Tag Archives: Equality

Sexist Me

21 Tuesday Nov 2017

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In 1984, at the age of sixteen, I heard about female genital mutilation.  I was horrified and angry, but I had nowhere to share this information or how I felt, no way to make a change. People at home were too busy fighting, and everyone at school was all about everything you can imagine going on in high school. Horrified, angry, and helpless make for flinty bedfellows. I internalized and built me a case for hating men.

In 1991, five years after I graduated from high school, Anita Hill testified that Clarence Thomas, supreme court nominee, sexually harassed her.  I thought she was brave for coming forward, I believed her, and after he was confirmed my hatred for men accelerated.  How could anyone let this pig become a judge?  (Side note: I didn’t even understand at the time that he would be a judge for a lifetime and what that meant, or how his wife’s politicking everyone ignores.)

Four years later, 1995,  I married my best friend. My high school years and many after did nothing to help me learn and grow into becoming the best person I could be. I was a man-hating woman hell-bent ready to punish everyone and everything who brutalized women. I. Won’t. Be. Your. Victim. Anymore!!!   Those years were tumultuous, years without a strong support system. I hated men less because my husband was kind, but the lurking vigilante shadow was never far away, and I did little to banish it.

In 1998 my son was an infant, and I was enmeshed in the daily life of being wife and mother.  I kept up with the news in a fairly background noise kind of way.  I heard that Clinton was being accused and dragged to court and impeached for lying under oath. Well that was stupid, Bill, what the hell were you thinking?  I heard the woman he was with was a willing, if not eager, partner, and I gave him a pass.  What?   Yes.  I gave him a pass.  He seemed like a charming dude, really good on camera whether it was an address or a spot on a talk show.  I mean, how could a dude who seemed so decent (yes, he had a dalliance and he’s all humbled by it) be the predator these other women and politicians made him out to be?  I felt like the women coming forward were the unfortunate victims of those who had a political axe to grind.  I felt like, if Hillary stood by him, why shouldn’t I?  I gave Bill Clinton a Democratic pass because he favored the same things I did, he was charming, and I was not paying attention to the deeper, more relevant, issues.

Twenty-eight years after I graduated high school, 2014, I found myself in the lobby of a hospital waiting to visit my son.  I picked up a copy of Vanity Fair which I don’t normally read, but this issue caught my attention.  I read about Monica Lewinsky’s life after the scandal.  The focus of the article was humiliation and bullying. 2014 was a pivotal time for me in so many ways, and this article was part of it.  Ms. Lewinsky describes her life after the scandal and her hopes for what women need to do going forward.  Monica had been a throwaway for me. She was a willing participant in an affair, so what, let’s move on. After reading the article I learned how wrong I was.

In October of 2016 I became enraged and sickened by the words of a president-elect caught on tape. I looked forward to his sad-faced confession and withdrawal from the race, but that did not happen.  People did not seem to care that he admitted to groping women without their consent, enjoying it without fear of retribution because when you’re famous you can get away with it.  The Narcissist-in-Chief is our president, and I mourn every day.

It is November 2017 and I am questioning everything I know about myself as a woman and everything I believed right up until this day.  Three women accused Bill Clinton of rape or misconduct. No one cared. Sixteen women came forward to describe being abused by Trump before his inauguration. No one cared.  Harvey Weinstein was exposed, a tap was opened and it appears the floodgates are breached. Every day more women and men are coming forward to share stories of their abuse by the famous and the unknown.  As I sit back in amazement at the revelations I cannot help but look at myself for being complicit.  I gave Bill Clinton a Democratic pass, ignoring the women he abused. Should I give that same treatment to Al Franken because his sins were not that big a deal? Why turn my back on Roy Moore but not Charlie Rose?

The harder we put men’s bad behavior under the microscope, the harder I take a look at myself, the closer I listen to my internal tape recorder. I am shocked by what I find. I read a female journalist’s book and in several places I felt annoyed and frustrated that she was complaining about her hair, or her choice to give up her relationship and comfortable life in exchange for face-time on air covering a presidential candidate. I heard my inner voice saying to the cashier where I buy groceries, “Geez, lady, would it kill you to smile?”  I am sexist just like all the rest, but at least now I know it and I am willing to work hard to do better. I no longer want to exercise vigilante justice under the cover of my superpower, invisibility.  I know now that knowledge is power, and so is my voice. I have to stand up and speak out equally for what is right, instead of giving a pass to the folks I kinda like because they’re cute or funny on a talk-show.  Justice looks so different to me now. I hope my voice will add geometrically and make a real, lasting change.  I pray for equal vision, equal treatment, and an open heart and mind always.

