About a month ago I made the epic pilgrimage home from west los angeles to spend the summer in the suburban paradise of Carmichael, California, population: mostly middle to upper middle class white people: claim to fame: the least known adjacent city to the illustrious state capital. Carmichael is one of those places that lingers three to five years behind the evolution of popular culture, marked by radio stations that play retired top 40 hits and clothing stores that market fashion trends featured four seasons ago on The Real World. Needless to say, my addiction to the southern california phenomenon of power yoga has remained unsatiated since my triumphant return to protected left turns, wide streets and well-defined sidewalks.
Eager to reimmerse myself in my workout ritual and desperate to find a substitute for the practice to which my devotion has become borderline religious, I fired up the stolen wireless internet (one of the privileges of a technologically underdeveloped society is the absence of password protected networks) and set out in the direction of a google search. Four rounds of word order manipulation revealed a vinyasa flow yoga studio in Sacramento's wanna-be-urban midtown district. I was sure my well-articulated, non-western prayers had been answered and Shiva had shined upon my pathetic hometown existence to reveal the source of my suburban salvation.
The good news is, the power yoga studio was not just a northern california urban legend, but rather a unique and inviting space owned and opertaed by an energetic yoga enthusiast slash large dog owner who seemed to be an ideal combination of down-to-earth sacramenton and experienced instructor. The bad news is: while both of those things may be true, the practice she led that evening became the inspiration for this entire entry, and if you read anything I've ever written you know that can't be good.
Somewhere between the intricate interpretations of the standard poses I know, love and count on for both challenge and familiarty; the yoga instructor launched into a predictable life lesson connecting the work on the mat to the work we do every day in the world beyond it. Somewhere between the fifth and sixth breathe of an unusual and awkward contortion, she began encouraging us to endure the pose through the pain. It's not an uncommon mantra to hear in a yoga studio, a spiritual space for opening your body, mind and heart which sometimes requires maintaining focus and serenity through discomfort; but the daily-life analogy that accompanied it nearly collapsed my down-dog.
"Yoga is just like a relationship, you have to stick it out through the pain and discomfort, because that's where the good stuff is." There she was. Not just a character in a poorly written sitcom or romantic comedy, but a real live, talking, walking, thinking woman, telling her captive audience of (primarily) female yogis to stay in relationships that are painful, destructive and/or dysfunctional; not just because she's optimistic or hopeful for improvement, but because that is where the greatest meaning and depth of it exist. Are you kidding me?
As I drove away from the studio that night (appalled and offended) it occured to me that the take home message of the evening was not just the advice of an overly-organic, new age, chanting pseudo-spiritual yoga instructor, but rather a legitimate product of the conglomerate image-ideal-belief system that women grow up with about their orientation to the people they are in relationships with and the relationships themselves. The values of patience and compassion are revered as virtues of women who are self-sacrificing, devoted and unconditionally loving. Women learn that their own worth is measured by what they contribute to the lives of others at an early age girls develop the impulse to put themselves at the bottom of their emotional investment hierarchy.
So here we are. Grown up women, products of exposure to fairy tales, disney movies and countless other academic and media-based lessons about the roles females play in all types of human interaction, who have been imprinted with the some interpretation of exactly what that yoga instructor was talking about: that while we may be exploited, disrespected, abandoned, cheated on, derided, marginalized and otherwise demoralized by the people we choose to be in relationships with, the appropriate, heroic, selfless response to all of it is to keep loving, keep working, keep adjusting because ultimately that is what makes the relationship worthwhile.
Being a daughter of this phenomenon, and a weathered soldier of far too many battles to save a relationship that wasn't working, I wonder how it is that although countless generations of women have undoubtedly endured painful relationships with fruitless results, we are still without a prevailing alternative wisdom that suggests relationships that are painful should be terminated immediately.
The most severe and haunting element of this entire discussion is the depth and breadth of the consequences that accompany relationship endurance. Aside from the (in some cases) permanent emotional scars, remnants of bad relationships leave traces of behavioral patterns, professional distractions, not to mention self-image and self-respect distortions that can potentially leave women hollow, defeated and emotionally raw. Even worse than any of this is the weight beared by women who refuse to give up on the pursuit of "the good stuff" even when what they see, feel and experience is unequivocally bad. These are the real victims of the ideology that emerges from the classic tale of Beauty and the Beast. Some women wait an entire lifetime to reveal their charming prince, with persistent devotion to both the idea of commitment and the person they are committed to.
It terrifies me to think that anyone is existing under the assumption that staying in a relationship through heartbreak and discomfort is not only one way, but the only way, to get to the place where the relationship really happens. I envision a world where women get into relationships because they are healthy and fulfilling and get out of them as soon as they fail to live up to that standard. I write fairy tales and children's books in my head that cast brilliant young women as heroines and detail stories of independence, self-respect and male characters who are unconditional, sacrificing and compassionate. Until we live in a world where narratives of this sort thrive in the media, I leave women with advice I got in a santa monica yoga class, from a woman who teaches yoga as well as she teaches life.
Ally told a story one night while we were sitting in a deep hip opener pose about leaving the man of her dreams after she witnessed him swipe a block of cheese from a whole foods without paying for it. She said, "the truth is, that was one of many red flags I didn't take heed of throughout our relationship" She continued, "the beauty of yoga is that you get to know yourself so well that you're capable of getting out of something at the first sign that it isn't working for you"
And Ally is most definitely right, your most intimate relationship is knowing the depths of yourself, because that's where the good stuff is
Tuesday, July 3, 2007
Wednesday, May 30, 2007
What are women waiting for?
When I was sixteen my parents split up. I had spent most of my young life wondering how they ever got married in the first place, and one of the strangest repercussions of their divorce was the unraveling of the 25 year web of matrimonial secrets that had been buried beneath my parents best efforts to keep their kids out of, what turns out, was a pretty disastrous relationship. Somewhere between my junior year of high school and my first encounter with adulthood, I asked my mom to tell me honestly how she ended up with my father. And of course, even when you know a relationship ends in the worst of ways, something about our romantic socialization suggests that every story has, at the very least, a happy beginning. I was struck by a moment of resolution and clarity when my mom finally admitted that more than anything else, my parent's marriage was a product of her resignation to his persistence. That's right ladies and gentlemen, my mom raised the white flag of surrender and my dad said I do. And perhaps the worst part of the entire story is that she actually used the phrase, "felt sorry for him" while explaining her justification for a union that never made sense in the first place.
I don't bring it up to shed light on my own personal and relational dysfunction, but rather to illuminate an example of a woman, not unlike many in this culture of young individualism and future two-somes, that got married for some reason outside the scope of passionate romance and life-long partnership that we have all come to regard as the beating heart of marital bliss. Whenever I think about all twenty-five years of my parent's marriage, I think about how many other people get into, and perhaps more importantly, stay involved in, marriages that are less than the living incarnations of our fairy tale expectations. Even more relevant to this particular moment of inquiry, is my investigation of the idea that while countless marriages end in some combination of divorce, heartache, infidelity and disappointment, young women in their years of prime fertility remain utterly consumed by the marriage manhunt.
I live in a world where women are educated, powerful and ambitious. My female friends and peers are products of revolution, feminism and decades of advocacy and sacrifice. We are the elite members of a unique sphere of privilege who comprise the poster image of the women's movement. Compared to the diverse political, economic and social struggles that confront women in so many different contexts worldwide, we seem to have unlimited access, resources and potential to become whomever we want. Without a doubt, our success represents the fusion of social reproduction and generations of heroine predecessors. And yet, at the point where I sit on the human-age number line, where two years behind me, young college women are still fascinated and liberated by the art of the one night stand, and two years in front of me, my older brother attends a wedding of a friend every other weekend, I seem to be surrounded by a culture of women obsessed.
Obsessed with their careers, their latest promotion or the workload of their professional schooling, you ask? I wish. These women are in hot pursuit of a husband, and nothing else taking place in their educational, personal or occupational lives seems to matter. Just outside of my immediate social network of women who are a rare hybrid of independent, cynical and ambitious, I have encountered innumerable young, intelligent women who seem preoccupied by either their current relationship or the prospect of securing one. I wonder if all of these women are products of parents who have beautiful, committed relationships shaped by partnership, trust and equity; or as I suspect, they are trapped by the delusion, either subconciously or otherwise, that marriage is a sign of success, desirability as well as a source of security, stability and validation. Why is it that the value of womanhood is determined by which man you marry and when? The shape of our lives is defined by the lines drawn from relationship to relationship, and of course the image is only completed when marked by an engagement ring and a wedding date.
