Just Another Feminist Rant

While I recognize that there are other very important social justice demands that deserve attention, this particular piece arises from my personal struggles as a cis, white, middle-class woman and focuses on the singular issue of women's rights. If for any reason you believe I have unduly ignored the intersectionality of sexism and any other oppressive institutions, please feel free to express that to me in a clear manner in the comments or through email. 

This labor day weekend I visited a couple of wonderful old friends in DC and while I had a great time, entering city life also provided an unsettling look through the magnifying glass at humanity. Over the course of less-than four days I was catcalled and ridiculed, approached and reprimanded all by men I had never met. A man blocked my way in a liquor store simply because I refused to answer "how's your day going, honey?" At a bar many men attempted to compliment(?) me by gluing their penis to my butt without my even seeing them as I danced. A man walking past on the street mumbled, "girls look good enough to eat" while my friend and I walked along a crowded Chinatown street mid-day. I caught a man on the Metro clandestinely capturing images of me and other women on the train with his camera phone presumably for his future use. And even when not directly approached, the leers were uncountable, occurring perhaps most viciously in the seemingly safe establishment that is the grocery store. 

Over the years I have worked hard to maintain my girlish delight that allows me to continually play with the world that surrounds me. I cherish that part of me. But during these four days I had to sink deeper inside myself in order to avoid the psychological torment of the male gaze while ironically feeling safest in the presence of other men I trusted. I lost my quirk. I didn't want them to look at the child inside of me that way. I needed to hide her to protect her.

Then I re-entered the world of my nieces, these three young, silly, wonderful girls who will soon enter puberty and they, too, may learn that in order to protect themselves they'll have to hide from the world, make themselves smaller, disappear into self-hatred. And why?

Our world hates women. Our world tells us this both subliminally through unachievable beauty standards set alongside a narrative that our beauty is our most important asset; as well as outright, through songs declaring, "I've got 99 problems but a bitch ain't one," or, most glaringly, cases of sexual assault that are blamed on the victim. And yet as our girls grow into women, the best answer we can come up with for why they self-destruct–with eating disorders, self-mutilation, or the like–is hormones? Further yet, as we mature out of puberty and deal daily with our tumultuous relationship with this world that hates us, we are still dismissed as "crazy or emotional"? 

As a woman who fights for the girl inside myself and the girls I love in this world, I ask why? Why do you hate us so? Why do you love our bodies but not our beings? And why do you refuse to acknowledge the hatred?

I can't stand the debate any longer: the fighting simply to prove that something isn't right when those pubescent girls are screaming that everything is wrong in any way they can. When a woman on the beach is undressed by police officers against her will and people nod their heads and say, yes, I agree, undress her, how is it unclear? 

Just look at your daughters and feel the overwhelming love you have for them. Know it will never be enough to combat the insurmountable hatred the world at large feels toward women in general. They will not make it through unscathed, they will be battered even if they're strong. Unless you fucking fight with them to change the game and listen to them in order to learn how to make the world love them, too. And yes, I am speaking to all men (and women).

I'll even give you a hint on where to start: remove the phrase "who cares" from your vocabulary.

July

We're fragmenting,
A statue, once whole, now blows to dust in the wind and the rain.
What remains?
The pieces others hold.
Crumbling to bits around lovers' fingers;
they're keeping safe the parts they've always known.
The parts they need.
Regrowth cannot occur while they remain there, saving.
We must chop off their arms.

Oh, summer wind, breathe your faith of life into me.

As a toast to the closing of this chapter, I have decided to begin posting my many jumbled, unedited pieces that I've written and hoarded during the past year. I learned long ago to stop imagining the future, so it's an understatement to say I could have never imagined how this year of my life would turn out. There is pain and there is joy and there is oh so much growth.

August!

20, 2016

The unrelenting onslaught of water's power removes the rocks' rough edges, revealing a sleek, smooth surface. Many may call this true beauty- but it is the rock's only defense. Relent, become soft, and the water will move more quickly over your surface. The walls we put up to defend ourselves are not always rough-hewn. For many, they are the soft edges of our character--letting all things pass over us with as little resistance as is possible.



6, 2016

A child's grief extends outwards, as they have not yet been taught to turn inwards.
An adult's grief is limited by the skin; having forgotten how to unabashedly bare his soul, the fire in an adult's grieving eyes slowly ebbs and flows.
In the realm between child and adult, when we know the world cannot bare our sorrows and yet we have not yet learned how to keep that fire locked in our eyes, grief implodes within, creating a shockwave to those surrounding us. Our whole world is grief, and yet there is no space for such as we walk along the remains of our long lives.
So, we tear out a space, with claws or teeth–not because we are needy or are using our grief for attention. It is survival.
Locked in a cage of smiles, we break our bones on the bars and lay there bloody, hoping someone will notice and release us (into a world where everything is not okay).

Universal Morality, an Ethnocentric Theory?

