PREYS.
I cracked open a beer and turned on the TV after work this evening and that's what a woman quoted for this news story was saying. If you watch the accompanying video, you can hear it for yourself, but in case you don't feel like sitting through the commercial they'll make you watch before the video starts, here it is: "We are also very near colleges, universities, and high schools, where the women they will prey upon are not fully understanding what's happening here at this site."
Her name is Brenda Savage, and she's a spokesperson for Right to Life, so maybe I should expect as much from someone like her. But even the story itself was biased; Savage's comment was untrue, offensive, and should have been edited out.
As for the issue at hand: Really, Comfort Suites? You sell your building to Planned Parenthood of all organizations and then get pissed off when you realize that the facility will be used to provide abortions? Isn't it kind of common knowledge that abortion is one of the many services provided by Planned Parenthood?
Please let me be frank for a second: I'm really fucking sick of this shit. I'm pro-choice, proud of it, and do not understand why an organization that helps women as much as Planned Parenthood has been forced to put up with so much anti-choice whining since the last election.
Showing posts with label news. Show all posts
Showing posts with label news. Show all posts
Friday, June 24, 2011
Tuesday, May 31, 2011
Victim blaming is bullshit. Also, the personal is political? Advice, please.
Yesterday I was sitting in the backyard with my parents, telling them about the various events I plan to attend in downtown Detroit next month: namely Motor City Pride and SlutWalk.
My dad made a comment that, for reasons I'll explain in a minute, was both racist and sexist: "You know I don't like you going west of Alter Road."
It was about the twentieth stupid comment he'd made all weekend, so I finally told him that if he isn't going to change his way of thinking, he needs to at least have the decency to keep his fucked up ideas to himself.
My mother, ever the peacekeeper, intervened. But instead of supporting my stance, she told me (for the zillionth time) that I need to accept that my dad's not going to learn/change, and ignore his comments.
Now, let me back up a bit and explain the context of my dad's remark:
The thing about most Detroit suburbs is that they're not actually very close to Detroit at all. Royal Oak, for instance (where I was born) is in Oakland County. Detroit, meanwhile, is located in Wayne County.
But Grosse Pointe--where I have lived most of my life--is one of the few Detroit suburbs that's actually in Wayne County. We even share the 313 area code, made famous by Eminem and Faygo ads such as this one.
Which is funny (read: sad and embarrassing) because Grosse Pointe, in stark contrast to its neighbor, is both affluent and overwhelmingly white.
Our house is a block from the border.
And so that's why my dad's comment was both racist and sexist. He was basically saying, "You know I don't want my pretty little girl to venture into the ghetto." Never mind that I'm twenty-two years old and in the process of earning a degree from a university in downtown Detroit. BUT ANYWAY.
So, here's my dilemma: In some cases, I do accept that certain people just aren't going to change. It depresses me more than I can express. But I'd rather focus my energy on people who might come around to the idea of equality. The kids I babysit, for example. They're young (four and seven). I see them three days per week, so hope to have some positive influence over their lives.
But in the case of my dad... it isn't easy to place him into the category of haters that I ignore. I share his genes. And we live together. I actually think it's healthier (for all parties involved) for me to speak up--and release all the pent-up energy I have--rather than keep quiet while he makes comments that upset me to the point of needing to email the people I know who care about the same things I do just to thank them for being there. (I've done this a couple of times, most recently, this past April.) My energy has to go somewhere, you know?
Another example of my dad's outlook: Last week there was a story in the news about a woman on the campus of Wayne State who "says [that a] campus cop pulled her over just after midnight and demanded a sexual favor in exchange for letting her go." She reported the incident; he was taken into custody and suspended without pay.
Upon seeing the story on the 5 o'clock news, my dad rolled his eyes and said, "That woman probably just wants money and came up with a creative way to get some."
Do I even need to explain why that's the worst thing anyone could possibly say? I know firsthand (as I'm sure many people do) how hard it can be to come forward about something that fucks with the whole power structure.
Secondly, I know that if I were to tell my dad that something like that had happened to me, he'd stop at nothing to make sure that the cop in question got his balls chopped off.
I babysit just a few blocks from my house, so I ride my bike or walk to and from work most of the time. I get off work at 9:30, by which point, it's dark outside. The first time I walked home from work, I entered the house to find my dad standing in the entryway. "Don't you ever pull a stunt like that again," he snapped. "I know you don't see yourself as a girl anymore, but you're still my girl."
*Headdesk*
I'm not an idiot. People know where and when I'm walking. But the idea of "some big burly black man lurkin' in the bushes" isn't enough to make me drive the three blocks to and from work instead of walk. This is my world, too, and I'm sick of being part of a culture that teaches women not to get raped instead of teaching people not to rape. Which is why I'm such a vocal supporter of the SlutWalks that have been popping up literally all over the globe.
I digress.
So, what to do? Part of me just feels helpless, heartbroken, and exhausted because if I can't get through to my dad of all people, how can I possibly expect to have any influence over people who aren't related to/don't live with me?
