity when reading the thesis, and they are subject to self-identity. Agender: Someone who is genderless, and/or does not identify with a gender, and/or gender neutral. Androsexual: Someone who is attracted to masculine presenting people. Asexual: Someone who has little to no sexual attraction. Bigender: Someone who experiences two gender identities, either simultaneously or at different times. Bisexual: Someone who is attracted to men and women. Cisgender (or ‘cis’): Someone who identifies with the gender they were assigned at birth. Cross-Dresser: Someone who dresses in the clothes and style of the opposite gender. Demisexual: Someone who only feels a sexual attraction to people once an emotional bond is formed. Female to Male (or ‘FTM’): Someone who was assigned female at birth who has transitioned, either medically or not, to identifying as male. Gay: A man or a woman attracted to the same gender. Genderqueer: Someone who does not identify with normative gender categories of being a man or woman. They may identify as both a man and woman, neither a man or woman or some other manifestation of gender identity. Gynosexual: Someone who is attracted to feminine presenting people. Heterosexism: Systemic discrimination in favour of normative heterosexual relationships. Heterosexual: Someone who is attracted to the opposite gender. Generally referring to a man and a woman. Homonormative: The process of homosexuality becoming more acceptable in society, to the detriment of members of the LGBTQ2+ community marginalized due to identities like gender, race, ability, class, education, colonization, and size. xi Homophobia: Hatred of homosexuality, and homosexual people (including gay, lesbian, bisexual, and other non-heterosexual people). Homosexual: Someone who is attracted to the same gender. Intersex: An umbrella term for people who were born with reproductive and/or sexual anatomy that is inconsistent with normative definitions of male and female. LGBTQ2+: Acronym standing for lesbian, gay, bisexual, trans, queer and two-spirit. The plus sign at the end of the acronym is indicative that there are many other members of queer and trans community who may not use the listed identities. Lesbian: A woman attracted to other women. Misogyny: Hatred of women and girls. Male to Female (‘MTF’): Someone who was assigned male at birth who has transitioned, either medically or not, to identifying as female. Pansexual: Someone who is attracted to people of all genders. Queer: An umbrella term reclaimed by some to describe typically non-normative sexual and gender identities. Often used to describe the totality of the LGBTQ2+ community. Questioning: Someone who is in the process of exploring their gender and sexual identity. Sexism: Discrimination stemming from someone’s gender identity. Generally used to describe discrimination towards women. Skoliosexual: Someone who is attracted to people who do not identify within the gender binary of woman and man. Straight: Someone who is attracted to the opposite gender, most often used to describe men who are attracted to women, and women who are attracted to men. Third Gender: Someone who identifies with a gender that is not woman or man. Trans: An umbrella term for transgender, transsexual, and other gender identities used by people who do not identify with the gender they were assigned at birth. Transgender: Someone who does not identify with the gender they were assigned at birth, who may or may not decide to transition medically. Transgender is also used as an umbrella term. Transition: The process of a person changing their physical appearance, medically or not, in order to fit their gender identity. xii Transsexual: Someone who does not identify with the gender they were assigned at birth. Some consider ‘transsexual’ to be a dated term. Often, but not necessarily exclusively, transsexual is used by a trans person who either has or seeks to transition medically. Transmisogyny: The mixture of misogyny, which scrutinizes women and girls with hatred, and transphobia, which is hatred towards trans people. The specific barriers and challenges experienced by transwomen, as well as the transphobia present in many feminist circles and literature, makes the specificity offered by the term ‘transmisogyny’ pertinent. Transphobia: Hatred towards people who do not identify with the gender they were assigned at birth. Two-Spirit: An English language term used by to describe various Indigenous genders and sexualities. xiii Acknowledgements It may seem like a strange way to start off an acknowledgement, but I feel like I should first mention that I have spent most of the past two years vocally deriding Vancouver as a hellhole where nothing good happens. It is not only bland and cultureless, but also the Whitest and straightest place I’ve ever lived. Despite these apparent shortcomings coming from my likely incredibly biased perspective, I feel grateful to have gotten the opportunity to meet the amazing people, bike through the beautiful forests, and appreciate some of the things that make other people fall in love with Vancouver. I must acknowledge that while in Vancouver I am a guest on the unceded territories of the Musqueam, Squamish and Tsleil-Waututh First Nations. As someone with settler blood from Scotland and England on my paternal side, and Dzayer (also known as Algeria) on my maternal side, I recognize the legacy of White supremacy and colonization that unfairly privileges me at the expense of Indigenous people. My Berber blood courses in anger at what was taken away from my people, and what I will never know about others. I hope I can continue to learn and participate in decolonization, both global and local, towards a redistribution of power that benefits those left behind at the margins. As an academic endeavour, it seems appropriate to bestow eternal gratitude onto the many people within the university who helped me formulate this text by both supporting and challenging my work. My thesis supervisor, Dr. Leonora Angeles, has been a strategic powerhouse in ensuring the success of this thesis. Her dedication to hosting her students, offering no shortage of food and tea, has created a supportive community I truly appreciate. My second reader, Dr. Aftab Erfan, saved my first semester of school in ways that she will never truly know, and continues to be a positive force in my life in ways that surprise me still. To my external examiner, Dr. J.P. Catungal, I thank you greatly for taking the time out of your busy schedule to critique this work with the rigour and detail it deserves. I must make a special mention of the support I got from Sara Ortiz Escalante as well, whose upcoming doctorate on the impacts planning has on nightshift women’s work inspired this thesis greatly, and I am sure will influence policy makers around the world. It is hard to express how grateful I am to the queer and trans individuals, communities and service agencies that gave up their time for little to no compensation in order to provide their input on making safer cities. Without you, there would be no thesis, nor a list of recommendations for planners, law enforcement and other policy makers. This thesis belongs to you moreso than it belongs to me. I hope I can use it as a tool to get some of your ideas out there for others to learn about our community’s needs. METRAC in particular provided incredible amounts of support during the data collection portion of the thesis. Thank you to all the staff who supported my thesis research, with a special xiv mention to Chris Rahim and Jessica Mustachi, who were integral to the completion of this work. This thesis also would not be here without the time and effort made by people from Kulanu, Fred Victor, Marvelous Grounds, the 519, House of Constantine, Rainbow Health Ontario, Supporting Our Youth, and Egale. Thank you so much for your support. Since Vancouver is the first city I’ve spent a substantial amount of time in that is not my hometown, Toronto, a lot of my non-academic acknowledgements are firsts. I was hosted during my first visit to Vancouver by my incredibly generous aunt, Hamida Bendriss. I have managed to afford many little luxuries, including funding trips to go to conferences across North America, in large part because I have spent my Master’s living in her wonderful apartment for free. Merci tatie ! A special shoutout to my first crew, the Kitsilano Rebellion, whose original membership includes Neal Abbott, Kelsey Taylor and Shirin Karoubi. Neal Abbott has taught me about football, design, and the wonders of bro-ing out. Kelsey Taylor has been instrumental in getting me out of my shell and out socializing, which has challenged me to address my at times debilitating social anxiety. Shirin Karoubi has helped me finally start to truly stand up for myself, instead of worrying exclusively about other people, as well as generously opening up her home to me both in Vancouver and Toronto. My first group project in school took me to Mars with Andrea Haber, Carleigh Oude-Reimerink and George Benson. Andrea Haber has offered me sage advice and an incredible amount of compassion when I have felt most vulnerable. Carleigh Oude-Reimerink has proven to me time and time again that she is just a text away whenever I need help, and I hope she knows it goes both ways. George Benson has shown me the value of strong leadership, hard work and an open mind. I look forward to collaborating with you all in the future. My first job in Vancouver was at the AMS Bike Co-op. A special thank you to Aida Mas, who I hope will continue to convince me that bears are not as scary as I think. I have met some of the most wonderful people at this organization, which affirms my new belief that whenever I move to a new city I must immediately find the local bike do-it-yourself non-profit, and the lesbians (which are often intermingled communities). On that note, a nod is needed to Veronica Reiss and Amy Makepeace who are some of my newest friends in Vancouver and my first lesbros out west. I’m looking forward to spending as much time as possible with you both in the coming months. Similarly, I have been dazzled by the wonderful people in both my cohort as well as the incoming first year batch of planners to be. Many of the amazing people in the cohort just completing their first year, notably including Andrew Martin, Jessica Hayes and Lara Therrien Boulos, have made it a little bit harder to say goodbye when I leave UBC, and eventually Vancouver. I’m looking forward to following and learning from your work in the coming years, and continuing to prove that friendships know no geographic boundaries. xv Vancouver has marked many adventurous trips as well. My first bike tour ever was a trip down to Seattle for the American Planning Association Conference with Emily Hansen, who may forever remain my most considerate and caring travel partner, in light of how much slower I was than her on my bike. My first drive on a highway was with heritage expert Britney Quail, whose love of the history of this land has made me feel a greater appreciation for it. I experienced by first serious anaphylactic attack in my first term of school. Savannah Zachary, who I did not know at all at this point, drove to the hospital and sat with me until I was released, which renewed my faith in humanity. My first Vancouver wedding was the beautiful ceremony for Priyanka Chakrabarti and Josh Rudolph, which was among the best weddings I’ve ever had the pleasure of attending. My first friend in the program was Jessica Jin, who sat with me on our bus ride up to Whistler during orientation week. Cameron Taylor-Noonan was the first person to truly teach me the value of proper data management. Pauline Holdsworth, a friend from Toronto, was the first person to show me around the city, and tried to convince me to join her at UBC on my first round out west. Lauren Bugliarisi has been one of my closest friends throughout my post-secondary education in Toronto and Vancouver. She was the first high-femme bike mechanic I met, the first person to teach me how to do a proper shot, and the first person I contact in the midst of an (often romantic) personal crisis. I have spent countless nights complaining, exploring and drinking with this wonderful human. Here is to many more. Spending much of my time hating Vancouver, it only makes sense that I spent my time conducting field research in my hometown, Toronto. I was born in what used to be the municipality of Etobicoke, spent my teenage years living in the Junction, and my undergraduate degree bouncing around through housing precarity in and around Koreatown. My field research brought me up to North York, and the Village. The land that Toronto sits on has been a site of human activity for over 10,000 years. Indigenous people inhabited the land I call home back when southern Etobicoke, the Junction and Koreatown were still covered by Lake Iroquois. I grew up on the territories of the Seneca, the Mississaugas of the Credit River, and the Huron-Wendat and Petun First Nations. The land Toronto is on now has hosted the Huron-Wendat, the Haudenosaunee, and the Mississauga, prior to and after contact. It has also been the site of many inter-tribal ceremonies and gatherings. Although many Indigenous people still call Toronto home today, it is important to recognize that a significant portion of the existing culture and people who were here prior to contact was decimated in the genocide of colonization. The rich diversity I am privileged to enjoy in Toronto, a city’s whose multiculturalism has been grandiosely touted, exists through the invisibilizing of the Indigenous people who still gather on this land today, as well as the White supremacy, classism, transphobia and homophobia that makes this thesis topic so pertinent and important. xvi Toronto remains home for me for many reasons. Notably my parents, Khedidja Roberton and Bob Roberton, both still reside in this city, and whose influence has been fundamental to making me the person I am today. To my maman, Khedidja, I am forever grateful that you instilled an appreciation for our culture and a pride in our family in me from a young age, and your visit for my Master’s defense this past March was truly wonderful. Toronto also meant something else for me at the beginning of my Master’s. I must thank Shayna Sayers-Wolfe, whose love and friendship made my transition to Vancouver life easier, and my homesickness that much more acute. Although I still remain incredibly relieved that we are no longer in a romantic relationship with each other, I am grateful for the time we spent together and the memories that come with them. Thank you to Leslie Wolfe and Earl Burt who opened their hearts and home to me as well. The Karoubi family opened their home to me without having ever met me before, thanks to Shirin Karoubi’s quick intervention when it became unclear where I would be staying while I was conducting my field research in Toronto. Shirin’s parents, Zahra and Gharehman Karoubi welcomed me with warmth and generosity, which I will always remember with gratitude. My chosen family in Toronto is made of up of the most incredible people I have ever had the pleasure of meeting. Jonathan Valelly comes to mind as one of the most special people I have in my life. If he had not stopped me from dropping out of school and moving to Montreal on a heartbroken whim, I would not be here right now. His openness, compassion and selflessness makes me a better person every day, and I feel so honoured to be in his life. Dr. David Seitz has helped instill confidence and rigour in my academic work and personal relationships. I have also gleaned an incredible amount of astrological knowledge from him (I’m a Capricorn sun, Virgo moon and Cancer ascendant). He has hosted me in his home for weeks on end, and for that I will also be grateful. I’m incredibly grateful to have grown up with Laetitia Solomon as one of my closest friends. I hope to continue to have many more inside jokes and laughter with you in the coming years. I have also been lucky to have Emily Milton to share many laughs and cries with throughout the years. I look forward to spending much more time hanging out with Taj and Stella with you soon. To another newer friend, Nathan Boersma, thank you for showing me the wonders of family time at your cottage, and a taste for fine wine. Along with Taylor Pow, Savitri Sabrina Persaud, Ryan Richer, Lucia Gambetti-Braco, Marc Tremblay, and Claire Schaffter, I will never be short on good company in Ontario, and I greatly appreciated their support during my field research. At the University of Toronto, I managed to learn a lot about queer theory and bikes. On the former, Dr. Tori Smith was an incredible influence as my undergraduate thesis supervisor, and referee for my Master’s applications. Dr. Mary Nyquist is another incredible feminist scholar I had the pleasure to learn from in my undergrad, and who has graciously invited me into her xvii home for tea and great conversation. She has also taken the time to write me several reference letters. Thank you for helping me along my academic journey. On the bike front, I was welcomed into the cycling community through my work at Bikechain, the University of Toronto’s non-profit do-it-yourself bike shop. My Toronto bike family includes innumerable people, but I have to say that I have been most strongly influenced by Eugene Chao, Jerry Lee Miller, Toby Bowers, Kelly Bray, Dominic Wong, Derek Chadbourne and Masatoshi Robert Nagatomi Windle. Also a special thank you to Eugene Chao who helped copyedit this section of the thesis. This thesis is for every straight ally fumbling on what they can and should do to support LGBTQ2+ people. It is also for those of us in the community who recognize that we have internal community problems of racism, misogyny, ableism, and classism. As a community we must agree that these are indeed problems that we must address. This thesis is additionally for every straight-splainer I have ever met. May you continue to tell me in the most condescending way possible where and how homophobia does and does not exist, what countries I should not visit, and how hard my life must be (or must not be depending on your mood). I will officially direct you to this document, in hopes that one day you will decide to explain it back to me unprompted. In reality I do hope that you take in this document, the stories people have shared in it (many of which are painful and heartbreaking), and work towards compassionately listening to the diverse experiences of LGBTQ2+ communities. Finally, I’d like to acknowledge and thank every queer person I have ever met. This thesis is for you, and your own friends, lovers, families (chosen or otherwise), and communities. This thesis is for every person, young or old, who is struggling with their sexuality or gender identity. It is a wish for a better world where we do not need to be afraid of being ourselves. It is a proclamation that we will not stand idle while another trans person is murdered, while injustices continue in our community and while our need for a safe city is ignored. The following work is an attempt to voice the anger, sadness, and fear we feel in a world with pervasive systemic and interpersonal homophobia and transphobia. It hopes to recognize that we cannot talk about homophobia and transphobia without also talking about racism, classism, ableism, White supremacy, and how power is unevenly distributed. To speak of homophobia and transphobia without a discussion of interlocking oppression is to leave many members of our community behind. This thesis is a promise that together, and only together, we will survive. Vancouver, April 2016 xviii Dedication To the ones we love and the ones we lost before getting to know. A maman, et pour toi toujours. 1 Chapter 1 – Introduction Background and Research Problem Context Starting in the early 1960s, urbanists began correlating a strong relationship between crime prevention and urban design. Thinkers like Jacobs (1961), Newman (1973), and Wilson & Kelling (1982) developed links between surveillance opportunities and isolation, as well as a sense of ownership over spaces and their maintenance and upkeep with the opportunity to perpetrate crime. These thinkers fundamentally changed how spaces are planned and designed through an intermingling of psychology, criminology and design interventions, the conglomeration of which was eventually coined ‘Crime Prevention through Environmental Design’ (or CPTED). The concept of public safety planning more broadly was framed as an urban planning and design issue most strongly with the advent of CPTED. From the 1990s onwards, many feminist researchers, such as Pain (1991), Whitzman & Wekerle (1997) and Campbell (2005), began working with municipalities to deal with perceptions of danger in cities. METRAC, a Toronto based non-profit consulting firm, was one of the first organizations to facilitate a women’s safety audit to give voice to concerns around numerous violent attacks around the city (METRAC, n.d.). Policy makers, politicians, police and activists began to address perceptions of public safety due to poor planning by using design, community development, education and women’s safety audits. This period marks a move away from the previous focus on reported abuses alone, towards a more holistic approach of perceived and reported violations in mainstream dialogues around public safety (Sweet & Ortiz Escalante, 2010). Feminist planners and designers point out the flaws with CPTED and conventional safety planning. Triangulating the qualitative data around perceptions of safety, and reported gendered violence demonstrates that although there are perceptions that isolated and poorly lit public spaces are where women feel most afraid of assault, women are statistically much more likely to encounter violence in private and domestic settings, with the perpetrator being someone they know (Sweet & Ortiz Escalante, 2010; Weseley & Gaarder, 2004). The complexity of perceived danger, which is also often racialized and filled with class-based stigma, compared to the prevalence of assault perpetrated by a familiar perpetrator, complicates urban planning and design with public safety for society’s most vulnerable in mind. 2 The literature around LGBTQ2+1 (lesbian, gay, bisexual, trans, queer, two-spirit and other facets of these communities) people’s involvement in planning is generally quite limited. Compared to the literature on heterosexual cisgender identities in planning and designing for safer spaces, there is even less written on LGBTQ2+ identities, specifically. This gap in both academic and practitioner literature is surprising, considering the role LGBTQ2+ communities have played in creating diverse urban forms. There is a lot of literature around safety and women in planning, but the literature assumes a static heterosexist notion of vulnerable women and privileged men occupying urban spaces. Doan (2010) argues that there is a ‘tyranny of gender’ that has profound consequences not only for women, but also intersex and trans populations. Gender non-conforming, transgender and those who identify outside the gender binary have their own complex urbanized embodiments, which constructively problematize the mainstream feminist discourse around planning safer spaces. Exploring the gap in addressing sexuality, or more specifically, queer-identified people2, in discussions around safety in the urban environment must further problematize feminist discourses in planning and geography. D’Emilio (1993) traces back the history of homosexuality to individuals discovering their sexual identities in isolation, and consequently flocking to cities to find connections to other gay and lesbian people. D’Emilio (1993) argues that 19th century capitalism in industrial cities is integral to the creation of modern lesbian and gay identity, and that non-heteronormative sexualities often manifest themselves in the intimacy and anonymity provided by dense urban cities. Lesbian, gay and other gender non-conforming people have been a part of city formation since the inception of the modern industrial city, and yet, they are not a dominant part of the urban planning discourse (D’Emilio, 1993; Forsyth, 2001). Although gender and sexual identities are distinct, a link can be made between the paradoxical need for anonymity and community, which can be found in cities and generally appeal to LGBTQ2+ identified people. The historic and ongoing risks association of gender-diverse people with police and street violence also impacts all individuals who identify under the queer umbrella (Hanhardt, 2013). The Master’s thesis seeks to boldly innovate the literature on LGBTQ2+ experiences of public safety from a planning perspective, building upon the emerging literature on planning for 1 Many different acronyms are used to refer to the lesbian, gay, bisexual, trans, queer, two-spirit and other facets of the non-heter0nomative community. The thesis opts for LGBTQ2+, which is the current acronym used by the City of Vancouver’s LGBTQ2+ Advisory Committee (City of Vancouver, 2014). The City of Toronto does not have a similar advisory committee from which to draw appropriate language. 2It is notable that the word ‘queer’ is fraught in the LGBTQ2+ community. Many members of the community still consider the word to be a slur, particularly among older community members. ‘Queer’ was arguably reclaimed by activists in the early 1990s, with the collective ‘Queer Nation’ publishing a manifesto promoting the use of the word to reflect the anger the queer community felt, as well as claiming that it is a more inclusive that the implicit masculinity of the word ‘gay’. The word ‘queer’ is deployed in the thesis as a catchall for the LGBTQ2+ community, as well as an identity used by participants (Cara, 2013; Published anonymously by Queers, 1990). 3 LGBTQ2+ experiences and communities. This study expands on the limited literature dealing with the urban environment and LGBTQ2+ identity and safety by using three existing bodies of literature on (1) Crime Prevention Through Environmental Design (CPTED), which seeks to design out crime through physical built environment changes, (2) feminist literature on gendered violence and safety in planning and design, which looks at the perceptions of fear in the context of societal stereotypes on victimization and perpetration of crime, and (3) building on contemporary queer planning literature. Classic CPTED theorists like Newman (1973), Wilson & Kelling (1982), and Crowe (2013) deal with physical environment and safety. Feminist thinkers like Koskela and Pain (1999), Sweet and Ortiz Escalante (2010), and Campbell (2005) are brought into conversation with CPTED principles to critique the limitations of designing out crime. Notably, crime is a limited signifier that often does not appropriately encapsulate broader violence that goes unreported or violence that is not recognized institutionally by the criminal justice system. Hanhardt (2013) and Doan (2015a) frame queerness and public safety using an intersectional lens that bring race and class into the discussion. Existing scholarship and collected data is brought into conversation in this thesis in order to conceptualize how cities can be planned for safety that considers queer and trans inclusivity. Research Goals and Significance The Master’s thesis seeks to examine how urban design, social planning and public safety intersect to create safer, more inclusive cities for all by capturing the voices and lived experiences of LGBTQ2+ individuals. The objective of the thesis is to deepen our analysis of safe and inclusive cities and provide recommendations on how public safety experiences of LGBTQ2+ people can benefit planning for safe inclusive communities across various urban forms. Elements of physical planning, including CPTED guidelines, and social planning, such as programming and territoriality, are embedded in planning for safer communities. The thesis looks at both perceptions of fear and safety as well as incidents of harassment, assault, and hate crimes. Perceptions and experiences are analyzed in separate chapters, demonstrating how both impact whether LGBTQ2+ feel comfortable accessing public spaces. The thesis examines how these various elements are intertwined. It addresses the key question and sub-questions: How do we make cities safer for LGBTQ2+ people? How do LGBTQ2+ individuals experience public safety in cities? How are perceptions of safety different for LGBTQ2+ communities? Do LGBTQ2+ people report incidents of discrimination and hate crimes? How can we understand and plan for both the perception of safety as well as the prevention of hate crimes and other forms of violence? What does an intersectional analysis of gender, sexual, class and racial identities tell us about how we can plan effectively for safer communities? 4 The research has the potential of engaging queer and trans communities in conversations on safety and the built environment. These communities have not often been included in planning research, and their involvement in this project could set a trend for future dialogue. The published results of the study hopes to influence urban designers, architects, developers, community housing advocates, politicians, and other service providers to create design and planning interventions that better serve inclusive safety needs more broadly. Organization of the Thesis The following thesis is organized in eight chapters. The first chapter, ‘Introduction’, frames the problem context, research questions, goals and outline of the work. The second chapter, ‘Toronto Context’, positions the thesis within the urban and identity geographies of the City of Toronto, and makes a case for its appropriateness as a case study site. The third chapter, ‘Gendered Identities, and Queering Safety in Urban Spaces', provides an overview of existing literature in the field and positions the thesis within this broader work. The fourth chapter, ‘Methodology’, explores the methods used to gather research for the thesis. The fifth chapter, ‘Perceptions of Public Safety: Framing Safety, Framing Identity’ attempts to define safety and harassment, as well as offering introductory information regarding how LGBTQ2+ identity influences urban safety. The sixth chapter, ‘Discrimination and Reporting’, cross-references data collected by the researcher with police records and reports back on similarities and discrepancies. The seventh chapter, ‘Planning for Safer Communities’, proposes social and physical planning interventions addressing LGBTQ2+ needs around safety planning. Finally, chapter eight, ‘Conclusion’, is a concluding discussion around the topics and themes raised in the thesis presented with clearly stated recommendations. The final chapter is followed by a bibliography and appendix. 5 Chapter 2 – Toronto Case Study Context: Safer City, Safer Spaces Introduction Toronto provides a diverse and layered landscape as a case study to explore LGBTQ2+ public safety in planning and design. As Canada’s largest metropolis, the 2.79 million people living in Toronto help make it the financial centre of the country (Statistics Canada, 2012). Toronto also houses a large immigrant population as well as a diverse LGBTQ2+ population. Metropolitan Toronto was created in 1954 as a regional governing body linking the former City of Toronto, Scarborough, East York, York, North York and Etobicoke (see Figure 1). In 1998, Premier Mike Harris forced the amalgamation of the six Metropolitan Toronto municipalities. The newly amalgamated City of Toronto tried to harmonize zoning ordinances, without success, between 2009-2010 (Valverde, 2012). Inconsistencies still exist between the former municipalities’ zoning ordinances and the City of Toronto’s current policies. These inconsistencies, as well as the appealing oversight of the Ontario Municipal Board, complicates planning politics in Toronto (Moore, 2013). Summary of Chapter 2 The City of Toronto is the case study context of this thesis. 1970s marked the start of much of the visible gay organizing against gay bashing and police brutality in Toronto. The early movement was dominated by gay men, while women and trans people, as well as other diverse facets of the community are less visible. 1980s were marked by Operation Soap and subsequent efforts to confront homophobia in policing in Toronto as well as the AIDS crisis. 1990s-2000s involved a broadening of queer visibility around trans and racialized organizing. Contemporary theorists argue that queer geographies are expanding beyond the traditional Gay Village in Toronto. Safety Planning in Toronto is generally still aimed at protecting against men (straight or gay). Violence and distrust of police is still an issue in Toronto’s queer community, seen with the assault of Ryan Boa, and the response to the death of Sumaya Dalmar. 6 Former Municipal Boundaries Before the Amalgamation of Metropolitan Toronto Figure 1 7 All the while, the City of Toronto has been a part of the global trend of economic polarity in cities, including New York, San Francisco and London. In the “Three Cities Within Toronto” report, David Hulchanski argues that there are three distinct cities within Toronto. He defines the cities as City #1 (which has had a high rise in income), City #2 (middle income area, income remained stagnant), City #3 (low-income, incomes have fallen substantially). City #3 has the highest proportion of people of colour and immigrants (see Figures 2 and 3). Hulchanski (2007) writes: In the 35 years between 1970 and 2005, the incomes of individuals have fluctuated, owing to changes in the economy, in the nature of employment (more part-time and temporary jobs), and in government taxes and income transfers. These changes have resulted in a growing gap in income and wealth and greater polarization among Toronto’s neighbourhoods. (p. 3). Hulchanski (2007) argues that inclusionary zoning and the end of vacancy decontrol, which allows landlords to increase rent after a tenant leaves, would be actionable planning interventions that would help mitigate the Three Cities’ polarization. If nothing is done, the rapid income polarization that has occurred over thirty five years will only increase. 8 Hulchanski’s (2007) Three Cities - 1970 Figure 2 9 Hulchanski’s (2007) Three Cities - 2005 Figure 3 10 Toronto has often been seen as a ‘City of Neighbourhoods’. Valverde (2012) argues that this approach leads to microlevel planning which leaves lower income communities behind. She states that we need to start to look at cities more holistically, getting away from the neighbourhood level concept of a city of villages espoused by thinkers like former Toronto resident Jane Jacobs (Jacobs, 1961; Valverde, 2012). The macro and micro levels are important to consider in mapping and analyzing public safety in a city as large and diverse as Toronto. Mobilization and Polarity: Toronto LGBTQ2+ Context The history of gay enclaves in Toronto is a history of mobility and polarity. Nash (2006) argues that there has been a tension between the ‘gay ghetto’, and so-called ‘upstanding’ suburbanized gays and lesbians throughout Toronto LGBTQ history. Nash (2006) traces the historic clashes between gays embracing or rejecting respectability back to the 1960s-1970s, with the rise of assimilationist gay movements, particularly with the founding of the Community Homophile Association of Toronto (CHAT) and University of Toronto Homophile Association (UTHA). Both organizations argued against the manifestation of so-called ‘deviant’ homosexual identities. They saw sexualized gay businesses like bathhouses as exploitative as they profit on marginalized gay people. These organizations were both against the treatment of homosexuals caught having public sex by police, and public sex itself. They were both fighting against concentrated gay enclaves, and for the inclusion of gays in all spaces. Such anti-sex assimilationist movements parallel the work done at that time by organizations across several North American cities (Hanhardt, 2013). The mid-1970s marked the beginning of the liberationist gay movement in and around Toronto. The Gay Alliance Towards Equality (GATE) and the Coalition of Gay Rights in Ontario (CGRO) both had a human rights agenda, and wanted to add sexual orientation to various human rights codes, notably those enacted in the public sector. GATE operated at the local, municipal and provincial levels, whereas CGRO operated at the provincial level alone. Both organizations distinguished the ‘respectable’ suburban homosexual as deserving of rights from the ‘abject’ urban ghetto gay (Bruner, 1981; Nash, 2006). The late 1970s marked a series of public events that changed the causes mainstream gay organizations would rally around. The first major turning point was the murder of a young shoeshine boy named Emanuel Jacques in August of 1977. He was murdered by three men, one of whom was associated with the gay community. The backlash against the gay community in the popular consciousness of Torontonians was profound, as for many, the murder confirmed stereotypes around gay pedophilia and perverse behaviours (Koul, 2013; Nash, 2006). The Toronto gay newspaper, the Body Politic, published an article in the fall of 1977 by Gerald Hannon entitled “Men loving boys loving men” (see Figure 4). The offices of the Body Politic were subsequently raided by the police, and three publishers of the newspaper were 11 charged with indecency (Bruner, 1981; Nash, 2006). The prolonged legal battle ended in victory in 1983. Gerald Hannon has been the subject of more recent scandal, having been outed as a sex worker while teaching at Ryerson University (Houston, 2011). 12 Figure 4 Men loving boys loving men 1977 article (Hannon 1977) Figure 4 13 Notoriously anti-gay activist Anita Bryant visited Toronto in January 1978 to publically argue that gay people were untrustworthy pedophilic perverts. Her visit galvanized both pro-gay and anti-gay activists, and fueled anti-gay propaganda in the popular Toronto press (Koul, 2013; Nash, 2006). Her conflation of gay people with pedophiles was also shared by Paul Walter, president of Metro Toronto Police Association, who did not want to hire gay people because he was afraid they would demonstrate pedophilic attraction to young boys while on the job (Bruner, 1981). The Metropolitan Toronto Police raided the Barracks bathhouse in December of 1978. The police raid unleashed an unprecedented support for the sexualized gay business and its patrons from formally assimilationist ‘respectable’ gay activists. It is notable as the same people supporting the Barracks bathhouse criticized such businesses in years past. The Right to Privacy Committee (RTPC) was formed to address the human rights concerns brought up due to the raid, as well as funding the legal defense of the Barracks bathhouse (Nash, 2006). Twenty-eight people were arrested and charged with bawdy-house offences after the raid. Five people were charged with keeping a common bawdy-house, two of whom were acquitted and three were given conditional discharge in 1981 (Bruner, 1981; Nash, 2014). In April of 1979, members of the Toronto gay community presented a brief to the Police Commission entitled ‘Our Police Force Too!’ (Members of Deputation from the Gay Community, 1981). The brief demanded that the police serve and protect the gay community in Toronto, instead of ignoring their concerns and profiling them as criminals. The brief stated that since February 18th, 1975, there were fourteen gay men brutally murdered in Toronto. Eight of these murders remained unsolved. They demanded that the police solve these crimes and enact preventative measure to combat future murders and gay bashing. They also stated that there was a rumored ‘gay queer parade’ in the Toronto Gay Village on Halloween, which attracted gay bashers to the gay enclave. The brief stated that for straight attendees of the pseudo-parade, the “great sport of the evening has traditionally been to throw eggs at the ‘queens’. The surrounding streets and laneways are generally unsafe on that night for gay people out alone” (Members of Deputation from the Gay Community, 1981, p. 8). They asked the police to quell this egg-throwing tradition, as well as end the entrapment of gay men cruising in bathrooms and public spaces. The brief was not acted upon, and entrapment, ignoring gay bashing and profiling gay people continued (Bruner, 1981). Members of the Toronto gay community protested in front of Metropolitan Toronto Police headquarters in June 1979. The protestors demanded that the records seized during the 1977 raid on the Body Politic office and 1978 raid on the Barracks be returned. June 1979 also marked thirty-four arrests of gay men cruising, resulting from the surveillance of Greenwin Square public washrooms (Bruner, 1981). In the same month, David Balfour Park, another cruising area for gay men, was “terrorized by gangs of ‘queer bashers’ who roamed the park looking for ‘faggots’ to ‘beat the shit out of’” (The Gay Liberation Union, 1979, p. 3). Two victims of the hate crime were hospitalized. One attacker tried to poke out the eyes of one victim 14 with a sharp stick, and the other victim had his head bashed with a metal bar. Two men escaped the altercation, and tried to get the help from a nearby police cruiser on patrol. The police did not investigate the incident (The Gay Liberation Union, 1979). The over-policing of gay embodiments and under-policing of gay-bashers led to interventions like the ‘Toronto Gay Patrol’ and courses on self-defence for gay men and lesbians created through the RTPC. Gay patrols were formed to: patrol the parks, populat [sic] cruising areas, the back allies [sic] behind bars, and the main streets in the ‘ghetto’ where the majority of the attacks seemed to be taking place. The patrol would protect gay men, lesbians and women by breaking up attacks that were seen and hopefully with their very visible presence prevent and discourage such attacks. (The Gay Liberation Union, 1979, p. 2). The self-defence courses and patrols were purposeful in identifying homophobia and sexism as the driving force behind attacks on gay and lesbian individuals. The Gay Liberation Union stated that they were in the business of defending gay men attacked because they are gay, and lesbians attacked because they are gay and women (The Gay Liberation Union, 1979). The ‘Toronto Gay Patrol’ was also explicitly formed due to a lack of police support for the gay community, stating that although “most of these attacks have taken place on or near the city’s busiest thoroughfare, the police have generally been conspicuous by their absence” (Toronto Gay Patrol, 1981). The Toronto Gay Patrol had an eye for built environment improvements as well, stating that the lighting in the laneways running behind Yonge Street near the Gay Village needed to be improved for safety reasons. In their brief, they also asked for more police foot-patrol in the laneways, as well as open communication between the Toronto Gay Patrol and the Metropolitan Toronto Police. The Toronto Gay Patrol wanted mandatory anti-homophobia training for police as well (Toronto Gay Patrol, 1981, p. 1). The Toronto Gay Patrol ceased by 1991, when the RTPC had their last annual general meeting (Krawczyk, 1991). Although it is unknown if the Toronto Gay Patrol was directly inspired by similar groups in other cities, it is notable that vigilante patrolling was a common tactic used by marginalized sexual, gender and racialized communities in cities across North America at the time (Hanhardt, 2013). February 5th, 1981 marked the largest bathhouse raid, and one of the most violent police- instigated attacks on the gay community, in Toronto. Later dubbed ‘Operation Soap’, the police raided four bathhouses -- the Richmond Street Health Emporium, Club Baths, Romans II Health and Recreation Spa and the Barracks. Over three hundred men were arrested by approximately two hundred police officers. Most of the men arrested were charged of being found in a bawdyhouse. Twenty people were also charged with keeping a common bawdyhouse (Malcom, 1981; Thomas, 2011). There were many accounts of unnecessary brutality towards both the bathhouse property owners and their patrons. The Richmond Street Health Emporium was so badly damaged by the police during the raid that it never reopened (Thomas, 2011). 15 The bathhouse raids were seen as an attack on the entire gay community (Bruner, 1981; Thomas, 2011). Protests against police brutality began the day after Operation Soap. Three thousand people marched on February 6th 1981. By February 20th 1981, protestors occupied Yonge and Wellesley St., which is a major thoroughfare near the gay village (see Figures 5 and 6). These protests evoked anti-activist sentiments among police officers, and there were reports of homophobic slurs and violence enacted against protesters (Bruner, 1981). The spring of 1981 marked Toronto’s first Pride Parade. In September 1981, Arnold Bruner released a report to then Mayor Arthur Eggleton and the Council of the City of Toronto entitled “Out of the Closet: Study of Relations between the Homosexual Community and the Police”. The report is explicitly not an inquiry on Operation Soap, but examined instead the relationship between the gay community and police. 16 Rioters and passersby brawl during the riot (CLGA, 1981a) Photographs from Riots Post-Operation Soap Figure 6 ‘Enough is Enough’ - activists line the streets with their banner (CLGA, 1981b) Figure 5 17 Bruner (1981) provided a time-capsule into the state of policing and the gay community in the early 1980s in Toronto. He explored cruising, public sex, bathhouse culture, gay activism, and police demographics in this document. In the field research involving cruising parks, Bruner (1981) recounted how his “guide warned [him] of three dangers: of running across ‘queer bashers’ – thugs who beat up gay men for pleasure, of being arrested, and of falling of the narrow path into the ravine,” (p. 55) while noting a number of ‘escape routes’ in case anything dangerous happens. The creation of multiple exits and pathways is a fundamental recommendation in planning for safety in both crime prevention and feminist design guidelines (Crowe, 2013; Loukaitou-Sideris, 2006; Newman, 1973). A basic principle of designing for safety was already employed by gay communities prior to the publication of official studies like Bruner’s (1981) report. Bruner’s (1981) report recommended built environmental interventions around safety and morality as well. Bruner (1981) stated that the use of public bathrooms for sex in Greenwin Square Complex, Parkside Tavern, Biltmore Theatre, Kipling Station, Islington Station and the Hudson’s Bay Store at Fairview Mall could be dissuaded through some physical changes. He suggested the lowering of wall and doors in toilet cubicles and the addition of partitions between urinals. He also suggested that the Toronto Transit Commission use security guards to patrol Kipling and Islington Station for public sex to lessen the use of heavy handed police enforcement (Bruner, 1981). Bruner (1981) also offered a snapshot into the demographics of the police force in the early 1980s. He stated that 83% of the Metropolitan Toronto Police speak English exclusively and 47% were hired outside Metropolitan Toronto. A Grade 10 education was the only requirement for joining the force at the time, so 45% of senior officers and 40% of staff sergeants have only a Grade 10 education. One of his recommendations was to improve not only the education of police officers around homophobia, but also offer a more holistic education program. Bruner (1981) received a number of statements and briefs from local gay and lesbian organizations. The briefs clearly influenced his writing of the report, and the recommendations presented by community members were incorporated. This included the Right to Privacy Committee (RTPC) recommending that the Province of Ontario and the Metropolitan Board of Commissioners of Police recognize lesbian and gay rights, and that the professional training and management of the police be improved. Both of these recommendations made it into Bruner’s (1981) study (The Right to Privacy Committee, 1981). However, recommendations like addressing the racism and sexism in the police force were not included in the report (Bruner, 1981; Lesbians Against The Right, 1981). There was also no mention of transgender, transsexual, cross-dressing or other gender variant embodiments in the literature around Toronto based gay and lesbian self-defence, nor in the Bruner Report. Ultimately, City Council heard the Bruner Report, and asked the Police Chief to issue a statement on the legitimacy of the gay community, and began setting up a gay awareness program for new recruits to the force (CLGA, 18 1997). Despite these efforts, tensions still exist between the LGBTQ2+ communities and the police in Toronto. 19 Queer Neighbourhoods in Toronto (Based on Focus Group Data and Secondary Readings) Figure 7 (Fred Victor, 2015a; Kulanu, 2015; Marvelous Grounds, 2015b; Nash & Gorman-Murray, 2014; Watson, 2015) 20 Contemporary LGBTQ Safety Issues in Toronto The events of the late 1970s and early 1980s acted as a catalyst for greater unified gay and lesbian activism in Toronto. That being said, the geographies of queer spaces alone show a community in sprawl (see Figure 7). The late 1980s did mark a shift towards activisms addressing the AIDS crisis, and the government’s slow response to the epidemic. The politics of inclusion in Pride Parades also shifted as the festivities ostensibly became less political and more exclusive. The Dyke March was founded in 1996 to give space to women during Pride. The first Blockorama, a Pride stage dedicated to Black LGBTQ people, started in 1998. Mel Lastman, the first mayor of the newly amalgamated Toronto, marched in the 1998 Pride parade. By 2005, gay marriage became legal across Canada (CBC News, 2012; Chambers, 2014). The Trans March began in 2009 to address the lack of trans visibility during Pride. Without media support or funds, the Trans March continued to grow, while Pride Toronto tried to squash it by blocking, misdirecting and funneling marchers year after year. Despite the lack of cooperation, the largest Trans March in the world took place during Toronto Pride on June 18th 2013 (Ward, 2013). The 2014 Trans March also demarcated a division in the trans community. Two marches took place during the World Pride festivities that year. One march, headed by Pride Toronto, led participants down Yonge St., a main thoroughfare in the downtown core, to Yonge and Dundas Square for a concert. Marches in the past berated Pride Toronto for not securing the appropriate permitting to allow the march to legally take place on Yonge. The other march, led by Trans March Toronto, short turned and led marchers to a park, celebrating the Trans March’s political roots (Watson, 2014). Clashes between the mainstream gay community represented by Pride Toronto and facets of the trans community represented by Trans March Toronto are significant in the face of trans people’s erasure from the early years of queer activism in Toronto, as well as the particular safety needs of trans people which are markedly different that those of cisgender people. The late 1980s and early 1990s marked the beginning of the ‘Toronto Safe City Committee’. Founded in 1988 by City Council, the Toronto Safe City Committee has released a number of guidelines around creating a safer built environment, and has influenced the Official Plan of the City of Toronto. The Toronto Safe City Committee is explicit in stating that it does not believe that “bad planning and design cause criminal acts, or that modifying urban environments will singlehandedly prevent crime” (Whitzman & Wekerle, 1997). Changing the built environment is just a small piece of safety planning that should occur. On July 20th, 1993, Toronto City Council approved the Official Plan, which for the first time included a section on “Safety in Design”, which frames Crime Prevention Through Environmental Design (CPTED) safety standards as being central to future and current development standards (Whitzman & Wekerle, 1997). Toronto’s most recent Official Plan was created and approved by City Council in 2002, and consolidated in 2010 after eight years’ worth of Ontario Municipal Board appeals that directly addressed issues in the Plan (Wright, 2010). 21 The most recent Official Plan has no mention of overt safety needs, nor CPTED principles. The closest mention of public safety in the Plan is the policy item in the “Public Realm” subsection which reads that the City will take “measures which promote pedestrian safety and security” (Wright, 2010). The current plan is a far cry from the 1993 Plan which had its own subsection on planning for safety and CPTED. It also became apparent that the City of Toronto used to employ a Safety Planner in the Planning Department, but now , safety has been relegated to the department dealing with emergency management, which conceptualizes safety in terms of first response, not long term social and physical changes to urban spaces (Kilgour, Eyre, & Banon, 2013). The Toronto Safe City Committee continues to meet, and is hosted by METRAC, a community-based, not-for-profit organization. METRAC has recently begun to develop materials around creating queer and trans inclusive safety audits (metracadmin, 2015a). In the fall of 2010, Rob Ford was elected mayor of Toronto on a populist platform on ending the ‘gravy train’ of wasteful public spending. The Core Services Review undertaken by Mayor Ford led to devastating cuts to organizations serving queer people of colour living with HIV and AIDS. Although the cuts were part of a longer history of organizations fighting with City Hall for better funding, Mayor Ford added a homophobic slant to wanting to cut such services (Catungal, 2015). Mayor Ford was quoted saying in 2006 that “If you are not doing needles and you are not gay, you wouldn’t get AIDS probably” (Rider, 2010). Mayor Ford apologized for his comment on AIDS during his 2010 run for office, and was not reported in the media as using homophobic slurs until his infamous crack video surfaced in 2013 where he allegedly called Justin Trudeau a “fag” and the members of the football team he coached “just fucking minorities” (Doolittle & Donovan, 2013). The scandalous tenure of Rob Ford’s mayoral period ended in most of his powers being stripped and giving up his second term mayoral run to his brother, Doug Ford, who lost to John Tory in 2015. Rob Ford’s overt neglect and hatred of LGBTQ2+ communities has left the city’s services and civic identity damaged (CBC News, 2013; Peat, 2015). The divided community mapped in Figure 7 was never more apparent than during the Ford era for many Torontonians. Nash & Gorman-Murray (2014) argue that mobility politics are a useful tool for analysis of LGBT people in Toronto because increasingly young LGBT people live outside of the Gay Village. They use the concept of ‘motility’, which describes the ability to be mobile and is limited by identities and constructs like class, race, gender, and sexuality. Nash & Gorman-Murray (2015) argue that lesbians in Toronto create opportunities for place-making in inner-city locations, like the 519 Community Centre, but are more likely to live in hip affordable residential neighbourhoods outside of downtown in areas like Parkdale and the Junction. They state that in Toronto, “certain LGBT people fit comfortably into a middle-class aesthetic, this offers a partial explanation for the increasing visibility of LGBT people in alternative downtown neighbourhoods, such as Parkdale in Toronto” (p. 760). They cite Parkdale as an ‘alternative’ queer neighbourhood, without addressing the area’s history as a hotspot for deinstitutionalized mentally ill folks, low income people, new immigrants, and drug 22 addicts (Slater, 2005). The gentrification narrative around Parkdale and the scapegoating of queer people as its beneficiaries are too fraught to not mention in Nash & Gorman-Murray’s (2014) article. Nash & Gorman-Murray (2014) do state that the appeal of areas like Parkdale for trans, bisexual, queer and LGBTQ2+ community subgroups has to do with their not feeling comfortable in the White3 gay, male-centric, traditional Gay Village. However, they do not explicitly address the displacement of marginalized people in gentrifying areas like Parkdale, nor the potential that some displaced people may also be LGBTQ2+ community members. Even with queer geographies extending beyond the Village, LGBTQ2+ communities continue to have a fraught relationship with the Toronto Police. Notably, the police brutality and mass arrests during the 2015 G20 Summit, which was a fundamentally class-based protest against uneven distribution of wealth, paired with a subsequent lack of police accountability, as well as recent criticism over racial profiling of young Black men through the practice of ‘carding’ and police brutality leading to the murder of young men of colour has led to media reports on mistrust of police by Torontonians (CBC News, 2015; Mendleson & Poisson, 2015; The Globe and Mail, 2015). Notably, activists involved in the ‘Black Lives Matter’ movement blocked Allen Road, a highway located in Toronto, as a protest against the murders of two Black men, Jermaine Carby and Andrew Loku, by police (Hong, 2015). The reporting of hate crimes enacted against queer and trans communities is complicated by the mistrust of police, as these communities intersect with Toronto’s Black community. Hate crimes are underreported due to fear of retaliation, whether criminal justice system will take report seriously, and a fear that they will be stigmatized when reporting to police (“Checking-In on Evan Solomon allegations, herding sheep, daydreaming and more,” 2015). The history of police brutality against gay, trans, and lesbian communities in Toronto grounds the ongoing lack of trust and tensions between the LGBTQ2+ community and the police. Rage and mistrust recently erupted on social media and in local publications after the under-investigated death of Sumaya Dalmar, a transwoman of colour living in Toronto’s East End. Sumaya was found unconscious February 22nd 2015 by Toronto Police in her apartment. The police did not issue further information on the circumstances of her death until two days later, after the hashtag “#JusticeforSumayaYsl” trended on Twitter (Mohyeddin, 2015). The Toronto Police Service issued the following statement on Facebook: On February 22, 2015, police responded to a call for service in the Danforth Road/Main Street area of Toronto. A woman was found unresponsive. She was pronounced dead at the scene. 3 Signifiers of race, including White, Black, and Brown, will be capitalized as per the formatting standards in the 6th edition of the Publication Manual of the American Psychological Association. The capitalization additionally strives to put race at the forefront of the conversation on public safety 23 Police from 55 Division are conducting a thorough investigation. An autopsy has been completed; the results were inconclusive. As with other investigations, toxicology tests are pending. To protect the privacy of the victim, no further details on the cause of death will be released. At this time, we have no evidence to indicate the death is suspicious. If the investigation leads us to believe otherwise, we will provide an update. If anyone has any information, they can contact police at the 55 Division Criminal Investigations Branch directly at 416-808-5504 or Toronto Crime Stoppers anonymously at 1-800-222-TIPS. (Toronto Police Service, 2015). In response, one commenter wrote: I know that a young woman has come forward stating that she likely saw someone who looked very similar to Sumaya before her death and no one at the Toronto Police Services has returned her phone calls. You promised to follow up with her and you have not. This is absolutely ridiculous and unacceptable. Why are you not taking these concerns seriously? Because she's black? Because she's trans? You must be accountable to the communities you insist on 'serving'. (Toronto Police Service, 2015) Accusations that the police were not adequately investigating Sumaya’s death continued. There were reports that Sumaya was last seen being chased by a man near her home, yet the police did not appear to follow-up on that lead (Strapagiel, 2015; Thériault, 2015). One article on Sumaya’s death included a statement from a Toronto trans activist, Sophia Banks, where she stated that in the summer of 2014, she was assaulted in Toronto’s East End, and when she reported the incident to police, they kept asking her ‘what is trans?’ and calling her ‘sir’ (Mohyeddin, 2015). Toronto Police Services spokesperson Meaghan Gray stated in a different article that she is aware of the fraught relationship between the police and trans communities, saying that the police has “worked very hard over the last little while to improve that relationship” (Strapagiel, 2015). By November 2015, twenty one trans women, many identify as women of colour, were reported murdered in the United States. Sumaya’s death is a part of the overall trend in transphobic and racist violence in North American cities, alongside community anger towards the police for their perceived inaction (Ennis, 2015). Within Toronto’s LGBTQ2+ community it is striking that the anti-police gay activists of the 1970s and 1980s have remained silent on the current movements to recognize that police brutality continues to be a problem for Black communities. Some have critiqued these activists for having only cared about police brutality when it was enacted against white gay men (Seitz, 2015). Beyond the specific tensions between police and the LGBTQ2+ community, homophobic and transphobic violence has continued to flair in Toronto. In August 2013, in Bloor West 24 Village, a neighbourhood in Toronto’s West End, a couple had a Pride flag bumper sticker ripped off of their car, another Pride flag torn down, and their car tires slashed with feces thrown onto the hood. In December 2014, Bloor West Village business owner Carolyn Eby had a Pride flag repeatedly vandalized on her storefront. Both incidents involved a vandal spray painting the sentence “Be Happy Not Gay” onto the property of the victims. The victims of the hate crime were in both cases White, and reported the crimes to Toronto Police (CBC News, 2014; Hauch, 2013). In May 2015, Toronto Drag Queen Ryan Boa was attacked and robbed by a man he brought home from the bar. Ryan Boa contacted police and received support from them, as well as from the LGBTQ2+ community. in the search for the perpetrator. It is notable that the police were not criticized for their response to the crime, despite ruling out that it was a hate crime and treating it as an assault. It is also notable that Ryan Boa is White. In July 2015, homophobic graffiti was found on a LGBT-themed mural erected on a recreation trail in honour of the Pan Am Games. The mural was vandalized twice with the words “Heterosexual Only”, “heterosexual pride day” and “a dick and a (sic) asshole is not a family” scrawled on the artwork. The vandalism took place near the 2013 and 2014 instances of “Be Happy Not Gay” graffiti scrawled on private property (Watson, 2015b). The suspicious death of Sumaya Dalmar, the attack on Ryan Boa, and the vandalism in Bloor West Village are only a few cases of recent well-publicized crimes against LGBTQ2+ community members. It is also impossible to speak of them, and the activism around inclusivity, without also looking at current conversations around the over-policing of Black and Brown bodies through movements like Black Lives Matter – Toronto Coalition. Overall, racial identities matter in policing as White LGBTQ2+ victims were generally more satisfied with police responses than LGBTQ2+ community members of colour. Despite some achievements, homophobia and transphobia remain safety issues in Toronto. The exclusion of trans, lesbian and queer people in the Village is an ongoing concern. Misogyny, transmisogyny, ableism and racism are all issues both internal and external to the LGBTQ2+ community in Toronto (Nash, 2006). This Master’s thesis hopes to further develop the narrative around police accountability and reporting hate crimes to law enforcement. Conclusion The Toronto context is rich in historical and ongoing conflict within and outside queer and trans communities. Tensions between the police, LGBTQ2+ activists and other marginalized communities in Toronto are layered, revealing the multiplicities of intersectional identities, especially around race and class. Activists and community leader continue to rail against a lack of police accountability that is currently framed by the ‘Black Lives Matter’ movement, which has exploded across North American cities. The Toronto context is unique in its historic 25 specificities, from Operation Soap to amalgamation. However, as a case study, Toronto faces similar challenges as most other North American cities around giving voice to the LGBTQ2+ communities in municipal safety planning. 26 Chapter 3 – Understanding CPTED, Gendered Identities and Queering Safety in Urban Spaces Introduction This literature review chapter provides an analysis of previous work done on perceived public safety as experienced by LGBTQ2+ identified individuals. The selected literature has been taken from the field of queer theory, gender studies, criminology, equity studies, urban studies, sociology, urban planning, as well as architecture and urban design. There are three bodies of literature reviewed for this study. The first body of literature reviewed frames the use of Crime Prevention through Environmental Design (CPTED) in planning for safety. The second body of literature unpacks the feminist writings on gendered safety in urban spaces. The third body of literature focuses on the queer and transgender experiences that will help fill the gaps that the heteronormative feminist texts miss. It will help inform the thesis in filling existing gaps and connect previous work which, although disparate, deals with similar challenges and issues. Summary of Chapter 3 Crime Prevention Through Environmental Design (CPTED) theorizes that safer spaces can be planned and designed through mixture of territoriality, surveillance, and a mix of private and public uses. Feminist CPTED theorists bring the often overlooked experiences of women to safety planning and CPTED. Feminist theorists are also critical of the exclusiveness and ineffectiveness of CPTED and safety planning. Queer planning theorists spatialize safety planning and placemaking differently than heterosexist planners. Particular considerations are needed around the experiences of trans people in planning. The thesis hopes to contribute to the conversation on queerness, planning and safety. 27 Crime Prevention through Environmental Design (CPTED) Jane Jacobs revolutionized the way people talk about urbanism, city planning and safety in her seminal text The Death and Life of Great American Cities. In the realm of public safety, her text rails against what was at the time planning ideals of low density sprawl, which makes neighbourhoods less livable for a plethora of reasons, including safety concerns. Jacobs (1961) advocates for a mixture of uses throughout the day in urban spaces through density, appropriate demarcation of private and public spaces, and mixed uses that bring people into a neighbourhood at all times of the day and night. On planning for safety, she writes: First, there must be a clear demarcation between what public space is and what private space is. Public and private spaces cannot ooze into each other as they do typically in suburban settings or in projects. Second, there must be eyes upon the street, eyes belonging to those we might call the natural proprietors of the street. The buildings on a street equipped to handle strangers and to insure the safety of both residents and strangers must be oriented to the street. They cannot turn their backs or blank sides on it and leave it blind. And third, the sidewalk must have users on it fairly continuously, both to add to the number of effective eyes on the street and to induce the people in buildings along the street to watch the sidewalks in sufficient numbers. Nobody enjoys sitting on a stoop or looking out a window at an empty street. Almost nobody does such a thing. Large numbers of people entertain themselves, off and on, by watching street activity. (Jacobs, 1961, p. 35). Critiques of Jacobs (1961) working in criminology have brought up that although more people can lead to more eyes on the street and consistent sidewalk usage, and subsequently less crimes, more people can also lead to having more offenders and more crimes in an area. The perception of crowds and safety can vary depending on the time of day, size and purpose of the crowd. More people can lead to more litter, more rowdiness and more anonymity for perpetrators, which leads to a feeling of insecurity for some users of public space (Crowe, 2013). Despite these critiques, the three principles espoused by Jacobs (1961) continue to be the pillars of CPTED. The term Crime Prevention through Environmental Design was coined in the book of the same title by C. Ray Jeffery in 1971. In his book, Jeffery (1971) uses the principles outlined by Jacobs (1961) to argue that the focus should be shifted from case-by-case policing of offenders to a broad approach around changing to built environment to reduce the opportunity for criminal activity to occur. Jeffery (1971) offers a psychological analysis and theoretical approach around using the built environment to lessen the motivation for crime. 28 Oscar Newman develops CPTED further with defensible space theory in his 1973 book Defensible Space, Crime Prevention Through Urban Design. Newman (1973) anxiously describes the social breakdown of American society, analyzing increasing crime rates and the victimization of poor people. He argues that criminology has focused too much on the motivations and psychology of the offender, and that his proposed design guidelines are actionable ways to create defensible space for “residential environments which inhibits crime by creating the physical expression of a social fabric that defends itself” (Newman, 1973, p. 3). Newman’s (1973) guidelines to create defensible residential spaces consist of the following four items: Territoriality (sense of ownership defined by physical markers like fences, shrubs, signage, etc…) Surveillance opportunities (design that gives residents the opportunity to survey public and semi-public spaces both indoors and outside like windows and balconies that are oriented towards such spaces) Confronting stigma, isolation and uniqueness (design that addresses symbolic stigma of housing projects and the isolation and vulnerability of its residents) Juxtaposition of public and private amenities (have infrastructure deemed conventionally safe and well populated near dwellings) The defensible space guidelines borrow principles from Jacobs (1961), who Newman (1973) quotes in his text, as well as Jeffery (1971). Despite being influenced by these thinkers, Newman (1973) comes off as anti-high rise, anti-density and anti-mixture in his work. He specifically rails against buildings taller than seven stories, which he considers a hotbed for crime due to their tendency to ignore territoriality and other place-making practices. He also believes high-rise buildings are not successful if they are too diverse. He writes on a housing project in New York City that fails to allow “residents to distinguish neighbor from intruder … this is accomplished not through design but by isolating a large, uniform population” (Newman, 1973, p. 18). A racially homogenous population, according to Newman (1973), means that a perpetrator would be easily identifiable. Implicitly this means that the perpetrator would be a person of colour. He affirms this when he explicitly identifies that the segregation strategy in public housing only works if the population is older, White and middle class. Newman’s (1973) ideas around segregation is untenable within the racial diversity of contemporary cities, as well as being politically unpalatable to anti-oppression frameworks, which seek to critically embrace challenges of diversity instead of promoting segregation. In the 1980s, Wilson & Kelling (1982) theorize the linkage between policing and environmental aesthetics to disorder and crime. They state that although foot patrols done by police do not reduce crime incidents, they are useful in reducing community members’ perception of the amount of criminal activity that occurs in their neighbourhood, as well as promoting better relationship between the community and the police. On the other hand, if there 29 is perceived disorder in an area, whether it is because of derelict buildings or the presence of socially undesirable people (i.e. the homeless, drunks, addicts, youth, etc…), and the community’s perception of crime and unsafe behaviour is disproportionately high. Wilson & Kelling (1982) coin the term ‘Broken Windows Theory’ to describe the disorder and crime that comes out of the run-down aesthetics of a neighbourhood. They synthesize their theory as being rooted in observing that: if a window in a building is broke and is left unrepaired, all the rest of the windows will soon be broken. This is true in nice neighborhoods [sic] as in run-down ones. Window-breaking does not necessarily occur on a large scale because some areas are inhabited by determined window-breakers whereas others are populated by window-lovers; rather, one unrepaired broken window is a signal that no one cares, and so breaking more windows costs nothing. (p. 3). Wilson & Kelling (1982) describe the breakdown in social control paired with vandalism and attribute it to increased mobility away from problem neighbourhoods, those not marginalized by class and race. They also describe changes in policing from being a night watcher in charge of keeping order to fighting crimes. Wilson & Kelling (1982) criticize the police for worrying too much about case by case crime, and not enough on long term crime prevention. Wilson & Kelling (1982) offer a limited and less nuanced analysis of race and class, and offer nothing around gender or sexuality. They reference the Broken Windows Theory’s the implicit bias in the perception of crime as being perpetrated by low income Black and Brown young men by stating that in reality, the vandals in a Broken Windows scenario are often middleclass to affluent White people. On the other hand, Wilson & Kelling (1982) speak out against decriminalizing vagrancy, or letting a drunk stay in public. They argue that any social disorder, including perceptions of dangers that make people afraid of embodiments intersecting along masculinity, poverty, Blackness, and addiction, can destroy an entire community. Not only does this clash with their earlier claim that most vandals are White men who are not living in poverty, but also supports an inaccurate stereotypical picture of criminal behaviour. In the 1990s, feminist organizations were in full force providing analysis around gender and violence in the context of CPTED. In 1997, the Toronto’s Safe City Committee, which was formed by feminist activists, published revised Safer City Guidelines, which provide CPTED recommendations around how spaces in Toronto should be designed with greater awareness of the social and systemic root causes of criminal behaviour. The Guidelines state that it does not intend “to suggest that bad planning and design cause criminal acts, or that modifying urban environments will singlehandedly prevent crime … This tool is a guide to help build safer cities” (Whitzman & Wekerle, 1997). Unlike previous CPTED, the Guidelines seek to acknowledge the pertinence of social facts in crime prevention, and the limitations of using physical environmental changes to reduce crime. 30 The Safer City Guidelines provide tools for planners to address safety concerns in Toronto. The Guidelines outline three steps to address safety: 1. an awareness by planners of the issues and an acknowledgement that they have a positive role to play in promoting safety in public environments; 2. using these guidelines in their day-to-day planning practice; 3. engaging in a process of mutual learning with the community to add to and modify these guidelines. (Whitzman & Wekerle, 1997, p. 14). The guidelines speak to the importance of community consultation when planning around safety and crime prevention. They state that locals are often more aware of where and when crime occurs in their neighbourhood, as they are attuned to incidents that are not always necessarily reported to police. Valuing local knowledge and recognizing community members as safety experts frame the practices of METRAC’s safety audit process, as well as the use of qualitative data collection through focus groups, interviews and the survey. The Safer City Guidelines has a chapter on making public spaces in Toronto safer. The Guide states that the planning and design factors relevant to public spaces are the ability to be aware of the environment through lighting, clear sightlines and eliminating entrapment areas, little isolation through a mixture of land uses to promote space use throughout the day and night, as well as activity generators that draw people to the space, and the ability to escape and/or communicate that help is needed when in danger through improved signage, and access to communication devices. The Guidelines provide nuanced details around what constitutes appropriate lighting (i.e. four foot-candles, or bright enough to see a face from fifteen metres away), appropriate signage (i.e. located near an entrance and readable from twenty metres away), advice on how to improve sightlines (i.e. using convex mirrors at the corners in hallways, and cutting down overgrown vegetation), curbing entrapment (i.e. making sure there are no areas small areas confined by three barriers near movement predictors like sidewalks and paths), and the importance of maintenance to providing territorial ownership over space (Whitzman & Wekerle, 1997). The Safer City Guidelines include recommendations around traditional planning interventions like zoning and intensification. The Guidelines state that mixed-use zoning is a useful tool to ensure that areas are being used throughout the day and night to promote vibrancy and ‘eyes on the street’. The guidelines also recommend intensification to rid high density high-rise oriented neighbourhoods of large amounts of unused empty public spaces (Whitzman & Wekerle, 1997). Although the Guidelines provide a feminist lens with some gender analysis in its introduction, stating that women are overrepresented in fearing crime and attack in poorly designed spaces, there is no analysis around race or sexuality in the document. The Guidelines do not delve into the fraught relationship some communities have with the police, and how 31 advocating for over-policing can make some people feel less safe or unwelcomed. Focusing on women’s experiences without recognizing the intersectional differences between women is a serious limitation in the text. The text provides physical CPTED interventions related to the literature written by Jacobs (1961), Newman (1971), and Jeffery (1971). The physical interventions around how far away someone has to be to see a sign or a stranger’s face are more empirical than social factors, but their effects on communities around over-policing and feeling unwelcome are profound considerations for analysis in this thesis. More recent CPTED texts have updated their analysis around social issues and criminal activity. Crowe (2013) proposes an integrated approach to safety, where education, health, urban planning and traditional CPTED principles are brought together in an integrated approach to crime prevention in the context of immigration, poverty, and other systemic determinants of crime. Crowe (2013) proposed a “Container Concept”, which views crime, fear of crime and the physical urban environment as three separate but complementary perspectives (Crowe, 2013, p. 245). The crime contained is full of various real life offences, each needing their own specific responses by law enforcement and other institutions. The fear of crime container is a box full of varying responses to feeling insecure in urban areas, which vary depending on age, gender, and other identity-based determinants. The physical urban environment container contains both the social environment (e.g. residents, employees, police officers, offenders, etc…) and the physical environment (e.g. houses, streets, officers, laptops, mobile phone, etc…). The physical urban environment is the focus of CPTED interventions, but Crowe (2013) recognizes that focusing on that container alone will not deal with the full problem context around crime, and that a holistic approach linking these containers is necessary. Crowe (2013) uses a visual to help demonstrate the interwovenness of these three pillars (see Figure 8). 