What Communities Want: Recognizing the Needs of Hate Crime Targets

The theme of the Third International Conference on Hate Studies, “The Pursuit of Justice: Understanding Hatred, Confronting Intolerance, Eliminating Inequality,” took me immediately to the subject matter of this article: Who is meant to be served by the subthemes of this conference, if not the targets or potential targets of hate crime? An equally important set of questions would ask: What justice looks like from the perspectives of those individuals and groups? What do hate crime victims want, and what do they need? And, what do vulnerable communities want and need? These have been consistent objects of inquiry in much of the hate crime fieldwork I have conducted over in the past decade. There comes a point in virtually every survey, interview, or focus group when I ask my participants what they would like to see done to minimize the risk and impact of hate crime. In asking for suggested policy initiatives or intervention programs that might ameliorate the damage to community harmony and mitigate future hate crime occurrences, I generally hope to avoid the usual pitfall of assuming that I know “what the victim wants” (Garland & Chakraborti, 2002). My intent in this article is to overcome the historical arrogance of state or even local initiatives, however well-meaning they might be, that are not grounded in the expressed needs and wants of affected communities. I see this article as an opportunity to give targeted individuals and communities a voice and to remind scholars and practitioners who work in the field that hate crime victims and their communities are a primary reason that many of us are engaged in this emerging, evolving field of Hate Studies. All targets of crime deserve services that help them cope with and, ideally, prevent their own victimization. However, different communities may experience the trauma of violence in different ways. An Office for Victims of Crime report (1998) observes that:


INTRODUCTION
The theme of the Third International Conference on Hate Studies, "The Pursuit of Justice: Understanding Hatred, Confronting Intolerance, Eliminating Inequality," took me immediately to the subject matter of this article: Who is meant to be served by the subthemes of this conference, if not the targets or potential targets of hate crime? An equally important set of questions would ask: What justice looks like from the perspectives of those individuals and groups? What do hate crime victims want, and what do they need? And, what do vulnerable communities want and need?
These have been consistent objects of inquiry in much of the hate crime fieldwork I have conducted over in the past decade. There comes a point in virtually every survey, interview, or focus group when I ask my participants what they would like to see done to minimize the risk and impact of hate crime. In asking for suggested policy initiatives or intervention programs that might ameliorate the damage to community harmony and mitigate future hate crime occurrences, I generally hope to avoid the usual pitfall of assuming that I know "what the victim wants" (Garland & Chakraborti, 2002). My intent in this article is to overcome the historical arrogance of state or even local initiatives, however well-meaning they might be, that are not grounded in the expressed needs and wants of affected communities. I see this article as an opportunity to give targeted individuals and communities a voice and to remind scholars and practitioners who work in the field that hate crime victims and their communities are a primary reason that many of us are engaged in this emerging, evolving field of Hate Studies.
All targets of crime deserve services that help them cope with and, ideally, prevent their own victimization. However, different communities may experience the trauma of violence in different ways. An Office for Victims of Crime report (1998) observes that: Different concepts of suffering and healing influence how victims experience the effects of victimization and the process of recovery . . . . Methods for reaching culturally diverse victims must include resources that are specific to their needs. (p. 157). 9 10 JOURNAL OF HATE STUDIES [Vol. 12:9 The array of services that are currently available, however, tends only to serve the general needs of victims, regardless of their identities. Those who are targeted because of their race or religion, those who experience crime differently because of their sexual orientation or gender identity, and those who are uncomfortable with the criminal justice system because of their disability or ethnicity do often require culturally-specific services. The Council on American-Islamic Relations ("CAIR"), for example, serves the needs and interests of Muslims through advocacy, education, and victim support. Yet in most countries, these kinds of dedicated, culturally-specific services are in short supply.
Based in my own research and observance of best practices, I argue that sensitivity to the cultural needs of affected communities, in a way that empowers those who are targeted by such violence, is key to effective delivery of victim services. Such services should acknowledge that the targets of hate crime have unique needs, and furthermore that the affected community knows best what these needs are. Alas, current practice does not generally recognize either of these points. Aside from umbrella antiviolence organizations like the Anti-Defamation League ("ADL") or the Council on American-Islamic Relations-Canada ("CAIR-CAN"), and the work of Canadian victims' services providers (McDonald & Hogue, 2007), very few agencies or organizations specifically address the unique, often culturally-specific needs of hate crime victims.
Unfortunately, even where hate crime interventions have emerged, the services offered typically have not reflected the expressed needs of vulnerable communities. This situation represents a failure to provide what the European Monitoring Centre on Racism and Xenophobia ("EUMC") (as cited in Iganski, 2008, p. 96) calls an "ethical" response to hate crime victims, in which attention is to be given to the "experiences, feelings and opinion of victims." To be sure, this "ethical" response has not been the norm. In spite of the fact that a diverse coalition of organizations representing marginalized groups initially put hate crime on the public agenda (Jenness & Grattet, 2001), subsequent policies and programs have often been imposed from the top-down, and have excluded the voices of those most affected by hate crime.
Victim services clinician Jim Hill (2009) urges service providers to keep in mind that "it is important that you not try to impose your personal view of what (hate crime victims) should do. Allow your clients to lead you in how much, or how little, they want to use group identity to shape their personal identity" (p.106). In a similar manner, this article attempts to recognize and bring forth many unheard voices of hate crime, as based in a practice of asking a community and its various members what they want and need, listening to those answers, and then striving to respond appropri-  WHAT COMMUNITIES WANT 11 ately and effectively. Consequently, the article is not an exhaustive list of what can be done, or what currently exists, in the realm of hate crime prevention and support services. Nor is this article a systematic analysis of any single research project. Rather, it is a reflection of the cumulative wisdom of myriad diverse participants, themselves representing similarly varied communities (and sub-communities), including those within Lesbian, Gay, Bisexual Transgender, Queer ("LGBTQ"), Muslim, Asian, Aboriginal, Jewish, South Asian, and black communities. The observations provided herein are derived from 15 years of scholarly work focused directly on hate crime. My theoretical suppositions have been reinforced by more than 700 interviews, focus groups, and survey responses from an array of projects in which I have been involved. The individual respondents came from all walks of life: unemployed, underemployed, blue-collar workers, and white-collar workers. Some were considered leaders within their cultural communities because of their roles within the group, such as an Imam or as the head of a community based organization. Participants ranged in age from teenagers to octogenarians. While none of the samples were representative, they nonetheless reflected a wide cross-section of the respective cultural groups.