I believe in living honestly. That's why I don't eat red meat or drive if I can help it, openly identify as a feminist, and told my parents that I'm gay, among other things. My mom, though she disagrees with me, knows that I'm adamantly pro-choice. So I find it really difficult to just shut up while my dad makes racist/sexist comments. I don't understand why I'm the one who's expected to shut up and let him say his piece. Because if I make a feminist remark, he's able to tell me stop because he's my dad and therefore, trumps me in terms of authority.
Furthermore, because I know my dad to be a pretty good person overall (or at least, someone who tries to be in the ways he knows how), I think it's unfair to him to act as my mom does. I can't just say, "Well, he's from Poland. And he never went to college. So he's just never going to get it." Um. He accepted the fact that his daughter's a lesbian, so I like to think that he can be a little more open minded if I do a little bit of work, you know?
Or is my mother right? Am I just wasting my energy?
Lemme know, Internet.
My dad made a comment that, for reasons I'll explain in a minute, was both racist and sexist: "You know I don't like you going west of Alter Road."
It was about the twentieth stupid comment he'd made all weekend, so I finally told him that if he isn't going to change his way of thinking, he needs to at least have the decency to keep his fucked up ideas to himself.
My mother, ever the peacekeeper, intervened. But instead of supporting my stance, she told me (for the zillionth time) that I need to accept that my dad's not going to learn/change, and ignore his comments.
Now, let me back up a bit and explain the context of my dad's remark:
The thing about most Detroit suburbs is that they're not actually very close to Detroit at all. Royal Oak, for instance (where I was born) is in Oakland County. Detroit, meanwhile, is located in Wayne County.
But Grosse Pointe--where I have lived most of my life--is one of the few Detroit suburbs that's actually in Wayne County. We even share the 313 area code, made famous by Eminem and Faygo ads such as this one.
Which is funny (read: sad and embarrassing) because Grosse Pointe, in stark contrast to its neighbor, is both affluent and overwhelmingly white.
Our house is a block from the border.
And so that's why my dad's comment was both racist and sexist. He was basically saying, "You know I don't want my pretty little girl to venture into the ghetto." Never mind that I'm twenty-two years old and in the process of earning a degree from a university in downtown Detroit. BUT ANYWAY.
So, here's my dilemma: In some cases, I do accept that certain people just aren't going to change. It depresses me more than I can express. But I'd rather focus my energy on people who might come around to the idea of equality. The kids I babysit, for example. They're young (four and seven). I see them three days per week, so hope to have some positive influence over their lives.
But in the case of my dad... it isn't easy to place him into the category of haters that I ignore. I share his genes. And we live together. I actually think it's healthier (for all parties involved) for me to speak up--and release all the pent-up energy I have--rather than keep quiet while he makes comments that upset me to the point of needing to email the people I know who care about the same things I do just to thank them for being there. (I've done this a couple of times, most recently, this past April.) My energy has to go somewhere, you know?
Another example of my dad's outlook: Last week there was a story in the news about a woman on the campus of Wayne State who "says [that a] campus cop pulled her over just after midnight and demanded a sexual favor in exchange for letting her go." She reported the incident; he was taken into custody and suspended without pay.
Upon seeing the story on the 5 o'clock news, my dad rolled his eyes and said, "That woman probably just wants money and came up with a creative way to get some."
Do I even need to explain why that's the worst thing anyone could possibly say? I know firsthand (as I'm sure many people do) how hard it can be to come forward about something that fucks with the whole power structure.
Secondly, I know that if I were to tell my dad that something like that had happened to me, he'd stop at nothing to make sure that the cop in question got his balls chopped off.
I babysit just a few blocks from my house, so I ride my bike or walk to and from work most of the time. I get off work at 9:30, by which point, it's dark outside. The first time I walked home from work, I entered the house to find my dad standing in the entryway. "Don't you ever pull a stunt like that again," he snapped. "I know you don't see yourself as a girl anymore, but you're still my girl."
*Headdesk*
I'm not an idiot. People know where and when I'm walking. But the idea of "some big burly black man lurkin' in the bushes" isn't enough to make me drive the three blocks to and from work instead of walk. This is my world, too, and I'm sick of being part of a culture that teaches women not to get raped instead of teaching people not to rape. Which is why I'm such a vocal supporter of the SlutWalks that have been popping up literally all over the globe.
I digress.
So, what to do? Part of me just feels helpless, heartbroken, and exhausted because if I can't get through to my dad of all people, how can I possibly expect to have any influence over people who aren't related to/don't live with me?
I believe in living honestly. That's why I don't eat red meat or drive if I can help it, openly identify as a feminist, and told my parents that I'm gay, among other things. My mom, though she disagrees with me, knows that I'm adamantly pro-choice. So I find it really difficult to just shut up while my dad makes racist/sexist comments. I don't understand why I'm the one who's expected to shut up and let him say his piece. Because if I make a feminist remark, he's able to tell me stop because he's my dad and therefore, trumps me in terms of authority.
