As a middle class, straight white male, my gut emotional sentiment to this in the past was usually similar to Matt's, and to some extent it still is. However, I'm (slowly) learning the complexity that comes from our emerging plurality of personal identity. When I take a step back, it's actually one of the best things our society as a whole is managing to accomplish these days, imho.
<div><br></div><div>I understand the concept of a need for leveling devices for subaltern communities, but reading the Plan B synopsis still hits me with questions. Do we really need to build more walls within our cycling communities? Is that what Plan B is even doing, or is that a misunderstanding? How can it be productive to explicitly excluding members of the cycling community? I imagine there are a dozen different directions you could go in answering these, depending on your perspective. I don&#39;t feel I personally have the experience/wisdom to come to definitive conclusions myself.</div>
<div><br></div><div>For me it comes down to where the rubber hits the road, so to speak. There many different ways we can use cycling to benefit and strengthen many different communities. We define those communities geographically, socio-economically, and politically, and I see no problem at all, and possibly some unique benefits, to also target our gender communities with our work. </div>
<div><br></div><div>Each community we try to help has it&#39;s own characteristics, voice, and discourse. Some may be so under-represented they are difficult to discover, others might have a much stronger voice in their own right, and seem overwhelming. They all deserve our work.</div>
<div><br></div><div>TL;DR: As long as you&#39;re using bikes to help people, I don&#39;t really care if you don&#39;t let me into your meetings :)</div><div><br></div><div>-Andy S</div><div>Broke Spoke, Lexington KY</div>