As I finished my bachelor's degree, I had a righteous image of post-college women in their twenties taking on the world without reservation, bound only by self-limitation and financial obligation, concerned with the realm of holy matrimony only in terms of the rejection or avoidance of it. My disappointing post-college reality has revealed all sorts of variations on the age-old plight of the single woman. Most frequently, I listened to my older friends lament the fact that they " didn't find a husband" while they were in school and have been painfully confronted by the abyssmal selection of men in their off-campus lifestyles since then. Initially I was the first person to pass the information on to other women who were still in pursuit of higher education, warning them of the depths of despair that lingered just beyond the horizon-line of graduation.
When I took a step back for a minute (and re-examined the meaning of this wisdom), I wondered why anyone who had just been empowered by their entire future opening up in front of them, would be even remotely concerned with finding a mate. Of course a bachelor's degree doesn't exactly set you up with a one way ticket to the top of the world, but it certainly gives women, who in previous generations had no scope of a livlihood beyond their domestic identity, a broad spectrum of professional and personal opportunties that don't carry a husband-required clause. So why is it exactly that women are seeking the holy grail of matrimony? Why do women obsess about when, where and how to meet a husband so that they can go ahead and settle down before the rest of their life gets away from them? Aren't we getting it backwards? Shouldn't we be more concerned about our personally concieved and achieved happiness before we worry about identifying someone to share it with? Wouldn't it make more sense to pursue the goals that apply to us before we start incorporating the objectives of someone else's dreams?
Perhaps I'm the one who's looking at it all wrong. Maybe all of those personal ambitions I've been rambling about are tied to or (worse yet) defined by the men we hope to marry. The most disturbing and discouraging aspect of this observation is that the race down the proverbial alter is by no means a forum or space for gender equity. Most men of education and privilege remain devotedly on track to professional perfection while the women in their lives chase them from promotion to promotion, desperately clinging to the hope that they'll find a break between board meetings to return their phone call.
And all of this for what? When one out of ever two marriages end in divorce, and many people remain unhappily married for multiple decades without satisfaction or solace, why are women still in hot pursuit of the legal definition of heterosexual commitment? Last time I checked, the unemployment rate was lower than the divorce rate and we might all be better off taking a chance on our career investments than playing the fifty-fifty odds of marital bliss.
I don't intend to persuade women to avoid marriage, dating and heterosexual partnership altogether. I do however, encourage women to be critical of an institution created and perpetuated to serve the various means of capitalism, christianity and patriarchy. I also hope to witness a generation transformed by the power of their own potential and relishing the freedom of pursuing their own ambition. Rock on ladies, because while professional opportunities may come and go, the institution of marriage will likely always be around for you to fall back on.
I don't bring it up to shed light on my own personal and relational dysfunction, but rather to illuminate an example of a woman, not unlike many in this culture of young individualism and future two-somes, that got married for some reason outside the scope of passionate romance and life-long partnership that we have all come to regard as the beating heart of marital bliss. Whenever I think about all twenty-five years of my parent's marriage, I think about how many other people get into, and perhaps more importantly, stay involved in, marriages that are less than the living incarnations of our fairy tale expectations. Even more relevant to this particular moment of inquiry, is my investigation of the idea that while countless marriages end in some combination of divorce, heartache, infidelity and disappointment, young women in their years of prime fertility remain utterly consumed by the marriage manhunt.
I live in a world where women are educated, powerful and ambitious. My female friends and peers are products of revolution, feminism and decades of advocacy and sacrifice. We are the elite members of a unique sphere of privilege who comprise the poster image of the women's movement. Compared to the diverse political, economic and social struggles that confront women in so many different contexts worldwide, we seem to have unlimited access, resources and potential to become whomever we want. Without a doubt, our success represents the fusion of social reproduction and generations of heroine predecessors. And yet, at the point where I sit on the human-age number line, where two years behind me, young college women are still fascinated and liberated by the art of the one night stand, and two years in front of me, my older brother attends a wedding of a friend every other weekend, I seem to be surrounded by a culture of women obsessed.
Obsessed with their careers, their latest promotion or the workload of their professional schooling, you ask? I wish. These women are in hot pursuit of a husband, and nothing else taking place in their educational, personal or occupational lives seems to matter. Just outside of my immediate social network of women who are a rare hybrid of independent, cynical and ambitious, I have encountered innumerable young, intelligent women who seem preoccupied by either their current relationship or the prospect of securing one. I wonder if all of these women are products of parents who have beautiful, committed relationships shaped by partnership, trust and equity; or as I suspect, they are trapped by the delusion, either subconciously or otherwise, that marriage is a sign of success, desirability as well as a source of security, stability and validation. Why is it that the value of womanhood is determined by which man you marry and when? The shape of our lives is defined by the lines drawn from relationship to relationship, and of course the image is only completed when marked by an engagement ring and a wedding date.
As I finished my bachelor's degree, I had a righteous image of post-college women in their twenties taking on the world without reservation, bound only by self-limitation and financial obligation, concerned with the realm of holy matrimony only in terms of the rejection or avoidance of it. My disappointing post-college reality has revealed all sorts of variations on the age-old plight of the single woman. Most frequently, I listened to my older friends lament the fact that they " didn't find a husband" while they were in school and have been painfully confronted by the abyssmal selection of men in their off-campus lifestyles since then. Initially I was the first person to pass the information on to other women who were still in pursuit of higher education, warning them of the depths of despair that lingered just beyond the horizon-line of graduation.
When I took a step back for a minute (and re-examined the meaning of this wisdom), I wondered why anyone who had just been empowered by their entire future opening up in front of them, would be even remotely concerned with finding a mate. Of course a bachelor's degree doesn't exactly set you up with a one way ticket to the top of the world, but it certainly gives women, who in previous generations had no scope of a livlihood beyond their domestic identity, a broad spectrum of professional and personal opportunties that don't carry a husband-required clause. So why is it exactly that women are seeking the holy grail of matrimony? Why do women obsess about when, where and how to meet a husband so that they can go ahead and settle down before the rest of their life gets away from them? Aren't we getting it backwards? Shouldn't we be more concerned about our personally concieved and achieved happiness before we worry about identifying someone to share it with? Wouldn't it make more sense to pursue the goals that apply to us before we start incorporating the objectives of someone else's dreams?
Perhaps I'm the one who's looking at it all wrong. Maybe all of those personal ambitions I've been rambling about are tied to or (worse yet) defined by the men we hope to marry. The most disturbing and discouraging aspect of this observation is that the race down the proverbial alter is by no means a forum or space for gender equity. Most men of education and privilege remain devotedly on track to professional perfection while the women in their lives chase them from promotion to promotion, desperately clinging to the hope that they'll find a break between board meetings to return their phone call.
And all of this for what? When one out of ever two marriages end in divorce, and many people remain unhappily married for multiple decades without satisfaction or solace, why are women still in hot pursuit of the legal definition of heterosexual commitment? Last time I checked, the unemployment rate was lower than the divorce rate and we might all be better off taking a chance on our career investments than playing the fifty-fifty odds of marital bliss.
I don't intend to persuade women to avoid marriage, dating and heterosexual partnership altogether. I do however, encourage women to be critical of an institution created and perpetuated to serve the various means of capitalism, christianity and patriarchy. I also hope to witness a generation transformed by the power of their own potential and relishing the freedom of pursuing their own ambition. Rock on ladies, because while professional opportunities may come and go, the institution of marriage will likely always be around for you to fall back on.
Tuesday, April 17, 2007
My beef with Borders: Part 2
I envisioned my previous entry as an essay on the conservative crisis in bookstore conglomerates, but somehow it mutated into a unilateral rant that barely scratched the surface of what I experienced on my last visit to Borders. I only wish it had started and ended with the Men's Studies encounter.
I've read alot of what Borders has to offer in the Women's Studies section, it has ranged from brilliant and relatable to obscure and unbelievable. On this particular day, I was scanning chapters and reading back-covers to find something intriguing. I came across one alarming thing after another: books about feminism written by men, a book about recapturing femininity and re-establishing traditional gender roles, and of course the text closest to my heart: the book about being a bitch. To those of us who cherish the subject, Women's Studies is a source of revolution, a space of meditation and a place where we come together in solidarity and support. It is sacred place where we transgress and transform and it is not to be reinterpreted and co-opted.
