Switched at Birth – Bitch Flicks

‘The Fosters,’ Sexuality, and the Challenges of Parenting While Feminist

In Stef and Lena’s case, they face the much more complicated question of how to talk to their kids about sex in a way that balances their feminist ideals of sex positivity with their parental need protect and discipline their kids. Two scenes in particular stand out to me as exemplars of the ways in which Lena and Stef strive to make sure their kids are not ashamed of their sexuality while simultaneously conveying the importance of being safe, ready, and responsible.

This guest post by Stephanie Brown appears as part of our theme week on Sex Positivity.

In my frequent lectures to friends about why they should take time out of their busy television (and real life) schedules to watch ABC Family’s drama The Fosters (2013-present), I usually refer to an exchange from the season two episode “Mother Nature” in which Stef (Teri Polo) and Lena (Sherri Saum) have an argument born out of a season-long simmering tension over their respective parenting roles:

Stef: Please stop making me feel like I have to the disciplinarian dad in this family.

Lena: That’s awfully heteronormative thinking.

The first time I watched this episode, I actually paused the show to process my excitement over the fact that a TV show ostensibly for teenagers included a casual reference to the social construction gender roles. Can you name many other shows on basic cable in which you could hear the word “heteronormative” being thrown around? Though, I shouldn’t have been surprised. Over its first three seasons, I’ve been impressed many a time with the range of complex issues thoughtfully addressed by The Fosters, from societal issues of racism, the broken foster system, addiction, and religion to familiar teenage issues like friendship, school, and rival dance teams.

The Fosters, if you aren’t familiar, centers around Stef and Lena and their brood of biological, adopted, and foster children. I will admit that the title of the series is a little (OK, very) on the nose, but I’m willing to forgive it a series that, as you may have gathered, features characters and stories that we don’t usually get to see on TV. The inciting incident for the pilot is that Stef, a cop, and her wife Lena, a high school principal, decide to foster Callie (Maia Mitchell) and her younger brother Jude (Hayden Byerly) after they have been through a series of abusive foster homes. The Adams-Foster family also includes Brandon (David Lambert), Stef’s son from her previous marriage to her police partner Mike (Danny Nucci), and twins Mariana (Cierra Ramirez) and Jesus (Jake T. Austin and Noah Centineo due to a Roseanne-like recasting situation) who were adopted by the family when they were toddlers.

The Foster-Adams family is a big, loving, messy group, which fits well into the network’s “A New Kind of Family” brand. Since ABC Family rebranded in 2006 with this new slogan, they have produced several engaging, interesting, underappreciated dramas. From Greek (which Entertainment Weekly once referred to as “better than it has any right to be”) to Switched At Birth, a show in which scenes are frequently shot completely in sign language, the network frequently spotlights characters and storylines you won’t find anywhere else on television. Of course, as with most pop culture associated with teenage girls, the network’s innovative storytelling is often banished to the world of non-serious TV (a fate that befell the WB, UPN and now the CW as well).

Of course, as you might expect from a show that centers on a family with five teenagers, sexuality is a prevalent theme in The Fosters. Not only do the teenagers on the show deal with issues like having sex for the first time, sexual assault, the questioning of their sexuality, and love triangles, but refreshingly, Stef and Lena also deal with their own adult sex life. While same-sex couples are often desexualized (see Modern Family), Stef and Lena are given storylines that revolve around sex. In one such episode. Lena and Stef have frank discussions about the effect their busy lives and big family is having on their physical relationship and Lena’s fear of succumbing to “lesbian bed death” (2. 16). Stef and Lena not only talk about sex, they’re also shown cuddling post-sex, kissing, and generally showing physical affection for each other. Not only does the series treat sex as a multifaceted an integral aspect of adult relationships, it of course, also normalizes lesbian sex, which has historically either been ignored or relegated to the realm of the salacious male gaze.

The other notably refreshing aspect of Stef and Lena’s on-screen parenting is the way in which they often have to navigate their dual roles as feminists and parents of teenagers. As a woman who doesn’t have kids, I can’t identify with complexities of parenting while feminist, but as a feminist I can absolutely identify with the complexities of living in the world while feminist. To this point, the series raises important questions about the often challenging task of applying our deeply held feminist ideals our messy, everyday lives. I know, for instance, that the unholy alliance between advertisers, the beauty industry, and patriarchal constructions of gender and beauty have combined to make me think twice before leaving the house without putting on mascara. And yet.