32 Crowe’s (2013) Container Theory Figure 8 33 Crowe (2013) provides a contemporary look at CPTED strategies. He uses the same fundamental CPTED strategies as other theorists: 1) Natural control; 2) Natural surveillance; and 3) Territorial reinforcement. However, Crowe (2013) frames his CPTED guidelines as explicitly allowing for community members to report on their own experiences of safety. The guidelines are limited by being most usefulness at the early stage of urban planning, as it is much more difficult to change the physical form once it is built. Crowe’s (2013) use of binary language differentiating ‘normal’ and ‘abnormal’ uses of urban spaces alludes to an oppressive understanding of social desirability. He explicitly states that CPTED should design out uses of urban spaces for sex workers, addicts and other social undesirables. CPTED and urban planning more broadly are a form of social control, which privileges some people, most often some mixture of middle to upper class, White, cisgender, straight embodiments, over others, most often those who are lower income, people of colour, LGBTQ2+ and other marginalized identities. The following review of feminist and queer planning for safety hopes to disrupt the imaginary of social desirability put forth by conventional public safety planners. Feminist Intersectional Analyses of Gendered Spaces Feminist writings on gendered safety in urban spaces are reviewed in the following section. The literature on feminist planning for safety exists in three strands of thought. The first strand consists of scholars who write on gendered spaces and examine how the masculinized public sphere is unsafe for women, and what can be done to lessen crimes enacted against women. The second strand offers an intersectional analysis of the lived experiences within gendered spaces, recognizing that race and class play a significant role in perceptions of safety. The final strand offers a feminist critique of CPTED interventions, as well as the overall concept of designing out crime. Gendered Spaces Feminist safety planners and theorists bring gendered differences to CPTED strategies in order to argue for planning that considers women’s experiences. Pain (1991) writes that the cues provoking fears are different between men and women. This is particularly true in cases of sexual violence, which disproportionally targets women. Pain (1991) also states that sexual violence is also often conceptualized as rape by a stranger (often a ‘psychopath’ or ‘pervert’), despite its prevalence in the domestic sphere by a person the victim knows. By being educated early on that strangers are the perpetrators of violent crimes against women in public spaces, more power is allotted to men as women depend upon them for safety. It gives these men more power to abuse women in private while the common notion that sexual violence occurs in public continues to be espoused. Pain (1991) writes that even with the association of public spaces and 34 sexual violence, the male-dominated world of planning and design tends to ignore opportunities to design spaces with women’s issues and needs in mind. Lynch and Atkins (1988) explore women’s fear of attack on public transportation. Similar to Pain (1991), they identify that women’s issues are often neglected by male transportation planners. They identify women, elderly people, ethnic minorities, people with disabilities, lesbians and gay men as groups who experience greater threats to safety on various transportation modes. Lynch and Atkins (1988) however, lack an intersectional analysis of how these groups are in fact quite intertwined. The suggestions in the article (e.g., low-income young people should not be allowed to take public transportation) include excluding social undesirables from buses, which is based on both classist and ageist notions of respectability. Another article by Koskela (1999) explores the gendered power relations behind women’s spatial exclusion in Scandinavian countries. Koskela (1999) argues that the city is divided into masculinized areas without women and presumably safer areas that are more feminized. She argues that there is a virtual curfew around feeling safe in the city for women. Koskela (1999) addresses the prevalence of violence in the domestic sphere, compared to the perception that it is mostly a public space problem. Koskela (1999) looks at how elderly people are isolated and more vulnerable compared to younger people, and how pregnancy changes the perception of safety for women (who report that they go out less often, were treated as more fragile and vulnerable when they did go out, etc…) She also states women who are not White and/or are able-bodied are at higher risk of threat. Despite including a statement of safety and racialization in her piece, Koskela (1999) does not unpack a comment said by one of the participants in her qualitative data collection that reinforces fears of Blackness. One of her participants is quoted in the article saying that “One night I was in a tram… and there was a big black man who was staring intently at me … I was terrified” (Koskela, 1999, p. 117). Koskela (1999) does not acknowledge that the fear of a ‘big Black man’ is rooted in White supremacist assumptions of what bodies are safe or unsafe to be around. Neither did she offer a nuanced analysis that could challenge legitimizing her participant’s fears and interrupt the perception that Black men should inherently be feared. Although both Koskela (1999) and Lynch & Atkins (1988) mention race in their pieces, neither of them do so in a way that intersects with their gender analysis. Racialization is mentioned as an afterthought or as a source of fear. Both of these authors, as well as Pain (1991) and Fisher and May (2009) also address gender as a strict binary of women and men, which is not inclusive of gender variant, transgender or queer identified individuals. 35 Intersectional Analysis There is paradoxical over-representation of oppressed embodiments as the perpetrators of violence and crime, while in reality, people embodying oppressed identities are more likely to be victimized by both state-sanctioned and non-state sanctioned forms of violence (Hanhardt 2013). It is important to frame this paradox within intersectionality. The term ‘intersectionality’ was coined in an article written by Black feminist Kimberlé Crenshaw, who argues that the experiences of Black womanhood exists at the intersections of Blackness and womanhood, not two separate conversations about race and gender. Intersectionality has been evoked since to describe instances where an analysis of multiple marginalities around race, gender, class, sexuality, ability, colonialism, and so on is necessary (Crenshaw, 1989). Collins’ (1993) work on intersectionality states that “Race, class and gender may all structure a situation but may not be equally visible and/or important in people’s self-definition” (p.28). Collins (1993) recognizes the race, class, gender and other sites of identity formation are interlocking but also distinct in the way in which they cultivate personal biographies. The importance of intersectionality and affirming self-identity frames the results of this thesis. The limitations around visibility of self-defined identities are also critical to the discussion of safety in this work. The increased acceptance of the need for more intersectional analysis of gendered spaces and lived experience within those spaces propelled writers to provide more complex and nuanced analysis. For example, Pain (2001) wrote another piece ten years after “Space, sexual violence and social control”, called “Gender, Race, Age and Fear in the City”. In her more recent piece, Pain (2001) unpacks the complexities of age, gender and race as categories of fear to challenge previous literature. Pain (2001) writes that although people of colour are often assumed to be perpetrators of fear and crime, they are statistically more likely to be the victims. In particular, men of colour are more likely to be harassed by police compared to their White counterparts, while women of colour are more likely to be hypersexualized due to the notions of (White) men’s entitlement to access their bodies. She concludes her argument by stating that the fear of crime is structured by age, race and gender, and that when these structures are called into question, it is then possible to analyze the unequal distribution of power between different groups. The relationship between age, race and gender begins to explain who is most affected by crime and fear. Green & Singleton (2006) and Weseley & Gaarder (2004) join the growing number of researchers who unpack the intersectional relationships between race, class, gender, and safety. Green & Singleton’s (2006) research in England analyzes the cultural specificity of South Asian women’s experiences in the city around protecting their honour and modesty in their community, compared to the experiences of White women. Although they found that both White participants and South Asian participants in their research identified the same poorly lit, secluded and boarded up places as places of risk, the South Asian women in the Green & Singleton (2006) 36 study felt that they were framed as outsiders to other people on the streets, and had to deal with racist and xenophobic verbal harassment. Weseley & Gaarder (2004), on the other hand, interviewed predominately White college educated women who use a recreational park in Phoenix, Arizona, which is surrounded by a community dominated by people of colour. The women they surveyed said that they would prefer an increased presence of park rangers around the space to mitigate men from surveilling their bodies while they exercise and recreate. They also said that they avoid areas with lots of homeless/transient men, due to perceptions of these vulnerable populations as dangerous. There was little connection between the transient and/or homeless park users and the perpetuation of violence against women. Weseley & Gaarder (2004) write that “these groups [the homeless] are already targeted, harassed, and removed from parks, the women’s related fears and coping strategies actually perpetuate the negative constructions of oppressed groups while doing little to improve the safety of women” (p. 657). Although Weseley & Gaarder (2004) say that incidents of assault are unlikely in the park, and that the perpetrators of assaults that do happen are unlikely to be groups already marginalized and targeted by police, they do not state the well-known fact that assault is more likely to occur in the domestic sphere (Loukaitou-Sideris, 2006; Pain, 2001; Sweet & Ortiz Escalante, 2010). Although more assaults, especially sexual assaults, take place more often in the domestic sphere and likely to be perpetrated not by strangers but by family members or people known to the victims, there remain serious concerns over violence and lack of safety in public spaces (Koskela & Pain, 2000; Sweet & Ortiz Escalante, 2010). Loukaitou-Sideris (2006) explores neighbourhood safety and walkability, arguing that people who are afraid of victimization walk less. She writes that there is a predominant “perceived risk and fear because of gender; however, classifying all women and their perceived agoraphobia under a broad and uniform [gendered] category ignores important differentiations that exist among them because of age, race, class, cultural and educational background, sexual orientation, and disability status” (Loukaitou-Sideris, 2006, p. 223). Loukaitou-Sideris (2006) uses some of the basic principles of CPTED, including fixing broken windows, peopling streets, better lighting and getting rid of bad neighbours, to provide suggestions on how to improve neighbourhood safety. Loukaitou-Sideris (2006) writes that design interventions need to be put in place to remove anti-social elements in cities. Although she claims to be aware of the intersections of age, race, class, cultural, sexual orientation and ability, calling particular groups of people ‘anti-social’ is fundamentally oppressive and perpetuates exclusion. 37 Feminist Critiques of Planning and Designing for Safety Feminist writers like Koskela & Pain (1999) recognize the limits of CPTED, arguing that too much emphasis has been made on environmental design in feminist geography and planning. They state that focusing on fear through design instead of ending violence overall is counterproductive to reducing prevalent domestic violence against women. Koskela and Pain (1999) also say that gendered analysis of crime is unintentionally essentialist and the connection between crime, fear, design and gender is spurious. They say that many “women empower themselves through their own negotiation of danger, but crime prevention policies, be they in the form of behavioural advice, rape alarms, or redesigned streets, have rarely done so.” (Koskela & Pain, 2000, p. 279). Although Koskela and Pain (2000) make many good points about designing out crime, they do not acknowledge that they have both written academic articles on the validity of analyzing gendered space in terms of CPTED interventions (Koskela, 1999; Pain, 1991). They write about the ‘scholars’ who were ‘naïve’ in proposing that the built environment is a product of gender relation without strengthening their positions by self-reflexively referring back to their previous work (Koskela & Pain, 2000, p. 271). Sweet and Ortiz Escalante (2010) explore the significance of violence prevention planning around the breakdown of constructed divides between the public and private sphere. They do so through three case studies on the limits of top-down planning in Vilafranca del Penedès, how planning has facilitated femicide in Ciudad Juarez, and an eco-development in Chicago used to address and prevent gendered violence. A principal tenet of their argument is that CPTED principles only deal with stranger-driven crime in public spaces. Sweet and Ortiz Escalante (2010) argue that CPTED does not deal with overwhelming preponderance of domestic abuse experienced by women. Campbell (2005) argues that crime literature around rape prevention is not merely a reaction to a reality, but instead instills rape as a fixed reality with gendered notion of vulnerable femininity and potent masculinity. The piece argues that men and children can also get raped, but despite this reality, the act of rape remains feminized. This feminization leads to a pervasive fear of rape from strangers, which changes the routinized life of women. The constant fear of rape means women are kept in perpetual vulnerability. Rape, argues Campbell (2005), is: a highly effective mechanism of social control, as women are maneuvered into controlled and dependent relationships with men on the basis that those men will protect them from other men. The fact that the majority of rapes are committed by close intimates, family members, and acquaintances of the victim, and thus by the very men that women turn to for protection, has long been noted. (p. 120). 38 Pain (1991) makes a similar argument around male power derived from rape culture. Campbell (2005) likewise states that rape prevention literature distributed by police, campuses, and rape-crisis centres are misleading because they do not deal with prevalent domestic roots of rape. Furthermore, the safekeeping strategies for women keep them in perpetual threat of being raped by a stranger. The advice given to women includes avoiding dark streets, walking in a group, especially after dark, and to avoid walking near bushes where perpetrators can be hiding. Campbell (2005) takes issue with CPTED strategies, focusing too much on the victim’s sense of fear, and not enough on the entitlement of the perpetrator. For Campbell (2005), this reinforces the normalization of the male body as sexually potent and out of control, and plays into victim-blaming by perpetuating the focus on how women should and should not act. Feminist scholars open the discussions of men and women experiencing safety differently, with an emphasis on men’s privileged status, which is important to consider in inclusive planning. Feminist safety planning has the potential of opening up the conversation around planning for gender variant and other LGBTQ2+ community members. Queer and trans perspectives, deepen the analysis of inclusive safety planning for all. Queer Interventions The third body of literature that deals with queer and transgender experiences is explored in this section to fill the gaps of the largely heteronormative feminist texts reviewed above. In general, planning literature has often neglected the experiences of LGBTQ2+ communities, despite queer theory and geography having a robust long-term relationship in academia (Doan, 2015b; Forsyth, 2001). There are four strands of ideas that are productive to examine here: Queering Planning, Enclave Anxiety, Queering Safety and Trans Inclusive Safety. ‘Queering Planning’ explores the lack of work, consultation, and analysis done around LGBTQ2+ experiences in planning practice. The sparse literature critiquing planning’s heteronormative practices will be explored and analyzed in this subsection. ‘Enclave Anxiety’ looks at the current literature emerging on the supposed ‘straightening’ of traditionally gay and lesbian enclaves in urban settings. ‘Queering Safety’ looks at the texts explicitly exploring LGBTQ2+ experiences of safety in urban settings. ‘Trans Inclusive Safety’ looks at the literature written on transgender experiences and planning, which is marginal within the sparse literature on LGBTQ2+ planning, despite it bringing forth crucial perspectives. Queering Planning Queer geographies and queer subjectivity have existed at odds of most planning practices and interventions. A determining factor in the exclusion of queer embodiments in planning is heteronormativity, which Kath Browne (2006) calls the “normalisation [sic] of man/woman as opposites meant to come together within heterosexual relationships … [which] are based on 39 specific class and race-based relations” (p. 886). Heterosexism exists in a heteronormative society, and it describes the valorization of opposite-sex heterosexual relationships as the normative superior form of sexuality (Browne, 2006). The previous readings cited on feminist planning intervention on safety for women assume a fixed gender binary between men and women, as well as assuming heteronormative relationships between women and men, an assumption that could be considered heterosexist. Michael Frisch (2002) argues that urban planning has always supported heteronormative standards and is therefore a heterosexist project. Frisch (2002) states that inclusive planning would have to promote, not just tolerate, different sexual orientations. He states that forefathers of planning were invested in promoting morality, which excluded so-called sexual ‘perverts’. Planning forefather Patrick Geddes in particular wanted to regulate sexual ‘perversion’ through promoting marriage and planning for morality. Lewis Mumford, who was heavily influenced by Geddes, writes with admiration that Geddes brought “into the movement for sexual development … he brought the sense of family, the need for children, the acceptance of mature responsibilities. With the wand of life he tapped the rock and made water flow forth” (Frisch, 2002, p. 259). Frisch (2002) uses the historic instance of heterosexism to analyze how ongoingly planning prioritizes zoning, housing rights, and public spaces that are “built around heterosexual constructs of family, work, and community life. Planning reproduces structures of heterosexual domination” (p. 256). Ann Forsyth (2001) writes about the disconnect between planning practices and queer embodiments in “Sexuality and Space”. In her piece, she aims to make the body of research on queer theory, as well as political activism, comprehensible and relevant to planning. She does this by analyzing queer enclaves, zoning, business development and public spaces. Her main findings are that there is a tension between queer activists (more radical, non-conformist populations who take up public space for protest) versus gay and lesbian assimilationists (people and organizations working within existing systems). According to Forsyth (2001), the boundaries between these groups are blurry. Doan & Higgins (2008) cite that these tensions, as well as the mounting social capital of residents, were fundamental in shaping the Toronto Gay Village (see Chapter 2). Forsyth (2001) writes that there are gay and lesbian people living in enclaves where they must embrace collective living and economic sacrifices as a trade-off for proximity to safety and community. She notes that many gays and lesbians live outside gay city enclaves due to varying incomes and housing prices, but will use the enclaves as service centres for non-residential use (e.g. bars, clubs, businesses, etc…). Neighbourhood zoning for families discriminates against gays and lesbians throughout residential areas. Zoning for families also discriminates against collective households, group homes for people with special needs and other non-heteronormative family structures. 40 Frisch (2015) argues against planning as a tool of exclusion and proposes an intersectional approach to integrating queer experiences, as well as other interwoven marginalities, into the fabric of planning and design. Frisch (2015) recommends that the American Planning Association (APA) reinstitute sexual orientation as a criteria of standardized diversity considerations in planning. It is notable that in the Canadian context, the Canadian Institute of Planner (CIP) and the Ontario Professional Planners Institute (OPPI) do not mention sexual orientation or gender as part of their diversity mandate. The code of conduct used by both the CIP and OPPI simply reads “CIP Members respect and protect diversity in values, cultures, economics, ecosystems, built environments and distinct places” (CIP, 2015; OPPI, 2015). Frisch (2015) states that planning and real estate development is already a technology of Whiteness and a technology of heteronormativity. He employs Leonie Sandercock’s concept of managing cities of difference through dialogue as a possible intervention that could circumvent unequal power balances in planning, noting that adding intersectionality to Sandercock’s analysis strengthens her work on multiculturalism. Sandercock (1998) advocates for the recognition of experiences and communities who are remain invisible through much of the White cisgender male history of urban planning. She refers to insurgent planning as a form of planning that exists outside the norm (Sandercock, 1998). Frish (2015) takes up Sandercock’s ideas and frames it within a contemporary understanding of intersectionality. Intersectional identities, according to Frisch (2015), are chosen by individuals and imposed upon them by a normative society. The expression of identity, and its imposition, imposes a tyranny of constant negotiation of safety by non-normative embodiments. According to Frisch (2015), LGBT inclusion is often the lowest priorities, even among proponents of intersectionality. Although this point is debateable based on geography, context, and subjective perspective, Frisch’s (2015) argument that planners must stop serving a normative ‘general public’, and instead actively include intersectional embodiments in community engagement, is sound and relevant to the results of this thesis. Enclave Anxiety Much of the planning literature around gay and lesbian populations deals with anxieties over the ‘straightening’ of gay enclaves through an increased use of the space by heterosexual people. In There Goes the Gaybourhood, Ghaziani (2014) argues that gaybourhoods have fundamentally lost their need in the face of modern technology and greater social acceptance of queer embodiments. Ruting (2008) and Collins (2004) reference a four space model of gay neighbourhood lifestyles, starting with pre-conditions (small clusters of gay residents), emergence (gay venues enter or expand), expansion and diversification (more gay households and businesses), secondary explosions of gay services, precincts (this stage is intertwined with gentrification, the redevelopment of the desirable bohemian enclave), and finally integration (gay 41 bars become popular with wider audience and non-gay local culture exists peacefully). They frame the ‘straightening’ of gay enclaves cyclically. Collins (2004) argues that rooted in the ‘straightening’ of gay enclaves is its “well-known” reputations as a “safe zone for heterosexual women to socialize [sic] in, such that heterosexual men now also use this social space in pursuit of heterosexual women” (Collins, 2004, p. 1794). However, both Collins (2004) and Ruting (2008) take a limited view of gentrification in the lifecycle of gay enclaves. Not all enclaves follow this model, but all cycles of gentrification require an in-depth analysis of race, gender, and class, which both of these articles, and Ghaziani’s (2014) book lack. Adler and Brenner (1992) analyze the gendered differences in the creation of gay enclaves, which is also often left out in the discourse on their demise. They do this by building upon Castells’ (1983) argument that the difference in lesbians and gay men taking up urban spaces is fundamentally gendered. He argues that lesbian women attach importance to networks and relationships, while gay men dominate space through territorial aspirations. Adler and Brenner (1992) complicate Castells’ analysis through their survey of multiple female households. They found that lesbian women are more likely to have lower incomes than their male counterparts, and are more likely to be primary child caregivers, which explain why lesbian communities tend to be more heterogeneous than their gay male counterparts who have more resources to take up space. Doan & Higgins (2011) agree with Collins (2004), Ruting (2008) and Ghaziani (2014) regarding the displacement of gay enclaves, but argue that while rising housing values have dispersed LGBT neighbourhoods, those neighbourhoods have consequently become less queer tolerant. The case study used by Doan & Higgins (2011) looks at the lack of LGBT involvement in Atlanta planning processes around the historically gay Midtown neighbourhood. The planning for Midtown Atlanta redesigned the area for heterosexual families, not bearing in mind that the local adult entertainment they wanted to get rid of catered to the LGBT community. In response, White gay Midtown residents began to take over the Kirkwood neighbourhood, which is a historically Black neighbourhood. Although the argument that White gay people, presumably often men, take over communities of colour does have historical relevance, Doan & Higgins (2011) conceptualize queer spaces and communities based upon businesses that cater to gay White clients. It would be relevant to take this work further to see how this displacement affects Black LGBTQ2+ communities. In the introduction of Petra Doan’s edited anthology Planning and LGBTQ Communities, Doan (2015a) argues that compared to many urban centres in North America, Toronto’s LGBTQ population is dispersed throughout the city, which makes attempts to centralize planning for queer spaces to a traditional Gay Village untenable, given contemporary geographies. She argues that for many queer and trans people of colour, spaces organized outside the traditional Village have been stronger sites of safety and community. 42 Ehrenfeucht (2013) argues that design interventions and other planning tools cannot be used to intentionally include gender nonconforming people or activities. Using West Hollywood as a case study, Ehrenfeucht (2013) says that the City’s redesign made it less hospitable to vulnerable street users, while privileging affluent gay and lesbian populations, and their straight counterparts. In particular, a group of trans sex workers were displaced after a trans-friendly restaurant was priced out and sold to a condo developer. Ehrenfeucht (2013) fears that the influx of middle class residents will lead to the displacement of sex workers, addicts, homeless people, street vendors and other so-called ‘undesirables’. Ehrenfeucht (2013) argues that planners and designers exclude gender nonconforming populations from their work because “planning interventions respond to community feedback and envision desirable outcomes, and thus the interests of influential populations dominate” (p. 60). Ehrenfeucht (2013) does make good points around power and privilege, but does not allow for much agency for resistance to displacement on the part of the city’s vulnerable street users. Doan (2015b) writes about the experiences of queer and trans inclusive communities in small cities and rural communities in the America south. She writes that although there are some liberally leaning communities, like the Indian Head Acres in Tallahassee, Florida, safety often trumps visibility, even in areas that are coded as inclusive. She writes that for participants surveyed in smaller communities, safety has more to do with proximity to other LGBTQ neighbours than Pride flags or other visible signifiers of queerness than what “might attract unwanted attention” (Doan, 2015b). Doan’s (2015b) work demonstrates that there are multilayered dimensions to safer spaces outside of a traditional White gay male centric Village. Queering Safety In “Capitalism and Gay Identity”, D’Emilio (1993) argues that capitalism during the industrial revolution facilitated the creation of gay and lesbian identities. He states that capitalism drove the social order away from self-sufficient family rural structures where having children was essential in order to survive on a landownership-based structure created by capitalism, which moved individuals to cities in the 19th century. He writes that it was only “when individuals began to make their living through wage labor, instead of as part of an interdependent family unit, was it possible for homosexual desire to coalesce into a personal identity” (D’Emilio, 1993, p. 470). He deconstructs the myth that gays and lesbians discovered their identities alone and in shame in the 1960s, by referencing the existence of homosexual themes and spaces in blues music, butch/femme relationships, and public cruising in early 20th century urban centres. He also points out that Black communities in urban areas have been historically more accepting of homosexuality and so-called ‘sexual perversions’. During the McCarthy Era, the formal exclusion of gays and lesbians from working in the federal government, as well as purging gay and lesbians from the military, greater FBI 43 surveillance and urban vice squads began. D’Emilio (1993) marks the 1970s gay and lesbian victories over securing more safe social spaces as movements against the creation of formalized exclusion of gays and lesbians. He argues that “the enforcement of gay oppression has merely changed locales, shifting somewhat from the state to the arena of extralegal violence in the form of increasingly open physical attacks on lesbians and gay men” (D’Emilio, 1993, p. 473). This analysis begins to unpack the history of exclusion and violence experienced by LGBTQ2+ individuals, and could be taken further with an in-depth analysis of race and class. Hanhardt (2013) traces the complex history of violence and antiviolence in American LGBTQ politics and activism, looking at the interplay of gay (White) respectability politics and radical (more likely, but not always, lesbian, queer, transgender, non-White) conceptualizations of racialized ‘stranger danger’ and police protection versus police brutality. Hanhardt (2013) provides a thorough analysis of queer and trans political organization in San Francisco and New York City, tracing a history that started in the mid-1960s with Glide, Vanguard, Street Prophets and the homophile movement to contemporary organizations like FIERCE. Hanhardt (2013) argues that racist stereotypes that antigay violence is committed by people of colour are problematically rooted in gay organizing. Many of the street patrols formed to protect gay enclaves and gay people from attack disproportionally blamed low-income racialized people as the supposed perpetrators of violence. This assumption not only negates the existence of queer and trans people in racialized low-income communities, but also failed to realize that the perpetrators of violence are more often young White men and/or the police (Hanhardt 2013). The Society to Make America Safe for Homosexuals (SMASH) in New York City, for example, used street patrols to combat violence around gay enclaves. Despite the fact that “violence was often associated with White youth in the middle-class Greenwich Village, the members of SMASH continued to patrol areas that were largely home to low-income people of colour” (Hanhardt, 2013, p. 112). Doan (2015b) writes that such neighbourhood watch programs may further marginalize non-normative populations, including most notable trans women of colour who face multiple interlocking forms of oppression. Hanhardt (2013) writes that the perceived gentrification of communities of colour by more affluent White gay men furthers these tensions. The territorial protection of emerging gay enclaves fails to recognize that the communities of colour and/or low income folks they fear also have ties and claims to the spaces they are claiming as belonging to gay men. It also reveals the inherent racism and classism present in the mainstream LGBTQ community, which results in the exclusion and erasure of embodiments of queer and trans low-income people of colour. Hanhardt (2013) writes about groups like FIERCE, who today continue to address gentrifying areas like Christopher Street in New York, and the subsequent increased policing and creation of new curfews around public use, which disproportionally target the homeless, youth, people of colour, queers and the intersections of these groups. FIERCE brings together issues of gender, economic, racial and gendered justice in light of policing and brutality (Hanhardt 2013). 44 Goh (2015) furthers the discussion around contemporary organizing of queer people of colour in New York City who are staking out safe spaces in the face of gentrification, police brutality and bashing. Goh (2015) argues that in light of FIERCE’s organizing against a proposed revitalization of Christopher Pier, which is home to street involved homeless young queer people of colour, planners must not only deconstruct heterosexism but also homonormativity. The proposed park at the pier would cost $330 million dollars, and would emulate many elite parks like the Brooklyn Bridge Park and the High Line, which include privatizing public spaces in order to create more so-called desirable areas. FIERCE responded to the proposed park by attempting to acquire space on the pier for a community based drop-in centre for underserved queer and trans people. Goh (2015) writes that “real estate development pressures combined with ongoing on-the-ground distrust and fear of queer youth rendered it impossible to stake out a physical, permanent space” (Goh, 2015, p. 226). The project eventually fell through, and FIERCE is now focusing on creating safer spaces in the neighbourhood and nation-wide through awareness of and organizing around police brutality and capacity building with queer youth of colour. Goh (2015) also writes about the Audre Lorde Project (ALP), another New York based community organization for queer and trans people of colour. ALP launched a ‘S.O.S Collective Sticker’ campaign that sought to physically mark local organizations and businesses as safe for queer and trans people of colour to seek refuge from assailants on the streets. Goh (2015) notes that the project has not been entirely successful, as employees at businesses displaying the sticker often do not know what the sticker signifies. Goh (2015) ends by envisioning a dialectic between activists and planners, where radical planners can engage with activists through mapping violence and safety as well as collecting data. The sources of funding to pay the planner, the potential paternalism on the part of the ‘planner as an expert’ and the emotional labour of working for free for a cause, are not tackled by Goh (2015). In The Revolution Starts at Home, Confronting Intimate Violence Within Activist Communities, there are several essays, personal narratives, anti-violence guidelines and academic pieces on the paradoxes of negotiating and balancing the need to dismantle institutionalized violence against racialized vulnerable communities, with the want to hold perpetrators of sexualized violence in communities accountable. In the volume’s preface, Smith (2011) writes that the existing ‘Restorative Justice’ model used by many organizations and communities insufficiently protects victims and does not hold perpetrators, other than the police, accountable. She says that if we “focus only on community accountability without a larger critique of the state, we risk framing community accountability as simply an add-on to the criminal legal justice system” (Smith, 2011). Bassichis (2011) chapter in The Revolution Starts at Home detail the anti-violence work undertaken by organizations prioritizing queer and trans people of colour. Bassichis is involved with Community United Against Violence (CUAV), a thirty year old organization out of the Bay 45 Area working with queer and trans communities, which is prioritizing its most vulnerable members (i.e. youth, low income people, people of colour, and immigrants). CUAV’s core question is “Is the state primarily a perpetrator of violence against our communities, or the protector it claims to be?” (Bassichis, 2011). CUAV has envisioned a community response to violence against LGBTQ2+ communities that rejects the criminal justice system’s use of shame, punishment and isolation. CUAV’s tactics include using art to reclaim public space, direct conversations with people who have been harmful, and creating a rapid-response violence prevention network in the community. They recruit volunteers, many of whom are queer people of colour, and train them to have support skills like active listening, healthy boundaries, direct communication, story sharing, and education around the linkages between systemic and interpersonal violence (Bassichis, 2011). Forsyth (2001) also explores the dilemma in addressing spaces and safety in a queer context. She argues that enough police presence is wanted for safety, but in doing so, there is an imperative to protect marginalized people, including the homeless, racialized people and other marginalized populations, from police harassment. Doderer (2011) argues that displacing “social undesirables” from cities negatively impacts the LGBTQ community. Paradoxically, some LGBTQ people are involved in pushing for the ‘cleaning up’ of such areas. Doderer (2011) points out that “To be LGBTQ is no guarantee of a critical and self-reflexive position and way of thinking” (p. 435). Privileged members of the LGBTQ community have historically pushed out and blamed the most vulnerable members of their community on the grounds of ‘safety’. This occurs despite the fact that the most vulnerable members of the LGBTQ community, which includes racialized people, trans people, and other groups labeled ‘undesirable’, suffer the highest rates of violence and brutality (Hanhardt, 2013; Testa et al., 2012). Trans Inclusive Safety There is little literature on LGBTQ2+ experiences in planning, and what little does exist looks mostly at sexual minorities, and not at the experiences of trans and gender variant individuals. The exclusion of trans people from lesbian, gay and bisexual (LGB) spaces goes beyond just the literature. Doan (2007) explores the gender normativity of gay and lesbian spaces and neighbourhoods. She argues that many explicitly gay and lesbian spaces exclude trans people in order to conform as much as possible to mainstream acceptability. An example she draws upon is the exclusion of transwomen from the Michigan’s Womyn’s Festival, which is open to only to so-called ‘womyn-born-womyn’. In response, Doan (2007) writes, trans people created their own festival across from Michigan’s Womyn’s Festival called Camp Trans, which acts as a pop-up safe space for trans people. Doan (2007) points out that the women’s movement has done a lot of work around urban safety, including pushing for built environment changes along with more police protection and better treatment of rape victims. She argues that the trans community needs this too, claiming that they are also vulnerable to male violence, but are not on political radar due to being such a small population. 