I do not claim here that these participants "speak for" their entire communities. Rather, I see these people as constitutive and from the communities of which they are a part (Code, 2008). To borrow a phrase, they are individuals-in-community (Grasswick, 2004(Grasswick, , 2011, a model that "conceptualizes knowers as individuals situated within communities, who know primarily through their active engagement with other individuals-incommunities" (Grasswick, 2004, p. 110). Individuals "know" on the basis of their own experiences, but also from interaction with others within the communities they share. They are able to read the perspectives of othersindividually and collectively-and integrate it into their own understandings. In this sense, knowers are situated and interactive. Furthermore, with Alcoff (1991Alcoff ( -1992, I reject the proposition at it is inherently oppressive to "speak for" others; this proposition has the counterproductive potential of weakening "political effectivity" (p. 17). The positions of the many speakers in my research are diverse and wide-ranging, reflecting both privilege and disadvantage. Some were accustomed to "speaking for" their communities because of their leadership roles; others were not, but nonetheless "spoke for" themselves, reflecting their own "truths." Moreover, any individual is situated in multiple and intersecting communities-as a woman, and a Latina, and a Catholic, for example. This is also the case for communities, whether locally or globally; these communities themselves are diverse. It is, of course, insufficient (and in some ways incorrect) to talk about the Jewish community, or the LGBTQ community, 12 JOURNAL OF HATE STUDIES [Vol. 12:9 or the black community. The general public, policy makers, even scholars too often homogenize communities and assume, stereotypically, a sameness of experience within them. There can be dramatic variations within all such groups-and similarities across them too. Furthermore, each of these groups is in fact constituted by multiple communities, and by individuals who move within and across multiple communities, which may or may not share experiences, perspectives, or place. Indeed, differences are themselves overlapping and intersecting. That said, remarkable themes do recur regularly within and across cultural groups in the studies I have conducted. I have closely read respondents' narratives countless times, seeking identifiable patterns in how individuals and communities experience and respond to hate crime. In preparing this article, I revisited those stories with an eye toward identifying common expressions of "needs" and "wants" in terms of anti-hate initiatives. In what follows, I preface these observations by defining hate crime, and identifying the array of harms associated with this form of violence. I then lay out four "intangibles" as demanded by community members: recognition, respect, safety, and voice. I follow this discussion with a related one of presenting concrete strategies, as proposed by respondents themselves, to achieve those intangibles: community awareness, community empowerment, victim services, and criminal justice reform. In this article, I typically offer only scant comments to express a point. Meanwhile, quotations from surveys, focus groups, and interviews are used liberally not only to illustrate and provide support to the analysis, but also to give the participants opportunities to speak for themselves as individuals-in-community.

I. THE HARMS OF HATE
In order to understand what a community needs, specifically in regards to hate crime, it is important first to appreciate the nature of the harms associated with this distinct form of violence. The following definition has long framed my understanding of hate crime in this context: [Hate crime] involves acts of violence and intimidation, usually directed toward already stigmatized and marginalized groups. As such, it is a mechanism of power, intended to reaffirm the precarious hierarchies that characterize a given social order. It attempts to recreate simultaneously the threatened (real or imagined) hegemony of the perpetrator's group and the "appropriate" subordinate identity of the victim's group (Perry, 2001, p. 10) This definition is especially useful because it draws attention to two of the key distinctions between bias-motivated violence and other forms of  WHAT COMMUNITIES WANT 13 violence. First, bias-motivated violence is not random; it targets particular people solely because of an identity, usually a minority identity, with which they affiliate or which the offender (sometimes erroneously) ascribes to them. Second and clearly related to the first reason, this form of violence targets a group and not simply an individual. Indeed, in examining hate crime literature, policy debates, and relevant court decisions, there is an assumption that such offences are, for that same reason, qualitatively different in their effects, as compared to non-bias-motivated offences. Specifically, Weinstein (1992) identifies three potential levels of harm. While he speaks of racially-motivated crime, the same could be said for other categories of hate crime: [T]hat racial violence causes injury to the victim above and beyond physical damage, that racial violence causes injury not only to the immediate victim but also to the victim's racial or ethnic group, and that racial violence has particularly pernicious ramifications for society as a whole. (p. 8) The latter two harms are characterized by Weinstein as in terrorem effects; these are akin to what Iganski (2001, p. 629) characterizes as the extended harm to the victim's group, harm to other targeted communities, and harm to societal norms and values. In short, these are the distal community impacts of hate crime. The first of these types of harm-to the individual target-has been the subject of considerable scholarly attention. Research suggests that biasmotivated crimes are often characterized by extreme brutality (Levin & McDevitt, 1992). Additionally, the empirical findings in studies of the emotional, psychological, and behavioural impacts of hate crime have established a solid pattern of more severe impact on bias crime victims, as compared to non-bias victims (see, e.g., Herek et al., 2002;McDevitt et al., 2001). The key difference here, as referred to above, is that hate crimes are very often directed toward one's core identity. Targets are chosen on the basis of highly salient physical or cultural characteristics that may be ascribed to the individual or, alternatively, that may be at the core of individual self-identity. In the latter case, in particular, hate crime victimization often results in the individual's decreased sense of self-worth: Whether they were directly or indirectly made towards me, in my opinion, these were hate crimes as they left me feeling lesser than the other person, as they were directed attacks on my self-esteem and confidence (Lesbian).
Another related effect is a prolonged fear that the victimization may be 14 JOURNAL OF HATE STUDIES [Vol. 12:9 repeated. For people who cannot or will not alter the provocation for the attack-their presumed or actual social identity-it is clear to them that they remain subject to violence at any moment; the sense of vulnerability and risk remains at a heightened state. Silver et al. (2004) suggest that hate crime victims are nearly three times more likely to fear revictimization than victims of non-bias-motivated crimes.
In moving beyond the experiences of the immediate target to the broader in terrorem effects, we generally enter the realm of speculation. Many scholars point to the "fact" that hate crimes are "message crimes" that emit a distinct warning to all members of the victim's community: step out of line or cross invisible boundaries, and you too could be lying on the ground, beaten and bloodied (Iganski, 2001). Consequently, this individual fear is thought to be accompanied by the collective fear of the victim's cultural group, possibly even of other minority groups likely to be targeted.