I had almost given up the hope of finding anything worth reading when an all black cover caught my attention. The author was a man, and because I had resigned myself to making my next Borders purchase from a different section of the store I took my time to investigate what the book was about. The book is written by a criminal justice attorney and contains detailed accounts of the ways in which "radical feminist thought is corrupting the national justice system." I can only imagine that radical feminist thought includes the ideology that shapes the pro-choice movement, promotes women's health issues and continually strives to obtain the social, political and economic equality of which women are still being deprived; but I'll leave the specific definition up to the author. The book focuses on a case in which an adult woman successfully testified against her father to convict him of acts of sexual abuse that occurred during her childhood. The chief complaint of the author? That the outcome of the ordeal ruined this man's life. Essentially the author set out to argue that the woman was, at the very least, an exaggerator, and that she used the "tools of radical feminism" to make her case believable. Are you kidding me?
What I find most appalling about this book is how deeply it reflects one of the most profound (but under-addressed) problems of inequity that women face in this culture. I call it: your word against his. The truth about sexual abuse and sexual violence is that it rarely occurs in a circumstance or surrounding that includes anyone other than the perpetrator and the victim. Complex forms of shame and embarassment are closely linked to the experience on both sides and it often leads the system of justice to make a determination based on one person's word over the other. And I guess we could all rest our faith in the purity of legal proceedings, the inevitable reign of good over evil or the intervention of a higher power to ensure that justice is served in all cases of sexual crimes. Unfortunately, the world of male-female power dynamics and the perceptions and expectations of each gender complicates and blurs the clarity of the entire situation.
Case Number 1: The too drunk to remember situation. How come it is socially acceptable to excuse rape when women are intoxicated? What about drunk women gives men the right to have sex with them without their consent? My favorite reason for why women aren't able to press charges against the men who sexually assault them is that there was alcohol involved. I wonder what the world would look like if we applied this contingency to the commission of other crimes? It's good to know I can steal my roommates' car without any consequence the next time she comes home after a few drinks. The next time I'm out at a bar I'll be sure to steal money from the people around me to save on the taxi ride home. And hell, if that's the case, the next man who dares to touch me while intoxicated better be careful because I clearly have the license to kill him if he's too drunk to tell me not to.
It paints a pretty bizarre picture, doesn't it? but you'd be surprised how many women are discouraged from and/or unsuccessful prosecuting men who have sexually assaulted them for that very reason. As if to suggest that a woman who has altered judgement (or is completely passed out) somehow transforms into an object of male desire. The implication is that it is a certain state of consciousness that makes women humans, not anything else. And ultimately the point is this: women are only entitled to control of their own bodies as long as they are alert and awake. There is a casual and subtle debate occurring on college campuses about who should be held responsible for women who are raped while under the influence of alcohol or drugs, and although I do not condone the irresponsible use of any substance, I cannot even fathom how we can honor any discussion of the subject. It should be simple, it should be a fundamental rule of human behavior and certainly an entitlement that falls under the "democratic rights" of American women: our bodies belong to us and should not be subjected to even a touch that is uninvited and without consent, no matter what state of mind we are in.
Case Number Two: "She was asking for it". The phenomenon of female sexuality and the expression there of is very much a contested terrain in feminist politics. No one can come to a consensus about just how and to what degree women should be able to express their sexuality. For me, the problem is just that, no one has the right to determine, constrain or interpret the expression of female sexuality, because I can tell you for one thing, no one is making those choices or assumptions for (heterosexual) men. My point is that women should be able to dress, dance, behave, etc. in whatever manner they choose and none of it should be construed as an invitation, to any man, to exploit her sexuality. Somehow our culture has managed to construct women in such a way that certain manifestations of expression become dehumanizing and hypersexualizing. Although I have my own set of opinions about the elements that function in producing the type of dress and behavior that some women choose to exhibit, the fact remains that there is no situation in which either of those things can justify sexual aggression, assault or exploitation. Simply put, a woman should be able to walk around completely naked and no man should touch her.
Every two and a half minutes in this country a woman is sexually assaulted. That means that while so many of the women in this country zone out during a single episode of grey's anatomy, approximately thirty other women have become victims of sexual violence. Most women my age have either experienced sexual violence themselves, or have some sort of friend or friend of a friend relationship with someone who has. I am 23 years old, and that is staggering.
Case #3: Shame and Silence.
59% of rape goes unreported, typically because women feel ashamed, at fault or otherwise silenced by a culture that tells women at an early age about the dynamics of male-female sexual relations; More specifically: that men's sexuality is imminent and that it is a woman's responsibility (obligation) to control and constrain it. The translation for many women who have been raped is that it is their fault because they should have been able to stop it. For a variety of cultural and social reasons, women do not have space to talk about being raped and choose, instead, to carry the burden themselves. In many cases, this phenomenon is particularly relevant and dangerous for young women.
This brings me back to my original observation about the book I discovered at borders: An adult woman finally seeks retribution and resolution for crimes committed agains her in childhood and some man has a problem with the legality and justice of it all. There are an overwhelming number of reasons why young women do not speak out about the sexual harm that is done to them, particularly when the perpetrator is a family member. Among these reasons are shame, guilt, fear of the consequences, not to mention the fact that the person who is doing these things has often convinced the young person that there is nothing wrong; kids learn to trust adults who are close to them, believe them to be infallible, well-meaning and harmless. Meanwhile, here is a book that reinforces the idea that women who have been victims of rape, molestation or other acts of sexual violence are dishonest, dilluded or otherwise misdirected about the harm they have endured. As if the severity and longevity of impact created by the experience of sexual assault is not haunting and intense enough, we have created a social culture that discourages women from finding healing in speaking out, confronting their assailants and utilizing other forms of expression to seek resolution. The criminal justice attorney writes about how it is absolutely ludicrous that an adult woman could prove the guilt of her father in a crime that occurred so many years ago and how the process has destroyed his life. But what about the young girl who carried the weight of something absolutely incomprehensible well into her adulthood, before finally having space to confront her abuser. I wonder, who's writing that story?
I can't even imagine raising a daughter in a culture that allows any of this to go on, and I certainly hope the author of the book I found isn't the parent of one. It is interesting how so many men who have mothers, daughters and sisters can continue to see and treat women as objects of their own desire. In addition, it is hard for me to imagine that while we teach and preach about gender equality in this country, women continue to face obstacles, the significance of which most men (the white one's in particular) can't even fathom. Anytime issues of gender arise in mixed company I try to pose this question to my male friends, "when was the last time you walked alone in the dark and worried about being raped." If I have the chance, I ask the women the same question, and typically let the respective responses speak for themselves.
I've read alot of what Borders has to offer in the Women's Studies section, it has ranged from brilliant and relatable to obscure and unbelievable. On this particular day, I was scanning chapters and reading back-covers to find something intriguing. I came across one alarming thing after another: books about feminism written by men, a book about recapturing femininity and re-establishing traditional gender roles, and of course the text closest to my heart: the book about being a bitch. To those of us who cherish the subject, Women's Studies is a source of revolution, a space of meditation and a place where we come together in solidarity and support. It is sacred place where we transgress and transform and it is not to be reinterpreted and co-opted.
I had almost given up the hope of finding anything worth reading when an all black cover caught my attention. The author was a man, and because I had resigned myself to making my next Borders purchase from a different section of the store I took my time to investigate what the book was about. The book is written by a criminal justice attorney and contains detailed accounts of the ways in which "radical feminist thought is corrupting the national justice system." I can only imagine that radical feminist thought includes the ideology that shapes the pro-choice movement, promotes women's health issues and continually strives to obtain the social, political and economic equality of which women are still being deprived; but I'll leave the specific definition up to the author. The book focuses on a case in which an adult woman successfully testified against her father to convict him of acts of sexual abuse that occurred during her childhood. The chief complaint of the author? That the outcome of the ordeal ruined this man's life. Essentially the author set out to argue that the woman was, at the very least, an exaggerator, and that she used the "tools of radical feminism" to make her case believable. Are you kidding me?