Furthermore, because I know my dad to be a pretty good person overall (or at least, someone who tries to be in the ways he knows how), I think it's unfair to him to act as my mom does. I can't just say, "Well, he's from Poland. And he never went to college. So he's just never going to get it." Um. He accepted the fact that his daughter's a lesbian, so I like to think that he can be a little more open minded if I do a little bit of work, you know?
Or is my mother right? Am I just wasting my energy?
Lemme know, Internet.
Tuesday, March 15, 2011
Failure to launch
I haven't posted much to this blog this month, even though there's so much going on in the world and just as much I could say about it.
I've actually sat down at my computer several times in the past week or so to write about all of it: the devastating earthquake in Japan (and the YouTube video from a crazed Catholic who saw it as some sort of "beautiful" sign from God); the Wisconsin loss; Governor Rick Snyder's plan to destroy my home state of Michigan; the victim-blaming piece of bullshit I read in the New York Times about the gang rape of an eleven-year-old girl in Texas; and the news that a woman in Nebraska--thanks to her state's anti-choice legislation--was forced to watch her newborn die because she had not been permitted to terminate a pregnancy that doctors told her would result in the death of her baby.
But each time I've started writing, I've gotten too overwhelmed/tired, given up, and gone to bed. Lately, I've felt too deflated to accomplish much of anything.
I feel as disappointed in the world as I did in the first grade, when a classmate called and asked if I'd like to come over and play Candy Land with her. I envisioned her house--which I'd visited many times--transformed into a castle made of candy. I pictured the two of racing through it, sugar adding to the energy I already had just from my level of excitement. And I eagerly said yes.
But Candy Land turned out to be just a board game.
I read a really great Between the Lines article last week called "The kid aren't all right," about how my generation isn't going to stand for any anti-LGBT bullshit. One part in particular gave me some much-needed hope: "This generation is often ridiculed for having a sense of entitlement. But these kids show that they feel entitled to basic human rights. And if those rights aren't there, they're going to organize, ask, demand, and fight to have them."
If that's true, then I need to find a way to join in. Part of why I'm so down about things lately is that I feel like I'm the only person who gives a shit about anything (even though from reading my friends' posts on Facebook, I know that I'm not).
But I feel so terribly alone because my current living situation and babysitting job make it really hard for me to go out and pursue my interests. I live with my parents twenty minutes from campus, don't have a car of my own, and work on Tuesday, Thursday, and Friday evenings. And because I'm a transfer student, I don't really have any friends in the area.
So, woe is me. I keep telling myself to be strong and stick it out until June, when the kids I babysit will be done with school for the year and I can think about moving on to something else, freeing up my evenings. But that's not real strength.
When I transferred to Wayne State, I moved in with my parents because doing so would save money. I knew that transferring would mean taking longer than four years to finish up my BA. So I thought that by moving in with them, I'd be making them happy. Because if there's one surefire way to make my parents happy, it's by saving money.
But it just hasn't turned out that way. My parents, though they mean well, are stuck in some kind of time warp, and are waiting for me to "launch." Their word choice scares me. I'm afraid that by their definition, I'm never going to "launch." I got my driver's license three and a half years after it was legal for me to do so. I won't finish college in four years. And to top it all off, I'm gay, so even if I were in a committed relationship, it's not like I could get married anytime soon.
I mean, it's understandable for my parents (like any parents) to want to watch their kids grow into successful adults. But what they don't understand is that for so many reasons, they can't hold me to the standard to which their parents held them. For one thing, there are obvious economic obstacles to making it through college in four years (thanks, Rick Snyder, for slashing state funding to Michigan colleges/universities by more than 20%).
And more importantly, there are so many ways to be successful. And success, to me, is happiness. We can agree that I've failed. But I'm not a failure because I got my driver's license three and a half years later than my peers. I'm not a failure because I won't graduate from college on time. And I'm not a failure because I have no desire to marry and have children. Instead, I am a failure because I've settled for living in Grosse Pointe. I'm a failure because two hours from now, I'm going to leave the house for an evening of babysitting instead of leaving it to go after what really inspires me.
Life has told me to settle for board games. Living, however, has taught me that if I have any hope of doing something good for this world during my time here, I need to build a candy castle--even if right now, it only exists in my imagination, and no on else can see or understand my need to create it.
I've actually sat down at my computer several times in the past week or so to write about all of it: the devastating earthquake in Japan (and the YouTube video from a crazed Catholic who saw it as some sort of "beautiful" sign from God); the Wisconsin loss; Governor Rick Snyder's plan to destroy my home state of Michigan; the victim-blaming piece of bullshit I read in the New York Times about the gang rape of an eleven-year-old girl in Texas; and the news that a woman in Nebraska--thanks to her state's anti-choice legislation--was forced to watch her newborn die because she had not been permitted to terminate a pregnancy that doctors told her would result in the death of her baby.