46 Doan’s (2007) argument that the lack of a concentrated trans population or enclaves is the reason why trans people are excluded from mobilizing a presence in planning does not put the responsibility to work towards better inclusivity on cisgender members of society, the LGBTQ community and beyond. The accountability of allies is essential to rethinking the way cities can be planned to include gender variant and trans people, in hopes of actively including their stories and needs. Doan (2010) argues that the ‘tyranny of gender’ polices non-normative gender manifestations in an autoethnographic account of her trials and tribulations as a non-passing transwoman in urban spaces. She has experienced public street harassment, harassment in quasi-public classroom spaces and semi-private sphere of the public bathroom. Her account personalizes the experiences of LGBTQ2+ people using a personal account of oppression. She also provides a strong argument for planning all gender inclusive public bathrooms. In her later work, Doan (2015b) recognizes that trans women of colour are frequently demonized on the intersecting axis of race, gender, class and sexuality. Trans women of colour are “often categorized as sex workers by both straight and gay neighborhood residents who feel their non-normative presence threatens to undermine property values and the presumed attractiveness of the neighborhood” (Doan, 2015b, p. 121). Doan (2015b) provides a strong intersectional approach around multiple marginalities. Testa, Hendricks, Goldblum & Bradford (2012) argue that increased exposure to physical and sexual violence relates to suicide ideation, suicide attempts, and substance abuse in trans populations. They sampled 350 trans men and women to study the relationship between violence, suicide and addiction. Testa, Hendricks, Goldblum and Bradford (2012) state that it is the first study of its kind conducted. An overwhelming proportion of the respondents (97.7%) had experienced violence due to gender identity. They reported that the perpetrators were strangers, acquaintances, family members, and primary partner (with strangers being the most common and primary partners being the least common). The study is limited by the small sample size, lack of racial diversity in respondents (the majority were White) and the small geographic catchment (all respondents lived and studied in Virginia). However, Testa, Hendricks, Goldblum and Bradford’s (2012) study demonstrates the prevalence of transphobic violence and assault by strangers outside the domestic sphere, which demonstrates why planners and designers must address urbanized public safety from a queer and trans inclusive lens. 47 Conclusion The thesis hopes to provide recommendations on how to create LBTQ2+ inclusive cities using safety as a lens. It also hopes to further the work done on the built environment and the limitations of CPTED, as developed by feminist scholars from a LGBTQ2+ lens. The research recognizes that much of the work done on this topic is heterosexist and depends on a rigid gender binary. The work done by scholars and activists on queering planning and design will help inform the ways in which LGBTQ2+ experiences relate to safety in public spaces. The literature on LGBTQ2+ experiences in urban planning and design is limited in scope and breath of content. The literature on transgender and gender variant experiences in particular is sparse. There was no relevant literature found on the experiences of two-spirit or bisexual identities. The lack of literature on queer and trans safety in planning affirms the need for this thesis in the field. The literature that does exist on LGBTQ2+ safety demonstrates that queer and trans people experience a great deal of harassment, displacement and violence in the urban spaces. It is imperative to bring to light queer and trans experiences of safety to the forefront of planning to negotiate the gaps present in the way cities are planned and designed along heterosexist, homophobic and transphobic terms. 48 Chapter 4 – Methodology: Using Mixed Methods Research on LGBTQ2+ Perceptions and Experiences of Safety Introduction The thesis at hand examines how cities can be made safer for LGBTQ2+ people. Qualitative and quantitative data collected and analyzed through triangulation explore the research question. Qualitative data was gathered through interviews, focus groups, and an online survey. Quantitative data was collected through the survey and secondary reading. Hesse-Biber (2012) argues that male bias in research can be addressed in feminist empiricism through mixed methods research, or the triangulation of qualitative and quantitative data. Hesse-Biber (2012) states that the common usages of triangulation privileges quantitative data over qualitative finding, which plays into western patriarchal epistemologies. The research at hand seeks to create a more fruitful dynamic of qualitative research informing the gaps in quantitative data, and vice versa, while also considering all data collected as valid and worthy of analysis. The research takes a firm anti-oppressive intersectional framework in order to responsibly represent the safety experiences of marginalized groups. The principle of challenging oppression and power complicates the process of objectively acquiring data from participants without influencing their responses. No mention of the study as taking an anti-oppressive framework was included in the call for participation, nor in the data collection, in order to avoid influencing participant responses. The consent form signed by participants does however includes feminist research principles of respecting privacy, and allowing space around triggering Summary of Chapter 4 The thesis hopes to contribute to the conversation on queerness, planning and safety. The thesis uses feminist triangulation to bring together quantitative and qualitative data. Qualitative data was collected through interviews, focus groups and an online survey. Quantitative data was collected through the online survey and secondary reading. The research faces a number of limitations, including ethical considerations, funding, timing and the inherent imperfection of data collection. 49 conversations (Gay, 2012). In following chapters analyzing the data collected, oppressive comments made around safety and class, race, or other identities are critically deconstructed. The research was conducted partially in partnership with METRAC, a Toronto based consulting non-profit, which was the host agency for the researcher’s summer internship that facilitated the data collection process. METRAC conducts safety audits with the goal of creating safer spaces for women and youth through natural and built environment interventions. They do work in neighbourhoods, campuses and workplaces. The internship report and published results of the thesis will also help update METRAC’s safety audit kit. METRAC’s concept that everyone is the expert of their own sense of safety is a core principle of the framework used to analyze the collected data (metracadmin, 2015b). The thesis intends to use the data collected to unpack the interactions between perceived safety, which is covered in Chapter Five, and discriminatory incidents, which is covered in Chapter Six. The goal of the thesis analysis is to provide recommendations on how cities can be planned for LGBTQ2+ safety, which is covered in Chapter Seven and Eight. The details of the methods used in the interviews, focus groups and online survey are explored below. It details the methods used to collect data, and ends with a section detailing the thesis’ limitations and other ethical considerations. Interviews Individuals and organizations representing clients and communities affected by LGBTQ2+ experiences of public safety were contacted at the outset of the research process in order to identify key issues around safety. Although the interviews were intended to be a loosely structured conversation with service providers and community organizers, the sessions became more rigidly structured compared to the focus groups. Wilkinson (1998) writes on feminist epistemologies that prioritize marginalized voices and experiences by challenging power and patriarchy. She claims that interviews and focus groups differ in research because interviews allow for a decontextualized analysis that detracts from critiques of power and privilege, whereas the fundamentally messy social nature of a focus group forces researchers to contextualize the dynamics amongst participants and the researcher (Wilkinson, 1998). Organizations were selected for interviews from various religious, ethnic, racial, and gendered identities within the LGBTQ2+ community in Toronto in the hopes of collecting a holistic take on queer and trans urbanized safety. The groups contacted include religious groups (Salaam, Dignity, and Kulanu), social service providers (Elizabeth Fry, Fred Victor’s Thrive program, Support Our Youth, Youthline and the 519), community groups (Primed, Maggie’s, Queer Ontario, 2-spirits, Marvelous Grounds and the Ethno Racial People With Disability Coalition of Ontario) and healthcare resources (Rainbow Health Ontario, Black CAP and the AIDS Committee of Toronto). Out of the groups contacted, it was anticipated that between five 50 and eight representatives from these groups would be available for an interview on public safety and LGBTQ2+ experiences. Six interviews were conducted in total. The representatives from organizations interviewed were from Supporting Our Youth, Egale, Kulanu, Fred Victor, Rainbow Health Ontario and Marvelous Grounds. Supporting Our Youth (SOY) is a community development program for youth between the ages of fourteen to twenty-nine who identify as LGBTQ2+. SOY coordinates several groups, including the Monday Night Drop-in, which caters to homeless and/or street involved youth, as well as youth who are new to the community. SOY also coordinates a group called Express, which is for LGBTQ2+ new immigrants; BQI, which is for Black queer youth; Fluid, which explores gender variance; and TFC, which is for trans and gender variant youth. Egale’s Youth OUTreach counselling centre and drop-in serves LGBTQ2+ youth under the age of twenty nine. Their counsellors primarily work with youth experiencing homelessness, or are at risk of homelessness, and youth experiencing mental health concerns, specifically around suicide prevention. Kulanu represents the larger queer community, as well as various aspects of the Jewish community, in a non-denominational and all-denominational capacity. They put on various educational and cultural events, as well as offering support to community members having trouble coming out, or who are grappling with a family member coming out. Fred Victor’s THRIVE! is a pre-employment and employment program for trans people. THRIVE! is a sex worker positive and trans positive program that helps develop life skills for clients of various ages and backgrounds. Rainbow Health Ontario is a province-wide organization whose mandate is to improve services and access to healthcare for LGBTQ communities. They have a trans health coordinator who does capacity building workshops for healthcare providers around trans inclusivity. Marvelous Grounds is a collective of three people who are part of a larger community of queer people of colour doing work as artists and organizers. Marvelous Grounds has secured a grant to do some mapping and other research around documenting the ways that QTBIPOC (queer and trans Black, Indigenous and people of colour) create communities, innovate projects and foster connections within Toronto and beyond. Interviewees were asked a series of questions on LGBTQ2+ experiences of safety in Toronto. The interview questions are available in the Appendix (see Appendix 1.1). The main themes brought up by the interviewees in the context of safety were passing and visibility, spaces and places that are safe or unsafe and the politics of reporting incidents of assault or violence. 51 The analysis of thesis data is framed by the participants’ understanding of harassment in public urban spaces. Focus Groups A series of focus groups were conducted to inform queer and trans safety in Toronto, with the intention of getting community input on perceived safety and ideas for planning interventions to create safer spaces. Snowball sampling was used to recruit participants. Participants were recruited through contacts made in the interview stage of data collection, as well as personal contacts the researcher has in the LGBTQ2+ community. Focus groups were selected because of their leveling potential in the power dynamics between researcher and subject. Focus groups allow for community members to talk amongst themselves and create what Wilkinson (1998) calls “interactive data” (p.113). Wilkinson (1998) writes that interactive data in a focus group is collected through recording the conversations occurring during the session. Wilkinson (1998) argues that focus group discussions allow for a greater potential for participants to set the agenda of the session themselves. In the focus groups conducted for the research, participants often did just that, anticipating the following questions before it was asked by the facilitator in the conversation. Although the focus groups were guided by a series of questions, they were generally much looser and more informal than the online survey or interviews. In total, four focus groups were conducted in August 2015. Participants received food, public transportation fare and a fifteen dollar honorarium for their participation, all provided by METRAC. The focus groups were envisioned as consisting of a brief introduction of METRAC, an affinity diagram activity involving participants writing on post-it notes their own personal ideas of what makes a city/community/space safe, a description of what METRAC’s safety audit process involves, a facilitated group discussion guided by a series of questions on LGBTQ2+ experiences of safety, an individual cognitive temporal mapping of safe spaces, and a concluding check-in with participants. The focus group schedule and questions are included in the Appendix (see Appendix 1.2). The affinity diagram, a verbal data organizing technique used predominantly in brainstorming sessions, was thought to be used in this research to help structure the participants’ ideas on safety. The affinity diagram typically involves participants writing ideas on a post-it paper, and then attaching the post-it to a wall or another surface for display. The workshop facilitator then asks the group to organize the post-it notes under thematic categories that the group decides upon through consensus (Widjaja, Yoshii, Haga, & Takahashi, 2013). The cognitive mapping exercise was similarly intended to visually organize local knowledge of paths, edges, districts, landmarks and nodes within the context of safe spaces in the City of Toronto by asking participants to identify and draw where safe spaces exist for them in the city (Fenster, 2009). 52 During the first focus group, it was evident to the researcher that it would not be possible to do both activities in the time allotted. In order to respect the time of the participants, the activities were blended together. Participants put their ideas up on the wall on sticky notes at the start of the session unorganized, and during what would have been the cognitive mapping exercise, they were asked to close their eyes and visualize a map of their version of a safe city. While their eyes were closed, the researcher read out loud the ideas, places and people written on the post-it notes to help participants visualize their idealized safe city. Participants were then asked to open their eyes after all the post-it notes were read, and then asked to tell the group anything else they saw on their mental map. The ad hoc activity demonstrates the social messiness of focus groups that Wilkinson (1998) writes about. The same ad hoc activity was used in the following focus groups for data consistency. The first focus group was with Fred Victor’s Thrive Program on August 10th 2015. Recruitment for the first focus group was done by the Thrive program coordinator, who was interviewed earlier in the data collection process. Eleven people who identify as trans participated. Participants spoke of personal experiences encountering systemic oppression due to gender identity, transphobia and racism. Racism and colonialism affecting Indigenous communities, as well as Black and Brown people, was mentioned by many participants. Although participants did not identify their race in the focus group, some speak to their experiences as racialized people during the discussion. The larger sample size of this particular group led to many people talking over each other, and having their own inner conversations throughout the discussion. The second focus group was conducted on August 12th, 2015 with the ballroom organization, House of Constantine, which is a part of the City’s ballroom scene. The ballroom scene involves queer drag and other performances in the form of competitions that prioritize youth of colour (Quinton, 2011). The House of Constantine has its own formalized, chosen family structure, with the House mother, father, founder and many of their kids in attendance. Two participants were also biologically related. Focus group participants chose to self-identify their race in this focus group. The biological family members were one woman and one man, both Black. There were also three self-identified femme presenting people, one White, one Black and one Filipina. Three other participants were gay men, one White and two Black. The family dynamic and structure of the House of Constantine came forth throughout the focus group discussion, with the House mother, father and founder reigning in the kids’ discussions and antics. Contact was made with the House of Constantine by the researcher through personal connections with members of the House. The third focus group was conducted on August 13th, 2015, consisting of people recruited through the contact interviewed from Marvelous Grounds. Upon the request of the Marvelous Grounds organizer, only people who self-identify as queer and/or non-binary people of colour were invited to participate in this focus group. Experiences of racism, transphobia and homophobia framed much of the discussion in this focus group. Six people attended the focus 53 group. Only one person in attendance was a member of Marvelous Grounds. The other participants knew the main organizer from Marvelous Grounds who attended, except one who found out about the group through a Facebook post made on the organizer’s personal account. The fourth focus group was conducted on August 27th, 2015 through an open poster call-out. Participants were recruited through the researcher’s social media network and METRAC’s listserv and community partners. Three participants said that they found out about the workshop from the Facebook posts made by the researcher and METRAC staff. Six participants found out about the focus group through the Black Coalition for Aids Prevention (Black CAP) listserv. The six participants recruited from Black CAP all knew each other before attending the workshop. The call-out for focus group participation asks people who live in Toronto and self-identify as queer, trans, and/or genderqueer to attend. The workshop was hosted at the 519 Community Centre in the Toronto Gay Village. Gender was one of the main determinants of safety described by the Open Call focus group participants. The presence of cisgender, trans and non-binary people at the focus group added greater complexity and nuance to conversations around polarizing ideas of femininity and masculinity. Online Survey An online survey was developed to collect quantitative data and supplement the data collected through the interviews and focus groups. The survey was launched in the hopes of getting a larger sampling of data from its results. Online surveys have been used increasingly in academic and market research due to its potential to reach a large sample size fairly quickly (Puleston, 2011; Selm & Jankowski, 2006). The internet has been cited as a driving force to creating LGBTQ2+ communities, which can be seen in the queer and trans specific groups and pages on Facebook and other social media (Gay, Lesbian & Straight Education Network, 2013). The internet is also increasingly a place where hate crimes, discrimination and harassment occur (Intelligence Services, Hate Crime Unit, 2014). Online communities also tend to be younger, which is reflected in the average age range of the survey respondents (Selm & Jankowski, 2006). Survey participants were recruited through snowball sampling (Goodman, 1961). The survey was sent to service providers contacted in the focus group and interview stage of data collection, and asked to be shared in their newsletters, on their websites and on their social media pages. The survey was also shared on the personal Facebook and Twitter accounts of the researcher. Community organizers and other members of the LGBTQ2+ community were tagged in the Facebook post promoting the survey, and were asked to share the link to the survey on their own individual networks. Statistical analyses were done using SPSS, and Excel to code the trends linking survey responses and LGBTQ2+ experiences. The survey launched on July 14th 2015, and was closed five weeks later on August 18th 2015. The anticipated sample size was one hundred people living in the City of Toronto. A total 54 of two hundred and two (202) responses were recorded for the survey. The survey has a total of one hundred and sixty six (166) responses that fit the qualification criteria for participation. The survey questions and results are included in the appendix (see Appendix 1.4 and 1.5). Participants were asked three mandatory qualifying questions at the start of the survey: Do you consent to the terms of this study?; Do you identify under the LGBTQ2+ Umbrella?; and Do you live in the City of Toronto?. Participants who answered ‘No Response’ or ‘No’ to these questions were automatically sent to a disqualification page that thanked them for their participation. Twenty eight people were disqualified automatically. Out of the surveys completed, seven people live outside of the catchment area and were disqualified. since the first three digits of their postal codes, also called a forward sortation area, provided indicated that one participant lives in Vancouver, two in Mississauga, one in Caledon, one in Thornhill, one in Bradford, and one in Oshawa (Canada Post Corporation, 2008). Two postal codes were imputed incorrectly by participants. One participant put down their postal code as M2S and another as M4I. Neither of these postal codes are assigned by Canada Post. Using these two participant’s survey responses on what major intersection is closest to their home, the research was able to deduce that the person who put their postal code as M2S and lives near Bathurst Street and Steeles Avenue West should have put down M2R. The person who put their postal code as M4I lives at Coxwell Avenue and Gerrard Street East, where the postal code is M4L (Canada Post Corporation, 2008). The data provided by both participants is included in the analysis of the survey results. Survey participants were asked to provide information on their postal codes and neighbourhood location not only to determine their eligibility for the survey, but also to facilitate mapping the neighborhood representation of survey respondents throughout the City of Toronto. Known as a ‘City of Neighbourhoods’, various areas in the amalgamated City of Toronto have their own diverse character, as well as class and race composition (Hulchanski, 2007). The diverse composition of Toronto frames the importance of gathering a sample of residents from across the city. Out of the one hundred and two forward sortation areas (FSAs) in Toronto, fifty three, or 51.9%, of the FSAs are represented in the qualifying survey results. Geographically, survey responses are concentrated on the inner core of the city, with some representation in the suburban areas around at the periphery of the City. Four FSAs are represented in the former city of North York, seven FSAs in the former city of Scarborough and three FSAs in the former city of Etobicoke (see Figure 9). Participant FSAs were mapped to ensure that the survey sample was distributed across the city, and represented its most dense neighbourhoods (see Figure 10). 55 Figure 9 Survey Representation by FSAs in Toronto Figure 9 56 Toronto Density Map by 2011 Census Tract Data (Statistics Canada 2012) Figure 10 57 Survey respondents are represented in FSAs across the city, and in Toronto’s highest density areas. Survey respondents are concentrated in the Former City of Toronto, which includes the Central Business District and the rest of the downtown core, and several census tracts with between 25,000 to 49,999 people. The rest of the high density areas in the City of Toronto with a population between 25,000 to 49,999 people are in North York and Scarborough. They are represented in the survey responses as well. Survey respondents were given the option of choosing more than one gender identity, sexual orientation, religion and race. Although selecting multiple options complicates the analysis of data in SPSS, it was deemed worth the extra effort in order to get a complete picture of what identities are represented in the sample. Feminist mixed methods research prioritizes the opportunity to properly position the sample respondents over getting quick quantitative data (Hesse-Biber, 2012). Participants were given the option of choosing more than one gender identity. Two hundred and fifty gender identities were chosen in a sample of one hundred and sixty seven responses. Sixty three respondents, or 37.7% of the sample, chose more than one gender identity. Overall, most survey respondents identify as female (48.5%), followed by male (34.1%). Survey respondents identify themselves overwhelmingly as cisgender as well (20.3%), with all respondents identifying as cisgender also identifying as either male or female. Genderqueer (13.7%), transgender (10.1%), other (7.1%), Female-to-Male (FTM) (3.5%), transsexual (2.9%), bigender (2.4%), agender (2.4%), Male-to-Female (MTF) (1.8%), two-spirit (1.2%), and cross-dresser (1.1%) represent a sizable portion of responses as well. Only intersex and third gender are not represented in the sample. The respondents who responded that their gender is ‘Other’ state that they identify as androgynous, non-binary, non-binary male, genderfluid, femme, assigned female at birth (AFAB), and cisgender but questioning. One participant identifies as female, but added in the comment section that they think gender is an oppressive construct. Out of the sixty three respondents who picked more than one gender identity, overwhelmingly respondents chose to identify as both female and cisgender (33.3%). The next most chosen identity combination is male and cisgender (7.7%). A total of 19.0% of respondents who picked more than one gender chose a combination of identifying as male and identities other than cisgender, while 25.3% chose a combination of female and identities other than cisgender. Also, 12.7% chose a combination of identities that did not include male or female. Respondents also have the option of choosing more than one sexual orientation. Queer has the overwhelming majority of responses (50.3%), followed by Gay (30.5%), Bisexual (26.5%), Pansexual (16.8%), Lesbian (13.8%), Other (3.0%), Skoliosexual (2.4%), Asexual (1.8%) and Straight, Androsexual and No response are tied (1.2%). Only one person picked 58 Questioning (0.6%) and nobody picked Gynosexual. Out of the orientations selected, most respondents picked queer and another identity. Out of the eighty four people who picked queer, sixty two of them (73.8%) also picked another sexual orientation. Out of the participants who chose other, there were people who wrote they are same gender loving, polyamorous, a dyke, that they mostly date guys, and like people. One respondent seems to have taken offense at including demisexual as an orientation respondents can choose to select. They write “oh my god, demi sexual isn't a sexual orientation, it's a descriptor of attraction, your survey is already terrible” (LGBTQ2+ Community, 2015). Demisexual was added to the list of potential sexualities based on its definition as a sexual orientation by various sexuality oriented resource centres, newspaper articles and social media (Brie, 2014; Demisexuality Resource Centre, 2015; Martinson, 2015). The Demisexuality Resource Centre (2015) defines demisexuality as a “sexual orientation in which someone feels sexual attraction only to people with whom they have an emotional bond”. The respondent who took strong offense at the use of demi sexual proceeded to provide feedback throughout the survey, despite repeatedly criticizing its content. Anonymous surveys create a methodological vacuum where participants cannot fully engage in discourse with the researcher, which limits the interpretation of this person’s intention around providing both constructive and aggressive feedback. The opportunity for proper representation and conflict resolution was taken in the focus group and interview stages to the best of the researcher’s ability, but is difficult to manage while maintaining participant anonymity in the online survey platform. The participant’s constructive feedback will be integrated throughout the analysis of the survey, where possible and relevant. When asked to define their race/ethnicity, participants overwhelmingly identify as White (75.4%), followed by Mixed (10.2%), Black (7.2%), East Asian (6.6%), Other (6.0%), Latino/Latina/Latin@ (4.8%), Indigenous/Metis/First Nation/Inuit (4.2%), South Asian (3.0%), and Brown and Arab tied last (1.2%). Not everyone who selected more than one race/ethnicity selected mixed, which could simply reflect that some of the choices where more ethnically centered around geography and heritage (e.g. East Asian, South Asian, and Indigenous), while others specifically referred to the colour of one’s skin (i.e White, Black, Brown, etc…). Out of the nineteen people who picked more than one race/ethnicity, only five did not select mixed. Three people who selected Mixed did not pick another option. Ten participants used the Other option to elaborate how they identity their race and ethnicity. Out of the people who picked Other, they wrote that they are Canadian, French Canadian, Irish Inuit, Southeast Asian, Middle Eastern, and Pacific Islander. Two people wrote that they are European, and three people wrote that they are Jewish. According to the 2011 Census data, the racial representation of the survey results is comparable to the demographics of the City of Toronto. According to the census, 50.9% of 59 Torontonians are not a visible minority, followed by South Asian (12.3%), Chinese (10.8) and Black (8.5%) (Statistics Canada, 2012). Despite the small sample size and different terminology around race used, the overwhelming Whiteness of the city as a whole helps explain its over-representation in the survey responses. Participants were also asked their religious affiliations. Participants identify mostly as having No Religion (39.5%), followed by Agnostic (24.8%), Atheist (16.2%), Christianity (12.0%), Judaism (8.4%), Other (4.8%), Paganism (4.2%), Inter/Non-denominational (3.6%), Hinduism (2.4%), Islam and Indigenous Spirituality both tied (1.2%), and Taoism (0.6%). No respondents identify Confucianism, Shinto or Sikhism as their religion. The most commonly combined religions are Christianity and Agnostic. Out of the participants who chose Other, people describe practicing spirituality, having Jewish heritage, being non-practicing, practicing their own religion, as well as being Christian-informed and practicing Esoteric Christianity. One participant writes that they are Atheist in the Other option, but did not choose it out of the selected options. Statistics Canada demonstrates a different religious make-up of the city in the 2011 census. Demographically, 28.2% of Torontonians are Roman Catholic, followed by 24.2% without a religious affiliation and 21.6% Christian (other). The perception of religion as inimical by many LGBTQ2+ communities due to certain religious institutions rejection of queer and trans experiences and identities could be among the reasons why there is a discrepancy in data between the online survey and the census (Statistics Canada, 2012). Participants were asked to define their age, and ability. Participants predominantly are between the ages of nineteen to twenty four (36.5%), followed by twenty five to twenty nine (34.1%), thirty to thirty nine (16.8%), forty to forty nine (5.4%), fifty to fifty nine (4.2) and eighteen and under (1.2%). Three participants did not identify their age, which represents 1.8% of the total sample. According to the 2011 census, most Torontonians are between the age of twenty five to twenty nine years old, which reflects the representation in the online survey (Statistics Canada, 2012). Participants were asked if they identify as disabled, crip, hard of hearing, deaf or differently abled. 19.8% of respondents said Yes, 67.7% of respondents selected that they identify as able-bodied, and the rest selected Other (7.2%), No Response (3.6%) or skipped the question (1.8%). Out of the participants who selected Other, people wrote that they have post-traumatic stress disorder (PTSD), Attention Deficit Disorder (ADD/ADHD), depression, HIV, self-diagnosed anxiety disorders, and chronic health concerns. Many state that they have mental illness but are highly functional. Income, renter status and employment range amongst participants. Respondents generally make between $0-29,999 a year. Overwhelmingly, participants rent their home (70.7%), followed by neither renting nor owning (12.6%), owning (8.4%) and No Response (5.4%). Those 60 who neither rent nor own describe living at home with their parents, with a small portion of people living with partners or other arrangements. Participants selected being Employed, Full-Time the most (43.1%), followed by Student (39.5%), Employed, Part-Time (30.5%), Volunteer (13.2%), Not employed, looking for work (9.6%), Other (8.4%), Not employed, attending school (3.6%), Caregiver (2.4%), and Parent and not able to work tied (1.2%). Nobody selected that they are not employed and not looking for work, nor retired. There is a strong correlation between the younger age of respondents, the large proportion of their incomes being less than $30,000 annually, the large percentage of full-time employment, and student status, as well as the high number of renters. The sample of respondents of the survey is big compared to the number of people who participated in the interviews and focus groups. However, the income, age, race, gender, sexuality, income, ability and religion of participants all have strong majorities in the survey. In general, participants are younger female, queer-identified, cisgender, abled-bodied, White people with a lower income, who are probably either students or employed full-time. Although the sample size of the survey is bigger than the sample pool for interviewees and focus group participants, the breadth of the identities and experiences represented is narrower than in the focus groups and interviews. Despite the homogeneity of the sample, the quantitative and qualitative comparative data drawing upon the lived experiences of over a hundred and sixty members of Toronto’s LGBTQ2+ community is valuable and is analyzed in the subsequent chapters. Ethical Considerations Ethical approval for research with human subjects for this research was approved by the UBC Office of Ethics Research. The study was initially approved on April 29th 2015. An amendment to the study was made to include the online survey and was approved on July 14th 2015. The ethical considerations included in the application and subsequent consent form included provisions around privacy and comfort for research participants. Confidentiality was assured as much as possible for all participants. During the interviews, service providers had the option of omitting their organization from the final product. During the focus groups, participants were told that their anonymity would be maintained as much as possible. Interview and focus group participants were asked to sign a consent form before participating, which outlines the research project’s guidelines around confidentiality. Participants are referred to using ‘they/them’ pronouns in this thesis to both avoid misgendering them as well as to protect their anonymity. Participants are referred to as a defining aspect of their identity (e.g. sexuality, gender identity, gender presentation, race, etc…) only if deemed 61 relevant to the aspect of the experiences being discussed, if they insisted on self-identifying, or if needed to distinguish between participants. Unfortunately the investigators of this research cannot stop fellow focus group participants from talking to one another after the session, or telling others about what happened, but participants were encouraged to maintain the anonymity of others. Participants were recorded in the interviews and focus groups with their permission, and the recordings were only accessible to the Primary Investigator, who is the supervisor of this thesis, and the Co-Investigator, who is the student writing the thesis, also referred to as the ‘researcher’ throughout the thesis. The names of people and organizations were not recorded in the dialogue made from the audio recordings. Online survey participants had their IP address encrypted to protect their identities. Participants were told that they could decline answering any question asked during the interview, focus group and/or survey. Participants could also leave the focus group, interview and/or survey at any point without penalty. They were told that they could withdraw from participating in the study up until November 2015, at which stage the data was coded and ready to be analyzed. METRAC supplied a fifteen dollar honorarium, tokens, accessibility funds and food for the focus groups. Due to limited funding, no incentives or payment were offered for the interviews, nor for the online survey. Service providers are often paid by an employer and/or a grant for their time. Online survey participants submitted their surveys due to interest. The online survey took people approximately twenty minutes to finish. The interviews took approximately thirty to forty-five minutes to finish. The focus groups took between one hour and a half to two hours in total. Food, tokens and an honorarium were helpful to compensate people the extended period of time. People who had to leave the focus group early were still compensated. Participants were given the contact information for the Primary Investigator and the Co-Investigator on their copy of the consent form. The consent form also includes the contact information for the UBC Office of Research Ethics in case participants would like to contact them directly. A copy of the consent form is attached to the appendix (see Appendix 1.3). 