Few studies have explicitly addressed the veracity of this presumptive migrating fear (Lim, 2009;Noelle, 2002;Perry & Alvi, 2011). However, in several of my recent projects I have explored this topic and found that across affected communities, participants indicate that awareness of the potential for hate crime enhances the sense of vulnerability and the fearfulness within those communities. This effect, after all, is the intent of hate crime: to intimidate and instill fear in the whole of the targeted community, not just the immediate victim. Interestingly, when asked to define hate crime, many participants specifically acknowledge the "message" nature of these crimes. For example, [a] "hate crime" is the act of causing personal or property damage with intent to intimidate because of a person's religious or sexual beliefs. It is meant to send a message of intolerance against the "selected" group and to leave a message of fear. It is also meant to send a message that those targeted are not safe because of their belief (Muslim female).
Many individuals receive these "messages" loud and clear; they feel equally vulnerable to victimization, and thus, are fearful. Upon reading a scenario describing a hypothetical hate crime, a Jewish male observed "When it happens to someone else (who) identifies themselves the same way as you do, it might as well be happening to me too. If they hate Jim, if they are willing to assault Jim, they are certainly capable and willing to assault me too." This example highlights one of the key characteristics of hate crime-the apparent randomness-that makes such violence so terrifying. As many hate crime scholars have observed, victims are often interchangeable (Lim, 2009;Levin & McDevitt, 1998). The chosen target simply represents an "other" in generic terms. When he or she is a member of a hated or demonized group, that membership is enough to leave the person vulnerable to attack. Further knowledge of the individual's identity, personality, or status is unnecessary.
Unfortunately, another in terrorem harm-the adverse impact of hate crimes on perceptions of national ideals-has also received scant attention in the relevant literature. Hate crimes are direct threats to the basic principles of inclusion and tolerance that are said to underlie Western societies. Writing specifically about Native Americans more than fifty years ago, legal scholar Felix Cohen (1952) noted that the legal and extralegal mistreatment of minorities "reflects the rise and fall of our democratic faith" (p. 17). More recently, in Regina v. Keegstra (1990), Canadian Chief Justice Dickson concluded that "Hate propaganda contributes little to the aspirations of Canadians or Canada in either the quest for truth, the promotion of individual self-development or the protection and fostering of a vibrant democracy where the participation of all individuals is accepted and encouraged." In other words, it is possible that the persistence of hate crime presents a distinct harm to democratic ideals and institutions, insofar as it reveals the dehumanizing fissures that characterize the societies in which hate crime occurs and lays bare the bigotry that is endemic within each (Matsuda, 1993;Waldron, 2012). As such, it may very well be the case that bias-motivated violence is not just a precursor to greater intergroup tension, but is also an indicator of underlying social and cultural tensions. In this interpretation, hate crime is but one indicator that the enshrined ideals of freedom and equality for all are in fact illusory.
Hate crimes researchers and victims alike know that the widely proclaimed ethos of inclusion and belonging is not necessarily the daily reality for vulnerable communities, who both experience and fear violence as motivated by ideals that directly contrast with those norms embedded in the national mantra. The cultural, social, and political mood in Australia, Canada, and many other Western nations, in particular, uneasily supports a simultaneously disabling and enabling environment for hate. The messages of inclusion, participation, and engagement are contradicted by acts of violence that are inspired by racism, heterosexism and other related "isms." Writing of the Australian paradox, for example, Chris Cunneen (1997) highlights the irony wherein "a liberal democracy, with its commitment to anti-discrimination, simultaneously functions within an institutional framework which can be described as having pervasive racism" (p. 138).
Hate crime challenges the sense of belonging that would seem to be so crucial to inclusive societies (Waldron, 2012). Such crimes can also be a key point of contact in the negotiation of place and belonging in society. Indeed, I have long argued that hate crime is a crucial mechanism for the dance of power. As hate crime victims keenly understand, such violence represents an unequal exchange, whereby the intent of hate crime is to dom-16 JOURNAL OF HATE STUDIES [Vol. 12:9 inate and exclude by transmitting a key message that its victims are not worthy of belonging: The message is clear. I don't belong. We don't belong. Muslims are made to feel inferior and like they don't belong, are unwelcomed. Non-Muslims see Muslims as aliens and a community of people to blame and their frustrations out on (Muslim male).
The lack-of-belonging message is not just implicit. Often, the language that constitutes or accompanies targeted assaults is blunt in its intent: I was just, um, this thing happened to me before. I was once in a library like few years back in, a Saturday, you know, just reading some books. And this man just like comes in and looks really close, like he kind of invaded my personal space and started staring at me and saying things like "Get back to where you come from. You don't belong here." And very, very hurtful things. I didn't want to stay there. He was getting ready to physically like, hit me and I didn't wanna be in that situation. So I just like run away. (Muslim female).
A sense of belonging is crucial to social inclusion. Yet people of colour, members of religious minority groups, and members of the LGBTQ communities, for example, are frequently reminded by harassment and violence that they do not warrant the same recognition as their straight, white, Christian counterparts. The sense of alienation emanating from this exclusion can be debilitating as it has the potential to inhibit engagement with the broader society since "persons who do not feel valued in society cannot contribute or participate to their full potential" (OHRC, 2003, p. 34).
Although hate crimes clearly have these detrimental impacts, it is interesting to note that these crimes can also provide a catalyst for positive change. Patterns of persistent violence, or highly publicized cases like those of Matthew Shepard and James Byrd, can have the unintended effect of mobilizing victim communities and their allies. Indeed, across multiple studies that I have conducted, the targets of hate violence can and often do develop constructive alternatives to the prejudice and violence that confronts them. For example, one Canadian First Nations male indicated his belief that hate can be unlearned, based on the role of social institutions in inculcating hate. "I think it is learned. It is learned partly in our educational system, it is learned in the home and is learned through the media culture. I would suggest that the only good news is that hate can be unlearned." Whether done individually or collectively among targeted populations, challenging hate crime and the biases that inform it are often valuable  WHAT COMMUNITIES WANT 17 processes for those populations. Across my studies, many participants have been optimistic about the potential for change and suggested progressive strategies for harnessing the energy of vibrant communities to counteract both the potential for and the impact of hate crime. For example, "[t]his story makes me want to help educate people so that future generations will be more accepting and less afraid. Education is the key to eliminating irrational fears" (Jewish male). Many other participants also noted the constructive impact of feeling inspired to react at an individual and/or collective level: This kind of story fills me with a lot of emotions. Mainly, reading a story like this further motivates me to confront discrimination and heterosexism. I do not have any ideas for action on a grand scale, however I would discuss the incident with as many people as possible to get them thinking about the issues facing the gay community (Lesbian).