My Remains Ask You To Examine What Matters

28 Thursday Sep 2017

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morning crickets, disorganized, a messy symphony, out of time and tune like a first grade choir. they are young and vigorous, excited, eeping out of time like i’ve never heard before and we love them, dearly love them, dabbing our eyes with pride and ready for more.

green water with long whitecaps in the bay, ambassadors to the hurricane’s arrival. white sky turned gray for days, cloud processionals form impressive figures like gray knitted blankets, then icebergs moving fast in a distilled sunset sky that dispenses piss water instead of whisky.

i hear you. i hear you all. i allowed you to take over me like some drunk uncle at the barbecue who knows better. our burgers were adequate, filled our stomachs but we really didn’t want cheese on ours and not exactly burnt on one side.  it all works out in the end because we’re family and we take what we get, even after I told you all to fuck off because i can’t take your flag-waving bullshit anymore. We’re a family. I can do better, and so can we.

my anger is constant. it simmers long and sometimes a bubble pops and you get hit with the spray of “fuck off,” a little stain on your favorite faded t-shirt or that gauzy thing you wore for the first time today.  i try to keep her in check, in the cauldron, but after 16 days, sometimes it goes critical and that nicey girl, the one you thought was so well spoken and decent and measured bursts and she… she will not forget it.  she’s been wrestling your vipers and her vipers. my unwieldy elbows knocks the cauldron over and now another job:  own the disaster. the strife. the discord, the worry, the ransom, the fear, the woman, the apple, the evil, the world. I mop up the bloody mess and wring the rags out into the cauldron to begin again. again.

then i seek to breathe. to hold. to measure. to examine and find a way to spread the peace. the love. the wonder. the beauty. the magic. the grace. the harmony. the creation.  to own and love and share that thing i cannot see that made me and made you and reach for your fingertips in our birth and in our death, the turning wheel that pricked my finger and gave me a sword to fight my own dragons.

Momma said if you don’t have anything nice to say, then don’t say anything at all.  I believe she was so right, so very right. But when you believe, you need to stand for it, all the way, not stare at your toes and be a neutral pussy.  Take a stand, make a change, have courage in your convictions, and fuck what your father thinks.  Our future isn’t about measuring mother wounds, and it isn’t about lobby money and power. It’s about people rising up and telling the world the world matters, YOU matter, everything on it matters, we can do better, and I will walk with you peacefully, barefoot, and speak for you loudly, peacefully, forcefully. Otherwise, my silence means I accept the wrongs, the ill-doings, the damage, the hurt, the shoulder-shrugging extinctions.

Be brave, my fellow humans. Be brave and be kind and be giving. Be tolerant. Be listening. Be strong. Be happy. Be comforted. Be loving, and be one. Be ready to speak out for those who cannot speak for themselves. Stand your ground not for us but our earth and life that we cannot yet imagine will come because our time here is already done.  The future is fragile and we can sow the seeds to make it beautiful-strong.  Put love on your tongue. It’s not impossible. We are right and good and brave as we walk barefoot through all of our dust.  Bless you for taking a knee and asking for the wisdom to discern what matters.

No Big Mystery

20 Thursday Apr 2017

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People are making a big deal that a female tennis star won a grand slam title while she was pregnant.  I say, so what?  Her body is doing what it’s supposed to be doing, and if you really want to impress me, let’s see her play in the men’s division–and win!

Look, we really need to stop putting women on pedestals just because they have babies.  It’s just what nature chose, the luck of the draw. Like seahorses, the males carry the eggs in their pouches, nobody makes a big deal about their fatherhood. They’re just doing what nature gave them.

So women, just stop with making women hallowed, blessed, saintly, goddess things just because they carry around babies and breast feed and work jobs. So what? Your body does all the work, it’s not like you have anything to do with it.  Feed yourselves good food, read up on parenting, call your mom when you get in a bind, and take care of the kid that you put in this world. This is not a big deal, people.  It’s been going on since the dawn of time.

Women have babies, men do not. It’s just that simple.  Men and women are not equal, never will be.  So raise your boys to be boys and girls to be girls, as God intended. If more people would just follow nature and not make such a big deal of things, it would take such a burden from all our shoulders. A collective sigh the country could breathe. Ten fingers and ten toes are all the blessings anyone could ever need, and it’s time we got back to thinking like real women and men.