In the season two finale, “The End of the Beginning” (2.21), 13- year-old Jude confides in Lena that he and his friend Connor had made out in their tent on a school camping trip. When he breaks down crying out of a mix what is likely fear, relief, and guilt at having lied to his parents about what happened, Lena makes sure he understands that he has nothing to be ashamed for acting on his attraction to Connor, while reminding him that school-sanctioned trips are not the place to fool around. Similarly, in the summer finale of season 3, “Lucky” (3.10), Lena and Jude have the sex talk after Connor’s dad finds him and Jude making out in Connor’s room:

Jude: So, I’m not in trouble?

Lena: No. No, but you’re probably going to wish you were. I think it’s time we had the talk. I’m really happy that you found someone as wonderful and as kind as Connor. I really am. And when sex is shared between two people…

Jude: OK, OK. Connor and I are not having sex.

Lena: Oh, OK, good. Good. Um, so. When any kind of physical intimacy is shared between two people who care about it each other. It’s a beautiful thing. I mean, OK look, if I’m being honest, I don’t really know a whole lot about the logistics of two men being together, but I definitely want you know how to take care of yourself, and to be safe when the time comes. Which hopefully won’t be for quite some time.

Again, Lena walks the line between reassuring Jude that sex is wonderful and normal, while at the same time making it clear that she hopes that he waits until he is mature enough emotionally, physically, and mentally.

In Mariana’s case, the conversation with her parents happens after she has already had sex for the first time, though under less-than-ideal circumstances. Mariana had planned to have sex with her boyfriend, but when he asks her to wait until he gets back from his band’s tour, she takes his delay as a rejection and ends up hastily having sex with Callie’s ex-boyfriend (“Wreckage,” 3.1).

After harboring a guilty conscience for several episodes, Mariana finally comes clean to her moms in “Going South” (3.5). Throughout the initial conversation, Mariana is defensive of her choice as her moms struggle not to shame her while simultaneously trying to understand her decision.

Stef: Losing your virginity at 15 is a big deal, Mariana.

Mariana: I thought you guys were feminists

Lena: Don’t play that card. We said the exact same thing to your brothers.

Stef: I don’t understand why you think that this is some kind of race.

Mariana: Well I did, OK? And I’m not a virgin anymore, so.

Lena: Honey, I think what your mother’s trying to say is that we love you and we just want to understand your choices.

There is tension not only between Mariana and her moms, but also between Stef and Lena as they negotiate how to handle the situation as parents and feminists. Mariana, knowing her moms well, goes so far as to play the “feminism” card, seemingly daring them to make her feel ashamed of her decision so she can claim the moral high ground by calling out their hypocrisy. In a follow-up conversation, the issue is resolved as Stef and Lena reassure Mariana that she should not be ashamed of having sex or of making a mistake.

Stef: I wasn’t trying to shame you, Mariana. I wasn’t.

Lena: But sex is a big deal. Every time you have sex it’s a big deal. You’re sharing a vulnerable and precious part of yourself. You should always make sure you feel good about it.

Similar to Lena’s conversation with Jude, the goal of the “sex talk” isn’t to scare or shame their kids away from sex, but rather to encourage them to take sex seriously and wait until they’re ready. Stef and Lena also want to assure Mariana that they love her unconditionally, and that our mistakes don’t make us bad people, they make us human:

Stef: My love you know what. We all do things we wish we hadn’t. But we learn from them. And if we manage not to repeat them, man, it feels really, really good.

The talks that Stef and Lena have with Mariana and Jude about sex are emblematic of the way the series treats a range of sensitive subjects with care, warmth, and complexity. As with every situation, Stef and Lena strive to ensure that their kids feel, above all else, unashamed, supported and loved. Of course, The Fosters is by no means a perfect show. It can veer into sentimentality and overwrought melodrama, but I will happily take being manipulated into tears (I was a fan of Parenthood, after all) when it comes with a side of progressive storylines about family, sexuality, and gender. As one of the few shows my mom, my sister and I all watch, The Fosters is a series I hope families across the country are also watching and enjoying together.

Stephanie Brown is a television, comedy, and podcast enthusiast working on her doctorate in media studies at the University of Illinois, Urbana-Champaign. You can follow her on Twitter or Medium @stephbrown.