These and other personal narratives, which so many people have generously shared with me, demonstrate how the anger and frustration that such violence evokes can also motivate individuals and communities to action. I preface the following discussion of desired actions, which includes a lengthy list of strategies for countering the deleterious effects, as offered by a Canadian First Nations participant in one of my studies: More information sharing is needed. In all communities. Networking. Speaking out. Affirmative action. Being proactive. The province of Ontario and federal gov't (sic) need to enforce all human rights issues. More participation of the business community/corporations need (sic) to finance advertising/meetings/seminars/conferences to show support. Pharmaceutical companies need to get involved. The law/police/courts must be participants municipal, provincially and federally. Education. Education. Education. We need to upgrade and go electronic to get our message out. U.N. Declaration of Human Rights need (sic) to reinforce its effectiveness. Churches need to get involved. Aboriginal communities need to become (sic) invited to participate. Wherever people gather in a public place, these human rights and regulations need more advocacy and transparency and action.
While few participants were as proscriptive as this one, most did share their thoughts and recommendations about what they would like to see done to mitigate the risk and impact of hate crime. Their responses tended to cluster around two broad sets of interests as outlined below: intangibles and concrete strategies for cultural, institutional, and structural change.

Recognition:
The failure to recognize hate crime for what it is presents a significant barrier to effective responses. Across Western cultures, there is a tendency to downplay or in fact deny the reality of racism, homophobia, and other marginalizing structures. This is particularly the case in the context of bias-motivated violence, which is too often disregarded by police, courts, and politicians alike. Police, for example, may diminish if not deny the danger faced by individuals or the community at large. Consider the dismissive words of a police officer in Minnesota, referring to violence against Native Americans: I think in the social aspect there's no conflict, no discrimination; there's really nothing. Sometimes people will talk about it, but I don't think they, uh, I think they often make it up. I don't see it, and nobody comes directly to the station to complain. So, no, if they complain about it, I think they are wrong (White male).
Such declarations fly in the face of the experiences described so candidly by people I interviewed across communities. The indifference of law enforcement to the needs and realities of people whom they are intended to serve speaks volumes about how police view vulnerable communities. Where there is "no violence," there can be no reason for action: You don't want to call the police or make an issue of it. They play down how serious the violence is, how much there is-unless it's Indians hurting whites. They see the cases one at a time if at all, so they won't make the connections. The cases aren't related; it's not about discrimination, they say. They won't admit that Indians get hurt more (Native American male). This observation resonates with Gail Mason's (2012) assessment of the public response to a series of racist attacks against Indian students in Australia. There, too, racist motivations were minimized by politicians and the media in favour of evasions and euphemisms that framed the violence as isolated, opportunistic, or symptomatic of broader crime patterns. Repeatedly, political leaders, in particular, were at pains to avoid even using the term "racism." In light of this neutralization, it is not surprising that hate crimes victims and their communities seek recognition and acknowledgement of identity: A person can and should be able to be proud and say that, "Yes, I'm a Canadian, but I also identify as this." So I want to walk through the Equally important, however, is that these individuals and communities also seek recognition of the violence perpetrated against them as hate crime. Justice Canada researchers Susan McDonald and Andrea Hogue (2007, p. 30) concur on this point, stating that "victims need the hatred behind these crimes identified and acknowledged by the criminal justice system." Likewise, a gay male whom I interviewed offered this assessment: They're not exactly there to protect me. But at the same token, all I expect them to do is maintain the law and pursue the case. If they do it objectively and impartially and they observe my civil rights, I'm not going to complain about them.
Respect: Acknowledgment of the bias motivation behind such violence would also go a long way toward bringing victims another key "intangible"-respect. First and foremost, vulnerable communities crave respect from other people and from the state. Simply put, "I look forward to, I guess, everyone accepting and respecting me" (Gay man). A young Muslim woman expressed this hope almost poetically: I would like to see all of humanity to hold hands! Unite! And love and respect one another as we are all human and at the end of the day! This is done by simply demonstrating to people that we all cry, feel, bleed, and sleep. We are all equal! Targeted communities, and their individual members, simply want to be treated with the justness and esteem which is their due. The sort of denial noted above sends the message that these communities are not valued or deemed worthy of the same protections as those in the mainstream. But it is the violence itself that most strongly underscores the lack of respect that racialized, gendered, and other marginalized communities experience: It's like we are still being alienated even though we have so many rights to practice our religion freely. It's just that we feel like we still feel cannot fit in society. And I think that's a main issue for a lot of Muslims because we want to be accepted; we want to be respected, but because of certain practices or beliefs that people do not understand, we feel like, okay, we have to hide that or conceal that in order to just have like a harmonious relationship maybe in the workplace, or in the school, or any realm in life for that matter. Just to be respected (Muslim female).

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JOURNAL OF HATE STUDIES [Vol. 12:9 Obviously, the intent of the violence referred to here is to express to these groups that they are not welcome, they do not have anything to contribute to the nation, and they in fact somehow represent a diminution of the national culture.
In the face of this hostility, the following perspective is illustrative of the preferred alternative: We need to honour the essence of what each individual brings; their strengths, their talents, their challenges . . . . That we honour the essence of who you are be it Muslim, be it Ukrainian, be it gay, be it lesbian, be it transgender (Gay man).
Until this respectful vision is realized, communities will continue to be fearful.
Safety: As a means of managing this fear in the interim, community members will strive to "create a safe place and to start to let people know that it is a safe place" (Lesbian). The theme of identifying or creating safe spaces is very common among and within targeted communities, as the risk of victimization is pervasive in many settings and for some, there is, to their mind, no safe space. One transgender woman spoke at length about her perceptions of safety and what that entailed for her: I think one of the real problems with safety, I don't know where it is safe in Toronto, when I started my transition people could easily identify that I was trans all the time and I faced constant harassment and people staring at me, giving me dirty looks, talking to each other ridiculing and mocking me. I had to adapt to the experiences of nearly being physically assaulted and my feeling was that I was never safe anywhere and that lead to being very reclusive, isolating, which then tied in with severe depression and suicide attempts. So there's the practical issue of safety, but then there's the subjective experience of safety that is radically altered by those experiences you have and without the involved balance, even just harassment, bullying, ridiculing and mocking takes a tremendous toll on us.