But each time I've started writing, I've gotten too overwhelmed/tired, given up, and gone to bed. Lately, I've felt too deflated to accomplish much of anything.
I feel as disappointed in the world as I did in the first grade, when a classmate called and asked if I'd like to come over and play Candy Land with her. I envisioned her house--which I'd visited many times--transformed into a castle made of candy. I pictured the two of racing through it, sugar adding to the energy I already had just from my level of excitement. And I eagerly said yes.
But Candy Land turned out to be just a board game.
I read a really great Between the Lines article last week called "The kid aren't all right," about how my generation isn't going to stand for any anti-LGBT bullshit. One part in particular gave me some much-needed hope: "This generation is often ridiculed for having a sense of entitlement. But these kids show that they feel entitled to basic human rights. And if those rights aren't there, they're going to organize, ask, demand, and fight to have them."
If that's true, then I need to find a way to join in. Part of why I'm so down about things lately is that I feel like I'm the only person who gives a shit about anything (even though from reading my friends' posts on Facebook, I know that I'm not).
But I feel so terribly alone because my current living situation and babysitting job make it really hard for me to go out and pursue my interests. I live with my parents twenty minutes from campus, don't have a car of my own, and work on Tuesday, Thursday, and Friday evenings. And because I'm a transfer student, I don't really have any friends in the area.
So, woe is me. I keep telling myself to be strong and stick it out until June, when the kids I babysit will be done with school for the year and I can think about moving on to something else, freeing up my evenings. But that's not real strength.
When I transferred to Wayne State, I moved in with my parents because doing so would save money. I knew that transferring would mean taking longer than four years to finish up my BA. So I thought that by moving in with them, I'd be making them happy. Because if there's one surefire way to make my parents happy, it's by saving money.
But it just hasn't turned out that way. My parents, though they mean well, are stuck in some kind of time warp, and are waiting for me to "launch." Their word choice scares me. I'm afraid that by their definition, I'm never going to "launch." I got my driver's license three and a half years after it was legal for me to do so. I won't finish college in four years. And to top it all off, I'm gay, so even if I were in a committed relationship, it's not like I could get married anytime soon.
I mean, it's understandable for my parents (like any parents) to want to watch their kids grow into successful adults. But what they don't understand is that for so many reasons, they can't hold me to the standard to which their parents held them. For one thing, there are obvious economic obstacles to making it through college in four years (thanks, Rick Snyder, for slashing state funding to Michigan colleges/universities by more than 20%).
And more importantly, there are so many ways to be successful. And success, to me, is happiness. We can agree that I've failed. But I'm not a failure because I got my driver's license three and a half years later than my peers. I'm not a failure because I won't graduate from college on time. And I'm not a failure because I have no desire to marry and have children. Instead, I am a failure because I've settled for living in Grosse Pointe. I'm a failure because two hours from now, I'm going to leave the house for an evening of babysitting instead of leaving it to go after what really inspires me.
Life has told me to settle for board games. Living, however, has taught me that if I have any hope of doing something good for this world during my time here, I need to build a candy castle--even if right now, it only exists in my imagination, and no on else can see or understand my need to create it.
Friday, October 1, 2010
I love Fridays. And everything/one.
I've discovered that it's physically impossible for me to wake up before 10:30 a.m. on Friday mornings. And I love that. Means I've earned it. :-)
This week has been great. Not because it's been perfect. It hasn't. But it's been great anyway, just because.
Because on Monday I received a card in the mail from a friend who lives in Midland.
Because on Tuesday morning, I woke up to rain and wind. And it made me grumpy, so I got online and bought a copy of the first season of The Golden Girls on DVD.
Because on Wednesday, my copy of Han Nolan's new book, _Crazy_ finally came in the mail.
And because on Thursday I baked cookies with the girls I babysit for, and they worked so well together. They took turns kneading the dough and didn't fight over the cookie cutters. And later that night, when the youngest (four) burned her finger on a light bulb in the bedroom they share, the eldest (seven) found the Band Aids and suggested I make an ice pack.
This week has had its moments of epic suckiness, too. I took an astronomy quiz that I'm pretty sure I bombed. And I've been following a story on the news about Michigan's assistant attorney general, who apparently has nothing better to do than write hateful things in a blog about U of M's openly gay student body president. Speaking of of the news, I found out earlier this week that my favorite anchor (Robbie Timmons on WXYZ in Detroit) is retiring. It's probably weird to have a favorite news anchor, but I've always been a Robbie Timmons fan. In 1972, she became the first woman in the US to anchor a 6 and 11 o'clock newscast. I think that's pretty badass, and will miss seeing her on the air every day.
Whenever I mention how happy I am these days, someone inevitably asks me what I'm smokin'. And even though they're kidding, it bothers me a little. Because it isn't euphoria or giddyness. It's just that I'm awake and aware and alive in a way I wasn't a year ago. Things still piss me off and break my heart and all of that. But I'm here, and I'm so glad I'm here, just living and doing and being.