‘Switched at Birth’ and Ableist Romance

It’s safe to say that you’d be hard-pressed to find a more disability-friendly show on television. That level of representation for disabled actors continues to be virtually nonexistent, not to mention fleshing them out as actual characters instead of forcing them to be background token minorities.

Switched at Birth promotional poster. — *Switched at Birth* promotional poster.

Written by Erin Tatum.

In today’s unapologetically ableist media, Switched at Birth is a diamond in the rough in many respects. The narrative follows two teenage girls, Bay Kennish (Vanessa Marano) and Daphne Vasquez (Katie Leclerc) after they discover that a hospital mixup led to them being switched at birth and deal with the fusion of their two families. Daphne also happens to be deaf as a result of early childhood meningitis. Bay’s entire family learns sign language, meaning that coupled with Daphne’s other family and friends, pretty much everyone in the cast had to already be or become fluent in American sign language for the role. The show features Marlee Matlin prominently and casts actual deaf actors to authentically represent Daphne’s life in the deaf community. It’s safe to say that you’d be hard-pressed to find a more disability-friendly show on television. That level of representation for disabled actors continues to be virtually nonexistent, not to mention fleshing them out as actual characters instead of forcing them to be background token minorities.

Emmett finds himself falling for Bay pretty quickly.

In spite of all the progressivism, arguably the main appeal of the show for most viewers annoys the hell out of me: the relationship between Bay and Emmett. Emmett (Sean Berdy) is a motorcycle bad boy literally described by the writers as a “deaf James Dean.” A staunch advocate of Deaf culture, Emmett prefers his way of life and repeatedly insists that he only wants to date a deaf girl. Of course, this desire is portrayed as stubborn and naively foolish. Emmett initially sulks over a long time unrequited crush on Daphne, but it only takes a few episodes for Bay to start winning him over. This would all be well and good if Bay and Emmett’s blossoming romance weren’t used to paper over and invalidate his original desire to maintain his culture. A firm belief system is only relevant to illustrate how much you’ll change for love! Every character teases Emmett or acts surprised by his feelings for Bay, as if the fact that he fell for a hearing girl proves the inevitable dominance of the status quo. Again, portraying his commitment to deaf values as laughably myopic and unsustainable is unfortunate because it belittles the historic and everyday prejudices against the deaf community. Bay should not be Emmett’s ambassador to the hearing world. Minorities do not “reform themselves” by learning to accept total immersion in the majority. That’s not how that works. Bay’s just another generic Mary Sue whose informed exceptionalism is enough to convince those alleged radicals that integrating into the mainstream is better! Isn’t everything more romantic when you can make the challenges of your marginalized partner all about you?

Emmett practices his speech to make Bay happy.

Predictably, the relationship becomes… all about Bay, and not just because she’s the main character. Bay has to contemplate dating a deaf guy. Bay can’t learn sign language fast enough. Bay wants to know why Emmett insists on remaining nonverbal. To clarify, Emmett chooses not to speak and communicate solely in sign language. I think Daphne is actually the only hearing impaired character thus far who is also verbal. As I understand, it’s a matter of personal preference. Bay assures Emmett that he shouldn’t be self-conscious about his voice around her. She wants them to speak so badly that Emmett takes speech lessons and even considers getting a cochlear implant to please her. We’re supposed to see this as proof of his commitment to her, but this is fifty shades of fucked up. You should never be expected to change a fundamental aspect of your identity for your partner. Emmett already told her that speaking aloud makes him uncomfortable. End of discussion. Curiosity is understandable to an extent, but not if you’re going to pick apart their private lives to see if they live up to your standards. The ableist impulse to “help” disabled people by making them seem more “normal” is disgusting. Making matters worse, Bay is portrayed as the accepting supportive girlfriend when she eventually let go of the idea that Emmett had to become verbal.

Things get heated between Emmett and Daphne when Daphne confesses her feelings for him.

Bay finds time to play the victim even in the earliest days of her relationship. Daphne has particularly unfortunate timing and decides that she actually does have feelings for Emmett just when Bay and Emmett have made things official. Bay feels threatened due to Emmett and Daphne’s shared deaf experience, rather than worry about more obvious red flags like their deep friendship or Emmett’s massive crush that apparently evaporated. Infuriated by Daphne’s sudden realization, Emmett turns Daphne down and tells her that he is with Bay (but not before kissing Daphne, which is somehow never brought up again because I guess their entire friendship was an elaborate plotpoint to give Bay drama). Emmett rushes to tell Bay that he’s chosen her. God, I hate this trope. Nothing kills the romance in a new relationship more than anxiously waiting to see if you’re someone’s second choice in a love triangle.