62 Limitations The research faces a number of logistical and financial barriers. The thesis was originally conceptualized as being a conversation between LGBTQ2+ experiences of public safety and (dis)ability. Accessibility plays a fundamental role in the experiences of safety and whether or not people of varying abilities can access safer space. It was decided by the researcher and research supervisor that the scope of discussing ability, LGBTQ2+ identities and public safety would be too narrow for a Master’s thesis. The conversation around ability, queerness and safety is important, and would make a great future research topic. Although the researcher acquired a Canada Graduate Scholarships under the Social Sciences and Humanities Research Council in order to conduct the thesis research, not enough funds were allocated to properly compensate survey respondents and interview participants. Unforeseen additional costs, including needing to pay for data analysis software as well as a Survey Monkey membership to collect online survey responses, were paid out of pocket by the researcher. Focus group participants were paid by METRAC. They received a modest honorarium of fifteen dollars, along with some funds for food and tokens. The researcher and METRAC staff tried to appeal to stores in the downtown of Toronto and ask for donations in-kind. None of the businesses contacted could offer a gift card for every participant or another equivalent donation. The project is also limited by the researcher only being in Toronto between May to August in 2015. The short time span, and unforeseen logistical roadblocks, meant that only four out of the five planned focus groups could be done. The project focuses primarily on the public sphere, which creates a false dichotomy between private and public spaces. The limitations of this came to light in the interviews with Rainbow Health Ontario and Egale. In the interview with Egale, the interviewee talks about how many of the youth they work with got kicked out of their houses due to their gender and/or sexual identity. The person interviewed from Rainbow Health Ontario says that people they contact often do not feel safe in their own homes. It is not uncommon for clients to tell them they should not contact them at their home number, and should instead wait for them to contact Rainbow Health Ontario. The researcher was also unable to meet with members of the queer Muslim community in Toronto. Not engaging with groups like Salaam, which is a queer Muslim organization, means that there is no voice to balance the Islamophobic comments made during the Fred Victor focus group on the inherent misogyny, transphobia and homophobia of Muslim people. More details on that conversation are provided in the analysis of the data in Chapter Five. The researcher reached out to Salaam over email on two occasions. Although a representative answered one of the emails, no further contact could be made to set-up a focus group or interview. The focus group and interview recruitment also took place during the Muslim holy period of Ramadan, which lends itself to many people focusing on fasting, family and religious matters. 63 The format of the focus group and interviews are inherently limited. Wilkinson (1998) writes about how focus groups can lead to biased data, depending on who is at the table and if there are individuals overpowering the conversations. The researcher attempted to facilitate the conversation around making sure everyone had the opportunity to talk, and calling upon quieter participants to make sure they were heard. Despite the attempts to level some of the power imbalances in the room, there is no way to measure to what degree this was successful, or whether biases are still present in the data. Dynamics of power and taking up space are considerations for the interviews as well, which involves an unequal dynamic between researcher who has the power to interpret data, and willing subjects who hope their thoughts are appropriately interpreted. Bias is inevitable in the collection and analysis of data derived from interviews and focus groups in qualitative research. The size of the focus groups, with the largest group consisting of twelve participants, increases the risk of bias due to the difficulty of facilitating activities while paying attention to the varying responses and dynamics taking place in the group. The online survey has a significant sample size when compared to the focus groups and interviews, but is not statistically significant of LGBTQ2+ people in Toronto, especially when the analysis is done relative to the participant’s specific postal codes. The participants were given multiple options for their identity, and in doing so, it was difficult to reject the null hypothesis across all identity categories. It was also difficult to provide an analysis of those who selected more than one option as multiple multivariate responses do not compare well in the statistical software used. Qualitative data and quantitative data analyses are limited by the inherent biases in the researcher’s interpretation. The Snowball Sampling recruitment method risks providing a limited demographic profile that is self-contained and self-propelling (Biernacki & Waldorf, 1981). The survey responses reflect the limitations of snowball sampling by recruiting largely respondents that fit the same demographic as the researcher (White, female, cisgender, between the ages of 19-26 and making $15,000 a year or less). The snowball sampling that was done largely in partnerships with external organizations has a smaller overall sample, but represents the groups underrepresented in the survey. Conclusion The researcher collected qualitative data primarily through interviews, focus groups and an online survey in order to deepen the limited literature on LGBTQ2+ experiences of public safety in urban planning and design. The online survey and secondary data provide the quantitative basis for triangulation. Hesse-Biber’s (2012) feminist triangulation will frame the analysis done in the following sections through an anti-oppressive lens, which seeks to affirm that people are the experts of their own perceptions and experiences of safety in urbanized spaces. 64 Focus groups and interviews were initially selected as the methods of data collection in order to gather both formalized traditional data from reputable experts serving the LGBTQ2+ community through interviews, as well as asking community members more broadly what safety looks like to them through conversational informal focus groups (Wilkinson 1998). The online survey was identified as a useful means of gathering a larger sample for the thesis to get a full picture of what safety means in public spaces to LGBTQ2+ communities. Using three methods of qualitative data collection allows for a large sample size of people of various backgrounds. The interviews represented members of various LGBTQ2+ religious, cultural, health-based and social communities. The focus groups drew upon lots of participants of colour who identify outside the gender binary and/or as transgender. The online survey has the largest sampling, but also is the youngest and Whitest sample gathered for the thesis. The data collected from these three methods frame safety as being influenced by incidents of, and fear that incidents will occur around verbal, sexual, physical, and institutionalized harassment. The following chapters will explore how these elements form LGBTQ2+ urbanized experiences that impact safety planning. 65 Chapter 5 – Perceptions of Public Safety: Framing Safety, Framing Identity Introduction Safety in the city and LGBTQ2+ experiences are framed as in this chapter in order to better contextualize the triangulation of qualitative and quantitative data around incidents of discrimination and hate crimes experienced by participants, as well as perceived safety as experienced by LGBTQ2+ communities. The first subsection, ‘Feeling Unsafe Defined’, unpacks how safety, violence and the city are experienced by LGBTQ2+ participants. The second subsection, ‘Passing and Visibility’, opens up the dialogue around how LGBTQ2+ individuals experience sexuality, race, gender and class within the density and diversity of cities. The final subsection, ‘Spatiality and Perceptions of Safety’, explores perceptions of participant safety at the neighbourhood scale of city life framed within the City of Toronto. Summary of Chapter 5 Participants frame harassment and violence differently, citing gender presentation, race, religion and other identity markers as determinants of safety. Some participants experience discrimination interpersonally from strangers, and others identify systemic forces like colonialism and institutionalized exclusion as most pertinent. Incidents of harassment as defined by participants as including physical assault, verbal harassment, systemic discrimination, and microaggressions. Participants link visibility and passing to perceived safety. Code switching is a tactic used by participants to mitigate feeling unsafe. Participants identify that harassment can occur anywhere, but also identify unfamiliar neighbourhoods, remote areas and spaces built around intoxication as feeling less safe. 66 Table 1 - Types of Violence Physical Violence The use of one’s body or an object to control another person’s actions Symbolic Violence Power relations that impose meaning while concealing inherent power relations Internalized Violence An oppressed person hold an oppressive view regarding their own group Systemic/Institutionalized Violence Violence inherent in social structures or institutions, which often creates barriers to access Microaggressions Subtle everyday verbal or nonverbal act that communicates hostility and derogatory feelings about someone’s identity Emotional Violence The use of words or actions to make someone feel stupid, or unworthy Verbal Violence Use of spoken or written language to cause harm Sexual Violence Unwilling non-consensual participation in a sexual activity Financial Violence The use of control over someone’s finances to dictate other facets of their life Interpersonal Violence Violence that occurs between people who know each other Spiritual Violence Use of spiritual or religious beliefs to exert control over another person Cultural Violence A person is harmed due to their cultural beliefs or practices Neglect A person who has assumed responsibility for a dependent does not adequately care for their needs Lateral Violence Violence enacted against one’s peers that have relatively the same standing in relation to power dynamics Horizontal Violence Violence enacted between one individual or group against another person or group members of a larger group (College & Association of Registered Nurses of Alberta, n.d.; Government of Newfoundland Labrador Canada, 2015; Korff, 2015; Ragland, 2013; Sue, Capudilupo, Torino, & Bucceri, 2007; J. Watson & Widin, 2015) 67 Figure 11 Participants Experiences of Violence 68 Feeling Unsafe Defined A focused definition of what constitutes unsafe spaces in cities is needed to contextualize the thesis. Interview and focus group participants were asked to define the experiences of their clients and communities of safety and harassment in public spaces. The difficulty of such a definition is furthered by the blurred distinctions between private and public spaces, especially when incidents happen in semi-private spaces like nightclubs, bars or on public transit. Although all participants mention that harassment can happen to clients and other community members everywhere, and that incidents of assault vary from microaggressions, which is a subtle forms of discrimination that occur through seemingly benign stares, comments, laughter and other reactions to someone’s perceived identity to verbal comments to physical attack, the meaning attached to harassment and perceptions of public safety vary between different organizations and communities (Vega, 2014). Access to health services and the mental health of participants are linked to forming safety. All of these forms of harassment have a systemic element that influences their reproduction and impact. Theorists have created several matrixes to describe various forms of violence, including about fifteen definition of violence (see Table 1). The forms of violence most pertinent to participants in this thesis are narrowed down to systemic, interpersonal, lateral and specific acts of violence (see Figure 11). Systemic violence is related to overarching societal and institutional structures. Interpersonal violence occurs between two or more people and often, but not always, reflects systemic oppression. Lateral violence occurs between peers instead of true adversaries within communities where some sort of power dynamic and a leveling force is at play. Acts of violence reflect the nature of the violent incident, including physical and emotional violence, as well as sexualized violence and microaggressions. The following section will discuss these forms of violence as experienced by participants in public and semi-public spaces. All interview participants mention that their clients fear physical acts of violence to a varying degree, even though they may have never experienced it. Focus group participants speak to frequent verbal harassment, and to a lesser extent physical violence, as a source of unequal power dynamics and fear. Participants offered countless stories of getting yelled at, jeered, and aggressively questioned about their gender, sexuality and race. The interviewee from Fred Victor explicitly speaks of systemic transphobia, as well as racism and the ongoing effects and presence of colonialism, as influencing the safety of their clients. Although the frame used by the Fred Victor staff is broad and systemic, they reference specific interpersonal acts of discrimination to illustrate institutionalized transphobia. They say “systemic oppression is really rough. I see a lot of that in [my clients trying to get] employment. People might have an excellent resume and cover letters but when they go in to get a job, it’s a quick glance and then it’s a write off …. If you’re a non-passing trans person [especially]” (Fred Victor, 2015a). During the focus group at Fred Victor, a participant confirms the occurrence of 69 transphobia in the workplace. They say that “lots of employers are not educated. Even though you give them the Human Rights gender identity expression – they’re like, what is this?” (Fred Victor, 2015b). Institutionally, the lasting violence of transphobia and colonialism is enacted upon participants. The trans people who access the THRIVE! program at Fred Victor only have access to two shelters that are trans friendly, even though City of Toronto policy states that a shelter cannot ban someone from accessing their services due to gender presentation (Toronto Community & Neighbourhood Services, 2015). The divide between being actively trans inclusive versus a space that merely has trans inclusive policies without acting on them demarcates the difference between policy and addressing pervasive institutionalized forms of violence. An act of inclusion, albeit generally a positive step forward, cannot dismantle pervasive systemic barriers while existing within the same institutions. Even within the limitation of policy, a shelter can be mandated to accept trans clients, but it does not mean trans people feel safe there or feel actively included. Frish (2002) believes that inclusivity planning must go beyond tolerating queer and trans people through policy, and must instead actively incite and promote LGBTQ2+ participation. Bearing in mind Frish’s (2002) analysis of inclusivity necessitating promotion over tolerance, it is easier to see why only two shelters are recognized as actively trans inclusive. They are all forced into paying lip service to inclusivity, but only two are recognized as promoting inclusivity. Healthcare institutions, such as doctors and treatment centres, are places focus group participants have been pathologized and harassed because of their gender identity. Rainbow Health Ontario and Egale’s OUTreach counselling and drop-in both serve LGBTQ2+ communities in a healthcare capacity because conventional mainstream healthcare fails to adequately treat queer and trans people. The counsellor from Egale speaks to people not accessing mental health services because they fear their identity will be pathologized and stigmatized (Egale, 2015). One survey respondent writes, “My friends and I were physically attacked by a man with a hammer. They (the police) were very helpful but the hospital just saw as another drunk native and didn't provide me any proper health care” (LGBTQ2+ Toronto, 2015). Colonization and racism impact how this participant is received by the hospital as an Indigenous person. Many LGBTQ2+ people, who experience a multiplicity of embodied identities, are neglected by the health care system due to institutionalized discrimination. Participants are deeply impacted by the mental health effects of safer spaces. In the Open Call focus group, one participant speaks to the psychological aspect of feeling safe and unsafe as a queer person navigating public spaces. They say that they “don’t think I look gay, but think people [are] thinking I am … we’re so alone in our head that we scare ourselves into thinking that we can’t survive” (Open Call, 2015). The psychological impacts of homophobia and transphobia are apparent as several participants mention feeling isolated, alone and like they cannot reach out for help. The homophobia ingrained in the health care system, paired with 70 mental health services being overcapacity, makes this participant unwilling and unable to reach out for help. The Rainbow Health Ontario staff speaks to doctors refusing to treat transgender patients because their needs are “outside their scope of practice” (Rainbow Health Ontario, 2015). Many trans people are also asked about their gender identity and genitals by doctors in inappropriate situations. The Rainbow Health Ontario staff says that “a common trans story is ‘I went in because I had the flu, and somehow, I got asked about my genitals’. It sounds preposterous but it happens so often. There is no distinction between medical curiosity and clinically indicated questions. People just feel free to ask trans people about their surgical histories and bodies” (Rainbow Health Ontario, 2015). The participant says that doctors will ask trans people questions because they are curious as medical practitioners, not because the question is relevant to the patient’s needs or medical wellbeing. People feel free to ask trans people personal questions with a sense of curiosity and entitlement, which perpetuates the objectification of trans and gender variant people. The transphobia inherent in rendering a trans body into a medical curiosity reflects systemic institutionalized forms of harassment and violence. The Rainbow Health Ontario staff members points out that misogyny is a significant determinate that effects trans inclusivity in healthcare. They say: So from what we know from trans people who are more binary identified, like transmen, don’t face in general as many difficulties in terms of blending. Transwomen really do [experience difficulties]. That’s because there is a huge discrepancy between services offered for transwomen and transmen. For transwomen, if you want facial hair removal it’s not covered, hugely expensive, and really painful. Some of it is physiology, but a lot of it is misogyny. All women are scrutinized, and transwomen are really scrutinized. The ability to pass has to do with that we don’t scrutinize men as much as we scrutinize women. There are all these things you need to have to be read as a woman in the world, and if even one of them is not there then you’re done. But if you just have facial hair, then people are like, “oh…sure” … [As a transman] even if your voice is really high, and you’re a smaller built, people are [still] like “oh, ok – I’m not going to question your personhood”. (Rainbow Health Ontario, 2015). Transmisogyny describes how transwomen in particular are over scrutinized for so-called inauthenticity and whether or not they adequately pass. Transmisogyny means that transmen often have their identity erased by passing, especially if they are binary identified, whereas transwomen have their actual “personhood” questioned much more often (Rainbow Health Ontario, 2015). House of Constantine and Marvelous Grounds affiliated participants bring up dealing with racist incidents on public transit, which demonstrates the intermingling of systemic racism with interpersonal acts of violence. Several participants from the House of Constantine focus 71 group have stories of being physically and verbally assaulted by people on public transit because they are Black. One participant had a woman tell them and their friends, “why don’t you Black motherfuckers just shut the fuck up or get off the bus” (House of Constantine, 2015). Another participant littered on a bus, and then was followed by an elderly woman who kept poking the participant and tugging at their shirt telling them to pick up their litter. When asked what the Toronto Transit Commission (TTC) can do about this sort of incident, the participant says, “nothing because they’re going to assume I started the fight” (House of Constantine, 2015). Another participant says that a White woman assumed that they would help them with their groceries on the bus without asking them respectfully. The participant says, “Don’t look at me like I’m your servant. Those days have gone” (House of Constantine, 2015). During the Marvelous Grounds affiliated focus group, participants said that they found that TTC staff in particular have no patience for passengers who speak little or poor English. In general, transit systems are a public site of blatant systemic oppression. One participant in the House of Constantine focus group points out that anyone who appears to be poor, disabled, grappling with mental health problems, racialized, or in any other way vulnerable, are treated terribly on the TTC. The participant says: All kinds of people use the TTC, and you see class conflict, and racial conflict, and intergenerational conflict, and conflict around ability and disability happening all the time and it just feels tense and there is nothing to do about it. There’s no way to stop it. If you step up, then suddenly you’re in the mix. I feel like I step up sometimes, and occasionally I do, but it feels like you’re adding fuel to the fire of an already violent situation. All of the participants in all four focus groups had a story of involving act of violence occurring on the TTC. Microaggressions are mentioned by the staff from Rainbow Health Ontario, as well as by the staff from Egale and at least one focus group participant in all four focus groups. The staff from Rainbow Health Ontario mentions that their clients experience stares on the subway, snickering and other behaviour around their gender identity and/or gender nonconformity. The interviewee from Egale said that their clients experience “microaggressions on a daily basis, in terms of verbal slants, the way people look at you, how you are handled in any store in terms of your customer service” (Egale, 2015). One participant says that “harassment has become more sophisticated” (Marvelous Grounds, 2015b). They say that the sophistication comes from the difficulty that comes with defining microaggressions and other more subtle forms of discrimination. They say that they find themselves often in situations where they feel confused because the harasser did not mean to make them feel unsafe. Microaggressions enacted against someone based on their LGBTQ2+ status or other identities are insidious because they are hard to describe and can be readily brushed off, despite their lasting effects on people’s sense of public safety and managing anxieties around passing 72 and visibility (Egale, 2015). Microaggressions also reveal the value of intersectional lenses of analysis which layers the multiplicity of identities and safety. The existence of microaggressions and subtle forms of violence demonstrates that the conceptualization of ‘crime’, ‘assault’ and ‘harassment’ is limiting as it does not often include nuanced incidents of violence (Crowe, 2013; Pain, 2001). The interviewee from Marvelous Grounds speaks to systemic racism and microaggressions impacting their view on what constitute harassment. They recount a viral video that was popular on social media that shows a White woman walking around New York City and getting harassed with verbal comments on the street. They say that although the critiques of patriarchy stemming from the video are legitimate, a lot of people within queer people of colour communities in Toronto commented: ‘fuck that video’. That video was really irritating. It pits Black and Latino men as being aggressive towards this sanctity of White womanhood, and light skinned womanhood. People were very critical of it, like why can’t we incorporate Black men and men of colour into visualizing a city that is safe for everybody and not criminalize them as being the site of harassment. (Marvelous Grounds, 2015a). The person from Marvelous Grounds is very critical of the video’s racist portrayal of safety and harassment, which actively privileges the experiences of White people. Participants of colour speak to encountering racist microaggressions and verbal comments in public spaces. One participant in the House of Constantine says that they get spoken to in Mandarin, Japanese, and Korean regularly by White people because they are Asian. They say that they don’t even speak their mother’s language, Tagalog, and insist instead that their second language is French. The rest of the focus group laughs at this comment, noting the absurdity of people’s behaviour. The participant says that they are resigned to such racist microaggressions because it happens so often. Two Black male participants in the House of Constantine say that because they are Black, people often assume that they sell marijuana or cocaine. One participant says that when this happens they say “no sir, smoking weed is bad for you and someone should arrest you for doing it” (House of Constantine, 2015). A participant had a woman approach them once and got angry because they did not have any weed to sell. The person seemed to think that the participant just did not want to share. The critique of racism in safety planning is pertinent as CPTED strategies often do not acknowledge how people of colour, especially when they are young Black and Brown men, are designed out of spaces due to their so-called abnormal uses of it (Crowe, 2013). Visibility as a queer and/or trans persona deeply affects personal safety and prevalence of microaggressions. In the Fred Victor focus group, participants describe navigating safety in Toronto as a “proceeding sense of doom” (Fred Victor, 2015b). Transphobia is experienced in public spaces across Toronto, both in terms of overt physical violence to emotional triggers 73 around misgendering and other microaggressions. Participants also mention that many are unaware of their rights and do not know where to safely report instances of transphobic hate crimes and/or violence. Ehrenfeucht (2013) recognizes that planning is done with the interests of the most privileged, who are often White and middle class, and often the changes made to a community are detrimental to its most marginal members. CPTED strategies are not immune to the reinforcement of oppression in planning, and in fact often overtly support racial segregation and other forms of racism (Newman, 1973). The interviewee from Marvelous Grounds says that for members of their community, harassment has more to do with being “enraged by White privilege. Being with a group of Black and Brown people and having White people come up to you and say, ‘You’re so interesting looking’. They’re more like microaggressions” (Marvelous Grounds, 2015a). Harassment for the person from Marvelous Grounds is White supremacy, not perpetuating over-policing and surveillance of men of colour. The framing used by the Marvelous Grounds interviewee explicitly names the drivers of systemic oppression as the more significant source of violence and harassment. The police encounters as a site of violence are mentioned by many participants, and will be unpacked in the following chapter. In the Fred Victor focus groups, many participants earn an income from engaging in sex work, and know how to operate the dangers associated with that particular trade in face of systemic shaming and stigmatization of the sex trade. The difference between indoor and outdoor sex work is explained by a participant. The participant says that outdoor work is less safe, you’re less likely to have a driver, and you’re not paid over $100 per trick. Indoor work is safer, less risky, you can work in your own place and know where things are, know your neighbours, have more control, and get someone else to screen your clients. Another participant points out that you are never truly safer while working as a sex worker, and they carry a weapon for protection when working at all time. The assumption that trans people are all sex workers impacts clients who are not sex workers, or who are not soliciting clients, as men will stop their cars and try to pick up the participants for sexual favours. CPTED strategies, even those who position themselves as feminist, actively design against uses for outdoor sex work (Crowe, 2013; Whitzman & Wekerle, 1997). Despite being actively designed against and excluded from discussion of public space usages in planning, the sex workers in the Fred Victor focus group describe a complex negotiation of safety that does not rely on CPTED nor on planning, but instead on community and personal resilience (Pain, 2001). It would be beneficial to begin to take the experiences of sex workers, particularly those who identify under the trans umbrella and/or as people of colour, as they are disproportionally affected by violence in the public sphere and encounter very little support (Hanhardt, 2013; Testa et al., 2012). The interviewee that most explicitly mentions sexualized violence is from Egale. It is notable that interview participants were asked to describe the harassment their clients and 74 communities endure in public spaces, and that they were not prompted to divide or categorize the experiences described in term of verbal, physical or sexual violence. It is also notable that statistically, sexual violence happens most often in the domestic sphere, not the public sphere, and that it is heavily underreported by victims (Campbell, 2005). The divide between private and public space is not a clear chasm, as violence at home can quickly become violence in the street, violence in institutions and violence that affects whole communities. However, participants were prompted to speak to violence, harassment, and safety explicitly in terms of what they would consider public spaces in cities. The conversation around sexual assault and harassment within the context of the blurring of private and public spaces is important and layered, and should be had in future iterations of the analysis of LGBTQ2+ safety and planning outside the scope of this thesis. Some focus group participants do talk about facing sexualized violence outside the domestic sphere. One of the participants in the House of Constantine states that they experience a lack of consent and casual sexual violence that occurs in queer spaces where people drink (e.g. clubs and bars). They say that they often get touched without their permission, and that the only time they feel like using violence to intercept a stranger is when they are being violated sexually. Another participant from the Open Call focus group was raped as a child in a parking lot. The non-binary participant spoke of their experience in a Toronto Bathhouse at the periphery of the Gay Village. They encountered sexualized violence through a person touching them repeatedly without consent. When they reported the person to the bathhouse staff, they were misgendered repeatedly. The assailant began to call them “it” without being rebuked by staff. The staff at the bathhouse eventually banned the non-binary person from the space, despite their innocence and victimization. It is disappointing that in a space that advertises itself as queer friendly and sex positive, the staff bans someone for essentially asserting their need for boundaries, respect and safety. Although bars, clubs and other venues are technically privately owned spaces, they are treated as part of public life in cities and are impacted by perceptions of safety as experienced by participants. Femme presenting participants in the Marvelous Grounds affiliated group and the House of Constantine speak to people touching their breasts and asses without permission, provocation or consent, especially when alcohol is involved at a venue. They say that the unprovoked grabbing is often enacted by gay men, but straight men and women do it as well. Complaints of gay men overstepping their boundaries and not acquiring consent are important to bring into the conversation. It is not only people outside the LGBTQ2+ community that enact violence, but it is also a problem within the community as well. Although much of the conceptualization of safety planning focuses on horizontal violence, which refers to overt violence enacted against a group or individual, lateral violence, which takes place amongst peers, is a significant determinant of LGBTQ2+ safety (College & Association of Registered Nurses of Alberta, n.d.; Korff, 2015). The harassment and lack of consent within in LGBTQ2+ community as a form of lateral violence is exemplified by another House of 75 Constantine member. One participant had nude pictures posted of them online in an advertisement by a photographer in the community without their consent. In the focus group, this person says that they saw the photo for the first time while on Facebook with their father, which was surprising and uncomfortable. They say in the interview that everyone in the gay scene knows this photographer, but nobody has called this person out on their behaviour. Notably the photographer made money off a picture posted without consent. Although feminized bodies of people in the Marvelous Grounds affiliated focus group, and in the literature more broadly, experience a greater amount of harassment, their potential to be the instigators of sexualized assault and harassment should also be considered in a queer context. One participant says that there is not enough conversation around queer women harassing other people, and that when non-consensual incidents occur, it is confusing to negotiate. They say that they know what harassment looks like from a man, but when a queer woman is the perpetrator, there is no adequate language to really talk about those problems. They note that feminized bodies have the privilege of harassing people without getting called out. They say, “I’ve found women to be even more aggressive than men. There’s a loophole where queer women get away with sexually harassing you, or pursuing you relentlessly even after you say no” (Marvelous Grounds, 2015b). They say that they once complained to an event organizer about the aggressive behaviour of a queer woman as a performer in a bar, and they were told to suck it up and continue working. In response, they have begun to put on their own shows where they have the power to kick people out. The London Abused Women’s Centre released a pamphlet in 2002 on lesbian abuse that reads: the existence of violence in lesbian relationships has rarely been openly discussed. The silence around lesbian abuse has been maintained by a variety of factors; homophobia (fear and prejudice about homosexuality), heterosexism (the assumption of heterosexuality leading to the invisibility of lesbian and gay men), an unwillingness to believe that women could hurt other women, and several myths surrounding lesbians and lesbian abuse. (London Abused Women’s Centre, 2002). Queer women, including lesbians, are often excluded from conversations of accountability and interpersonal violence. Much of the work feminists have done around creating safer cities have created a binary representation of men as perpetrators and women as victims (Campbell, 2005). Although female bodied people do experience a great amount of violence in public spaces, they can also be the perpetrators of such behaviour. It is important to recognize that feminized bodies are not exempt from perpetrating assault, harassment and abuse, despite living within systemic misogyny and patriarchy. 76 Masculine presenting participants of colour in the Marvelous Grounds affiliated group speak to the emotional trauma resulting from oppressive laterally violent interactions with other queer people. One participant says: I haven’t experienced more emotional trauma anywhere than I have inside the gay community, particularly in the gay male community, just because of the things that I am. Fatphobia, femmephobia, racism, White supremacy -- it makes it difficult to love yourself as a gay man because I don’t fit all the things I’m supposed to be according to these standards. I actually do crave more masculine folks in my life, but it’s also like hard to know how to negotiate that one. Most gay masculine men that I know are problematic. (Marvelous Grounds, 2015b). Gay communities are a site of injury for many masculine queer people of colour. Another masculine presenting participant of color speaks to this when they mention an encounter in a gay bar in the Toronto Gay Village. They say that they went to a well-known gay bar with a White transman friend of theirs. Their White friend had a great night, and felt their gender was affirmed from the experience. The participant says that their night was awful, and that they “just got stared at, nobody hit on me. It was so obvious that the White men had all the power and these other Brown men were chasing them for attention” (Marvelous Grounds, 2015b). White supremacy negatively affects the participants who want to engage in masculinity but then are confronted with blatant racism and other forms of oppression. All participants from Supporting Our Youth, Fred Victor, Egale Marvelous Grounds, and Rainbow Health Ontario point out that transphobia and transmisogyny are problems in the queer community as well. The counsellor from Egale describes how incidents of harassment happen often in spaces that are designated as safe, and how insidious feeling unsafe around one’s identity is in such spaces. The staff member from Rainbow Health Ontario says that part of transmisogyny is that transwomen often don’t feel included in queer spaces. Intimate relationships and partnerships are almost always shrouded in that. If you don’t feel like you belong in a space then … you may not feel like you have as many choices in intimate partner relationships, makes you feel like you might not have as many choices in who you might take or not, and, you know, what you deserve. (Rainbow Health Ontario, 2015). The exclusion of trans people from some queer spaces is a form of psychological violence. The privileging of normative gender presentation excludes and erases trans people, even in queer contexts. Those who do not pass, do not want to pass, or are exhibiting some form of gender non-conformity more generally are made to feel unsafe in certain queer contexts, and in public spaces more broadly. Those who do pass and exhibit some form of gender normativity experience the erasure of their trans identity, which can exclude them from queer contexts as well. Even a passing trans person experiences the risk of being outed as transgender as well, 77 which can lead to violence and exclusion in institutional spaces, such as hospitals or other healthcare centres, LGBTQ2+ positive spaces, and public spaces (Fred Victor, 2015a; Kulanu, 2015; Rainbow Health Ontario, 2015). The interviewee from Supporting Our Youth sees clients who are impacted by verbal harassment and hate speech both within the queer community and outside of it. In the interview they speak to racist and ablest remarks that are made within LGBTQ2+ communities and actively serve to exclude people. They note that the exclusion of people within the queer community comes from an insidious power dynamic where people will “identify that they have power over somebody else they and [will] try to use it against that person” (Supporting Our Youth, 2015). Power dynamics and oppression intertwine to privilege some members of LGBTQ2+ communities over others. Power and oppression may be clearer in instances of horizontal violence, but remains just as insidious and harmful in the context of lateral violence. A participant from the Marvelous Grounds affiliated focus group says that they often grapple with defining harassment that comes from their own communities. They say that: as people of colour, you sometimes encounter that sort of harassment from someone in your community, and then you don’t know what to do. Ah here is a Black man treating me in a way that I don’t really feel comfortable, but I also know that if I call the police, he is going to be in trouble. I don’t want him to go down that path just for telling me something that I was uncomfortable with, so what do I do? (Marvelous Grounds, 2015b). It is confusing for participants in this focus group to grapple with systemic racism in the institutions, like the police, that are supposed to offer support for victims of assault and harassment. Another participant addresses the conundrum of being harassed within the community by saying that they do not consider a man of colour asking them to smile harassment, but that incidents involving a power imbalance that reinforces White supremacy and patriarchy are, however, harassment. The anxieties around needing support and accountability in instances of violence and assault without propping up state sanctioned violence are expressed by the people in the Marvelous Grounds affiliated group, which reflects much of the work being done by anti-violence groups that prioritize queer and trans people of colour (Bassichis, 2011; Hanhardt, 2013). A participant in the Marvelous Grounds affiliated group says they do not agree with the analysis made by the other participant that reserves the definition of harassment to incidents that reinforce White supremacy. They say that Black men often tell them to smile, which to them “felt like patriarchy” (Marvelous Grounds, 2015b). Although they recognize that the power dynamic is different when harassment is happening internally to communities of colour, they say that harassment from men of colour still feel “totally uncomfortable and fucked up my day and wears on me to have that sort of shit happen” (Marvelous Grounds, 2015b). The room nodded along and affirmed the feelings expressed by this participant, acknowledging the legitimacy of 78 their feelings. The interplay of layered identities in this instance, where a queer person of colour is interacting with a Black man who makes them feel uncomfortable denotes the necessity of intersectional analyses. Intersectional analysis allows for the conversation to be framed around harassment being drawn from the participant’s femininity and Blackness as factors contributing to an aggressor’s entitlement to their body. Intersectionality also looks at why the perpetrator of harassment is almost always cast as a man of colour, while the sanctity of Whiteness is upheld. Instead of writing off facets of identity and community that may not directly impact them, the Marvellous Grounds affiliated group offers a fare about of nuance and layering to the way they see race, gender and public safety. Participants generally did not offer a complex analysis around addiction and public safety. Several participants say that they feel unsafe around the homeless, street involved people and active drug users, all of which are visibly marked through assumptions around appearances and class. One participant who writes that race is a factor in their perception of safety also says they are “afraid of crack/drug addicts” (LGBTQ2+ Toronto, 2015). Again, the complications of vulnerability are unraveled. Power exists at the hand of the police who are known to reproduce racist and homophobic control on certain communities (CBC News, 2015; Cole, 2015; Hanhardt, 2013; The Right to Privacy Committee, 1981). Yet, this participant reproduces the fear of vulnerable people by stating that they fear addicts. One respondent critically analyses their feelings of unsafety around vulnerable people. They write: I've been accosted on the sidewalk before and still get nervous. That person seemed to be mentally ill. In my experience, most mentally ill street involved folks keep to themselves and are non-threatening. But I still get nervous. Mentally ill folks need more support. Sometimes I see cops picking them up and that doesn't make me less nervous. Quite the opposite. The participant is able to parse the distinction between perceived fear of mentally ill people, their experience of being more often than not left alone by mentally ill street involved people, and the need to address mental health at an institutional level. Critics of CPTED have argued that safety planning is ineffective in addressing actual violence because it advocates for the continued over-policing and stigmatization of people of colour, mentally ill people and other marginalized groups who are in fact more often victimized (Ehrenfeucht, 2013; Koskela & Pain, 2000; Pain, 2001). Some survey participants also say they feel uncomfortable and unsafe because of the assumptions people make about their socio-economic status. They feel as though they are being judged for being read as low income. Giving voice to how people perceived as dangerous in public spaces themselves feel unsafe challenges safety planning’s focus on ‘normal’ users of spaces, which further marginalizes many groups and communities (Crowe, 2013). 