This week has been great. Not because it's been perfect. It hasn't. But it's been great anyway, just because.
Because on Monday I received a card in the mail from a friend who lives in Midland.
Because on Tuesday morning, I woke up to rain and wind. And it made me grumpy, so I got online and bought a copy of the first season of The Golden Girls on DVD.
Because on Wednesday, my copy of Han Nolan's new book, _Crazy_ finally came in the mail.
And because on Thursday I baked cookies with the girls I babysit for, and they worked so well together. They took turns kneading the dough and didn't fight over the cookie cutters. And later that night, when the youngest (four) burned her finger on a light bulb in the bedroom they share, the eldest (seven) found the Band Aids and suggested I make an ice pack.
This week has had its moments of epic suckiness, too. I took an astronomy quiz that I'm pretty sure I bombed. And I've been following a story on the news about Michigan's assistant attorney general, who apparently has nothing better to do than write hateful things in a blog about U of M's openly gay student body president. Speaking of of the news, I found out earlier this week that my favorite anchor (Robbie Timmons on WXYZ in Detroit) is retiring. It's probably weird to have a favorite news anchor, but I've always been a Robbie Timmons fan. In 1972, she became the first woman in the US to anchor a 6 and 11 o'clock newscast. I think that's pretty badass, and will miss seeing her on the air every day.
Whenever I mention how happy I am these days, someone inevitably asks me what I'm smokin'. And even though they're kidding, it bothers me a little. Because it isn't euphoria or giddyness. It's just that I'm awake and aware and alive in a way I wasn't a year ago. Things still piss me off and break my heart and all of that. But I'm here, and I'm so glad I'm here, just living and doing and being.
Wednesday, September 15, 2010
"Your silence will not protect you."
I saw this story on the news last night. It really pissed me off.
Here's the gist of it: Recently, Jennifer Tesch, a woman in Madison Heights whose six-year-old daughter was on a local cheerleading squad, objected to one of the cheers: "Our backs ache, our skirts are too tight. We shake our booties from left to right."
She brought it to the attention of the public (I saw the original story on the news a few weeks ago). And now the parents of the other cheerleaders have unanimously voted her daughter off the team for "casting a bad light on the league." Oh, and get this: The cheer stays.
Okay. I'll concede that maybe Tesch should have talked to the other parents or coaches before alerting the media, but that does not excuse the other parents' behavior; it's appalling. One of them is quoted saying, "This is like a family. And to me, if you attack your family, what are you gonna do? You know, people are gonna be upset."
Talk about hypocritical. Instead of discussing the issue of the cheer in question, the parents of the other cheerleaders voted unanimously to kick Tesch's daughter off the team because by bringing it to the attention of the media, Tesch "cast a bad light on the league."
Please. By booting her out, the rest of the cheerleaders' parents are the ones "casting a bad light on the league," and ought to be ashamed of themselves.
When we're kids, we're encouraged to stand up for what we believe in. Our parents, teachers, and other mentors tend to emphasize that our actions--despite any adversity we may face--will ultimately end in glory and honor. But it really doesn't happen like that (which is something I've learned the hard way, especially in the past year or so). And I have to applaud Jennifer Tesch for voicing her opinion; I admire her for doing so.
Lately, I've been trying really hard to live by the words of Audre Lorde: "Your silence will not protect you." This whole cheerleading fiasco is an incredibly unfortunate example of why so many people think their silence will protect them, and so keep their mouths shut.
Here's the gist of it: Recently, Jennifer Tesch, a woman in Madison Heights whose six-year-old daughter was on a local cheerleading squad, objected to one of the cheers: "Our backs ache, our skirts are too tight. We shake our booties from left to right."
She brought it to the attention of the public (I saw the original story on the news a few weeks ago). And now the parents of the other cheerleaders have unanimously voted her daughter off the team for "casting a bad light on the league." Oh, and get this: The cheer stays.
Okay. I'll concede that maybe Tesch should have talked to the other parents or coaches before alerting the media, but that does not excuse the other parents' behavior; it's appalling. One of them is quoted saying, "This is like a family. And to me, if you attack your family, what are you gonna do? You know, people are gonna be upset."
Talk about hypocritical. Instead of discussing the issue of the cheer in question, the parents of the other cheerleaders voted unanimously to kick Tesch's daughter off the team because by bringing it to the attention of the media, Tesch "cast a bad light on the league."
Please. By booting her out, the rest of the cheerleaders' parents are the ones "casting a bad light on the league," and ought to be ashamed of themselves.
When we're kids, we're encouraged to stand up for what we believe in. Our parents, teachers, and other mentors tend to emphasize that our actions--despite any adversity we may face--will ultimately end in glory and honor. But it really doesn't happen like that (which is something I've learned the hard way, especially in the past year or so). And I have to applaud Jennifer Tesch for voicing her opinion; I admire her for doing so.
Lately, I've been trying really hard to live by the words of Audre Lorde: "Your silence will not protect you." This whole cheerleading fiasco is an incredibly unfortunate example of why so many people think their silence will protect them, and so keep their mouths shut.