This sense of safety/unsafety is an inevitable outcome of a vulnerability that is experienced as normative and ubiquitous. Regardless of context, there is a constant fear of assault among members of frequently targeted communities. The violence and threat of violence that permeates their lives is one of the key factors that continue to remind marginalized communities of their liminal status. Some manage this threat by ignoring it as much as possible: Faced with the normativity and ubiquity of fear-inducing violence, members of vulnerable communities learn to negotiate their safety, to create "safety maps" (Mason, 2009). They adopt an array of strategies for managing their vulnerability, often through changes in behavioural patterns. Participants have expressed the necessity to alter their performance of identity in accordance with what they recognized as the socially established rules for "doing difference." They report changing routine activities, habits, and ways of being in the world: Even if you ran to escape they still chased after you. I then knew to travel/move in packs with friends. Never walk alone, bring reinforcements/witnesses and cell phone (Gay male).
In this respect, the potential for bias-motivated violence serves its intended purpose of enforcing appropriate public performances of identity at the very least. It is in this context that communities and individuals long for places-cultural, physical, psychic-where they can feel safe: We need more spaces like that for people who don't know where they belong, who yearn for a sense of belonging. 'Cause I yearn for a sense of belonging. I think I'm getting to find my place now (Lesbian).
Voice: The inclusion of affected groups into relevant conversations on community security is key to the creation of these safe spaces and to effective community and victim services more generally. In short, communities and their members want to be heard, to have a voice in policies, practices, and initiatives that affect them. Rather than the paternalistic imposition of programming by a "benevolent" state, anti-hate initiatives must also be informed by those in the best position to understand what is needed-members of targeted communities themselves, including those who have actually experienced hate crime. Otherwise, policymakers run the risk of developing counter-productive initiatives. For instance, Some in the OHRC created their trans definition some ten years ago . . . there are actually some, some very discriminatory items they have in the,

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JOURNAL OF HATE STUDIES [Vol. 12:9 their definitions, I could pretty much guarantee they did not consult trans people on that (Transgender woman).
This example is a powerful reminder of the downside of excluding the expressed needs and indeed the voices of affected groups from policymaking. Doing so runs the risk of creating strategies that are far removed from the experiences and informed insights of targeted individuals and communities. As in this case, exclusion can result in policy that reinforces rather than mitigates the marginality of these groups.
This article is one attempt to overcome the omission of the voices of targeted groups. Following these participants' identification of the "intangibles" noted here-including voice-I turn now to explore the participants' suggestions for concrete strategies by which to mitigate the risk of hate crime.

III. CONCRETE STRATEGIES
In part, the elusive goals noted above-recognition, respect, safety, and voice-require concrete action, whether among the targeted communities themselves, the broader community, or the state. Those goals will not, and therefore cannot be counted on to emerge organically from what is an inherently racist, homophobic, and otherwise bigoted culture. Concentrated efforts are necessary to ensure their development and sustainability. Affected communities are very clear on what they see as the building blocks needed to move beyond hate toward inclusion and respect as part of what I have referred to elsewhere as a "positive politics of difference" (Perry, 2001). Such an approach would require more than mere efforts to assimilate "others," or merely "tolerate" their presence. Rather, a "positive politics of difference" challenges us actually to celebrate our differences. Of course, doing so requires that much of our current way of ordering the world be radically altered (Perry, 2001, p. 236). A positive politics of difference, by necessity, operates at multiple levels and in multiple sites simultaneously, something that people within affected communities fully understand. Participants across research projects have specifically identified several key forms of intervention: community awareness, community empowerment, victim services, and criminal justice reform.
Community Awareness: Based on an extensive series of oral and written submissions on hate crime, the Ontario Hate Crime Community Working Group (2006, p. 32) came to the profound conclusion that: . . . hate is so commonplace and institutionalized that is it almost impossible for those outside the vulnerable communities to fully appreciate its magnitude or to recognize it as a scourge on our society as a whole . . .

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WHAT COMMUNITIES WANT 23 when the public lacks cultural awareness and understanding of difference, this contributes to exclusion, victimization, fear and tolerance of hate crime.
This sentiment has arisen often in my interactions with community members. There is a strong consensus that the public lacks awareness and understanding about diverse communities and the impacts of their victimization: Well there is no real awareness. People, I mean I think that just lately they've had a couple of documentaries and done some stuff on mainstream television that people have become a little bit aware of (Transgender woman).
The lack of public awareness and understanding is unsurprising, as people rely too much on stereotypical representations of marginal groups. The realm of popular images is fraught with stereotypes which both underlie and justify the differential treatment of subordinate groups. In line with an essentialist understanding of difference, the overriding theme is that of inscribed traits, wherein "the stereotypes confine them to a nature which is often attached in some way to their bodies, and which thus cannot easily be denied" (Young, 1990, p. 59). They help to distance white from not white; male from female; Christian from non-Christian; able-bodied from disabled. Almost invariably, the stereotypes are loaded with disparaging associations that, for example, suggest inferiority, irresponsibility, immorality, and nonhumanness. Consequently, they provide both motive and rationale for existing social hierarchies and, often, violence.
It is at these points of representation that community members frequently insist that policy must be developed in order to minimize the risk of hate crime. Enhancing awareness and understanding begins to break down these hate-enabling images. Generally, participants envision this intervention as ideally occurring on two levels: informal public awareness campaigns and formal education initiatives in the schools.
Awareness campaigns represent one medium for effectively influencing people's attitudes on an array of social issues, ranging from drunk driving to improving the environment. An assessment of public media campaigns in the United Kingdom suggests the mechanisms by which such awareness building initiatives might work: Once a media initiative is published or projected, consumers 'read' that product. They may react as conscious, analytical learners, pondering the media's treatment of race and other aspects of diversity. They may try to integrate thoughtfully and critically this learning into their own personal 24 JOURNAL OF HATE STUDIES [Vol. 12:9 ideational frameworks, attitudinal structures, and value systems. On the other hand, they may uncritically absorb or reject different multicultural lessons. They may react and learn by unconsciously relating these new ideas into their existing knowledge, perceptions, attitudes, values and behaviour (Sutton, Perry, Parke, & John-Baptiste, 2007, p. 21).