What I find most appalling about this book is how deeply it reflects one of the most profound (but under-addressed) problems of inequity that women face in this culture. I call it: your word against his. The truth about sexual abuse and sexual violence is that it rarely occurs in a circumstance or surrounding that includes anyone other than the perpetrator and the victim. Complex forms of shame and embarassment are closely linked to the experience on both sides and it often leads the system of justice to make a determination based on one person's word over the other. And I guess we could all rest our faith in the purity of legal proceedings, the inevitable reign of good over evil or the intervention of a higher power to ensure that justice is served in all cases of sexual crimes. Unfortunately, the world of male-female power dynamics and the perceptions and expectations of each gender complicates and blurs the clarity of the entire situation.
Case Number 1: The too drunk to remember situation. How come it is socially acceptable to excuse rape when women are intoxicated? What about drunk women gives men the right to have sex with them without their consent? My favorite reason for why women aren't able to press charges against the men who sexually assault them is that there was alcohol involved. I wonder what the world would look like if we applied this contingency to the commission of other crimes? It's good to know I can steal my roommates' car without any consequence the next time she comes home after a few drinks. The next time I'm out at a bar I'll be sure to steal money from the people around me to save on the taxi ride home. And hell, if that's the case, the next man who dares to touch me while intoxicated better be careful because I clearly have the license to kill him if he's too drunk to tell me not to.
It paints a pretty bizarre picture, doesn't it? but you'd be surprised how many women are discouraged from and/or unsuccessful prosecuting men who have sexually assaulted them for that very reason. As if to suggest that a woman who has altered judgement (or is completely passed out) somehow transforms into an object of male desire. The implication is that it is a certain state of consciousness that makes women humans, not anything else. And ultimately the point is this: women are only entitled to control of their own bodies as long as they are alert and awake. There is a casual and subtle debate occurring on college campuses about who should be held responsible for women who are raped while under the influence of alcohol or drugs, and although I do not condone the irresponsible use of any substance, I cannot even fathom how we can honor any discussion of the subject. It should be simple, it should be a fundamental rule of human behavior and certainly an entitlement that falls under the "democratic rights" of American women: our bodies belong to us and should not be subjected to even a touch that is uninvited and without consent, no matter what state of mind we are in.
Case Number Two: "She was asking for it". The phenomenon of female sexuality and the expression there of is very much a contested terrain in feminist politics. No one can come to a consensus about just how and to what degree women should be able to express their sexuality. For me, the problem is just that, no one has the right to determine, constrain or interpret the expression of female sexuality, because I can tell you for one thing, no one is making those choices or assumptions for (heterosexual) men. My point is that women should be able to dress, dance, behave, etc. in whatever manner they choose and none of it should be construed as an invitation, to any man, to exploit her sexuality. Somehow our culture has managed to construct women in such a way that certain manifestations of expression become dehumanizing and hypersexualizing. Although I have my own set of opinions about the elements that function in producing the type of dress and behavior that some women choose to exhibit, the fact remains that there is no situation in which either of those things can justify sexual aggression, assault or exploitation. Simply put, a woman should be able to walk around completely naked and no man should touch her.
Every two and a half minutes in this country a woman is sexually assaulted. That means that while so many of the women in this country zone out during a single episode of grey's anatomy, approximately thirty other women have become victims of sexual violence. Most women my age have either experienced sexual violence themselves, or have some sort of friend or friend of a friend relationship with someone who has. I am 23 years old, and that is staggering.
Case #3: Shame and Silence.
59% of rape goes unreported, typically because women feel ashamed, at fault or otherwise silenced by a culture that tells women at an early age about the dynamics of male-female sexual relations; More specifically: that men's sexuality is imminent and that it is a woman's responsibility (obligation) to control and constrain it. The translation for many women who have been raped is that it is their fault because they should have been able to stop it. For a variety of cultural and social reasons, women do not have space to talk about being raped and choose, instead, to carry the burden themselves. In many cases, this phenomenon is particularly relevant and dangerous for young women.
This brings me back to my original observation about the book I discovered at borders: An adult woman finally seeks retribution and resolution for crimes committed agains her in childhood and some man has a problem with the legality and justice of it all. There are an overwhelming number of reasons why young women do not speak out about the sexual harm that is done to them, particularly when the perpetrator is a family member. Among these reasons are shame, guilt, fear of the consequences, not to mention the fact that the person who is doing these things has often convinced the young person that there is nothing wrong; kids learn to trust adults who are close to them, believe them to be infallible, well-meaning and harmless. Meanwhile, here is a book that reinforces the idea that women who have been victims of rape, molestation or other acts of sexual violence are dishonest, dilluded or otherwise misdirected about the harm they have endured. As if the severity and longevity of impact created by the experience of sexual assault is not haunting and intense enough, we have created a social culture that discourages women from finding healing in speaking out, confronting their assailants and utilizing other forms of expression to seek resolution. The criminal justice attorney writes about how it is absolutely ludicrous that an adult woman could prove the guilt of her father in a crime that occurred so many years ago and how the process has destroyed his life. But what about the young girl who carried the weight of something absolutely incomprehensible well into her adulthood, before finally having space to confront her abuser. I wonder, who's writing that story?
I can't even imagine raising a daughter in a culture that allows any of this to go on, and I certainly hope the author of the book I found isn't the parent of one. It is interesting how so many men who have mothers, daughters and sisters can continue to see and treat women as objects of their own desire. In addition, it is hard for me to imagine that while we teach and preach about gender equality in this country, women continue to face obstacles, the significance of which most men (the white one's in particular) can't even fathom. Anytime issues of gender arise in mixed company I try to pose this question to my male friends, "when was the last time you walked alone in the dark and worried about being raped." If I have the chance, I ask the women the same question, and typically let the respective responses speak for themselves.
Tuesday, April 10, 2007
Someone conservative is stacking the borders bookshelves
I've heard my share of idiotic things from UCLA undergraduates. They've ranged from racist and ignorant to just plain moronic and thoughtless. Occasionally, they provoke an impulsive response (which I typically regret), but most frequently, I acknowledge them with an internal meditation on the millions of California young people who will never receive a degree from UCLA who are infinitely more brilliant, insightful and critical. In any case, one of my recurring favorites is typically uttered by a taller Caucasian gentlemen wearing Greek letters plastered across his chest and/or some sort of shirt displaying an obnoxious clichéd phrase that he undoubtedly thinks is irresistibly clever. My roommate's favorite example? "trust me, I'm a doctor." The statement I speak of comes seldom as a surprise and rarely from a source I can't anticipate. Infact, I've encountered it more from my colleagues in political science than from anyone else on campus, "women's studies, that's ridiculous, why isn't there a men's studies, that's prejudiced against men." And why wouldn't they think that? Afterall, I certainly didn't get anything from my degree in political science that taught me to think critically about the white male lens through which the field is examined.
Unfortunately, I'm far from making my point. There is nothing particularly provocative about an uncritical UCLA student or someone in their young adulthood making a unoriginal joke about the ever marginalized and unappreciated field of women's studies. Up until recently, I had safely assumed that the "educated" population accepted the idea of "men's studies" as just about as preposterous as a proposed University course on the white christian interpretation of U.S. history. About a week ago when I was shopping for some righteous feminist literature at my neighborhood Borders bookstore, while perusing in "women's studies" I glanced up to see what the third from the top shelf had to offer (no I could not see beyond it, and no I don't intend to make this a discussion of the way that stores such as Borders are designed and by and for who they are structured). At the highest level, all I could make out was a plaque labeling a category section change: Men's Studies.
No that wasn't a typo. The Borders in Westwood is now stocking books in Men's Studies, and judgement has been passed.
I was pretty young when the politically correct revolution changed the standard language labels of just about everything, but I still remember a mildly persuasive backlash indicating that the ideology that shaped the politically correct movement would someday come back to bite everyone in the ass. Enter Men's Studies, no doubt a political correction made by white men who couldn't stand the idea that there was a section in most major bookstores devoted to the study of women and no corresponding label for literature devoted to men. Even some of the most uncritical people on the planet can at least acknowledge that the evolution of women's studies, ethnic studies, LGBT studies, etc. emerged from challenges to the white male norm that comprised every other single field of study that existed in bookstores, universities and library catalogues. If you've ever sat through a lecture on anything from psychology to art history to music theory you might have noticed that the information and perspective is overwhelmingly dominated by men. Men write about men doing psychology, creating art and music and everything in between, and the margins remain reserved for the rest of us.