Tuesday, August 24, 2010
Let's show 'em!
The New York Times just keeps filling me with rage. A couple of people over there (Gail Collins and Stacy Schiff) have declared repeatedly that young feminists don't exist.
Um, really? Because I exist.
And I have a blog. If you're a young feminist with a blog, you should participate in the "THIS IS WHAT A YOUNG FEMINIST LOOKS LIKE" blog carnival.
Interested? Here's what you need to do. Click here. Leave a comment with your blog name and URL. And then add this badge to your page. (I've already added it; look to the right.) A list of participating blogs will be posted to "Fair and Feminist" early Friday morning, August 27.
I think this is great. In April of 2009, I had the opportunity to see Gloria Steinem speak at the Macomb Center for the Performing Arts in Clinton Township, Michigan. Afterward, an older woman asked, "Why don't young people care about feminism?"
I had come with a bunch of fellow undergraduates on a bus from Saginaw, so we were all a little annoyed by that comment. A bunch of us raised our hands and said, "Um. We're here, and we care."
That situation has repeated itself many times over. We're here. We've been here for quite some time. And we're not going anywhere. We've been waiting for you to take notice.
Talk to us, not about us. It's the first step to accomplishing anything.
Um, really? Because I exist.
And I have a blog. If you're a young feminist with a blog, you should participate in the "THIS IS WHAT A YOUNG FEMINIST LOOKS LIKE" blog carnival.
Interested? Here's what you need to do. Click here. Leave a comment with your blog name and URL. And then add this badge to your page. (I've already added it; look to the right.) A list of participating blogs will be posted to "Fair and Feminist" early Friday morning, August 27.
I think this is great. In April of 2009, I had the opportunity to see Gloria Steinem speak at the Macomb Center for the Performing Arts in Clinton Township, Michigan. Afterward, an older woman asked, "Why don't young people care about feminism?"
I had come with a bunch of fellow undergraduates on a bus from Saginaw, so we were all a little annoyed by that comment. A bunch of us raised our hands and said, "Um. We're here, and we care."
That situation has repeated itself many times over. We're here. We've been here for quite some time. And we're not going anywhere. We've been waiting for you to take notice.
Talk to us, not about us. It's the first step to accomplishing anything.
Sunday, August 22, 2010
20-something. Full of rage, not flaws.
A few days ago, someone posted to Facebook this article from the New York Times, titled "What is it About 20-Somethings?"
A thread of really great comments followed. The general consensus was that for as long as the article is, it leaves out a lot.
As a 20-something who has recently transferred colleges and moved back into her parents' house, I found it irritating: well-intentioned, maybe, but ultimately, patronizing.
Reading it, I was reminded of a psychology class I took at SVSU: personality theory. And okay, theorists across all disciplines will try to refute others' theories with their own. But the thing I noticed with this class in particular was that the theories didn't differ all that much: one psychologist would come up with an idea of how we ought to progress up some sort of "ladder" toward adulthood. And then another psychologist would come along, disagree, and suggest we climb his ladder instead.
I say to hell with ladders: We're all born, and we all die. But otherwise? Our experiences differ greatly depending upon our circumstances. Not only do we not all move at the same pace, we don't all go up. We criss-cross and go sideways. And sometimes that's because of conscious decisions we make, but often times, factors that are beyond our control come into play as well.
A topic that's been coming up a lot in the lives of my 20-something friends (female, especially) is marriage. Women seem to be under greater pressure to "hurry up and get married" than men, probably because of the whole "biological clock" thing. Two of my friends, both 26, are at different places in life (because they're doing very different things with their lives--what a concept). One's in grad school and single. The other is a high school teacher who's getting married in the fall. And yet, because they're the same age, their families' wishes for them are similar: Single grad student's family hopes she'll find a boyfriend soon; engaged high school teacher's family is relieved she's "finally" getting married.
So there's enough pressure--from society, from family, and from the voices in our own heads--to "succeed" without the New York Times tossing its blame game into the mix, no matter what the situation might be.
I'm 21. I spent three years at SVSU before deciding to transfer to Wayne State/move in with my parents. I've been rather tight-lipped about it. And that's because I've learned the hard way that people think transferring after three years is downright weird--a sign of failure, a lack of direction. Oh, the horror.
If my reasons for transferring don't make sense to you, I can live with that. But know that leaving was what made sense to me. I don't understand why people think it's okay to get all up in my grill about it just because I'm not doing things the way they did.
A thread of really great comments followed. The general consensus was that for as long as the article is, it leaves out a lot.
As a 20-something who has recently transferred colleges and moved back into her parents' house, I found it irritating: well-intentioned, maybe, but ultimately, patronizing.
Reading it, I was reminded of a psychology class I took at SVSU: personality theory. And okay, theorists across all disciplines will try to refute others' theories with their own. But the thing I noticed with this class in particular was that the theories didn't differ all that much: one psychologist would come up with an idea of how we ought to progress up some sort of "ladder" toward adulthood. And then another psychologist would come along, disagree, and suggest we climb his ladder instead.