Affected communities seem to value the potential inherent in such initiatives. More than any other strategy, participants across my studies stressed the importance of building awareness through challenging prejudice and its attendant violence: The stories need to be told-our stories, our histories, from our perspective. They forgot about the residential schools here in America. They forgot about Indian children that were stolen from Indian reservations and that didn't come home and are dead out there or were killed out there. We need to remind that Indians came first, that they have a history, stories (Native American male).
Likewise, a Muslim woman shared her thoughts on how awareness-raising on violence can render meaningful to others those terrible practices and painful experiences: And you can have public educational campaigns and videos created sort of looking at these scenarios: some visible girl walking down the street and a stupid guy in a car throwing something at her. People are gonna see and be like "Oh my God I've done that" or "I know somebody who's done that." They think about it and they say it's really stupid. We have to maybe do public education around it but that has to be rooted in talking to the people who are actually having things happening to them, not necessarily the people who are concerned and haven't had stuff happened to them.
However, most participants emphasized the need for more focused attention on formal education and on the failure of public schools to adequately address the historic and contemporary place of diverse communities. The standard model of education was described as a one-way street that reflects the paradigms of cultural imperialism. Western youth learn white, Christian, straight culture, history, and beliefs, but rarely do they learn a great deal about the parallel and intersecting dimensions of the life-ways of others. One participant suggested that "there needs to be unlearning. Like our public education is part of the problem" (Lesbian). Recognizing this problem, many participants spoke in favour of a reinvented educational system. Here are two sets of voices, from two different communities:  WHAT COMMUNITIES WANT 25 They need to listen to us, hear us. We know our culture best; we know how to tell our stories. I get so angry when they bring in all these people to teach our children about ourselves. Why can't our teachers do that?
Let us decide what to teach, how to teach it (Native American female).
A. I think education in the school. If they start in schools, when the kids grow up, they will know that human beings are human beings, it does not matter what they look like, where they come from.
Q. So what is your suggestion?
A. They should be telling the kids in schools that they should not discriminate against somebody because of the different skin colour, they eat different food, or they pray differently. When the kids are young when they learn when they grow up they will remember these things (Muslim male).
There was, in fact, widespread consensus across the individuals and groups in my studies on the importance of transformed and transformative education. As highlighted by the above statements, there must be an expanded scope for including the voices, histories, and experiences of marginalized groups within public schools if the prejudices underlying hate crime are to be disrupted in the long term.
Community Empowerment: It is not only the dominant culture that must be challenged to prevent hate crime. Targeted communities also recognize the roles that they must play, both in confronting hostility and in working to protect and empower themselves. Indeed, the marginalized groups who bear the brunt of hate-motivated crime have not been passive victims of the varied forms of violence they experience. On the contrary, in recent years many of them have become very active in asserting the legitimacy of their identities, challenging hatreds like heterosexism, patriarchy, racism, and bigotry, and resisting the cultural and individual forms of violence to which they are subject.
For some, this process begins with an awareness of the rights to which they are entitled-legal, political, and social-and then extends to an exercise of those rights. In short, in order to become more self-aware, all communities should receive education on the nature and use of the rights to which they have access: I guess something that I think is really important is, ah, getting the community to be more confident in itself. Because, I think people, I think we should see ourselves as any other minority that has rights, ah, and that should advocate for them. The francophone community, for example, in Ontario doesn't shy away from that at all. I mean they make themselves 26 JOURNAL OF HATE STUDIES [Vol. 12:9 heard, which is good. It's great. Um, but I feel like Muslims are, like, sometimes apologetic, sometimes we're, I mean we see, a lot of, a lot of the time, I mean, we see, the opportunities that are given to us are like our rights as something like, something like, charity. . . But I think that will come with also, you know, with time because I feel that second or third generation Muslims, ah, are more confident about that; whereas our parents would be like, no. Thank god they let us come here, you know (Muslim female).
The importance of rights-education connects to a point made earlier in this article, on the potential for hate crime itself to serve as a catalyst for positive change. For example, the racially motivated murders of Michael Griffith (Howard Beach, 1996) andYusuf Hawkins (Bensonhurst, 1989) inspired widespread demonstrations condemning the racism of the perpetrators' communities, as well as the racist culture of New York City generally. On a smaller scale, the Asian community in central Ontario, Canada, responded to alleged incidents of hate crime against Asian anglers north of Toronto in the summer and fall of 2007. Indeed, community outcry resulted in the establishment of an inquiry into those events, which in turn resulted in more responsive law enforcement efforts (Ontario Human Rights Commission, 2007. Another example is the remarkable strength and resilience of Native Americans in the face of the everyday violence described in my interviews with them. As Frideres (1993, p. 508) puts it, "with the emergence of Native identity, the sense of alienation experienced by many Natives has been dispelled by a new sense of significance and purpose." In fact, Native Americans currently enjoy resurgence in numbers, as well as growth in nationalist identity. The frequently violent "anti-Indian" activism that has emerged in areas like the Great Lakes and the Pacific Northwest (Shuford, 2012) has engendered a renewed pride in American Indian identity, and with it, recognition of the need to pursue that which is theirs by right (Perry, 2008). In short, Native Americans have mobilized around their cultural identities, as well as their legal and political sovereignty. Clearly, these examples of oppressive violence stimulated rather than disabled the communities. From the observations of participants in these studies, there is ample evidence to suggest that targeted violence can have the unintended effect of inspiring similar mobilization across communities. Isolated as well as ongoing patterns of discrimination and related violence can and, in many cases, do trigger community-based reactions in the interests of social justice.
Interestingly, some community members in my studies have identified internal barriers to their ability to realize similar solidarity, and thus respond to discrimination and hate crime. At the outset, I noted the hetero-geneity within cultural groups. In line with this reality, then, hate crime must also be seen as a multiethnic and multicultural problem, not just a black/white issue. Hate, violence, and other conflicts within and across communities may present challenges. For example, a transgender woman complains that there is "a lot of transphobia within the gay and lesbian community as well-that needs to be addressed." She went on to say that: (post-Stonewall) however almost immediately the people got involved to sanitize what being gay, lesbian, queer meant. And so that meant that gay men had to be straight acting and gay women had to be straight acting and the trans women had to be invisible, because they don't exist and so in terms of our rights today, we do not have the same queer rights as other queer people (Transgender woman).
Similarly, a Muslim woman challenges her community to: . . . see who is not in the room? If you're in a room and it's completely made of the Muslim community and there's no one there who is Shia and you know there's a sizable Shia population in your city. . . But they are not there. And there's also no one from the Somali community and we have a large Somali community here. You should be like: where's the Somali community because that's a huge voice that you don't understand that you need to have at the table. But we really don't do that. That's a serious challenge.