Another Look

09 Thursday Mar 2017

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Complicated mix of feelings about the use of International Women’s Day as a day to remove herself from society for a day; no work, no purchases, and wear red for solidarity.  I understand their mission statement and goals for A Day Without A Woman when I read it on a laptop screen, but I just couldn’t get completely behind it. I hate to tell you, ladies, but the world is gonna go on without us.  You know, tides, time clocks, hungry tummies, calves, earth’s rotation, traffic, the stock market, and the sun will still set all without us, red shirts, pink hats, outrage and all. What did we earn, what did we gain on this day?

I spent the day focused on women’s writing, on women who came before us who made so many things possible for us, things I take for granted. I focused on what being a whole woman looks like and feels like, where my deficiencies are, and what can I do to help the sun go down in kind, tangible ways for others.  Twasn’t easy, especially since I began the day in an irritated state, but the reading helped it abate.

This morning’s news held no surprises for me. I wasn’t expecting a wall-to-wall woman blackout, massive protests in the streets or even across the world.  International Women’s Day was celebrated yesterday, as it has since its inception in 1909, but in a muted kind of way. I do so hope that women across the globe took a moment to learn about its history. Fascinating it’s a national holiday in Russia. One only has to look at the reason why.

We are very lucky, perhaps the privileged few, who can step out on a job for a day. One wonders if the bodegas that closed in the cities on A Day Without Immigrants had a lot more to lose. A helluva lot more.  I hope this intersectional movement will stand for being much more than hard feelings towards a president.

I took to the internet to keep up with the news, then the usual social media outlets to keep up with the noise. This morning I came across something that rocked me back a little. An acquaintance posted her approval of a conservative news article that painted A Day Without A Woman in a bad light. The comments were a fascinating snapshot of conservatism. I read these articles and comments to keep myself grounded: I will lose if I stay in a silo. So more than 3,000 comments on this article, and they all basically said the same thing: They object to the disgusting, pink pussycat hats; the protesters are liberals, college age, still living with parents, no responsibilities; they are clueless snowflakes, delicate ornaments that can’t handle losing the election. More importantly, the commenters said, “I love and respect my wife. My husband loves and respects me. I’m raising my daughters/grandchildren better than these protesters. I’ve always worked hard for everything I have, I’ve always stood up for myself. I am a strong, happy woman, these protesters don’t speak for me.  They need to get jobs and stop whining.  Me and my husband work at the same hospital and we make the same, good wage.  My boss is a man and he respects me, how do I know, because he tells me so. I work on a ranch, I don’t get to take random days off, I am respected by my coworkers, I work hard, I am proud to be a woman, and I don’t know what these privileged girls are whining about.”  Three thousand people replied to this article, 9,000 shared it, and I spent more time than I probably should have reading them, but I needed to.

Three thousand people said they were never sexually harassed on the job, are getting equal pay, they are happy and proud to be women, and have very narrow, disgusted feelings towards protesters.  Hmm.   I wonder if I’m on the wrong side of the fence, here.  Did my little feelings get hurt when he said, “I moved on her like a bitch?” Should I just get over it, let it go for the locker room talk that it was, take the high road and be the best person I can be?  Did my little feelings get hurt when my boss, a woman, didn’t promote me to lead person because I didn’t suck up to her, buy her lunch, and worship Sara Palin?  Do I believe women are victims of their gender that are seeking a place to lay the blame?  What could we have done differently to get the job, the promotion, the next pay grade if gender wasn’t the issue–what did we do to hold ourselves back?  Are we spending too much time reading comments on alt-right web pages wringing our hands in fear that that’s us they’re talking about? We let our daddies down and we only have ourselves to blame?  Three thousand people seem to think so. Maybe that’s what they mean when they say, “Fuck your feelings.”

One of the commenting multitudes suggested that the real protesters should be white men because they’re getting the short end of the stick on everything. They’re the ones suffering.  I sharpen my pencil and get ready to write my sad, snowflake feelings on what will probably come to be known as White History Month.

Meanwhile… the new and improved healthcare act will cut funding for Planned Parenthood.

This Music Must Destroy, and you will build

01 Saturday Oct 2016

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Ask yourself in what ways you can y0u reach across the table and make a difference.   Stand up and say you see the Man and you don’t want to take it anymore.  Want to make a difference in the street, across the hall? Because you chose not to keep drinking the Kool Aid?   And what part you can play in making the music destroy, and the WORLD a better place. Our leaders can’t make it happen, but you can.   Think about it. I want to feel your fingers entwined with mine. I stand with you if you want peace and equality, through peaceful change.  Meanwhile…

I AM NOT YOUR PROPERTY! I AM NOT YOUR PROPERTY! I AM NOT YOUR PROPERTY!

Find Your Ember Of Rage