I say to hell with ladders: We're all born, and we all die. But otherwise? Our experiences differ greatly depending upon our circumstances. Not only do we not all move at the same pace, we don't all go up. We criss-cross and go sideways. And sometimes that's because of conscious decisions we make, but often times, factors that are beyond our control come into play as well.
A topic that's been coming up a lot in the lives of my 20-something friends (female, especially) is marriage. Women seem to be under greater pressure to "hurry up and get married" than men, probably because of the whole "biological clock" thing. Two of my friends, both 26, are at different places in life (because they're doing very different things with their lives--what a concept). One's in grad school and single. The other is a high school teacher who's getting married in the fall. And yet, because they're the same age, their families' wishes for them are similar: Single grad student's family hopes she'll find a boyfriend soon; engaged high school teacher's family is relieved she's "finally" getting married.
So there's enough pressure--from society, from family, and from the voices in our own heads--to "succeed" without the New York Times tossing its blame game into the mix, no matter what the situation might be.
I'm 21. I spent three years at SVSU before deciding to transfer to Wayne State/move in with my parents. I've been rather tight-lipped about it. And that's because I've learned the hard way that people think transferring after three years is downright weird--a sign of failure, a lack of direction. Oh, the horror.
If my reasons for transferring don't make sense to you, I can live with that. But know that leaving was what made sense to me. I don't understand why people think it's okay to get all up in my grill about it just because I'm not doing things the way they did.
Wednesday, August 18, 2010
"Hold your head up, you silly girl."
I have a lot on my mind lately, and don't know where to start. That said, this post will likely be all over the place. You've been warned. Proceed at your own risk.
I'll begin with some good (albeit belated) news: On August 4, California's Proposition 8 was deemed unconstitutional by Chief Judge Vaughn R. Walker.
As I think I've mentioned before, I'm a total news junkie. I watch both CNN and the local news every day, follow various news sources on Twitter, and read whatever my friends post to Facebook, as well as articles in the papers I find lying around the house/campus. But the day Prop 8 was overturned, I happened to be out of town with a friend (more on that later), and therefore, wasn't near the TV or computer. I didn't hear about the ruling until the following day.
Figures. I tune out for a grand total of twenty-four hours, and just look what I miss!
But I'm so happy about this. And hopeful. Incredibly, incredibly hopeful.
And I guess this leads me to something else:
Despite the good news, I don't feel like I have much of a right to celebrate. I'm not contributing enough to the effort to better the world. I keep finding myself in situations where I can't decide whether it'd be best for me to shut up or speak out.
I'm pretty opinionated, but I know that trying to discuss particular topics with certain people would be futile, and choose not to waste my energy on such interactions.
And yet, as someone who believes deeply in diversity, and knows that achieving it is impossible without communication, I find it tremendously difficult to be quiet. By shutting up, I'm going against what I believe in. Yet by speaking out, I'm only pissing people off, because so many of them don't want to listen to what I have to say.
I think people are afraid to communicate because they assume that by accepting what I have to say, they're agreeing with it. That's not what I'm asking for. (We wouldn't be very diverse if we all thought the same way.) All I want is to be able to speak as loudly as those who get away with spouting off every day as if theirs is the only opinion that counts.
Earlier this month, I went to Memphis, Tennessee and Cleburne, Texas with a friend who wanted to visit some of her friends and relatives. Being in the South was one hell of a weird experience for me: Every little thing got on my nerves. I heard a song on a radio station down there that began: "Our houses are protected by the good lord and a gun." And all the way through Arkansas, I made a game out of counting bumper stickers that mentioned Jesus and/or Glenn Beck.
So here I am, telling people I believe in diversity, and yet, whenever I find myself surrounded by people whose mindset is different from mine, I want to be with people who think like I do.
And I've found myself in this situation many times: My decision to leave Saginaw was largely based on the fact that I felt like I was wasting too much of my energy defending what I believed in, instead of actually accomplishing anything.
And yet, I even find it difficult to communicate with members of my own family. My mom gets all up in arms whenever I mention that I'm not a fan of capitalism. My grandmother refuses to accept that I don't believe in God.
It's frustrating, because all I want is to be accepted, and yet how can I ask for that when I can't seem to accept others for who they are?
It's all way more complicated than it needs to be.
I'll begin with some good (albeit belated) news: On August 4, California's Proposition 8 was deemed unconstitutional by Chief Judge Vaughn R. Walker.
As I think I've mentioned before, I'm a total news junkie. I watch both CNN and the local news every day, follow various news sources on Twitter, and read whatever my friends post to Facebook, as well as articles in the papers I find lying around the house/campus. But the day Prop 8 was overturned, I happened to be out of town with a friend (more on that later), and therefore, wasn't near the TV or computer. I didn't hear about the ruling until the following day.