Instead of creating curriculums that incorporated women, African-Americans, Asian-Americans, Latinos, Gays and Lesbians in both perspective and practice in all subjects, the world of academia (or the people who control it) decided it would be more appropriate to isolate these people/groups into their own programs of study. With this structure in place people have to actively choose to study non-white people and women, because god forbid the entire academic population learns about oppression, especially on accident. The other by-product of this over-simplified solution to underrepresentation is the argument of "reverse discrimination" a ludicrous notion put forth originally by opponents to affirmative action, that essentially demands protection of the privileged classes. Afterall, we musn't disrupt the balance of power in favor of white male heterosexuals, it just might be the impetus to apocalypse. In this case, the idea of Women's Studies, African-American Studies or departments otherwise concerned with people and projects not closely associated with power in this country, have obviously sparked concern among white male academics, who have apparently used all of their extra time, funding and resources to devise a plan to intervene in the world of critical theory and put a stop to the one-sided perspective of the underclassed.
The addition of Men's Studies to my local Borders Bookstore is not only a development that has occurred just in the last year, it is a dangerous and haunting indicator of the shifting ideology of the time and the waning power of the American progressive. I for one, am terrified. It's bad enough I was educated by a system controlled and constructed by a finite set of values and ideas that exist to reproduce power dynamics, economic hierarchies and dominant social norms, now I have to be concerned about challenges to the challenges of the status quo. Holy backlash batman, what are we going to do?
In an era when most people know nothing and the people in power seem to know even less, it is alarming to think about how young people of future generations are going to be equipped with the tools to even acknowledge growing social problems, let alone attempt to solve them. As the Men's Studies Section widens and examining the social movements of the sixties feels like the equivalent of studying ancient history, I wonder just how limited access to methods of change and mobilization will seem ten or twenty years from now. More importantly, I wonder how the voice of anyone who doesn't have White Anglo Saxon parents, a penis and a Harvard degree will be heard through the echos of evangelicalism, neo-conservatives and libertarian economics. Hey, but what do I know, anything I've written since I came out of the womb would be filed under Women's Studies, and clearly isn't relevant to the mainstream academic population anyway.
Unfortunately, I'm far from making my point. There is nothing particularly provocative about an uncritical UCLA student or someone in their young adulthood making a unoriginal joke about the ever marginalized and unappreciated field of women's studies. Up until recently, I had safely assumed that the "educated" population accepted the idea of "men's studies" as just about as preposterous as a proposed University course on the white christian interpretation of U.S. history. About a week ago when I was shopping for some righteous feminist literature at my neighborhood Borders bookstore, while perusing in "women's studies" I glanced up to see what the third from the top shelf had to offer (no I could not see beyond it, and no I don't intend to make this a discussion of the way that stores such as Borders are designed and by and for who they are structured). At the highest level, all I could make out was a plaque labeling a category section change: Men's Studies.
No that wasn't a typo. The Borders in Westwood is now stocking books in Men's Studies, and judgement has been passed.
I was pretty young when the politically correct revolution changed the standard language labels of just about everything, but I still remember a mildly persuasive backlash indicating that the ideology that shaped the politically correct movement would someday come back to bite everyone in the ass. Enter Men's Studies, no doubt a political correction made by white men who couldn't stand the idea that there was a section in most major bookstores devoted to the study of women and no corresponding label for literature devoted to men. Even some of the most uncritical people on the planet can at least acknowledge that the evolution of women's studies, ethnic studies, LGBT studies, etc. emerged from challenges to the white male norm that comprised every other single field of study that existed in bookstores, universities and library catalogues. If you've ever sat through a lecture on anything from psychology to art history to music theory you might have noticed that the information and perspective is overwhelmingly dominated by men. Men write about men doing psychology, creating art and music and everything in between, and the margins remain reserved for the rest of us.
Instead of creating curriculums that incorporated women, African-Americans, Asian-Americans, Latinos, Gays and Lesbians in both perspective and practice in all subjects, the world of academia (or the people who control it) decided it would be more appropriate to isolate these people/groups into their own programs of study. With this structure in place people have to actively choose to study non-white people and women, because god forbid the entire academic population learns about oppression, especially on accident. The other by-product of this over-simplified solution to underrepresentation is the argument of "reverse discrimination" a ludicrous notion put forth originally by opponents to affirmative action, that essentially demands protection of the privileged classes. Afterall, we musn't disrupt the balance of power in favor of white male heterosexuals, it just might be the impetus to apocalypse. In this case, the idea of Women's Studies, African-American Studies or departments otherwise concerned with people and projects not closely associated with power in this country, have obviously sparked concern among white male academics, who have apparently used all of their extra time, funding and resources to devise a plan to intervene in the world of critical theory and put a stop to the one-sided perspective of the underclassed.
The addition of Men's Studies to my local Borders Bookstore is not only a development that has occurred just in the last year, it is a dangerous and haunting indicator of the shifting ideology of the time and the waning power of the American progressive. I for one, am terrified. It's bad enough I was educated by a system controlled and constructed by a finite set of values and ideas that exist to reproduce power dynamics, economic hierarchies and dominant social norms, now I have to be concerned about challenges to the challenges of the status quo. Holy backlash batman, what are we going to do?
In an era when most people know nothing and the people in power seem to know even less, it is alarming to think about how young people of future generations are going to be equipped with the tools to even acknowledge growing social problems, let alone attempt to solve them. As the Men's Studies Section widens and examining the social movements of the sixties feels like the equivalent of studying ancient history, I wonder just how limited access to methods of change and mobilization will seem ten or twenty years from now. More importantly, I wonder how the voice of anyone who doesn't have White Anglo Saxon parents, a penis and a Harvard degree will be heard through the echos of evangelicalism, neo-conservatives and libertarian economics. Hey, but what do I know, anything I've written since I came out of the womb would be filed under Women's Studies, and clearly isn't relevant to the mainstream academic population anyway.
Wednesday, March 21, 2007
Blown Away
When I was sixteen I was consumed by the idea that my life was excruciating, miserable and otherwise unlivable because my parents "forced" me to drive a 1983 toyota cressida station wagon (turquoise, with turquoise interior). Other concerns included never having a homecoming date, being too intelligent/mature (as far as I could tell) for my high school classes and wondering if I'd ever get asked out by one of the senior boys that only talked to my more beautiful (but obviously less entertaining) friends.
Meet Marina. A sixteen year-old woman that even with a college degree and seven or eight years of life experience on her, makes me feel humble, reverential, awestruck and inspired. Marina lives in a "low-income" community in a tiny apartment with her younger brother and mother. She is brilliant and articulate in two languages and manages to be as vulnerable and insecure in her adolescence as she is confident and assertive in her womanhood. She is remarkable. She is the type of young
woman that reminds me how lucky I have been to always have had a voice in the world. She also reminds me
that so many women like her, who could change the world with their insight and observation, don't have such a voice, and in her case, even if they have one, they don't have the space to express it.
While filming a movie about the invisibility of Latina women in the media I interviewed Marina. The interview itself was an afterthought, she wasn't even on the list of people to talk to because she didn't represent the type of image I was targeting. In all of my righteous attempts to unveil the stereotypes and marginalization of Latina women in the media, there I was, stereotyping, essentializing. Assuming that I wouldn't get a usable response, half-paying attention and mostly rushed, I asked Marina what she thought about latinas in the media. My writing could never do justice to the subsequent five hours or so, but it should serve as sufficient to say that Marina's testimony formed the entire framework for the film, and in its early stages of exhibition, has been its most influential aspect. Even those that have been most critical of the film's character and composition, have wondered, who is that girl, and where and how did she become so intelligent, well-spoken, inspiring, perceptive and so on.
Marina is exceptional. But in the weeks since the completion of the movie I have thought alot about her voice on camera and her perspective in real life, and have wondered how many other young women are waking up every day with similar ideas, critiques and analyses and are walking through their lives without a single place or person in which or with which to express them. At some intersection of my culture and privilege is the space where my opinion and insight have always mattered. I learned at a very early age that what I had to say was important and that there was always going to be someone around
to listen to it, validate it, and confirm that my process of thought and interpretation was legitimate. And
although I've spent alot of time feeling guilty and ashamed of what all of that amounts to, I have come to consider that my time might be better spent trying to pass that on to the women in my life who haven't had this type of fortune.