79 The complications of oppressed groups enacting oppression against each other are explored when one participant says that they have experienced transphobic violence on the street in the Fred Victor focus group. They say that they were attacked by a “group of Muslims” (Fred Victor, 2015b). Muslim people, specifically immigrants from Somalia, are mentioned by focus group participants as “being the most transphobic and misogynistic” (Fred Victor, 2015b). Another participant takes a taxi to work as they don’t feel safe in their area because there are “lots of Muslims” (Fred Victor, 2015b). These Islamophobic comments intersect with the violence enacted against queer and trans people. The situations described by participants involve perpetrators who they read as being cisgender racialized Muslim men, who attack them as queer and trans people of various racial backgrounds due to their gender and/or sexual identity. The situation assumes the gender, sexuality, religion and motivation of the perpetrators, as well as the intent of the attack. The complexity of oppressed groups enacting violence against each other is layered and multiple (Collins, 1993). One of the participants in the Open Call Focus group says that it is not uncommon for people from marginalized communities to behave oppressively towards each other. They say: gay, straight, Black, White, mixed race, bisexual, etc … we live in the same world as everyone else and it’s not uncommon for us to internalize the same oppressive norms as everyone else, and then take it out on ourselves. (Open Call, 2015). The Open Call participant is speaking specifically to the rampant discrimination against trans people both in the queer community and outside of the community. The analysis of lateral violence and intermingled systemic oppression holds true in a context where participant accuse Muslim people of being the most homophobic and transphobic as this claim strikingly erases the experiences and very existence of queer and trans Muslim people. This is particularly notable in the wake of the death of Sumaya Dalmar, a Somali transwoman who was active in Toronto’s queer Muslim and Somali community (Mohyeddin, 2015). Intersectionality is helpful in framing queer people being Islamophobic as a form of lateral violence as it arguably hurts queer Muslims the most intimately. Safety is defined by participants in a multitude of ways, and along the lines of daily acts of violence, such as comments and attack, as well as a strong emphasis on institutionalized violence in spaces that are often semi-public, such as hospitals and workplaces. Participants frame harassment and violence slightly differently, but all include physical assault, verbal harassment, systemic discrimination and microaggressions as incidents considered harassment. Lateral violence within communities complicates the power dynamics of harassment and violence. The specific relationship participants have with certain geographies is analyzed in the following chapters, which will help envision what a city planned for LGBTQ2+ people can look like. 80 Passing and Visibility Introduction Safety is negotiated by focus group participants and the clients served by the interviewees through actively processing their experiences of visibility, passing and identity. All participants mention some elements of gender, race and class that impact their sense of safety. Specifically, Black and Indigenous participants speak to how their racial identities are inseparable from their experiences as LGBTQ2+. Feminized participants mention how their victimization and perception of fear is tied in with their appearance and stereotypes around their supposed weakness and interactions with masculinized embodiments who feel entitled to access their bodies. The experiences of femme participants is consistent with the feminist concerns around safety planning, although the affiliation of participants with the LGBTQ2+ community demonstrates how traditional feminist polarizations of men as perpetrators and women as victimized is not culturally appropriate when planning for queer and trans people. The participants speak to how these elements of identity formation intersect in a multitude of ways. Intersectional identities are inseparable from participant perception of safety in public space. The following section will first make participant experiences of ‘Gender and Sexuality’ legible, the interact with ‘Intersecting Racialization and White Supremacy’. Gender and Sexuality Participants in all focus groups who either present as femme, identify as femme or women, and/or are feminized say that they experience a pervasive and constant sense of scrutiny and misrecognition in public spaces. The femme presenting people say that they experience catcalling, getting approached and touched in public. They also speak to being verbally assaulted because of their gender and race. The experience of femme participants is affirmed in the interviews and online survey. In the survey, one participant writes “I often feel, because I am femme presenting, that people in my neighbourhood don't read me as queer”. Several more link feminized appearances to being rendered invisible as LGBTQ2+. However, when asked about their experiences of safety, participants who identify as femme presenting say that they experience greater feelings of unease and fear of violent attack compared to those who did not identify as femme. One participant in the survey writes “[I] don't feel uncomfortable being visibly queer, but sometimes made to feel unsafe/ experience scrutiny and harassment re gender/femme gender presentation” (LGBTQ2+ Toronto, 2015). Invisibility as LGBTQ2+ does not preclude femme women from experiencing the same harassment all women face. One participant in the Open Call focus group who self-identifies as a ‘lipstick lesbian,’ which to this participant means that they identify as conventionally feminine and as a lesbian, 81 says that visibility is experienced differently for them based on how they look. The participant says that they “don’t experience what they go through [gesturing towards their male presenting friends], because they [strangers in public spaces] think I’m straight” (Open Call, 2015). The self-identified lipstick lesbian states that they experience feeling unsafe due to their identity as a woman, especially when being hit on aggressively by men. Another femme presenting female identified participant in the House of Constantine says that they are met with a lot of aggression when others assume that they are straight because they are married to a man and then are told otherwise. They say they are “married to someone I love, I’m not married to his dick” (House of Constantine, 2015). The participant coins the phrase “Hearts not parts” to describe the valorization of affective identity over biological sex, which was met with laughter from the rest of the group (House of Constantine, 2015). Although the topics of safety, assertiveness and visibility are serious and layered, the family dynamic in this focus group leads to a lot of laughter and jokes in this focus group. Participants who present as femme women often are not read as belonging to the LGBTQ2+ community. One participant in the House of Constantine focus group says that they feel like they are afforded a lot of safety because they present femme, and that once they disclose their queer identity, they then feel exposed and unsafe in the face of being asking ignorant questions. They say that they “don’t owe anyone an answer for anything. Questions make me feel not so safe” (House of Constantine, 2015). Harassment and involuntary feminization is not just a problem experienced by self-identified LGBTQ2+ women. A femme gay male participant in the Open Call focus groups says that because they look less masculine they often get harassed in either “a sexual way or homophobic way” (Open Call, 2015). Although the participant is a cisgender man, their feminization and vulnerability is clearly stated, which interrupts the narrative of vulnerability being tied exclusively to female identified individuals in feminist safety planning narratives (Koskela & Pain, 2000). The experience of the non-binary Open Call focus group participant also reveals that they experience persistent sexual harassment. The non-binary participant says that cisgender men hit on them because they think they are a woman. Once they realize that the participant is not a woman, the cisgender men “feel like they’re tricked and get violent quickly” (Open Call, 2015). Gendered violence is tied to feminization, but is not exclusively tied to womanhood. The experience of the non-binary participant in the Open Call focus group layers the conversation around feminized and masculinized violence and harassment. The participant who identifies as non-binary says that they don’t experience safety ever. They mention that using the bathroom in public often leads to stressful and unsafe situations. They decide to use the men’s room in public, because the women’s washroom triggers gender dysphoria for them, but will always be told in the bathroom something along the lines of “yo miss, you’re in the wrong bathroom” (Open Call, 2015). When discussing gender in terms of polarizing ideas of 82 masculinity and femininity, non-binary people are erased. The non-binary participant says that feeling unsafe often leaves them spending most of their time depressed and alone. The people interviewed from Fred Victor, Egale and Supporting Our Youth all explicitly say that gender non-conforming clients and non-passing trans clients experience greater instances of discomfort, harassment, assault and other violence due to their gender presentation. The person from Supporting Our Youth noted how their clients do dress comfortably as themselves in public, but they still run the risk of ending up in harm’s way. The person interviewed from Rainbow Health Ontario explains how passing impacts safety due to societal expectations around gender. They say: when people see you on the streets, or other public spaces, and can’t easily identify your gender, then you’re going to experience a lot of shit. You’re going to experience a lot of discrimination. And if people see you and you’re not “performing” or “enacting”, being your gender in a way that’s legible to them, then you’re going to experience discrimination. For some people, their gender is not legible because they don’t want it to be. That’s who they are, right. And for others, it’s not legible because there are barriers around that. (Rainbow Health Ontario, 2015). The Rainbow Health Ontario staff member points out that people whose gender is not readily categorized on normative terms experience a great deal of discrimination in public spaces. The systemic constructions of gender normativity also create a number of barriers to accessing services, employment, housing, education, and other institutions, as well as sexual reassignment procedures. Clients at Fred Victor take on a number of strategies to pass in a transphobic world. One client at Fred Victor dresses in what they describe as “boy’s clothes”, despite not identifying as a boy, unless they are going to a friend’s house or a specific event, because they cannot deal with the harassment of what is described as “day to day life. Taking the subway or going to an appointment, they got to the point where they felt so unsafe that they cut off their hair” (Fred Victor, 2015a). Dressing to conform to normative gender presentation is one way clients embody agency in avoiding violent attack. The agency to have a normative gender presentation is however not without the psychological effects associated with living inauthentically to one’s gender identity. The client who cuts off their hair and changes what they wear also participates in what Koskela and Pain (1999) recognize as women’s empowerment through a negotiation of danger. Although Koskela and Pain (1999) do not speak from an overtly trans inclusive lens of womanhood, their analysis of self-identified women negotiating danger as being more effective than crime prevention policies and design is on point in this context. A male participant in the Open Call focus groups says they had been gay bashed in the past for presenting more ‘femme’, and now decides to present more ‘butch’. They say that since the attack, they have “become really cynical and I always have my guard up” (Open Call, 2015). 83 The femme gay male participant says that although they have their guard up, they also feel as though the more homophobia they experience, the more visible they want to be. They also recognize that visibility comes with a cost to safety. They say, “the more you’re out there, the more people feel like they can go there” (Open Call, 2015). Similarly a masculine presenting participant in the focus group recruited through Marvelous Grounds says that: “I feel myself not wanting to dress in femme things anymore. I don’t know if that’s because I just feel more comfortable being ‘masc’ because the world hates femininity so much, or if generally, I just feel more comfortable being masculine presenting now” (Marvelous Grounds, 2015b). Passing privilege as masculine in a misogynistic world polices what focus group participants wear in public spaces. The negotiation of embodying self-actualized gender identity and policing gender for safety complicates the way participants are legible to themselves. The counsellor interviewed from Egale states that safety is always a concern for clients. The clients who visit the OUTreach experience safety as a pervasive concern, especially those who are as the interviewee says “visibly marginalized, visibly queer, visibly trans, and obviously intersecting people of colour as well” (Egale, 2015). The counsellor from Egale notes that none of their clients are immune to violence, whether “it be overt physical violence in the street or in the home, to psychological or emotional violence as well, which is more subtle, and there is more stigma around it in terms of the effects of that type of trauma” (Egale, 2015). Fear of violence and trauma around passing and gender variance is ripe for causing mental health problems. Intersecting Racialization and White Supremacy The conversation during the Marvelous Grounds affiliated focus group revolves around the intersections of race, sexuality and gender, definitely at least in part because the group consisted entirely of queer and non-binary people of colour. Constructs of masculinity and femininity are fraught when intersecting with White supremacy and White entitlement. One participant says that as a feminine Black woman who is read as straight, they are always read as available and White cisgender men in particular feel like they should be able to access their body. The way their body is marked as a feminine Black woman means that they are “never not thinking about safety as soon as I leave the house” (Marvelous Grounds, 2015b). Feminized people attending the focus group talk about their experiences of unsafety being linked to geographies of feminized queer visibility and passing. One masculine Black gay male participant says that they feel a lot safer now that they identify as queer than when they were hiding it, which speaks to a very different experience, compared to the feminized participants. They say that before they were out, they hung out with straight boys who wanted to roam streets. They say that their friends wanted to go out and be around people playing basketball and fighting each other. They feel like this behaviour is boring 84 and unsafe, and would prefer to stay home with their friends. Now that this person is out, they feel more comfortable living authentically and doing what they want to do. A participant says that they feel as those their presentation as a Black woman makes people disregard their need for safety. They say that there is a myth of the strong woman of colour who is unbreakable and strong. They say that this means that people will not suspect that something has happened to them or that they need support when harassment is occurring. Another participant speaks to the dehumanization of women of colour when they say that the myth of the strong woman of colour comes from the fact that they get harassed a lot, and that they have learned coping skills to appear strong when they may, in fact, feel weak. They say, “we’ve become that way because we’ve experience a lot of harassment, and I have to put on that persona” (Marvelous Grounds, 2015b). Interestingly, the persona put on by the self-identified women of colour in the group to feel safe in the face of rampant harassment means that they feel less likely to receive support around safety. Participants can choose to a certain extent what façade they put forth when navigating public spaces, but cannot choose to live outside of a racist sexist society that puts women of colour at risk. Women of colour live in an imaginary that is laden with dehumanizing symbolic violence. The intersections of transmisogyny and racism are unpacked in the participation of a transwoman of colour in the group recruited through Marvelous Grounds. They talk about how daily life is full of unsafe encounters on the street due to their identities. The participant talks about being in Nathan Philips Square, a public space in downtown Toronto, and having to deal with people asking inappropriate questions. The participant says that they were aware that they would have to answer people’s questions about them due to their non-normative gender presentation. The participant does say that grown adults will ask childish questions however. They say, “they come up and ask ‘are you a boy or a girl’, and fine you’re five, you can ask that question. But if you’re thirty something years old, then no, this isn’t a question of being cis or trans, this is a question of being a grown-up” (Marvelous Grounds, 2015b). The room erupted in laughter as the participant compared adults who ask naïve and offensive questions about gender presentation to children. After the laughter died down, another participant talked about feeling conflicted trying to promote education around queer and trans issues from an anti-racist perspective, while also not always being in the mood to engage in such conversations. They say, “sometimes I’m ok answering questions, but I feel like, you know nobody was sitting with me and being like, ‘let’s talk about these things’ as a little Black girl in White suburbia, and I was like, ‘I guess I have to figure these things out on my own’” (Marvelous Grounds, 2015b). The room erupted in affirmations of this statement. A person responded in the interview by saying that the participants “don’t owe people that” (Marvelous Grounds, 2015b). There is an understanding that education creates safer spaces for people through engaging with members of the community on issues of transphobia, homophobia, classism, racism, ableism and other forces of systemic oppression. However, self-care is needed for the marginalized people doing the work of making 85 such education happen. The participants speak to how they do not owe privileged people an education on their identity, and that the onus should be on them to learn. The transwoman of colour from the Marvelous Grounds affiliated focus group describes their experience as masculine presenting, before starting to transition, as being perpetually perceived as a threat. They say that “before I was perceived as a threat, because I have a beard, because I am masculine, because I’m a person of colour, because the male person of colour is perceived as dangerous, even if they are not” (Marvelous Grounds, 2015b). They say that now that they present more feminine, people try to attack them. The contrast in their experience reveals the polarizing experiences of masculinized and feminized people in a far more complicated, non-binary racialized trans context. The biologically related participants in the House of Constantine have a committed stance of not feeling unsafe in Toronto. A masculine participant says that they even tell their family off for being homophobic. They say that their aunt will ask them how the girlfriend is going, to which they respond, “bitch, I have a man” (House of Constantine, 2015). Both of the biologically related participants, one Black woman and one Black man, could care less about the comments and actions of others, and feel able to assert themselves if needed. The male participant recounts walking through their neighbourhood half-naked, dressed in a Caribbean headpiece and underwear, without any fear of assault motivated by racism or homophobia. They say that if anyone messes with them, they will regret it. The female participant says that they also feel safe everywhere and can assert themselves if necessary. They say while gesturing emphatically that, “if you touch me, it’s on and popping” (House of Constantine, 2015). On again agency is enacted by participants through a negotiation of identity. Although both family members were speaking to their genuine experiences, it is notable that the rest of the focus group participants laughed at their responses. Humor is used in the focus group to affirm what the other participants feel, as well as lighten the mood of the session. The experiences of these participants are important to bring some nuance and agency of marginalized individuals to the experiences of anti-Black racism and agency in planning for safer cities. The masculine presenting cisgender focus group participants, especially those who identify as men, generally express feeling that they can handle harassment and assault themselves. The same participant who began to dress more butch after they were gay bashed for being femme in the Open Call focus group asserts that they are able to deal with any incidents of assault now. Another male cisgender participant says that “if you call me a fag I’ll punch you in the face” (Open Call, 2015). The only female-identified participant who asserts that they can handle themselves in cases of violence, and do not feel afraid in public, is the cisgender Black woman from House of Constantine with a biologically related family member in the group. All other participants who express feeling safe in public at all time are cisgender men. Interestingly, the masculine presenting participant says that their physical safety is not “threatened because I’m queer, but because I’m racialized. In my experience being racialized is 86 way more difficult than being queer” (Marvelous Grounds, 2015b). Although gender presentation is a factor in both experiences, racialization and gender intersect on different levels of power and privilege when comparing the stories of feminized racialized participants to masculine presenting racialized participants, particularly when looking at the experiences of the transwoman in the focus group as being conceptualized as a masculinized threat compared to a target as feminized. Many participants in the Fred Victor focus group speak of colonialism and racism impacting their perceptions of safety moreso than their gender or sexual identities. One participant in particular abstains from answering the question asking how their LGBTQ2+ identity impacts their sense of safety as they feel like their Indigenous identity and the racism they experience to be the greatest determinant of their sense of safety. Indigenous participants also mention the inherent misogyny in the Indian Act, which they describe as being rooted in undervaluing women based on colonial systems, as a systemic determinant of their sense of agency and safety. Unequal status among Indigenous people in Canada, as well as a need to relearn the ways prior to colonization are emphasized by participants. Participants of colour from the focus group recruited through Marvelous Grounds say that in a way, they enjoy the racist projection onto men of colour as being assumed to be the most threatening people in public spaces, because it helps them feel more secure. Other masculine presenting participants agree with the statement, noting that they have people crossing the street to avoid them out of fear because they are masculinized Black people. Although the reason this happens to participants is due to racism and racialization, they laugh about it amongst themselves in the context of the focus group. Laugher is an affective tool of resiliency in light of marginalization. Although many participants find refuge in the LGBTQ2+ community, it is also a site of racism and other forms of oppression for many participants. Survey respondents selected most that they feel safer in areas with a reputation for LGBTQ2+ inclusivity sometimes (34.7%), followed by yes (24.0%), and no (7.2%). About 34.1% of participants did not respond to the question. Survey respondents are fairly divided on whether or not they have encountered discrimination or feeling unsafe in a space that advertises itself as being LGBTQ2+ inclusive. Only 31.1% selected that they have encountered discrimination, harassment, or feeling unsafe in LGBTQ2+ positive spaces, while 32.3% selected that they have not and 36.5% did not respond. Participants point out in the qualitative data collected that neighbourhoods, venues, organization and simply being amongst a group of queer and trans people increases their visibility as a member of the LGBTQ2+ community greatly. Participants differed in opinion on whether they feel as though they have safety in numbers, or if more people and increase visibility make them a target. One participant in the Marvelous Grounds affiliated focus group who passes as straight says that being in a group can increase the sense of safety, but one’s behaviour when 87 surrounded by other queer people can increase visibility. The following section will delve more into the specific geographies of queer inclusivity. Conclusion Visibility and passing are important tenets to LGBTQ2+ experiences of safety in cities. Men of colour report feeling as though they were unfairly cast as an aggressor, due to racist projections regarding the assumed inherent violence of men of colour, whereas women of colour talk about people seeing them as unwanting or undeserving of their help when they are being harassed in public. Visibly feminized participants generally experience more harassment than their masculinized counterparts. The polarity between feminized and masculinized bodies is complicated by the experiences of trans and non-binary participants, who also experience a great amount of misrecognition and oppression in public spaces. The literature on feminist safety in planning addresses the misogyny experienced by implicitly cisgender women. The feminist analysis of gendered safety lacks the knowledge drawn from trans experiences of safety, which is a demographic that experiences a disproportionally high amount of harassment and violence in public spaces (Doan, 2007; Gay, Lesbian & Straight Education Network, 2013; Testa et al., 2012). Bringing in the experiences of gender variant people further disrupts the gaps in feminist literature on safety planning. Gender variance disrupts the polarizing analysis of women/men experience safety in specific ways. This disruption has the potential of creating a new understanding of gendered safety along the lines of a fluctuating and impermanent continuum of gender identity and presentation. The intersections of gender presentation, sexuality and race further disrupt the narratives of perceived safe/unsafe embodiments in the urban form. Spatiality and Perceptions of Public Safety Neighbourhood reputation and configuration are sites of perceived safety and unsafety. Identity and embodied within societal norms, as well as specifically CPTED’s conception of ‘abnormal’ versus ‘normal’ uses of spaces, significantly factor into creating perceived safety in neighbourhoods. Familiarity with a space is essential perceptions of safety as well. Certain spaces created and inhabited by marginalized communities are a fraught site of safe versus unsafe perceived uses. Participants use code switching to fit their embodiments within the contexts they face to create safer spaces for themselves. Participants have various opinions on what neighbourhoods in the city are deemed safe and which are to be avoided. Participants are asked to define their relationship with their neighbours, the sense of community in their neighbourhood, how safe they feel in their neighbourhood, and how safe they feel in specific spaces around their neighbourhood. Survey participants generally do not know many of their neighbours, with only 1.3% knowing all of 88 their neighbours, 59.3% knowing a few of them, 26.0% knowing none of them, and the rest selecting that know either a few of them, or about half. Participants select that the sense of community in their neighbourhood is not at all strong (30.9%), followed by slightly strong (26.8%), moderately strong (24.8%), very strong (14.1%) and extremely strong (0.7%). Despite lacking strong community connections geographically centered in their neighbourhoods, participants report feeling safe overall in their neighbourhoods. About 12.0% of participants select that they feel extremely safe in their neighbourhood, 35.3% selected that they feel very safe, 30.5% moderately safe, 7.8% slightly safe and 1.8% selected that that don’t feel safe at all. All of the respondents who selected feeling not safe at all identify under the trans umbrella. No cisgender respondents selected that they feel not at all safe in their neighbourhood. These statistics reflect the overrepresentation of trans people as victims of violent crimes in urban settings, which influences the actual and perceived safety of transgender individuals (P. Doan, 2007; RHVP, 2012; Testa et al., 2012). Specifically on LGBTQ2+ identity as a determinant of perceived safety, participants are asked in the online survey if they feel safe being a visible member of the LGBTQ2+ community in their neighbourhood. The majority selected ‘Yes, I have no problem being visibly LGBTQ2+ in my neighbourhood’ (41.3%), followed by ‘It depends’ (22.2%), ‘No, I don’t feel comfortable’ (8.4%), and finally ‘Yes, but only if I’m not alone’ (6.6%). Interestingly, most interviewee and focus group participants speak to a general unease around being read as LGBTQ2+ throughout the city’s various neighbourhoods. The qualitative data collected in the focus groups and interviews, and to a lesser extent the comment box of the survey, will triangulate the hidden knowledge and experiences of those who only feel safe being visible, some of the time, or not at all. The respondents who report feeling the most unsafe in their neighbourhood in the survey cite their gender, race, class and mental illness as factors contributing to their experiences of perceived unsafety. One participant explicitly writes that gender influences safety in the area around their residence as it is “occupied by groups of roaming young men who are not respectful to women and if they knew i was trans would be much worse” (LGBTQ2+ Toronto, 2015). In this statement, trans identity and identifying as a woman intersect to create a layered experience of safety and comfort. Religious identity is a factor influencing perceived safety as well. The representatives from Kulanu experience safety and LGBTQ2+ experiences as being inseparable from Jewish identity. Although there was a sense that everywhere was relatively safe for members of their community to inhabit as a visible member of the Jewish and LGBTQ2+ community, they noted that the private sphere around more conservative homes and religious institutions feel unsafe for some LGBTQ2+ Jewish people. About 62.5% of survey respondents who identify with a spiritual or religious community confirm that they do not have a problem being visibly LGBTQ2+ and a member of a religious community in their neighbourhood. However, the private 89 realm as a site of urbanized lack of safety is not explored explicitly in the quantitative data in this thesis. Many participants are afraid of intoxicated people in a way that challenges pervasive intoxication culture but also adds to the stigmatization of users and addicts. Although many write that explicitly male presenting homeless addicts are those who scare them the most, many explicitly state that men as a whole frighten them, especially when they appear intoxicated in public spaces. The fear of drunk men is strongly linked with gender identity and presentation. One participant writes that they dislike the “bars in the area where the clients are mostly older straight men...kind of feels like their own private club.” Another participant writes “there are rough-looking guys in the neighbourhood, either having come out of a sports bar, or wandering the streets. While I have not been the target of harassment by these individuals, I have often felt their gaze, which I attribute to some part of my outfit or mannerisms”. Another participant writes, “I would avoid going to a bar/pub in Scarborough. Mostly lower/working class White (cis straight) older men being excited about sport”. The privilege of territoriality in public spaces, especially spaces centered on drinking, belongs to, likely older White cisgender, men (Campbell, 2005). Those whose gender presentation does not align with normative maleness are not the bodies marked with the privilege of existing in those spaces without the discomfort of not belonging. Intoxication culture plays a profound role in identifying safe spaces. A participant who self-identifies as an able-bodied White man with still feels uncomfortable around drunk straight men. They say that the Richmond Street club area, as well as the street parties that occur during the annual ‘Nuit Blanche’ art festival, are very uncomfortable. The participant says that they do not “feel threatened by street people … mostly it is strangers who are intoxicated who make me feel unsafe” (House of Constantine, 2015). Interestingly this participant identifies that the power dynamic between them and a vulnerable street person does not give them cause for fear, whereas a drunk White man has significantly more power and is therefore more threatening. Similar to the Pride festival, Nuit Blanche is a festival that would be promoted by the “Safer City Guidelines” , without citing the limitations or dangers around such events (Whitzman & Wekerle, 1997). Fear around intoxication and drug abuse layers belonging in public spaces. The Gay Church and Wellesley Village are uncomfortable for some participants because of the casual drug and alcohol abuse happening there at all times of the day, especially around the Pride Festival. Participants talk about the number of needles found after Pride this past year around the Village, as well as the unpredictable behaviour of intoxicated people partying. The City of Toronto’s “Safer City Guidelines” do not address the dark side of street festivals and vibrancy, and instead speak to a glowing support for all activities promoting vibrancy on the street without critique. Street festivals are a great way to promote vibrancy in an urban setting, but by not effectively critiquing its possible downsides, Whitzman & Wekerle (1997) are not able to 90 provide strategies on such dangers can be mitigated through effective and anti-oppression policing, programs and outreach. Other participants talk about feeling uneasy in areas that are built around intoxication culture. Participants point out that areas on College St. and in the Annex feel unsafe because they often have encounters with drunken cisgender White men there. One participant works as a performer in bars and clubs, and has found that people assume that they are sexually available due to their profession. Despite the construction of White cisgender male entitlement and privilege, they find that queer women in particular get away with sexual harassment in their profession. Heterosexism and the lack of discourse around women enacting violence are cited as the reason for the invisibilizing of women as perpetrators (London Abused Women’s Centre, 2002). Bar and club intoxication culture heightens the harassment experienced by participants, and the performer has to negotiate a particular realm of power, privilege and gender. Some participants brought up particular areas that feel more unsafe than others due to identity-based concepts of safety. A couple of participants say that they feel less safe in suburbs around Toronto, because they feel like less queer tolerant areas. One participant says that in Etobicoke, they “feel like I’m being discriminated [against] all the time” (Open Call, 2015). Participants also bring up incidents of harassment and assault that occurred throughout Toronto. A transwoman of colour says that they were assaulted in a pub in the Junction a few years before. They asked the pub for the footage of the incident to give to the police, but the pub owner had deleted it. Another participant who lives in the Lansdowne and Dupont area says that they cannot walk their dog too late at night, or else they’re running the risk of getting gay bashed. The same participant was picked up and carried in an elevator by a drunk man when they got home late. They had to fight the man off to escape the encounter. They say that the man “thinks because I look a certain way, he has the right to manhandle me. But no, [I’m] still a person!” (Open Call, 2015). Geographies of safety for queer, trans and genderqueer people in Toronto are varied and personally tied to identity and visibility. Participants cite various other locations as feeling unsafe. One participant writes that they feel “less safe on public streets i.e Queen [St.], based on looks, comments and body language of strangers”. Another participant writes that high schools feel uncomfortable because of homophobia among students. Another participant writes, “Everywhere feels unsafe at night if you're queer, but night clubs, public transit, and parks are especially uncomfortable at all times of the day, especially at night. People get angry if they find out you're queer sometimes”. Finding out someone is a part of the LGBTQ2+ community, or reading someone as a having a non-normative gender presentation, leads to fear of violence and the enactment of violence (Doan, 2007; Testa et al., 2012). It is notable that although CPTED includes an analysis of fearing social undesirables, it does not offer an analysis around how it reinforces a binary of normal/abnormal uses and embodiments that further reproduces transphobia and other forms of oppression (Crowe, 2013). Feminist implementations and critiques of CPTED involve bringing patriarchy into discussions of safety, but often ignore the experiences and intersections of people of colour, 91 LGBTQ2+ communities and people living in poverty (Pain, 2001; Sweet & Ortiz Escalante, 2010). Participants speak to areas outside of Toronto feeling less safe as well. One participant says that they feel less safe in more rural and remote areas, where they say that discrimination is “more explicit. Not to set-up a dichotomy that things are great here. I’ve definitely been harassed here too, but I would say that the kinds of harassment I’ve experienced outside of Toronto are very different. It’s way more explicit and in your face” (Marvelous Grounds, 2015b). Isolation is brought up by participants as a source of unease, especially in rural areas where there is less queer and racialized visibility in communities. In the brainstorming session, participants in the House of Constantine group and the Marvelous Grounds group reflect upon wanting to inhabit areas where there are stores opened at all hours, people on the streets at all hours and a lack of isolation. The principles espoused by the participants reflect Jacobs’ (1961) “eyes on the streets” which advocates for multiple uses throughout the day in the name of safer cities. Familiarity is a crucial factor in defining safe spaces across private and public spheres. Private space is somewhat addressed in the questions asking participants what design elements affect their perception of safety. Although feminist scholars have noted that CPTED strategies are insufficient because more violence occurs in the domestic sphere and perpetrators are often someone the victim knows, survey responses demonstrate that the perception of fear still resides outside the home. The blurry distinction between the private and public are exposed in the messiness of perceived safety and rates of violent attacks. Participants say that they feel extremely safe in the shared areas around their residences (25.7%), followed by very safe (32.3%), moderately safe (24.6%), and slightly safe (4.8%). None of the respondents picked not feeling safe at all around the residents. Participants identifying under the trans umbrella chose feeling extremely safe and very safe less proportionally compared to those who selected cisgender, but the overall trend indicates that generally people feel safe around the home. It is notable that the factors that make people feel unsafe domestically often has little to do with the built environment, and that domestic private spaces are often most familiar to people using them. Participants speak to the power of familiarity, saying that they know when a neighbourhood is safe. A participant who identifies as femme presenting says that they “live in Parkdale and I feel safe there because I know the sketchiness out there … If I’m out anywhere else in the city, like Yorkville or the Annex, it’s a free for all for people” (House of Constantine, 2015). Interestingly, Parkdale has the reputation as a refuge for addicts and the mentally ill, whereas the Annex and Yorkville are more affluent areas. The participant’s comments reflect Nash & Gorman-Murray (2014) article which argues that queer and trans people in Toronto are attracted to areas like Parkdale because of its middle class aesthetic. Unlike Nash & Gorman-Murray (2014) the participants talk about how there is a ‘sketchiness’ in the area that they have learned how to navigate. Unfamiliar neighbourhoods are where they feel unsafe. 