Bay has already let her insecurities get the best of her and melodramatically announces to Emmett that he might as well be with Daphne since she (Bay) will never understand what it’s like to be deaf. She also makes it seem like Emmett was setting her up to be let down all along with his ~deaf elitism~, when it’s actually been her pushing Emmett to live up to her standards from the beginning. Fuck you, Bay. If you can’t tell, I hate Bay with a fiery passion and I think that she’s a whiny, entitled asshat. God forbid that the privileged able girl feels inferior to – gasp – someone who she knows is widely perceived as socially unworthy! (Her paranoia emcompasses more than just rejection, clearly.) As his final ace in the hole to prove that he really is committed to her, Emmett whirls Bay around and struggles to enunciate the words “I – just – want – you,” the first and only time he has spoken onscreen.

The fandom collectively swooned.

That single sentence was viewed as the ultimate romantic gesture. He overcame his biggest barrier to profess his love to her! So dreamy.

Let me pause for a second before I dissect the worlds of no that accompany that sentiment.

Here’s the thing: disabled people should never, ever have to transcend into “ableness” to make a case for themselves as viable romantic interests. Ever. A romantic relationship can never work if it’s built upon one person patting themselves on the back for being gracious or self-sacrificing enough to be with the other person. That’s not a relationship, that’s elaborate, sociopathic ego masturbation.

By forcing Emmett to speak to keep her from walking away, Bay is essentially admitting that she’ll only stay around if he lets her mold him into the person that she deems acceptable – that is, either a more able person or a person that perpetually highlights her greatness as able savior. Why is the burden on him to prove he’s not that committed to deaf exclusivity? See, it’s not Bay who has to understand a different perspective, Emmett is the one who needs to change and open up his mind! Again, Bay’s exceptionalism is reasserted when the audience is reminded that it’s allegedly Emmett’s agency at work here, because Bay is great enough to throw his lifelong belief in deaf solidarity out the window after a few short weeks of flirting. Yeah, okay.

Emmett teaches Bay the sign for "I love you." — Emmett teaches Bay the sign for “I love you.”

Ultimately, audience response naturalizes passive ableism far mare than the portrayal of Bay and Emmett’s romance in itself. Reaction to the couple often reveals cringe inducing depths of ignorance. The consensus generally seems to be adoration for Bay’s selflessness in wanting to be with a deaf person and learning sign language for Emmett (so she’s a saint for… wanting to talk to the boy she likes?). Most bizarrely, Bay and Emmett’s relationship has produced a desire in many fans to have a deaf boyfriend. Yes, you read that right.

You have to admit the idiocy here is blatant and undeniably impressive.

No other sentiment could better encapsulate the habitual dehumanization of people with disabilities as well as the pervasiveness of ableism.

Even as Switched at Birth‘s resident heartthrob, Emmett is never respected on his own merit. He is only valuable in the ways that he can benefit Bay’s character. If they’re together, the able community can find a palatable way to pretend to embrace trans-ability romance through compulsive and obligatory worship of the able savior.

Disabled people are never equal partners, they’re pets and ego boosts.

People want a deaf boyfriend so that they can relish the idea that they’ll be the only ones who can communicate with them and that closeness will create some sort of special bond.

Do I need to explain why that’s problematic?

You can’t specifically engineer a situation so that your partner is isolated to the point where they’re only physically able to talk to you. That’s unhealthy and abusive, to say the least. And just, the fetishism and infantilism and jesus, everything about the half-baked romanticization of deaf/hearing relationships because of this silly show is so fucking wrong.

Emmett paints a timeline of their relationship milestones to impress Bay.

Bay and Emmett get in a fight and Emmett sleeps with another hearing girl (conveniently casting Bay as the victim yet again, surprise). They break up. Despite several attempts to win her back, Emmett has thus far been unsuccessful. They’ve actually been apart as just friends with very little interaction for quite a long time, not that I’m complaining. They’re obviously endgame, but I’m hoping when they do get back together, they’ll be on more equal footing.

Romances shouldn’t be about falling in love with the idea of yourself being virtuous enough to tolerate someone else.