I have this image in my mind of a transformative space, of a forum that is so real to me I can see and experience it. I see groups of young women, getting together and talking about the things that are meaningful in their everyday experience. It is not particularly academic or formalized, simply just an environment in which young women can say what it is that's occupying their minds in those spaces that have been preserved from the influx and influence of Laguna Beach marathons, American Idol and every fashion magazine on the planet telling them that they how to look, think and behave.
I think it would be earth shattering to give young women an oppurtunity to express how they feel, who they are and what they see in the world. Maybe it's with words, or artwork or a videocamera, or maybe it's in a way I don't even understand, but I think there is something incredibly powerful in Marina's voice that undoubtedly resonates in the hearts of all sorts of other young women. I think it is incredibly valuable and significant because it is the truth. It is a truth we can't deny or shy away from. It's a truth that isn't coming from a source we can easily discredit and fail to confront, it's a truth that is coming from experience, emotion and authenticity and I think it is the type of truth that has the potential to change the world.
Starting today I am making a vow to myself and the young women in my life that if they have something to say I will listen, and that I will do my best in my life to create pathways through which they can navigate their thoughts to keep the conversation going. I have no doubt that in whatever emerges from these conversations I will be nothing less than blown away.
Meet Marina. A sixteen year-old woman that even with a college degree and seven or eight years of life experience on her, makes me feel humble, reverential, awestruck and inspired. Marina lives in a "low-income" community in a tiny apartment with her younger brother and mother. She is brilliant and articulate in two languages and manages to be as vulnerable and insecure in her adolescence as she is confident and assertive in her womanhood. She is remarkable. She is the type of young
woman that reminds me how lucky I have been to always have had a voice in the world. She also reminds me
that so many women like her, who could change the world with their insight and observation, don't have such a voice, and in her case, even if they have one, they don't have the space to express it.
While filming a movie about the invisibility of Latina women in the media I interviewed Marina. The interview itself was an afterthought, she wasn't even on the list of people to talk to because she didn't represent the type of image I was targeting. In all of my righteous attempts to unveil the stereotypes and marginalization of Latina women in the media, there I was, stereotyping, essentializing. Assuming that I wouldn't get a usable response, half-paying attention and mostly rushed, I asked Marina what she thought about latinas in the media. My writing could never do justice to the subsequent five hours or so, but it should serve as sufficient to say that Marina's testimony formed the entire framework for the film, and in its early stages of exhibition, has been its most influential aspect. Even those that have been most critical of the film's character and composition, have wondered, who is that girl, and where and how did she become so intelligent, well-spoken, inspiring, perceptive and so on.
Marina is exceptional. But in the weeks since the completion of the movie I have thought alot about her voice on camera and her perspective in real life, and have wondered how many other young women are waking up every day with similar ideas, critiques and analyses and are walking through their lives without a single place or person in which or with which to express them. At some intersection of my culture and privilege is the space where my opinion and insight have always mattered. I learned at a very early age that what I had to say was important and that there was always going to be someone around
to listen to it, validate it, and confirm that my process of thought and interpretation was legitimate. And
although I've spent alot of time feeling guilty and ashamed of what all of that amounts to, I have come to consider that my time might be better spent trying to pass that on to the women in my life who haven't had this type of fortune.
I have this image in my mind of a transformative space, of a forum that is so real to me I can see and experience it. I see groups of young women, getting together and talking about the things that are meaningful in their everyday experience. It is not particularly academic or formalized, simply just an environment in which young women can say what it is that's occupying their minds in those spaces that have been preserved from the influx and influence of Laguna Beach marathons, American Idol and every fashion magazine on the planet telling them that they how to look, think and behave.
I think it would be earth shattering to give young women an oppurtunity to express how they feel, who they are and what they see in the world. Maybe it's with words, or artwork or a videocamera, or maybe it's in a way I don't even understand, but I think there is something incredibly powerful in Marina's voice that undoubtedly resonates in the hearts of all sorts of other young women. I think it is incredibly valuable and significant because it is the truth. It is a truth we can't deny or shy away from. It's a truth that isn't coming from a source we can easily discredit and fail to confront, it's a truth that is coming from experience, emotion and authenticity and I think it is the type of truth that has the potential to change the world.
Starting today I am making a vow to myself and the young women in my life that if they have something to say I will listen, and that I will do my best in my life to create pathways through which they can navigate their thoughts to keep the conversation going. I have no doubt that in whatever emerges from these conversations I will be nothing less than blown away.
Wednesday, March 14, 2007
A word on Courageous Women
Last week I went to my Monday morning yoga class. The instructor has recently become the only woman on the planet from whom I want to learn yoga and more and more is a source for an incredible amount of insight into my life experience as a female. This woman has courageously transformed her rigorous, emotionally/spiritually challenging yoga practice into a ninety-minute family experience. I came across this class by accident and have definite plans to include it as a permanent aspect of my yoga ritual. The room echoed with the sound and smell of babies. A woman next to me struggled to hold her down-dog while her six year old daughter attached herself to her mother's torso. The only man in the class left early (no, I wasnt surprised) and the women that remained sweat through all the distractions and obligations of motherhood and emerged triumphant, simply, in yoga (it means unity).
My experience on this particular day launched a week long meditation on the under-valued courage of women that is in so many ways invisible and silent in our social culture. Even for me, righteous aspiring feminist scholar that I am, I find myself hung up on all of the things that are disabling and debilitating that exist as barriers for women in all aspects of our lives. And yet all around me, everyday, are incredible examples of female courage that shine much more brightly than the glimmer of patriarchal oppression that creeps through the cracks of our self-determined strength.
My yoga instructor is courageous. Every Tuesday and Thursday evening she faces 100 fit-conscious west los angeles fanatics with a four month old baby in her arms. She breaks down barriers, builds energy and fosters the most enriching hour and a half we have all week. She does this for people who seek yoga as their only source of self-reflection and spirituality. She is powerful, graceful and now she has completely re-framed Santa Monica Power Yoga as a space for people to simultaneously connect with, and escape the most demanding people in their lives. Women confront and engage motherhood, while they explore deeply, themselves. There are far too many fine lines women must walk as mothers- Don't bring your work home, don't bring your home-life to work. Ally Hamilton has created a space where women can be both humans and mothers within the same body and mind, and as far as I can tell, that is a rare and extraordinary gift.
My mom is courageous. When I left for college my mom was 52. After being married for 25 years, she was recently divorced, and had devoted the last 21 years to raising children, and I must say, did so heroically and with exceptional grace. My older brother was still using at the time and was effectively out of the emotional reach of maternal influence. So there she was, middle-aged and essentially abandoned and she did what can only be done (at any age and under any circumstance) with tremendous courage; she started her life over. Having endured more as a mother than I would expect all of the women I know to survive collectively, she dug to the depth of herself and made her own life. She learned: to live for herself, on her own terms, and I'll tell you, the woman I owe everything to learned (at a time when most adults are ready to resign themselves to whatever form of insurance agent they've become), that she deserves it, and that she's not going to take shit from anyone.
My roommates are courageous. Every day my apartment is empty, not particularly grown-up and sometimes downright messy. But when the sun goes down and it comes alive with its inhabitants, it might as well be a Tibetan Buddhist Temple. My roommates are challenging and engaging the world in thought and action. They are determined to preserve their undergradaute optimism and destined to change the world. They (we) are women of different backgrounds, experiences and lifestyles and yet they have developed a unity that transcends all boundaries of love and relationships. They have the courage to know the world for its injustice but to pursue the goodness it has the potential to unveil. My roommates take risks, love unconditionally and believe in eachother in such a way that if their energy could be harnessed and redistributed, it would change the world. Each one of them is strong and resilient and have overcome themselves to bring humanity to the lives of others. They are not afraid to lead, to make decisions, to be opinionated, to take on the unknown, to do the right thing, to do the wrong thing and above all, they know what it means to love; and for me, there is no courage without love existing first.