92 Another femme presenting participant says that they have “lived all over the city and I know which neighbourhoods I’m comfortable with after a certain time of the day” (House of Constantine, 2015). This participant lived in Moss Park, a neighbourhood with a similar reputation to Parkdale, which the Fred Victor interviewee says is a site where many clients encounter transphobic verbal harassment and assault (Fred Victor, 2015a). The participant says that while they lived in Moss Park, they would leave their window open so that they could hear the sex workers call them for help. They also left a garbage can for sex workers to dispose of their condoms in their backyard. Similar to the participant living in Parkdale, this participant says that they like “knowing my neighbourhood and knowing the people in it” (House of Constantine, 2015). CPTED theorists note that familiarity is essential to feeling territorial ownership over a space, but perhaps overemphasize the need to demarcate private versus public spaces as this has little significance to participants (Crowe, 2013). Familiarity helps designate the users of the space, as well as their potential uses, which is a recognized facet of safety planning. Once someone knows how others operate a space, it becomes easier for them to learn how to navigate it (Crowe, 2013). Another femme presenting participant affirms the need for familiarity and recognition when they say that the West End of the city feels uncomfortable. They get catcalled there aggressively with comments regarding their gender and race. They feel unsafe in neighbourhoods were there very few people of colour, and they consequently get met with stares and menacing glances. The participant feels safer in Scarborough, where they have lived almost their whole life, because they know how operate in that setting. They like how their neighbourhood in Scarborough is community oriented and well-lit. CPTED strategies recognize the need for community and lighting to create safer communities, but do little to address racism and how recognition is important to combating exclusion and oppression (Crowe, 2013). CPTED strategies need to recognize how racism, sexism, homophobia, transphobia and other forms of systemic oppression affect perceptions of safety in order to truly design safer cities for everyone. The layering of spaces created by and for marginalized people complicates safety planning. Notably the Gay Village is a fraught site of inclusion. A participant, who lives in the Gay Village, says that they feel unsafe when they encounter harassment in the neighbourhood. The participant says that “for people who are really homophobic, there is something about this neighbourhood that makes them more on edge” (Open Call, 2015). They also recount that they were once walking home in the Village and had someone lean out of their car and ask them, “are you going out to spread AIDS?” (Open Call, 2015). Another participant was physically attacked in a gay bashing incident in the Village. The participants point out that perhaps gay bashing happens in the Village due to the area being marked as visibly queer. The interview participant from Fred Victor says that their clients often see strength in numbers as superseding the risk arising from visibility. Many of their clients are harassed in the area near Fred Victor, notably around Moss Park in Toronto’s downtown east end. In the interview, Moss Park is described as a public park where “there’s lots of people who hang out, 93 lots of shelters around that corner, so there’s a lot of foot traffic, a lot of people around, and yeah… I’ve heard a lot of times of [my clients] being verbally harassed” (Fred Victor, 2015a). Clients have been chased from that corner, assaulted and verbally harassed regularly. The interviewee mentions that the Thrive program taking place during the day on a weekday makes clients feel safer accessing the space, as well as travelling in a group. Interestingly, although strength in numbers is identified by the Fred Victor interviewee as important to their clients, in the previous subsection, their clients do not necessarily want to live in the Village. They say that in general their clients live there for housing, they don’t want to leave the downtown core. They don’t want to go far east. They don’t want to go far north. They don’t want to go far west. It’s a thing. That’s been identified many times. A lot of people feel like the downtown core is the safest. Not necessarily the Village, but the downtown core … it’s really tough for people, they will say ‘oh but it’s in Scarborough, oh but it’s in North York. So they’ve had hesitations to go. (Fred Victor, 2015a). Clients identify that the Village, although visibly associated with LGBTQ2+ communities, can actually be exclusive and transphobic. The downtown core is identified as a place that is safer, but not all clients feel safe in the Village. Feeling safe or unsafe in the Village is identified as a divide amongst the trans people who access the Thrive program. Because the downtown is more expensive to rent compared to the periphery of the city, lots of clients have to take a “crappy downtown apartment over a nice apartment farther away. A lot of people share a space or wait in the shelter” (Fred Victor, 2015a). Nash & Gorman-Murray (2014) use the concept of ‘motility’ in a case study of gentrification and queerness in Toronto. Motility describes the ability to be mobile and is limited by identities and constructs like class, race, gender, and sexuality (Nash & Gorman-Murray, 2014). Class is a significant factor mentioned in the interview with Fred Victor staff as a barrier to mobility and housing, which intersects with race, colonialism, gender and sexuality. Participants of colour note that race is a factor in the creation of public safety. In the online survey, 66.7% of racialized survey participants selected that they have no problem being a member of a racialized community and the LGBTQ2+ community in their neighbourhood. About 26.7% of racialized participants selected that they do feel safe as long as people do not know that they are LGBTQ2+, and only 6.7% of racialized participants selected that they do not feel safe being visibility racialized and LGBTQ2+ in their neighbourhood. It is noteworthy that the overall sample of the survey overwhelmingly selected that they are not a member of a racialized community (59.9%). Although they are not quantitatively represented, localized community creation for queers of colour and learning how to operate certain neighbourhoods are closely linked. 94 A Marvelous Grounds interviewee expands upon the experiences of queers of colour in their neighbourhoods and communities (see Figure 7 in Chapter 2 for map of queer geographies). The interviewee speaks to the specific experiences of queer people of colour in Toronto. They speak to how queer people of colour experience harassment differently than other groups in Toronto. On street harassment, they say: I live right now in Scarborough, it’s like a Caribbean community. I’m Caribbean and my family is Caribbean. And being told to smile, being asked where I’m from, being told I’m pretty, and a lot of things on the regular is something that happens. A lot of people would walk through that neighbourhood and be like, ‘Oh my god, that’s harassment’, and I’m not going to be like that ... It would be fair for somebody to be like ‘when I walk through that neighbourhood I think it’s unfair, I think that is harassment’. If they wanted to define it as harassment, that’s their thing to do. But for me to call it harassment, it would be erasing of a lot of things. It would be not helpful, I think. I find it a lot easier to call it harassment when I lived in the Gay Village for several years. It was the most incredible examples of harassment from police, specifically to Indigenous communities. For me, that was harassment. When I saw street involved Indigenous people pick up off the street and moved by cops, that’s harassment. When I see people calling the cops on people because they’ve been sitting there for too long, that’s harassment. When I see things like, you know of Church Street for Halloween, there’s a ton of really racist costumes, a lot of mockery of communities of colour by gay communities, that’s harassment. (Marvelous Grounds, 2015a). The person from Marvelous Grounds is careful to state that people can feel however they wish regarding safety and experiences of street harassment and catcalling. They recognize that some people feel safer in the Gay Village because they are gay and are surrounded by gay people there, and that the same people may feel unsafe in Scarborough as a visibly queer person. Just because they see safety differently doesn’t necessarily create a definite view of what areas are safe and unsafe in the city. This analysis deconstructs the CPTED principles of “normal” and “abnormal” uses and behaviour by interrupting a static notion of what makes a space feel safe or unsafe. The Marvelous Grounds participant allows for multiple legitimized views of safety within different geographic and cultural contexts. One of the interview participants from Kulanu says that they feel the most comfortable in the Village, as well as navigating Queer West and Kensington Market. Outside of the core, this person feels increasingly more comfortable in midtown in the Yonge and Eglinton area, but still a bit guarded. They said that in the “Financial district I don’t feel comfortable. Certainly up in Thornhill … big Jewish population, more Orthodox, more traditionally Jewish, I don’t feel like they’re more open minded compared to this area or downtown. So, I would say certain pockets downtown” (Kulanu, 2015). The comparison between the person from Marvelous Grounds’ experience of safety compared to Kulanu reveals the different geographies navigated by various communities in Toronto. The person from Marvelous Grounds speaks to the Caribbean community and their familial affiliation to said community in Scarborough, whereas the person 95 from Kulanu speaks to navigating Jewish neighbourhoods in northern Toronto and Thornhill. It is not only identities that mark differences between experiences of safety, but the geographies that identity formation takes that are essential to spatializing safety. A uniting factor between geographies of culture, community and queerness in Toronto is code switching. The person from Marvelous Grounds brings up code switching in their interview. Code switching refers to changing between different languages or patois of the same language, using elements of various dialects while conversing (Kracht & Klein, 2014). The code switching the participants is speaking to is more spatial than linguistic. They say: a lot with queer communities of colour is learning how to code switch, from neighbourhood to neighbourhood, home to home – it’s something that often happens. Learning to dress differently, learning how to act differently, express yourself differently, mannerism and walking differently, from space to space based on the reactions you think you’re going to get. (Marvelous Grounds, 2015a). Both interview participants from Kulanu speak to a spatial code switching as well. They both mention avoiding hand holding and visible cues that they are in a queer relationship in conservative Jewish neighbourhoods, as well many spaces outside the downtown core (Kulanu, 2015). The interview participant from Fred Victor mentions that one of their clients will not dress in feminine clothes, given the risk of harassment for presenting as gender nonconforming. Code switching is a queer survival tool in a homophobic and transphobic society to help secure feelings of safety in public spaces. The broader social and psychological aspects of space are also very important to consider. The person from Egale says in their interview that they believe that the way we talk about safety is often too focused on the individual. They say, “it’s not that the identity of the person is triggering of inflicting violence against them, but it is very much so the social context that legitimize violence against certain [bodies] … the people who need to be securing safety for marginalized folks are not necessarily marginalized folks” (Egale, 2015). CPTED seeks to get away from the individualized policy of addressing perpetrators, and instead advocates for a holistic approach of analyzing fear generating factors. Campbell (2005) takes the holistic approach further while criticizing CPTED. Campbell (2005) writes that CPTED focuses too much on the victim’s sense of fear. Campbell (2005) believes that analyzing safety and crime should focus not only on the victim but instead on the entitlement of the perpetrator. The onus of creating safe spaces should not be entirely places on marginalized people. The onus of listening to their experiences of marginalized people and validating their right to live free from fear of profiling, harassment and other instances of violence is on those who experience privilege. Feeling safe is essential to the comfort and well-being of LGBTQ2+ people in cities. Familiarity with certain neighbourhoods and spaces is mentioned as a source of perceived safety for participants. Code switching is a survival tool used by several participants to self-police their 96 behaviour and visibility in order to operate the city’s various geographies. Although participants have specific locations they associate with a lack of safety, on the whole, concerns regarding safety are pervasive throughout various geographies in the city along the axes of identity, visibility, and marginality. Conclusion LGBTQ2+ individuals experience safety and selfhood differently than those outside these communities. Once an intersectional approach is brought into the analysis of safety and identity formation, it is clear that even within the LGBTQ2+ community, there are varying conceptions, and expectations of urbanized safety based on participant’s answers regarding the visibility of class, gender and race The factors that make participants feel unsafe in cities include an interlayering of interpersonal incidents, with a strong emphasis on institutionalized neglect and violence. Acts of violence are interlocking for participants on systemic, interpersonal and lateral terms. Systemic tenets of inclusion and exclusion permeate throughout the image put forth by participants in their perceived safety and incidents of discrimination and assault throughout various urban spaces. Familiarity with certain neighbourhoods, self-regulation and self-policing, as well as spatial code switching, demonstrates the ability of LGBTQ2+ individuals to create safer experience of public spaces in the face of adversity due to discrimination and normativity. 97 Chapter 6 – Discrimination and Reporting Introduction Discrimination and reporting of hate driven crimes are an important launching point to safety looking at creating safer cities for LGBTQ2+ people. Although much less story rich than the previous chapter defining safety, violence and harassment on primarily qualitative terms, the collection of quantitative data in triangulation with the interviews and focus groups conducted broadens the narrative of the thesis more broadly. The overarching argument that the LGBTQ2+ community experiences safety differently than those who enjoy the privileges of fitting into a heteronormative mold remains throughout this work (Doan, 2011). The following subsection, ‘Discrimination – Comparative Analysis’, looks at the participant responses regarding whether discrimination was experienced in public spaces, on what grounds was their harassment experienced, and whether or not it measures up to the data being collected by Toronto Police Services. The comparative analysis broadens the narrative around LGBTQ2+ hate crimes, especially since the Toronto Police provides little detail on the nature of hate crimes data they provide to the public. The results hope to reconcile the underreporting of hate crimes to the Toronto Police with participant concerns around the police being a site of institutional violence. Reporting to police, or other resources, is covered in greater detail in the second subsection ‘Reporting’. The fraught relationship between the LGBTQ2+ community and the Toronto Police is contextualized by participants in the second subsection. The chapter provides an image of what mechanisms are already in place to address LGBTQ2+ safety, recognizing that traditional concepts of crime, safety and policing do not sufficiently address institutionalized violence and layered meanings of ‘unsafe’. Summary of Chapter 6 Participants generally do not report incidents of discrimination to the police. Participants do not report to the police because they are afraid of being retraumatized, having the police not take them seriously, and that the police will blame them for a crime they did not commit. Participants go to service organizations, friends, social media, partners and to nobody at all when confronted with discrimination. 98 Discrimination: A Comparative Analysis The Toronto Police provides data regarding the current landscape of hate crimes in the city. Their most recent report is the “Toronto Police Services 2014 Annual Hate/Bias Crime Statistical Report”. The report defines hate crimes as “criminal offense which are committed against persons or property and are motivated by the victim’s race, national or ethnic origin, language, colour, religion, sex, age, mental or physical disability, sexual orientation, or other similar factors” (Intelligence Services, Hate Crime Unit, 2014, p. 2). The online survey asks participants to record incidents of discrimination as well, but uses the wording from the Ontario Human Rights Code, which protects against discrimination due to race, national or ethnic origin, colour, religion, age, sex, gender identity, gender expression, sexual orientation, marital status, family status, disability and conviction for an offence for which a pardon has been granted or in respect of which a record suspension has been ordered. The Ontario Human Rights Code was used because the definition of hate crime used by Toronto Police does not include gender. In this subsection, quantitative data from the online survey and from the Toronto Police will be coded to create an image of the statistical landscape of hate crime reporting in Toronto, in order to triangulate the results with qualitative data in the next subsection. The Toronto police report states that the three most targeted groups since 2006 (in order of most to least) are the Jewish community, the LGBTQ community and the Black community. In 2014 alone, there were forty four occurrences of Jewish hate crimes (30%), twenty seven occurrences of LGBTQ hate crimes (18%), twenty anti-Black hate crimes (14%), and sixteen Anti-Muslim hate crimes (11%). Other groups were generally targeted due to nationality, and in some cases also implicitly targeted race, but did not have over five incidents of hate crime per group. Most other groups targeted, such as Iranian, African, Croatian and Somali people, had one incident of hate crimes in 2014. Other groups make up 17% of total reported hate crimes. The Toronto Police do their own form of intersectional analysis around the multiplicity of identities. When more than one group is targeted at the same time in a hate crime, the Toronto Police considers it to be a ‘multi-bias’ incident. There were fourteen multi-bias occurrences (10%), which are coded in the report based on affiliation to the Black community, Jewish community and LGBTQ community. About 52 occurrences are affiliated with the Jewish community (45%) and another identity, 34 with the LGBTQ community and another identity (30%), and 29 with the Black community and some other identity (25%). The most common offences victimizing LGBTQ people were assault, followed by criminal harassment and mischief. The online survey conducted by the researcher paints a slightly different picture. Less than half of the survey respondents select that they have encountered discrimination (34.1%). Out of the survey respondents who have experienced discrimination, they are overwhelmingly targeted for sexual orientation (thirty six participants, or 21.6% of participants who have 99 experienced discrimination), followed by gender (twenty eight participants or 16.8%), and sex (fourteen participants or 8.4%). Out of those who were targeted for their sexual orientation, most identify as queer, and their gender as trans and/or as female. The Toronto police recorded twenty seven LGBTQ hate crimes, while the survey has thirty six reported incidents of discrimination due to sexual orientation, twenty one of which happened in the last twelve months, which is shocking as the Toronto Police’s sample size is arguably all 2.7 million people who live in Toronto, whereas the online survey has a qualifying sample of a hundred and sixty seven. A notable reason for this discrepancy is the stricter definition of hate crimes used by police, versus the emphasis on subtle harassment and microaggressions in participant survey responses. Gender is notably not included in the Toronto Police Services report on hate crimes, which indicates that they are missing a large number of discriminatory incidents. The category of ‘sex’ has been included in the Toronto Police’s definition of hate crimes since 2006, but they do not have any recorded incidents of hate crimes motivated by sex until 2014 (Intelligence Services, Hate Crime Unit, 2013, 2014). It is notable that until 2014, the Toronto Police categorized anti-trans violence under ‘sexual orientation’ and changed the designation of anti-trans crime to ‘sex’, which sparked the first reported accounts of discrimination due to sex. The change in hate crime categorization indicates that previously the police conflated sex, gender and sexual orientation into one category, ignoring the different experiences and layering of these identities. The change in reporting took place because of Canadian Centre for Justice Statistics (CCJS) report that recommends “that police services report hate/bias crimes targeting members of the Transgender community under either the sex or gender category for the purpose of comparability across jurisdictions” (Intelligence Services, Hate Crime Unit, 2014, p. 3). On top of allowing for better cross-comparability, in the LGBTQ2+ community, trans is generally considered to be a gender identity, and not a sexual orientation (Gay, Lesbian & Straight Education Network, 2013). Reflecting this view, one participant in the online survey points out why using ‘sex’ instead of just ‘gender’ in the survey is problematic by writing “Why the hell is gender separate from sex? Can people on the street tell what's in your pants?!” in the comment box. The distinction of gender as an identity and sex as a biological designation often imposed by normative medical institution is important. The Ontario Human Rights Code specifically refers to sex in terms of breastfeeding and pregnancy, whereas gender identity and gender expression has less to do with chromosomes, genitals and other biological determinants. Calling sex into question is relevant since many people may not have a normative sex designation that matches their lived gender. Although the participant makes a strong point, other participants did select sex in the survey as a source of discrimination, which makes the case that such terminology is useful to some people. Particularly if data is being collected on discrimination in a medical context, such as hospitals, biological sex may be pertinent. Not including gender as a source of discrimination, however, is an oversight on the part of Toronto Police, which can be rectified in future iterations of their reporting on hate crimes. 100 Survey respondents have a lower rate of response around religion and race compared to Toronto Police data. 4.8% of the survey respondents were targeted due to race or ethnicity, 2.4% due to national origin and 1.2% due to colour. Religion has a low response rate of 0.6%, or one respondent, who selected that they faced discrimination due to being a Muslim. No respondent who selected that they are Jewish selected that they faced Anti-Semitic discrimination, despite seven times the respondents identifying as Jewish (14 respondents or 8.4%) compared to Muslim (two respondents or 1.2%) in the survey overall. It is notable that there is an underrepresentation of people of colour in the survey responses, as well as a strong representation of people who identify as having no religion, which strongly influences the low response rate of these two categories. The survey also specifically sought to recruit members of the LGBTQ2+ community to gather their experiences of safety in public spaces, and so the emphasis on sexual orientation, gender and sex in the results are unsurprising. Many of the forms of discrimination faced by participants are not physically violent, but instead are in the realm of microaggressions. Glance or staring as well as verbal comments (other than threats) are the most selected form of discrimination enacted against participants (66.7%), followed by verbal threats (59.6%), and being chased or followed (29.8%). The ethereal verbal and behavioral nature of harassment and discrimination through microaggressions and verbal comments are untenable to the limitations of defined crime. Participants were asked if they have been ever harassed, assaulted or encountered an unsafe situation in their neighbourhood for reasons other than discrimination. Only 12.6% of participants selected yes to encountering incidents that would not be considered discrimination, compared to 34.1% who selected yes to encountering discrimination. The importance of collecting data around normalized daily occurrences of harassment is highlighted in the comments made by participants on their experiences of unsafe encounters. Several participants say that they experience catcalling regularly, while others write that they have been accosted by people with mental health issues on the street. Others say that they have been in physical assaults with members of the LGBTQ2+ community. The complexities of violence, safety and multiple marginalities are covered in the previous chapter in detail. In the context of discrimination, however, the multiplicity of incidents and types of assault encountered demonstrates the limitations of what institutions like the police would consider to be criminal or even worthy of reporting. The Toronto Police report only gathers data on physical assault, damaged property or threats of physical violence. The criminal justice system often requires exhaustive evidence and proof, which is most easily found in blatantly violent and easily definable cases of harassment (Campbell, 2005; Crowe, 2013). Being stared at, or encountering verbal harassment is normalized daily behaviour encountered by many women, members of the LGBTQ2+ community and other marginalized groups (Campbell, 2005; House of Constantine, 2015; Marvelous Grounds, 2015b; Rainbow Health Ontario, 2015). The emphasis put on 101 microaggressions and nuanced harassment by participants reveals that the concept of hate driven crimes used by the Toronto Police is insufficient to formulating a complete picture of experienced safety in the city. The emphasis on microaggressions, in the age of newspaper articles deriding the language around microaggressions and triggering students on college and university campuses is striking (Lukianoff & Haidt, 2015). Although much effort has perhaps been made on campuses to police what is considered offensive, much to the chagrin of some, this is not the case in most other public and semi-public domains. The Toronto Police hate crime report recognizes the number of limitations they face in trying to collect reports of discrimination and hate crimes. The report points out that victims may be reluctant to report because the police might not recognize crime as hate driven, and/or they fear of retaliation, and/or feel uncertain of how criminal justice system will respond, and/or they fear of being outed to family, friends or co-workers. People may also feel embarrassed about the occurrence. The Toronto Police works with the Report Homophobic Violence, Period (RHVP) program in partnership with Egale, as well as their internal Lesbian, Gay, Bisexual, Transgender and Queer (LGBTQ) Liaison Unit in order to address LGBTQ2+ issues in policing. The gaps around trans reporting of incidents and improving trans policing is in the works through a Trans Media Campaign that hopes to launch in 2015 to educate the Toronto Police on the trans community, as well as increase reporting and decrease incidents of assault (Intelligence Services, Hate Crime Unit, 2014). No further information has been provided by Toronto Police as of December 2015. It remains to be seen what happens out of the Toronto Police initiatives around LGBTQ2+ issues. Unfortunately, the report does not address that the possible perpetrators of hate crimes could be the police, which might be the reason why people are reluctant to report. In particular, the past year has shown an explosion of extensively publicized anger towards racial profiling in policing throughout North America, which is not addressed in the police report (Hong, 2015; Reynolds, 2015; The Globe and Mail, 2015). The subsequent subsection will delve more into the complicated relationship between various facets of the LGBTQ2+ community and policing in order to provide a clearer picture of institutionalized harassment and the limitations of crime driven safety planning. 102 Reporting Introduction Quantitative survey responses and qualitative data collected through interviews and focus groups triangulate to create an understanding of reporting incidents of discrimination and hate crimes. Overall, participants do not seek help from the police, and instead form their own community based support systems. Qualitative data from the interviews and focus groups helps form a fuller picture of why LGBTQ2+ people do not go to the police when they encounter hate crimes and discrimination, beyond the admittedly self-reflexive reasons presented by the Toronto Police in their annual hate crime report and in the previous subsection. The first section will specifically look at reporting to police, and the second will delve into other community resources used by participants. Reporting to Police Introduction Data collected demonstrates a low rate of reporting incidents of discrimination to the police in LGBTQ2+ communities. The online survey asks participants if they have ever reported any incidents of assault, discrimination or violence to the police. Only three participants, or 5.3% of all participants who selected that they have experienced discrimination period, reported the incident to police. Participants instead contacted friends for support (63.2%), partners (43.9%), or did not reach out for support (29.8%). The qualitative data from the survey, focus groups and interviews helps illuminate the distrust and apprehension towards the police. All of the interview and focus group participants were asked if they, or if their clients and communities, report incidents of harassment and assault. They were first asked if they report to the police, and why or why not, and then they were asked if they report anywhere else. The responses revealed how differently police relations are with various communities in Toronto, explicitly how such relations intersect with race, class, gender and sexuality. All interviewees said either only some of their clients and communities reported to police, or that none of them did because they view interactions with police as unsafe and traumatizing. Focus group participants similarly did not report to the police, and have mixed feelings about interacting with law enforcement. Many focus group participants feel unsafe in the presence of police, and do not trust their actions. Distrust of police flies in the face of CPTED literature which advocates for increasing police visibility to improve the perception of safety in cities (Crowe, 2013). Interactions with police are framed in the following subsections, ‘Inaction & Accountability’ and ‘Power & Trauma’. 103 Inaction & Accountability The fear of police inaction and their perceived lack of accountability frames why many participants do not officially report incidents of harassment. Many participants who report to police are afraid that nothing will come of their report. Out of the people who do report to police, the interviewee from Egale says that little comes of it. They say that “mostly we’ve seen people make a report and then it sort of drops out of our consciousness. Very rarely we have someone coming back saying ‘this is the outcome of the report’. I think the reason why that’s happening is that often there is no outcome” (Egale, 2015). The lack of police response to violence decreases trust in their operations and leads to people thinking that they do not care about their concerns. Conceptions of what is worthy of police attention limits participant’s willingness to report. One survey respondent writes, “I haven't reported the incidents to the police because I know that being called faggot is not against the law, and having assisted others who were verbally harassed, unless it is consistently coming from the same person for a period of weeks, they won't do anything” (LGBTQ2+ Toronto, 2015). Participants speak to police being ineffective when called for help. One participant in the Open Call group says they call the police so there is a statistic on reported hate crimes, but they do not expect anything to happen from it. Most participants who selected that they do not report to the police wrote that they don’t trust the police, don’t feel comfortable around the police, and that they find the police dismissive. The interviewee from Fred Victor speaks to the lack of trust towards the police in trans communities. They said that their clients “have had previous bad experiences with police, they’re afraid of the police, and sort of get brushed off often …. They’re kind of at the point of frustration of ‘why bother?’, because it’s painful to tell those stories and nobody is going to do anything about it” (Fred Victor, 2015a). The person from Marvelous Grounds (2015) similarly says, “I would be really surprised if people went to police when they knew they wouldn’t do anything about it”. The police are known through stories told within the LGBTQ2+ community to be insensitive towards gender presentation, sexual assault victims and other forms of marginality, which impacts people’s likelihood to report (Marvelous Grounds, 2015a). The interviewee from Egale brought up that there is a sense that after you report incidents of assaults to police, you are supposed to be done processing the events that have taken place. They say in the interview that after you report “once that’s finished you’re left to deal with it … some people think that after you report, the trauma ends, and you don’t have the “right”, quote-unquote, to talk about it anymore because you already dealt with it. I think that’s definitely a fear, especially with sexual assault” (Egale, 2015). Processing and healing after incidents of sexual, emotional and physical assault do not involve the police for many LGBTQ2+ communities. 