Ultimately, community members who noted these contradictory positions emphasized the need to build solidarity and strength within a community. In the words of one lesbian, "[w]hat I would like to see is a real showing of solidarity. It's becoming so cliquey, you know, but a lot of that is because our community became incestuous; 'cause it was so small." Likewise, a Muslim male speaks of his involvement in a Muslim coordinating council meant to bring together Muslims with non-Muslims, but also Muslims with Muslims: This is the first time that we've tried to get all the Muslims together to uplift the most vulnerable in the community who now have to depend on the government or they cease to help like the, battered wives, or youth in detention, or people with disabilities or mentally ill, or refugees and so on. And our second objective is to reach out to fellow Canadians of other faiths to try to promote human rights, and dignity and equality for all Canadians, including aboriginal people in particular. And this is the first time that we've brought Shias and Sunnis together in Ottawa.
Initiatives like these suggest the potential of developing community supports organically, within or across ethnic, racial, religious, or gender 28 JOURNAL OF HATE STUDIES [Vol. 12:9 lines. In short, such intercultural projects recognize the value of community building through coalitions. Only by acknowledging and overcoming the "fragmentation" of community can collective action be an effective brake against hate crime. Moreover, despite the heterogeneity within and across social groups, the groups most likely to be targeted have often experienced similar (if not the same) types of oppression. In other words, blacks, Jews, Asians, homosexuals and others, as groups, all have suffered various degrees of discrimination and victimization; so too have many of their members and others assumed to be members. Yet, rather than acknowledging these commonalities and histories and forming coalitions for social change, subordinated social groups have often resorted to intergroup and intra-group conflict. While the causes of such conflict are surely complicated and warrant more careful research, it appears as if they have so internalized the dominant aspects of white masculine supremacy that this is the primary lens through which they can view one another. Intercultural coalitions must challenge essentialist assumptions, both within and across groups, about identity that insist on irreconcilable differences between races, religions, genders, forms of sexual orientation, and so on. Perhaps by transcending the artificial boundaries we use to divide ourselves, we might transcend oppression and violence accomplished through them. Marsiglia (1998) explicitly argues that this kind of integration of identities can provide the foundation for a politics of resistance and confrontation, as lesbians of color, for example, struggle against their simultaneous racial and sexual marginalization. Likewise, Jenness and Broad (1998) argue that existing anti-violence projects themselves represent the convergence of four social justice movements around a shared problematic, insofar as the civil rights movement, the women's movement, the gay and lesbian movement, and the victim's rights movement share a commitment to countering discrimination and its related forms of violence. The anti-violence projects, of which Jenness and Broad (1998) write, reflect not only localized social movements but also the power of collective action that consciously crosses boundaries. Despite their diverse interests, perspectives, tactics, and strategies, these projects nonetheless coalesced around shared experiences of "violence, victimization, civil rights, and compensation in light of symbolic and material discrimination" (Jenness & Broad, 1998, p. 174). Such coalitions do not force their members to "pluck out" one part of their identities; they resist the fragmentation which otherwise alienates people from their multiple communities, and from the rich variation of their own identities.
Victim Services: In light of the layered foundations and impacts of hate crime and the diversity within and across the affected communities,  WHAT COMMUNITIES WANT 29 effective responses are grounded in victim-centred approaches (Iganski, 2008) that understand and acknowledge the impact of hate-motivated crimes on individuals and on the targeted community as a whole (McDonald & Hogue, 2007, p. 32). Awareness and knowledge of how hate crimes affect "others" in our midst allows service providers to implement services that are appropriate to localized dynamics. For example, programs serving undocumented workers who are targets of hate violence might include an "anonymity" guarantee, whereby their immigration status would not be reported to authorities. Ultimately, the key to effective delivery of victim services is sensitivity to the cultural needs of the victim's community, in a way that empowers targets and potential targets. From the perspective of community members with whom I have spent time, the paramount need in this context is for someone to listen and call upon when in crisis: And trying to help kids my age. Because I've seen too many kids commit suicide over this because people aren't accepting over it. Because they don't know how to talk and they don't have anyone to talk to. So I think more programs out there to help at-risk youth to come into the programs and to help them (Gay male).
There's more concerted effort to make spaces for queer youth and to have it so there is something that people can look for. There are people they can find as mentors. And to talk about what's going on. Or just find someone to help them get through the few years before they leave their town. Or find someone they can share their experiences with (Lesbian).
These comments link back to earlier points about the importance of recognition, respect, safety, and voice. Here, communities and their members are simply asking that they have access to service providers who will listen and acknowledge the pain of ongoing targeting. For many victims, this attention provides the opportunity they need to have their experiences validated and also eases their anxieties by encouraging them to speak about their experiences. Jim Hill's (2009) widely used manual for Canadian victim services providers includes explicit reference to this kind of validation: NGOs involved in interviewing victims should take into account that one of the victim's biggest fears is that he or she will not be believed . . . NGO staff-as well as police officers and others-can respond to victim accounts by saying that they are sorry about what happened. This validates the victim's feelings without pre-judging the results of further investigation and reassures the victim that he or she is valued as a person. (p. 47) Such an approach can go a long way in making victims feel respected. 30 JOURNAL OF HATE STUDIES [Vol. 12:9 Moreover, being able to talk through their experiences can be empowering, or at least cathartic, as victims have the opportunity to reflect on and thus understand their experiences. Perhaps, then, it is not surprising that another suggested approach that emerged on several occasions revolved around some form of restorative justice. A lesbian spoke highly of her own experiences with restorative justice processes: Well, my experiences with community accountability have been sort of groups of people who know someone who's been a perpetrator of violence and a survivor of violence and work out a plan to hold that person accountable. I'm very new to this concept of-and it mostly only works if you know the person who's a perpetrator and have an interest in changing-but it's based on the belief that everyone can change their behaviours and their actions through a communal process of education and communication. Which is a really neat idea. And I think that would be really awesome to see more dialogue going in Kingston going on about that.