Figures. I tune out for a grand total of twenty-four hours, and just look what I miss!
But I'm so happy about this. And hopeful. Incredibly, incredibly hopeful.
And I guess this leads me to something else:
Despite the good news, I don't feel like I have much of a right to celebrate. I'm not contributing enough to the effort to better the world. I keep finding myself in situations where I can't decide whether it'd be best for me to shut up or speak out.
I'm pretty opinionated, but I know that trying to discuss particular topics with certain people would be futile, and choose not to waste my energy on such interactions.
And yet, as someone who believes deeply in diversity, and knows that achieving it is impossible without communication, I find it tremendously difficult to be quiet. By shutting up, I'm going against what I believe in. Yet by speaking out, I'm only pissing people off, because so many of them don't want to listen to what I have to say.
I think people are afraid to communicate because they assume that by accepting what I have to say, they're agreeing with it. That's not what I'm asking for. (We wouldn't be very diverse if we all thought the same way.) All I want is to be able to speak as loudly as those who get away with spouting off every day as if theirs is the only opinion that counts.
Earlier this month, I went to Memphis, Tennessee and Cleburne, Texas with a friend who wanted to visit some of her friends and relatives. Being in the South was one hell of a weird experience for me: Every little thing got on my nerves. I heard a song on a radio station down there that began: "Our houses are protected by the good lord and a gun." And all the way through Arkansas, I made a game out of counting bumper stickers that mentioned Jesus and/or Glenn Beck.
So here I am, telling people I believe in diversity, and yet, whenever I find myself surrounded by people whose mindset is different from mine, I want to be with people who think like I do.
And I've found myself in this situation many times: My decision to leave Saginaw was largely based on the fact that I felt like I was wasting too much of my energy defending what I believed in, instead of actually accomplishing anything.
And yet, I even find it difficult to communicate with members of my own family. My mom gets all up in arms whenever I mention that I'm not a fan of capitalism. My grandmother refuses to accept that I don't believe in God.
It's frustrating, because all I want is to be accepted, and yet how can I ask for that when I can't seem to accept others for who they are?
It's all way more complicated than it needs to be.
Thursday, July 29, 2010
Reasons to smile
I watch a lot of news (local, national, global--you name it). It makes me want to throw things. Oil spills (in the Gulf and right here in Michigan) and stories like this make me think I'd be happier if I didn't care to be an informed citizen.
So I thought I'd post a few reasons to smile (both personal and otherwise, in no particular order). Because I really do have quite a few good ones.
So I thought I'd post a few reasons to smile (both personal and otherwise, in no particular order). Because I really do have quite a few good ones.
- My friend Victoria found this quote and posted it to my Facebook wall the other day: "If anyone tells you that you can't achieve your dreams, or puts you down, make your hand into a claw and tell them you're a little monster and you can do whatever the fuck you want." - Lady GaGa (I'm so happy to know that someone like her has so much influence over people these days. It's refreshing.)
- My friend Meredith has been in Germany for the past year, and will finally be returning home on Saturday.
- Judge Susan Bolton blocked some of the most troubling parts of Arizona's new immigration law just before it went into effect today. And although her ruling will be appealed, it gave me something to be hopeful about.
- I came across this video on YouTube today. The gist of it is this: Target donated $150,000 to Republican Tom Emmer's gubernatorial campaign in Minnesota. Emmer has connections with anti-gay groups, so a woman announced she would boycott the store. She's been criticized by some who argue that Target likely donated the money not because they're anti-gay, but rather, because they endorse Emmer for other reasons. But I'm really happy that this woman took a stand, and brought this to the nation's attention. More of us need to make some noise. If we don't, we won't make progress. Mega props to her. I won't be shopping at Target any time soon.
- The other day I was driving through Grosse Pointe, and found myself behind a car with a "Power to the peaceful" bumper sticker on it. I don't see too many of those around here.
- I recently found out that my friend Patric, who just got his BA from Western Michigan University, will be attending Wayne State for grad school starting this fall. And because I've just transferred to Wayne State, this means brilliant company and great conversation are both in my near future.
- I'm employed. Given some of the financial situations my friends are in right now, I'm really lucky.
What are your reasons to smile?
Thursday, June 3, 2010
RIP, Rue McClanahan (1934-2010)
I heard on the news that Rue McClanahan passed away this morning after a massive stroke.
The Golden Girls is my favorite show. It's a slap in the face of ageism; where else on TV do you see women their age playing something other than someone's grandmother?
In 2008, Estelle Getty--who portrayed sassy Sophia on the show--died. When The Golden Girls premiered in 1985, Getty was only in her early sixties. As Sophia though, she got to live it up well into her eighties. So it made me really sad to hear that at eighty-four, she died after a battle with dementia, of all things.
I find McClanahan's death just as ironic as Getty's. She was over a decade younger than her costars (including Betty White, who just last month, hosted SNL at the age of 88).
I am going to spend the rest of the day watching reruns of The Golden Girls and eating cheesecake.
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