104 Participants recount the police coming to the scene of a recent assault and not helping them. Another participant says they were raped for three hours when they were thirteen in their natal country in the Caribbean, and were found by the police. The police insinuated that they were interested in the sexual encounter, and shamed them. On the incident, they say: I wasn’t even embarrassed, I was so confused. I was confused because the police actually made me feel like I insinuated interest in this person. This person was thirty and I was thirteen … [I was] giving police and hospital reports, transferring from station to station, to tell the story one too many times … I honestly think people don’t want to go through all that. (Open Call, 2015). Another participant had a similar story involving the police in Toronto not taking their complaint seriously. They say they were being harassed while giving a performance during Pride in Etobicoke. The participant’s ex-boyfriend called the police on the aggressor. The police showed up after the aggressor and the ex-boyfriend had left, and began to question the participant. The police insinuated that there was no harassment, and that the participant’s ex-boyfriend called them in because he was jealous. In both examples, police officers brought their biases to the scene of violent assault to the detriment of victims. The interviewee from Egale points out the complications of reporting to police for marginalized people. Notably many of the youth who access Egale’s OUTreach counselling and drop-in are struggling with housing insecurity and homelessness, meaning that they are often trying to figure out where to stay on a nightly basis, if not also trying to find access to food. The interviewee says, “if I have to figure out what I’m eating tonight and I have to figure out where I’m sleeping tonight, the last thing on my mind is reporting something that is unlikely to bring me restoration or compensation or any sort of justice” (Egale, 2015). They also bring up that if assault happens within a family, reporting it is more complicated and fraught. The interviewee from Supporting Our Youth also says that their clients have mixed views on reporting to police. They say that whether someone who accesses their services decides to report to the police: comes down to the individual and who they are. Whether they trust the police. Certainly Black youth in Toronto have little reason to trust the police. I’ve had trans youth who are sex workers talking about the harassment they’ve received from police. For many folks that we work with the police are a last ditch effort if they comfortable with that. (Supporting Our Youth, 2015). The interviewee from Supporting Our Youth brings up the complicated relationship between people of colour and the police in Toronto. There has been many reports of police profiling of young Black men, and over surveilling their activities (Cole, 2015). They also bring up that for many communities of colour, sex workers, and other marginalized people, the police are the instigators of assault and violence. The view of the police as unsafe and ineffective is not 105 addressed in much of the public safety planning literature, despite it complicating the concept that surveillance and policing help communities feel safer. The concept of policing as a source of safety directly addresses the framing of ‘abnormal’ versus ‘normal’ uses of city spaces in CPTED literature. Those outside the norms are viewed as undeserving of police protection, and instead are often unjustly treated as criminals. Power & Trauma Intersectional identities, along the axes of religious, gender, sexuality, and race, are strongly linked to the likelihood of participants feeling safe enough to report incidents of harassment, assault or other violence to police. Many participants feel re-traumatized by the police due to their at times violent interpretation of crimes reported to them. The importance of positionality when reporting to police frames the systemic nature of violence that permeates throughout participant experiences. Law enforcement is a site of trauma for many participants. One participant in the House of Constantine focus group recounts being detained for three days after reporting a crime, because the police assumed they were involved. Another participant was detained for nine hours for similar reasons. Another participant was punched on the street by a stranger. When they reported the incident to the police, the police asked if they were in the person’s way. These responses to reporting victimization dissuade participants from going to the police again. The interviewee from Kulanu speaks to a complicated community relationship with the police. They say that they would imagine many younger people would be hesitant to go to police expecting help. They also further complicate their community’s relationship with the police by pointing out that the mainstream Jewish community has a great relationship with the police, whereas lots of queer people have a fraught relationship with the police. The intersections of Jewish and queer relationships with the police create a mixed response to reporting assault in those communities. The complicated intersections of queerness and Jewish identity are reflected in the online survey results as well, which did not include any incidents linking Anti-Semitism to experiences of discrimination. The reason for this underreporting in the survey can be attributed to many factors, including the small sample size and recruitment of exclusively LGBTQ2+ identified individuals, without a strong focus on recruiting religious groups. The low response rate around reporting incidents to police in the survey results overall reflects a systemic distrust which must be addressed institutionally. Further, no matter whether discrimination is reported in an online survey, or to the police, or not all at, the incident is still a sign that accountability and safety planning is essential in cities. The Marvelous Grounds and House of Constantine focus groups unanimously say that they do not contact police to report incidents of harassment. One participant in the former group 106 says that if they go to the police, they “don’t trust I’d be taken care of” (Marvelous Grounds, 2015b). Another says that going to police is re-traumatizing because of the way they get treated by them, and that their goal when trying to deal with incidents of harassment is not to get someone in trouble with the police, but instead to address systemic oppression and allow themselves to heal. One participant in the Open Call group similarly does not call the police because they are afraid the police will abuse their power. They say that police have a lot of power to make-up their own version of events. The participant says when you deal with the police “you go in there as a victim, and you are treated like you are far from a victim … they [the police] have so much power that they can create anything out of nothing. So why give them seed for them to do that?” (Open Call, 2015). Fear that the police will either abuse their power, or neglect to do their job, drives not wanting to report incidents of harassment or asking them for help. Much of the data on discrimination and the misuse of police power in Toronto reveals that people of colour, specifically Black and Brown people, are disproportionally profiled, harassed and assaulted by police and civilians (CBC News, 2015; “Checking-In on Evan Solomon allegations, herding sheep, daydreaming and more,” 2015; Intelligence Services, Hate Crime Unit, 2014). Racism is mentioned in all the focus groups and interviews, and participants were asked whether their race or ethnicity impacted their feelings of safety and likelihood to report incidents of assault. Several survey respondents also mention race as being a factor in whether or not they report to the police, highlighting that the American landscape of the ‘Black Lives Matter’ movement is something experienced in Canada as well. One participant says in the House of Constantine focus group when asked if they go to the Police, “do you see that most people here are Black?” (House of Constantine, 2015). Interestingly, this comment comes from out of the biologically related participants who were affirming their assertiveness around not feeling unsafe in Toronto throughout the focus group. They later on say that they do not trust the police and would rather deal with situations themselves. The assertiveness and lack of trust in the police on the part of Black participants in this focus group is a crucial portrayal of agency. Black embodiments are portrayed in the literature as either the victims of systemic brutality or as the instigators of random acts of violence (Koskela & Pain, 2000; Pain, 2001). Here, these two participants demonstrate an awareness of distrust of institutions like the police due to racial profiling and other racist practices, while also embodying an incredible amount of agency and sense of community. Race and age intersect in one of the participant’s stories of why they do not report incidents to the police. They say they called over the police during a fight between two teenagers at a Toronto high school. The police shot one of the youth involved because he was pulling a pencil out of his pocket, and the police presumably thought it was a weapon. The participant describes this high school as a “half Black school and police are always there” (House of Constantine, 2015). Seeing their unarmed schoolmate get shot confirmed the participant’s fear of the police. 107 One participant says that they do not go to the police because they are afraid of being racially profiled and shot. They say: In the past month, three Black men have been shot by police officers. In the last month. Things that are happening in the [United] States are happening in Toronto too. They’re shooting our brothers down without a second thought. So no, I’m not going to report to police officers. I’m afraid of talking to them because I’m afraid of becoming a victim. (House of Constantine, 2015). Tensions have been high in Toronto after multiple shootings of unarmed Black men throughout Toronto by police (Reynolds, 2015). It is unsurprising that in this current political climate of police mistrust that participants, especially participants of colour, would not go to police to report instances of assault and harassment. Much like for the trans people interviewed in the Fred Victor focus group, for these participants, the police is a site of violence. Another participant in the Open Call group says that as a non-binary person, they are aware that lots of trans and non-binary people experience violence enacted by the police, and they would not go to them for help because of that. They say that the police need to step up and be educated on how to ethically deal with sex workers, trans and non-binary people, as well as people of colour. Other participants say that police need sensitivity training, as well as training offered to the public on how their reporting system works. Participants in the House of Constantine, Marvelous Grounds affiliated group and Fred Victor all mention the Toronto Police needing some form of sensitivity training. Calling the police for help during a violent situation is the last resort for many participants. The Fred Victor focus group participants say that they would exclusively call police if they were dying. They say that systemic change is needed. They speak to carrying knives and being prepared to defend themselves in public spaces, and that such “vigilante justice reflects a broken system” (Fred Victor, 2015b). There is a long history of LGBTQ2+ vigilante justice through community patrols and self-defence classes, all of which are explicitly in response to a justice and policing system that does not serve the need of diverse queer and trans people (Nash, 2014; The Gay Liberation Union, 1979; The Right to Privacy Committee, 1981). 108 Conclusion Overall LGBTQ2+ community support trumps the need to formally report incidents of harassment and assault to police. Not only is there is a sense that nothing can or will be done by police after reporting, but in many communities, the police are a site of violence and assault. The qualitative data collected on whether community members report to police calls into question how accurate police data is on incidents of LGBTQ2+ hate crimes in Toronto. Participants of colour, trans and non-binary participants in particular have little reason to trust the police. The layering of identities and lived experiences complicates the likelihood of reporting to police, as discussed by the Kulanu interviewee in regards to the great relationship mainstream Jewish communities have with the police compared to the fraught relationship many queer people have with the police. The intermingling of these determinants of safety and reporting complicates experiences of urbanized violence. Other Resources Participants use many methods of reporting and processing incidents of violence, harassment and assault in public spaces. Many of these strategies do not involve reporting incidents of harassment and assault to the police. The strategies utilized by participants include talking to friends, going online, and even doing nothing at all. The following subsection will look at the various coping mechanisms used by LGBTQ2+ people in Toronto when confronted with safety issues. Interviewees speak of community members wanting affirmation and acknowledgement after incidents of harassment and assault, and that such reactions come most readily from LGBTQ2+ service providers. LGBTQ2+ communities often access resources and services that either caters to their respective communities or personal communities. Although the interviewee from Rainbow Health Ontario could not speak to whether their clients report to the police, due to the nature and scope of their work, they did say that people will access their organization after encountering harassment in the healthcare system. It is notable that institutionalized incidents of microaggressions and assault may not lend itself to going to the police and feeling heard. Service providers help provide support to community members in incidents that may not necessarily be within the scope of what the police conventionally considers to be criminal discrimination or assault. The interviewees from Kulanu, Fred Victor, Supporting Our Youth and Egale also mention that clients and community members will access their services after incidents of assault or harassment. The only organization interviewed that does any formalized reporting around LGBTQ2+ violence is Egale. Many organizations mention that they do not have the capacity to deal with reporting incidents of assault. Kulanu says that they send people to other organizations for support, and hope to work towards a world where members of the LGBTQ2+ Jewish community feel comfortable talking to their rabbi about their gender and sexual identity. Fred 109 Victor’s Thrive program offers informal counselling to trans people who have encountered transphobic violence. The interviewee from Fred Victor says clients go to Maggie’s, which is a program for and by sex workers, as well as Elizabeth Fry and Meal Trans which both offer a drop-in program for trans people. Fred Victor offers support around coping with transphobic violence, and will support clients going through the reporting process (Fred Victor, 2015a). The interviewee from Supporting Our Youth explicitly says that for their clients “it’s more about coping with what happened than it is about pressing charges, finding who is guilty” (Supporting Our Youth, 2015). They say that people go to the Supporting Our Youth program for support, as well as the Griffin Centre and Egale. If they are in need of legal help or want to press charges, clients go to the Justice for Children and Youth, which is a legal service for low income youth (Supporting Our Youth, 2015). Some participants document incidents and try to file a complaint to authority figures who are not the police. One participant was being stalked while living in social housing, and documented the stalker’s behaviour and brought their concern with documentation to security. Security in the social housing unit said that they knew about the stalker, but subsequently did nothing about it to make the participant feel safer. The participant says that they felt like “nobody took me seriously” (Fred Victor, 2015b). Feeling brushed off, or that reporting instances of harassment leads to no results, is a serious problem expressed by several focus group and interview participants regarding law enforcement authorities in particular. Other participants go to family, chosen family, friends, social service workers, security guards in housing or use music as a release. Many participants deal with instances of assault and harassment themselves. The ones who assert that they do not need help dealing with assault say that they will not go looking for a fight, but if the encounter goes there they are ready. Some participants pray or talk to God. Another participant goes to a therapist weekly. Another participant says that they are their own therapist (House of Constantine, 2015). These are only among some of the tactics used for queer survival. Participants mention how, who, and if they do talk to someone, depends heavily on context. One person says that if they are in an altercation, they may leave their friends out of it because they do not want both of them to get beaten up. Another participant says that depending on the context, they will “find someone I trust who either has authority or has experience in conflict resolution. There are people I trust around that but not many” (House of Constantine, 2015). The focus group participants from House of Constantine have a way of conceptualizing safety that prioritizes chosen family and community but is weary and mistrustful of institutions and privilege. One participant in the Open Call focus group likes to talk to neutral friends who are not in the LGBTQ2+ community. Another Open Call focus group participant finds support from their mom, who does not understand queer identities but understands love of her child. Another 110 participant says they cannot talk to their mom because they are afraid she will worry too much and that it will affirm their mom’s fears that being queer is really hard. Dealing with both their personal feelings of fears, as well as a loved one’s concerns, can be taxing on some participants. Other resources accessed by participants to cope with feeling unsafe and incidents of harassment include reaching out to community members and seeking seclusion and time to heal. Many participants go to social media, like Facebook, to post about incidents of harassment in order to receive affirmation. Supporting Our Youth, Egale and Marvelous Grounds all mention community members going online for support. The interviewee from Supporting Our Youth says that Tumblr is a useful tool for venting about hate crimes, discrimination and violence for queer and trans youth. They say that Tumblr is a “way of feeling heard” (Supporting Our Youth, 2015). The interviewee from Marvelous Grounds mentions people going on Facebook to see affirmation from friends after incidents of assault or harassment in public spaces. Crowe (2013) updates CPTED strategies by recognizing the role online spaces play in 21st century lives. Interview participants frame the internet as a positive space for community building and recognition for LGBTQ2+ people, Crowe (2013) points out that anonymized online spaces and hacking can also make these spaces unsafe. Interestingly, social media and the internet are also cited as a source of harassment for participants. One participant says they encounter the most aggressive messages while playing online games, which are not necessarily tied to their gender, sexuality or race, but instead are linked to their ability to play the game. Another participant says that when reading articles online and checking the comments section, they encounter a lot of oppressive language and opinions on their identities that are very hurtful. Participants do not always reach out for support after incidents of unsafe behaviour, assault or harassment. Some say that they prefer to keep the incidents to themselves and do not reach out for support. Some participants do not talk to people in the communities, because they are afraid of gossip and rumors being spread about them. One participant says “I don’t tell people shit … I don’t like to talk to people because one day, they’re your friends and the next day, they’re not” (Open Call, 2015). One participant says that seclusion is their coping strategy of choice, but they feel guilty at times for doing this because they feel their experiences of harassment could be worse. One participant points out that language can be a barrier to accessing help, and reaching out “becomes especially difficult when people don’t have the privilege of speaking the language we are speaking right now” (Marvelous Grounds, 2015b). Participants speak to not knowing where to access services that are safe and will not make them feel worse. Several participants in this focus group session say that they cannot reach out to anyone. Common coping mechanisms used by participants in lieu of reporting or talking about the incident to an organization or person involve self-medication and self-care. Two participants in 111 the Open Call group say that they turn to self-medication when they need to release experiences of harassment and assault. They both turn to consuming marijuana and alcohol at home alone when they need time to heal. One participant says they smoke weed, put their headphones on, and play inspiration music to relax. Another participant goes for run and meditates when they need to relax. Another participant likes to write. Participants exhibit a great amount of agency around what they choose to do when trying to cope with incidents of harassment or assault around their gender, sexual, racial or other aspects of their identities. Participants stress that often reporting has less to do with punishing a perpetrator, and more to do with coping with the incident. Reporting to the police is undesirable because they operate from a punishment based model, on top of the inaction and trauma mentioned in the previous chapter. Although participants may not be able to control when someone decides to act hatefully towards them, they seem to have their own ways of dealing with specific conflicts by negotiating safety for queer survival. Conclusion The qualitative data collected through the focus groups and interviews shed some light on why there is such a low response rate in the survey on whether participants reported incidents of discrimination to the police. All of the participants in the focus groups and interviews report mixed feelings towards engaging with the police. The participants fear inaction, abuse of power and traumatic experiences when dealing with the police. For many communities, the police is the instigator of hate motivated assault and negligence. CPTED literature that promotes the presence of police to curb feeling unsafe in cities are not necessarily considering how this dynamic may impact their guidelines (Crowe, 2013). Participants find solace in community connections with friends and partners, or they do not reach out for support at all. The reporting and coping mechanisms used by participants highlight the institutional failings of the police, as well as a need for sensitivity training, which must be addressed further to create safer cities for LGBTQ2+ individuals. 112 Chapter 7 – Planning for Safer Communities Introduction Focus group participants were asked to identify both social and physical interventions that could be done in cities to make them safer. Participants were prompted to address their recommendations to speak to planning, but also reflect on city building as a whole.The interventions are meant to address both perceived safety as well as curbing incidents of harassment and assault. Participants’ stories and recommendations on possible interventions are collected to prioritize expert community knowledge of safety. Although participants are asked about social and physical planning, they are most passionate about social interventions. They speak of wanting better programming and more effective education around LGBTQ2+ issues and anti-racism. Even though participants seem to care more about social planning, the use of mixed methods in the thesis is relevant. The methods used focus on participant experiences, which inherently leads to a conversation that focuses on social interventions. Methods that work more towards physical data collection, such as exploratory walks, photo maps, and community and perceptive maps, would likely yield results that would focus more on the built environment. Summary of Chapter 7 Participants have a number of social planning and physical planning recommendations to create safer cities. Participants recommend gender inclusive bathrooms, community gardens, physical accessibility in new and retrofitted buildings, better creative lighting on the street and around residential buildings, less isolation, and clear sightlines in planning processes and other forms of city building. Participants also want clear air, open spaces, greenery, love, peace, happiness and warmth in their cities. Sensitivity training is emphasized for everyone in the city, with a special emphasis on the police, public transit employees and private security. Participants were prompted to talk about creating an anti-discrimination poster campaign for public transit. Participants want more contact with the conductor, garbage bins, an updated request stop program, more night buses and an app or texting service for reporting harassment and discrimination on public transit. Video cameras, panic buttons, more security and police, as well as curbing public intoxication are contentious recommendations brought up by participants. 113 Participants in the focus groups are asked to specifically speak to how public transit could be made safer in Toronto. They are asked this to help inform a future project that will involve METRAC’s collaboration with the Toronto Transit Commission (TTC) on a campaign against sexual violence. The proposed interventions are for transit staff, city planners, law enforcement and other city builders (see Table 2). The answers provided on improving urban spaces more broadly, as well as the TTC specifically, are interwoven in the following two subsections: ‘Built Environment Intervention’ and ‘Social Planning Interventions’. 114 Table 2 - Recommendations for Safer Cities from Participants Recommendations Planners & Other Policy Makers Transit Law Enforcement Built Environment Interventions Gender Inclusive Bathrooms Amend building code by-laws to require gender inclusive bathrooms Amend human rights code to mandate bathroom access Retrofit existing bathrooms in public spaces to be inclusive Retrofit existing bathrooms on transit to be gender inclusive Retrofit existing bathrooms on police property to be gender inclusive Design Transit Vehicles for Comfort and Safety Transit planners to consider safety oriented design guidelines where jurisdiction is given Use subways were people can walk between cars to get away from perpetrators Maintain connection between streetcar and bus conductor and passengers Put garbage cans on transit N/A University Accessibility Human rights code to be updated or built upon for accessibility (e.g. AODA in Ontario) Mandate queer and trans inclusivity in healthcare Design all stations, buses, streetcars and subways to be accessible Administer staff training on respectfully serving clients with accessibility needs Make all police stations accessible Train police to better serve people with disabilities, including most notably mental health issues 115 Recommendations Planners & Other Policy Makers Transit Law Enforcement Better Creative Lighting Plan well-lit interesting spaces Update building guidelines to include lighting needs Illuminate streets and sidewalks Make sure stations and bus stops are well-lit N/A Reduce Isolation, Poor Sightlines and Seclusion Implement mixed-use zoning to promote vibrant streetscapes Design guidelines should include details on reducing tree foliage, lighting requirements and lack of secluded spaces Transit stations and vehicles should be designed to reduce entrapment and poor sightlines N/A Social Planning Interventions Community Gardens Promote turning public green spaces into community gardens Garden must be well programmed to be most useful N/A N/A 116 Recommendations Planners & Other Policy Makers Transit Law Enforcement Upgrading Transit Safety and Inclusion Policies Support transit commission within scope of planner jurisdiction Poster campaign on anti-discrimination on all transit modes Improve request stop program Increase night bus service Address discrimination through power campaign and sensitivity training for employees Use timed transfers to make it easier for people to switch between transit vehicles to get away from a harasser N/A Sensitivity Training Training administered on LGBTQ2+ inclusivity, anti-racism and anti-classism, as well as respectful dialogue and de-escalation skills Training should be available to everyone (e.g. could organize trainings in schools, workplaces, etc…) Training recommended for transit staff Anti-oppressive sensitivity training is emphasized as being of particular importance for law enforcement and other authority figures with a significant amount of power 117 Recommendations Planners & Other Policy Makers Transit Law Enforcement Reporting Services Improved App or other online interface to report incidents of assault separate from the police needs to be developed in partnership with community organizations App or other online reporting system outside of the police is of particular importance on transit N/A Overall CPTED must reconsider the conceptualization of 'abnormal' and 'normal' uses of spaces to instead build spaces for everyone 118 Built Environment Interventions The built environment and physical planning interventions are not emphasized by the focus group participants, despite its prominence in CPTED and the general literature on safety and planning. The interventions focus group participants mention do reference CPTED interventions, and participants bring in some nuances around the limitation of purely physical interventions. Participants frame physical environmental interventions around the perception of safety in certain neighbourhoods, and other public spaces. Proposed built environment interventions for both state and non-state actors are proposed through areas of need and ideas for change framed by participant positionality. Certain built environments illicit a greater feeling of fear than others. Survey participants are given a list of public spaces around their neighbourhoods, and asked if they are uncomfortable entering any of the listed spaces. Participants are given the option to choose more than one space. Participants selected that they feel uncomfortable on the street the most (28.7%), followed by bars (25.1%), parks (24.0%), nightclubs (21.6%), public transit (17.4%), stores (10.2%), restaurants (8.4%), workplace (3.6%), and schools (3.0%). Only 3.6% of respondents selected no response, and a high proportion, 26.3%, chose that they feel safe in all these spaces at all time. Out of the participants who selected that they feel safe in all spaces all the time, none of them identify as trans. Participants elaborated on what physical elements of particular spaces make them feel uncomfortable. In particular, participants emphasize that bars and nightclubs that attract cisgender White men make them feel most uncomfortable. In particular, respondents feel as though their gender is heavily policed in those spaces. One participant writes “depending on the bar/nightclub, I feel like I do not conform to the strict gender division sometimes enforced socially - like I am not ‘female enough’” (LGBTQ2+ Toronto, 2015). Another participant says that gender policing occurs most strikingly in a venue’s bathroom. They write: I'm just beginning to transition medically, and I'm not recognized as male, yet much of the time even when I'm presenting that way, so I often visit places where I can time when the bathroom will be empty, rush and make sure no one else will enter. I often avoid using the bathroom if they're crowded and worry about future experiences in the washroom. Participants who are trans or gender variant are highly susceptible to violence due to gender presentation. Bathrooms in particular are a site of gender policing faced by trans and gender variant people, which is a impactful source of anxiety and discomfort (Open Call, 2015). Gender inclusive bathrooms are a strong tenant of built environment changes for LGBTQ2+ people. Public spaces under the mandate of planners, like recreation centres, should strive to be gender inclusive through signage and retrofitting spaces. Recreation centres in Vancouver and Toronto 119 have had successful trials in all gender change rooms and bathrooms (On the Coast, 2015; Rac, 2014). The onus can additionally be put on business owners to through building codes and by-laws to mandate gender inclusive facilities. On gender inclusive bathrooms, a participant mentions their disappointment that the newly renovated Union Station, which is a centrally located TTC station, still has gendered bathrooms. As a public entity, transit stations should be designed to serve Toronto’s diverse populations. Trans and non-binary people are often at risk using public bathrooms, and can develop health problems if they opt to not use the bathroom for extended periods of time due to safety concerns. The issue of bathroom access goes beyond just the TTC. Public transit is discussed by participants with positive feedback about the TTC’s design as well as areas of improvement. Many participants say that they sit near the conductor or near the driver while on the TTC to avoid incidents of harassment, and they like the older streetcars where they have close proximity to the driver. They do not like the new streetcars where the driver is separated by a glass barrier (see Figures 12 and 13). One participant from the Fred Victor focus group said that they like how passengers can go between cars on the new TTC subways to get away from harassers between stops. On the old subways, people would have to wait to get to a subway station to get off and change cars. They would like to see all subways to be designed like the new ones (see Figures 14 and 15). Participants in the House of Constantine focus group said that TTC buses and streetcars need garbage bins to avoid littering. 120 Streetcars Old Old Streetcar with direct access to the conductor New Streetcar where the conductor is enclosed in the front by a glass barrier (Simon 2015) (RedPat 2011) Figure 12 Streetcars New Figure 13 121 Subways New Subways Old Figure 14 Old subway with blocked access between cars (Viloria 2010) (Kalinowski 2010) New subways with open access between cars Figure 15 122 Physical accessibility throughout the city is prioritized by several participants. One participant in the Marvelous Grounds affiliated group mentions wanting to put ramps everywhere in the city to grant greater access to those in wheelchairs, using strollers, walking bicycles, using some other device or transportation mode with wheels, and those who have limited physical mobility. Participants in the Fred Victor group talk about wanting greater access to sexual reassignment surgery (SRS) and healing centres. They say that they want doctors to create a free ‘outplant’ machine to be used in Toronto where people can go get top surgery on the spot. Another participant says they would also want to have access to breast implants on the same machine. Accessibility is negotiated as access to healthcare needs as well as the accommodation of space for people living with disabilities. For trans participants in particular access is interlocked with gender presentation. Gender presentation and recommendations for change are linked outside of marginality. The participants who did not self-identify as femme presenting generally speak to feeling safe everywhere in Toronto. Despite feeling safe overall, most of them could name a couple areas where the physical environment is unpleasant. One participant says that they feel uneasy walking across the Bloor Viaduct bridge because it is a very long stretch of road with only the ability to get on or off of it at either end (see Figure 16). The bridge is also poorly lit and has the reputation of being a place where people jump off and commit suicide. This participant still chooses to walk along the bridge because they think it looks nice at night. 123 Bloor Viaduct at Night Figure 16 Colourful lighting was installed on the Bloor Viaduct in 2015. Despite the use of blue lighting, the street lamps remain unchanged and work poorly. (Torstar News Service 2015) 124 Poorly lit areas exasperate the risk of entrapment because of limited exit and entrance spaces; these are classic CPTED problems exhibited on the Bloor Viaduct. Unfortunately, the nature of the bridge lends itself to offering limited entrance/exist points, which cannot be readily adapted. In anticipation of the 2015 Pan Am Games, however the City of Toronto installed lighting along the safety barrier of the Bloor Viaduct (Freeman, 2015). The lighting will change with the seasons, veiling the sidewalk in blue light over the summer of 2015 to kick-off its usage. Crowe (2013) notes that the colour and usage of lighting is important in CPTED planning, noting that lighting makes people feel safer and that existing lighting can be modified to reflect behavioural effects. He writes that blue lighting is often associated with authority and concentration, which might be beneficial to use for safety on the viaduct. Crowe (2013) also says that lighting along roadways is only effective when the lighting is not so high that it only illuminates the road and not the sidewalk. The installation on the safety barrier of the viaduct effectively illuminates the sidewalk and helps create a safer feeling on the bridge (Freeman, 2015). Participants in the Fred Victor focus group mention lighting as well. In the brainstorming session at the end of the focus group, one participant says they would like the entire city to be lit in red, as a symbol that everywhere is a safe red light district. The same participants also want stripper poles at every corner. The symbolic meaning behind red light districts and red lighting as a normalizing force working to the benefit of sex workers is significant. The stripper pole idea is in the same vein. Many participants also want to see more rainbow flags and symbols around the city as a sign of acceptance. Although the symbols can be limited, as homophobia, transphobia and stigma towards sex workers can exist in spaces designated positive and safe, the territorial ownership symbols give to certain groups is noteworthy (Crowe, 2013). Lighting is a commonly cited physical design CPTED issue that needs to be addressed to create safer cities, and is heavily gendered in the survey responses. Participants react strongly to being asked if they feel safer alone or in a group alone at night in their neighbourhood compared to during the day. About 2.4% of respondents say they feel safer alone in the daytime, all of whom identify solely as male, which falls down to
UBC Theses and Dissertations
LGBTQ2+ experiences of public safety in the urban form : bringing queer and trans voices into creating… Roberton, Jen 2016
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