My friend Amy is courageous. Last weekend my brother used the term "self-made man" about one of his close friends. It occured to me, that as far as the American vocabulary is concerned, there is no such thing as a self-made woman. I certainly believe that there are many females who fit into this category, and Amy is the living embodiment. She has confronted the world head-on, head-strong, and although she is an important part of many communities of people, in many ways she has done it all on her own. She is capable and aware of her strengths and she was one of the first people who taught me what it meant to be a woman walking in a man's world. Not only is Amy a courageous young professional and a dynamic leader, she is a mentor to women of all ages, and a source of wisdom for everyone she encounters in every aspect of her life. She is a heroine of ordinary existence and as one of her young proteges once said, "proof that women can be 'as good' as men."
I invite the world to acknowledge and experience women of courage. They are in every aspect of ourselves and woven into the emotional and experential fabric with which we are all created. Courage has not been culturally constructed as a feminine characteristic. The term conjures vivid imagery of trojan warriors and Mel Gibson's blue-painted face. But for me, courage is more than a vision of masculinity, it is a trait of the rare people in the world who use the best part of themselves to make other people better. Courage is the source from which change emerges and the place in which adversity is overcome; and there is no question, that in my life, the greatest examples of all of this, are women.
My experience on this particular day launched a week long meditation on the under-valued courage of women that is in so many ways invisible and silent in our social culture. Even for me, righteous aspiring feminist scholar that I am, I find myself hung up on all of the things that are disabling and debilitating that exist as barriers for women in all aspects of our lives. And yet all around me, everyday, are incredible examples of female courage that shine much more brightly than the glimmer of patriarchal oppression that creeps through the cracks of our self-determined strength.
My yoga instructor is courageous. Every Tuesday and Thursday evening she faces 100 fit-conscious west los angeles fanatics with a four month old baby in her arms. She breaks down barriers, builds energy and fosters the most enriching hour and a half we have all week. She does this for people who seek yoga as their only source of self-reflection and spirituality. She is powerful, graceful and now she has completely re-framed Santa Monica Power Yoga as a space for people to simultaneously connect with, and escape the most demanding people in their lives. Women confront and engage motherhood, while they explore deeply, themselves. There are far too many fine lines women must walk as mothers- Don't bring your work home, don't bring your home-life to work. Ally Hamilton has created a space where women can be both humans and mothers within the same body and mind, and as far as I can tell, that is a rare and extraordinary gift.
My mom is courageous. When I left for college my mom was 52. After being married for 25 years, she was recently divorced, and had devoted the last 21 years to raising children, and I must say, did so heroically and with exceptional grace. My older brother was still using at the time and was effectively out of the emotional reach of maternal influence. So there she was, middle-aged and essentially abandoned and she did what can only be done (at any age and under any circumstance) with tremendous courage; she started her life over. Having endured more as a mother than I would expect all of the women I know to survive collectively, she dug to the depth of herself and made her own life. She learned: to live for herself, on her own terms, and I'll tell you, the woman I owe everything to learned (at a time when most adults are ready to resign themselves to whatever form of insurance agent they've become), that she deserves it, and that she's not going to take shit from anyone.
My roommates are courageous. Every day my apartment is empty, not particularly grown-up and sometimes downright messy. But when the sun goes down and it comes alive with its inhabitants, it might as well be a Tibetan Buddhist Temple. My roommates are challenging and engaging the world in thought and action. They are determined to preserve their undergradaute optimism and destined to change the world. They (we) are women of different backgrounds, experiences and lifestyles and yet they have developed a unity that transcends all boundaries of love and relationships. They have the courage to know the world for its injustice but to pursue the goodness it has the potential to unveil. My roommates take risks, love unconditionally and believe in eachother in such a way that if their energy could be harnessed and redistributed, it would change the world. Each one of them is strong and resilient and have overcome themselves to bring humanity to the lives of others. They are not afraid to lead, to make decisions, to be opinionated, to take on the unknown, to do the right thing, to do the wrong thing and above all, they know what it means to love; and for me, there is no courage without love existing first.
My friend Amy is courageous. Last weekend my brother used the term "self-made man" about one of his close friends. It occured to me, that as far as the American vocabulary is concerned, there is no such thing as a self-made woman. I certainly believe that there are many females who fit into this category, and Amy is the living embodiment. She has confronted the world head-on, head-strong, and although she is an important part of many communities of people, in many ways she has done it all on her own. She is capable and aware of her strengths and she was one of the first people who taught me what it meant to be a woman walking in a man's world. Not only is Amy a courageous young professional and a dynamic leader, she is a mentor to women of all ages, and a source of wisdom for everyone she encounters in every aspect of her life. She is a heroine of ordinary existence and as one of her young proteges once said, "proof that women can be 'as good' as men."
I invite the world to acknowledge and experience women of courage. They are in every aspect of ourselves and woven into the emotional and experential fabric with which we are all created. Courage has not been culturally constructed as a feminine characteristic. The term conjures vivid imagery of trojan warriors and Mel Gibson's blue-painted face. But for me, courage is more than a vision of masculinity, it is a trait of the rare people in the world who use the best part of themselves to make other people better. Courage is the source from which change emerges and the place in which adversity is overcome; and there is no question, that in my life, the greatest examples of all of this, are women.
Thursday, March 1, 2007
Spring Sing and the Politics of Amador County
I've made a point of surrounding myself with people who see the world through a similar lens as my own. This practice has resulted in my opinons and life perspective being spread over a broader range of experiental terrain. So even though I haven't had the occassion to visit Amador county since my last backcountry mother's day celebration (an alarming proportion of my maternal relatives live there), the source of my inspiration for the current musings is an experience one of my satelite sensors had while dining at a local restaurant in the illustrious Amador county.
She was reading a newsletter detailing the regional happenings for the month of February. She was immediately drawn to a section called "marriage advice from children." A young girl, age ten advises, "You don't pick who you marry, God picks who you marry and eventually you just end up with them." A young boy, age ten advises, "It's important to pick someone who likes the same things as you. If you like sports she should like that you like sports, and keep the chips and dips coming." Oh man, where do I begin?
Let's start with the implications of the young female perspective. Not only does it reflect the deeply rooted conditional experience of girls who learn to be complacent, resigned, and complicit in their gendered role and identity; it speaks to the dangerous orientation women have to relationships, marriage and men. I think that one of the most beautiful things about children is that they see and interpret the world in incredibly honest and candid terms. The fact that this young girl has articulated marriage in terms of "who you end up with" is an authentic translation of how she has experienced life. Even at ten years old she has learned acceptance, how to take the prescriptions she's given without protest because resistance is either unrealistic, unavailable or impossible. Her statement reflects the social identification of women, and perhaps even more so young women, as obedient, pious and complicit with the roles and characteristics that are outlined for them overwhelmingly of course, by standards and representations that are created by men. Even more interesting for me is that while it is perfectly acceptable for young boys and men to imagine themselves as escaping marriage forever, girls and women percieve it as a part of their natural destiny. Certainly we all know that men who are single are "bachelors" at any age while women who remain unmarried are "old maids", "spinsters", or simply crazy, unmarriable or otherwise undesirable. It's funny how language works like that. So whether you believe God, your mother, your best friend or your eventual spouse picks who you marry, it's inevitable and unavoidable. I guess like with everything else that "just comes with being a woman" we should just get on board and over it, right?
I imagine whoever was in charge of publishing "marriage advice from children" thought that what the ten year old boy had to say was adorable, hilarious and irresistable. I can also imagine that many of the people reading "marriage advice from children" had a similar reaction. And that's fine, I guess. Except I'm horrified that a male as young as ten has already inherited the value system and perspective that his statement represents. Not only does it imply a gendered hierarchy in which his interests and identity are superior in caliber and significance, it suggests that women don't, can't or shouldn't have an identity that is seperate from their male counterpart. Of course we can't discount the resonance of women's service, and with that, subservience, to men that echos in the end of the statement. I'm sure the likely interpretations would be that he's just a kid and it's just a joke, or he's probably just reiterating and reflecting what he sees in his own family. And although it all might be true, it nonetheless speaks to the power of socialization and reproduction. This ten-year old certainly wasn't born with these attitudes, and printing them only validates, confirms and reaffirms them. And as with many things that are taken as "just a joke" it reenforces stereotypes, preserve norms and prevents critical observation from developing. Ok, ok, so Amador county isn't exactly the progressive political capital of the northwest and it is certainly understandable how these issues could wind up undetected in the Northern California foothills. Unfortunately, youthful incarnations of gender inequality is not limited to conserative voting districts.