At the individual level, Mark Walters, in his on-going work (e.g., Walters & Hoyle, 2012), suggests that a restorative justice model can have positive outcomes for victims in some contexts. In particular, many of the harms suggested at the outset of this article might be mitigated by engaging the victim and offender in a safe, mediated conversation. Levels of fear, anxiety, and anger, for example, have been found to decrease after these interventions (Walters & Hoyle, 2012). However, the restorative justice model goes beyond victim-offender mediation to promote involvement of the victim, the offender, and the communities of which they are a part in the justice process. Restorative justice interventions help to restore victims' and communities' losses by holding offenders accountable for their actions, and by making them repair the physical and emotional harm they have caused. Such interventions also focus on changing the behavioural patterns of offenders so that they become productive and responsible members of society. The restorative justice model places emphasis on everyone whom the crime affects-including the general community, the victim and offenders' communities, as well as the victim and the offender-to ensure that each gains tangible benefits from their interaction with the criminal justice system. Umbreit, Lewis, and Burns (2003) highlight two elements associated with restorative justice initiatives that have particular relevance to the community impacts of hate crime: The entire community is engaged in holding the offender accountable and Ordinarily, the dialogue begins with victims, offenders, and significant support persons whom each may bring with them. Additionally, however, the process is as likely to include representatives of the neighbourhood, the larger community or the targeted community, who can speak precisely to the nature and intensity of how the violence affected them as well. According to many of those with whom I have spoken, few if any of the benefits associated with restorative justice are to be found within the traditional criminal justice system.

IV. CRIMINAL JUSTICE REFORM
The law is not a friend to trans women, no part of, no interaction with the law on any level can be considered safe, it's inherently dangerous (Transgender woman).
Like this transgender woman, affected communities are particularly concerned with the real or perceived capacity of state agencies-especially law enforcement-to deliver "justice" to victims and their communities. State practices, policy, and rhetoric have often provided the formal framework within which hate crime-as an informal mechanism of controlemerges. State actions and inactions that, at individual and institutional levels, stigmatize, demonize or marginalize traditionally oppressed groups, legitimize the mistreatment of these same groups on the streets, as well. Community members' experiences bear out their fears that their victimization is not taken seriously. An Ontario study by the Hate Crime Community Working Group (HCCWG, 2006, p. 29) supports this observation: The working group heard repeatedly from vulnerable communities, particularly Aboriginal and African Canadian communities, of their lack of trust of the police, the futility of reporting, and their fear of re-victimiza-32 JOURNAL OF HATE STUDIES [Vol. 12:9 tion by the police and the courts system . . . . They consistently spoke of their experience of police abuse and racial profiling.
It is perhaps telling that very few participants in my studies have mentioned criminal justice initiatives as a key means by which to intervene in hate crime. Indeed, one participant noted that extensive protective legislation exists-rights law and hate crime statutes, for instance-but that this legislation has not served affected groups well thus far. In fact, legislative measures have been effective in the displacement, assimilation, and deculturation of many groups. Thus, the study participant quoted below questions the value of criminal justice initiatives: You know, the disease of racism is one that, you know, public policy can only go so far in terms of correcting it, I mean, you can only legislate and enforce up to a certain point, and I think we're, in terms of the existing civil rights law, are we all the way there, no, maybe not in terms of the law itself, okay, but I think that on the enforcement end of it, more could be done . . . it's almost like somebody has to get killed before they take a serious interest, you know, somebody dies and then they'll really prosecute to its fullest extent, but short of that . . . (Native American male).
In short, within my studies, the common failure to suggest legal responses to hate crime is no doubt a reflection of the lack of trust in the criminal justice system. It also accurately reflects the historical lack of sensitivity with which the criminal justice system has responded to minority victims of crime generally. Inevitably, the experiences of marginalized communities shape their perceptions as to the brand of justice they expect to receive. Cumulatively, perceptions of over-and under-policing reinforce the antipathy, if not outright hostility, toward police and compound the historically strained relationships between affected groups and the criminal justice system. Consequently, community members often raise these kinds of concerns about police, specifically, when talking about hate crime: I guess when talking about distrust and the authorities, I think it precedes even, like, I mean for me, I've always been allergic to the cops. I think it's like a general distrust and the whole system, like, I don't want to be part of the system kind of thing (Muslim female).
Some of my friends were having a party. The police showed up. Once they realized most of the men were gay the police began telling they should do pushups and other "manly" things along those lines. They also started referring to my transgendered friend as "it." When I heard about this I was furious. My friends did nothing because they were afraid (Gay male).
To lessen the impact I think the crimes have to be taken seriously. Once

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WHAT COMMUNITIES WANT 33 we see that if a mosque is vandalized and people take it seriously and it's reported and they make a real effort to bring the perpetrator to justice as they do for vandalism of a church, synagogue. When they start treating those crimes equally, then you'll see that Muslims will probably start to see that they are taking our concerns seriously and they'll feel like they are a legitimate member of this society (Muslim female).
The last of these three statements is especially significant in that it refers back to previous discussion of community needs for recognition, respect, and safety. Recognition, in particular, must come not just from fellow community members or other members of society, but clearly also from those who are entrusted with protecting the rights and safety of all. As first responders, very often police have a key role in giving recognition to all victims.
Currently, this concern for achieving recognition has particular resonance within Muslim communities. Indeed, Muslims have been among the most critical of police, especially in terms of their tendency to oversurvey those perceived to be Muslim or middle-Eastern (CAIR- CAN, 2006). Many Muslim participants have spoken about both police failure to treat seriously their victimization while simultaneously engaging in heightened surveillance of their community. Ultimately, across participating groups there was significant mistrust of law enforcement and both implicit and explicit calls for changes in how police interact with affected groups.
Of course, police officers work within a specific legislative context. Victims recognize this, and indeed, find fault with that structure as well. "Even if they (perpetrators) were arrested," complained a Jewish male, "they probably avoided being convicted and sentenced for the 'hate' aspect of the crime as the current legislation makes it too difficult to prove!" As this comment makes clear, many victims recognize that there are limitations in the law that must be addressed, including the possibility that the "hate crime" threshold is too high.
The transgender community, in general, is even more critical of a legislative framework that in many jurisdictions does not explicitly recognize gender identity as a protected category. Several transgender participants shared their disdain for weak statutory provisions, as illustrated by the comments of this transgender woman: Well for me, it's actually like being like everybody else and getting a human rights bill passed; and a bill that has some teeth in it. Right now there's no teeth in the bill and there's no, there's really nothing, I mean, they say there is and, yeah, different provinces have it and companies have it, but there's not something that's all inclusive that are protecting us right now (Transgender woman).