This mini essay is a little rough. I wrote it in a spurt last night as it just sort of came out of me like vomit (the majority of my writing comes to me that way). Anyway, it has since been sparsely edited and is simply some food for thought. This particular chain of thought was spurred by a short debate I had about universal morality based around a specific example of violence against women in other cultures. Mt stance as feminist may take a hit from this, but I'm always willing to calmly discuss other points of view. I know it's a tricky topic.

I believe that we have no ground to stand on when judging the moralities of other cultures. Am I against the stoning of women? Yes, of course. But that arises from my own world, my own beliefs and my own culture. Judging the stoning of women in other cultures from this point of view does nothing but reassure my sense of personal "goodness". If, say, I wanted to eradicate the stoning of women from a certain culture, I'd have to learn the how and why and for what. I'd have to learn the desire to stone or the acceptance of such a fate in order to eradicate the action. To do any less would simply be attacking a symptom, and just like a disease, you must kill its heart in order to stop it from spreading. The issue is that if you immediately label anything as morally wrong, you hinder your ability to create a space where you could conceive how it would be the right course of action. It is in this space that you learn the truth of what needs to be eradicated. And from where I'm standing, to say I am against the stoning of women is inconsequential and does nothing but close my mind and bolster my sense of moral righteousness. So I do believe that, when appraising the moral standards of other cultures, I have no ground upon which to stand. I cannot pick and choose what is right and wrong in the lives of those I know nothing about. I will help to bring less suffering and more joy to anyone, always, if a path to do so ever becomes apparent. But I will not lay my own moral framework upon another's culture and use it to build myself up. The trouble with, maybe everyone, but I can say, for sure, the educated westerners, is we think we've got it figured out. We still view ourselves as enlightened even when our own culture is flummoxed at itself. Perhaps we can still view ourselves this way because we're so good at pointing our fingers at some other group of us, saying, "it's not us that's fucked up, we know better. We know the way, but it's them who are stopping us and fucking everything up. The trumps, the Clintons, the racists, the NRA, the Christians, the conservatives... They're the fuckups" Or the opposite quote from a different camp, "... the liberals, the atheists, the Sanders..."
We love to prescribe pity, moral frameworks, and heroic guidance to cultures that we view as more troubled than our own. We believe we're doing a favor in these acts, but the simple notion of any of these prescriptions proves our self-aggrandizing stance. We believe it is our education that gives us this ability to see the true lines drawn between right and wrong. But it isn't. It's our nation's power and money that keeps us from falling into the pit with the rest, as many may see it. It is our western culture's history of domination that today gives us the ability to believe in a universal morality to judge the faltering nations of those we abuse(d). You may feel in your human heart the connection to the suffering in other cultures because suffering crosses through borders unchanged. Human suffering is universal. But the motives to cause suffering are bred by very particular environments and sequences of events. The motives are not universal. And just as a child of abuse is more likely to grow up to abuse, our dominion of control and greed raised and bred a world fraught with hatred. How asinine an abusive father would look calling his abusive son out for his heinous actions. Sure, I'd agree with him that the abuse is wrong, but my hope and respect for the abuser who judges his abusive son would plummet to a depth I do not wish to fathom. Hypocrisy adds a layer of evil to anyone. So in an effort to save face and soul, just rid yourself of your moral high ground. It does little but make you look a fool.

What is your stance? In your universal morality is it right for us to speak for the systematically oppressed?

I have been told that for further reading on the topic: "Can the Subaltern Speak?"–Gayatri Spivak

fuente de la juventud

When people ask me if I'm excited about Evergreen I never know how to answer.

I am, of course. It is my safety net... the portal that shoots me back into a realm where youthful chaos is so easily harnessed. That beautiful inconsistency of life keeps me not just awake, but alive.

I can't help but fear the day when I lose that safety net for good. I've learned I can't harness that chaos on my own; so when I fall back into the routine of nights that bleed into one another, with pints of ice cream slowly building on my small frame, is that where I stay? I cannot end up here. It's okay for now, but I swear this is not living.

So, yeah, I'm excited about heading back to college. But shaky and desperate as well, cuz I'm playing the last card I've got. I don't know what happens after.

A sentiment from a wise movie character: I've already gone to college, gotten married, divorced, had a baby and that baby is grown. So now what's left for me? What do I have to look forward to? Being a grandmother and then that's it. Then it's death, that's my next benchmark. Life moves unforgivingly fast.

I don't want my life to turn into benchmarks. Somehow it already has. I will be saved from it this time. But the next?

Outer Peace, Inner Turmoil

The tumult is over–
walking along for twenty years
on fraying tight rope.
I've made it to the other side
and the rope is broken, gone.
Now I must get down from the platform,
and fall from the clouds.
Never knew the joy of that fear
until there was nothing left to be afraid of.

In a twister, I was spinning,
wishing for peace,
waiting for calm.
In the end I was dropped where I began.
The birds now sing of calm air,
a gentle breeze rustles my hair.
The sunlight exposes
the damage.
I sit on the ruins of my house.
The foundation is all that's left.
I meditate on the peace I once wished for.
I feel it surround me.
I wish for something new.
I wait to spin again.

"Riptide" Ukulele Cover

Or watch it here!