The private catholic school where I work holds an annual concert called "spring sing," and from what I've gathered each class picks and practices a song to perform. Recently, a girl in third grade was complaining to me about the song her class had been chosen to sing. The title? "Guys say cool and girls say gross." Yes, that's right, almost a decade into the twenty-first century, in west los angeles(considered liberal, no?), a third grade class will be divided along gendered lines to sing a song that not only suggests, but demands that children experience the world in certain ways based on being a boy or girl. So what if you're a girl who doesn't think it's gross (I think the song is about somebody's loose tooth), what does that say to you about yourself? Here's some hints: abnormal, weird, strange, unusual. I imagine the experience for boys who do think it's gross is similar and equally uncomfortable. Beyond this, and perhaps what I find to be most interesting, is how this song conjures up the image of young boys pushing eachother out of the way to check out how "cool" "it" is while the girls recoil in horror and try to get out of the way. Does anyone else see the males moving to the foreground (where the action is) while the females are shoved into the background in observation? And this is just one of the ways that girls learn how to react while they passively watch the boys interact with whatever environment they're in.
I am 23 years old and have spent my entire life playing with boys. And even though I'm nearly a foot taller, more athletic and faster than your average 8 year old, the boys at this very same school refuse to throw to me on the football field. I catch every pass my adult co-worker throws me and I can launch a perfect spiral as far as anyone else I've seen throw, yet after every snap I stand un-guarded in the end-zone and no one even looks my way. Somewhere in the course of their relatively new school career, these boys have learned that women are either untrustworthy or incapable on the football field and I imagine have absorbed this same information about other spheres of their daily life. These boys have a female P.E. coach, in fact all but one teacher at the entire school are women, and all but one of their day care counselors are women. They are overwhelmingly picked up from school (and you can infer raised primarily) by women and yet somehow they have learned that in some places women just don't belong....hm...interesting, I wonder how that happened?
The truth is the messages about gender roles and identity are everywhere for these kids and it is no surprise that their understanding of gender difference develops before their awareness of just about any other aspect of identity (race, sexuality, etc.). If in an age where women are presumed to have achieved equality in so many ways, education, career, etc, why are young people still learning these lessons about their respective places in the world? Probably because as much as we'd all like to point to the Clinton '08 presidential campaign and say, here's living proof that women have made it in this world, we can all go on with our lives, the reality is they (we) haven't. And we certainly won't as long as we (womena and men) remain complacent and uncritical about media, curriculum and implicit stereotype-reenforcement that teaches both males and females where we belong.
Yesterday I saw a white t-shirt hanging in a girl's clothing store window. In pink writing the shirt said: "I'm too pretty to do math" For those who believe that I'm full of unnecessary, righteous, feminist bullshit.....I rest my case.
She was reading a newsletter detailing the regional happenings for the month of February. She was immediately drawn to a section called "marriage advice from children." A young girl, age ten advises, "You don't pick who you marry, God picks who you marry and eventually you just end up with them." A young boy, age ten advises, "It's important to pick someone who likes the same things as you. If you like sports she should like that you like sports, and keep the chips and dips coming." Oh man, where do I begin?
Let's start with the implications of the young female perspective. Not only does it reflect the deeply rooted conditional experience of girls who learn to be complacent, resigned, and complicit in their gendered role and identity; it speaks to the dangerous orientation women have to relationships, marriage and men. I think that one of the most beautiful things about children is that they see and interpret the world in incredibly honest and candid terms. The fact that this young girl has articulated marriage in terms of "who you end up with" is an authentic translation of how she has experienced life. Even at ten years old she has learned acceptance, how to take the prescriptions she's given without protest because resistance is either unrealistic, unavailable or impossible. Her statement reflects the social identification of women, and perhaps even more so young women, as obedient, pious and complicit with the roles and characteristics that are outlined for them overwhelmingly of course, by standards and representations that are created by men. Even more interesting for me is that while it is perfectly acceptable for young boys and men to imagine themselves as escaping marriage forever, girls and women percieve it as a part of their natural destiny. Certainly we all know that men who are single are "bachelors" at any age while women who remain unmarried are "old maids", "spinsters", or simply crazy, unmarriable or otherwise undesirable. It's funny how language works like that. So whether you believe God, your mother, your best friend or your eventual spouse picks who you marry, it's inevitable and unavoidable. I guess like with everything else that "just comes with being a woman" we should just get on board and over it, right?
I imagine whoever was in charge of publishing "marriage advice from children" thought that what the ten year old boy had to say was adorable, hilarious and irresistable. I can also imagine that many of the people reading "marriage advice from children" had a similar reaction. And that's fine, I guess. Except I'm horrified that a male as young as ten has already inherited the value system and perspective that his statement represents. Not only does it imply a gendered hierarchy in which his interests and identity are superior in caliber and significance, it suggests that women don't, can't or shouldn't have an identity that is seperate from their male counterpart. Of course we can't discount the resonance of women's service, and with that, subservience, to men that echos in the end of the statement. I'm sure the likely interpretations would be that he's just a kid and it's just a joke, or he's probably just reiterating and reflecting what he sees in his own family. And although it all might be true, it nonetheless speaks to the power of socialization and reproduction. This ten-year old certainly wasn't born with these attitudes, and printing them only validates, confirms and reaffirms them. And as with many things that are taken as "just a joke" it reenforces stereotypes, preserve norms and prevents critical observation from developing. Ok, ok, so Amador county isn't exactly the progressive political capital of the northwest and it is certainly understandable how these issues could wind up undetected in the Northern California foothills. Unfortunately, youthful incarnations of gender inequality is not limited to conserative voting districts.
The private catholic school where I work holds an annual concert called "spring sing," and from what I've gathered each class picks and practices a song to perform. Recently, a girl in third grade was complaining to me about the song her class had been chosen to sing. The title? "Guys say cool and girls say gross." Yes, that's right, almost a decade into the twenty-first century, in west los angeles(considered liberal, no?), a third grade class will be divided along gendered lines to sing a song that not only suggests, but demands that children experience the world in certain ways based on being a boy or girl. So what if you're a girl who doesn't think it's gross (I think the song is about somebody's loose tooth), what does that say to you about yourself? Here's some hints: abnormal, weird, strange, unusual. I imagine the experience for boys who do think it's gross is similar and equally uncomfortable. Beyond this, and perhaps what I find to be most interesting, is how this song conjures up the image of young boys pushing eachother out of the way to check out how "cool" "it" is while the girls recoil in horror and try to get out of the way. Does anyone else see the males moving to the foreground (where the action is) while the females are shoved into the background in observation? And this is just one of the ways that girls learn how to react while they passively watch the boys interact with whatever environment they're in.
I am 23 years old and have spent my entire life playing with boys. And even though I'm nearly a foot taller, more athletic and faster than your average 8 year old, the boys at this very same school refuse to throw to me on the football field. I catch every pass my adult co-worker throws me and I can launch a perfect spiral as far as anyone else I've seen throw, yet after every snap I stand un-guarded in the end-zone and no one even looks my way. Somewhere in the course of their relatively new school career, these boys have learned that women are either untrustworthy or incapable on the football field and I imagine have absorbed this same information about other spheres of their daily life. These boys have a female P.E. coach, in fact all but one teacher at the entire school are women, and all but one of their day care counselors are women. They are overwhelmingly picked up from school (and you can infer raised primarily) by women and yet somehow they have learned that in some places women just don't belong....hm...interesting, I wonder how that happened?
The truth is the messages about gender roles and identity are everywhere for these kids and it is no surprise that their understanding of gender difference develops before their awareness of just about any other aspect of identity (race, sexuality, etc.). If in an age where women are presumed to have achieved equality in so many ways, education, career, etc, why are young people still learning these lessons about their respective places in the world? Probably because as much as we'd all like to point to the Clinton '08 presidential campaign and say, here's living proof that women have made it in this world, we can all go on with our lives, the reality is they (we) haven't. And we certainly won't as long as we (womena and men) remain complacent and uncritical about media, curriculum and implicit stereotype-reenforcement that teaches both males and females where we belong.
Yesterday I saw a white t-shirt hanging in a girl's clothing store window. In pink writing the shirt said: "I'm too pretty to do math" For those who believe that I'm full of unnecessary, righteous, feminist bullshit.....I rest my case.
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