Your Mind Never Goes Out of Fashion

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Value Your Mind and Your Body

Well-behaved Women Rarely Make History

Si Quieres Paz, Lucha por la Justicia

Fem/i/nism n. the polcity, practice or advocacy of political, economic, and social equality for women.

These bumper stickers are on my cork board. I’ve gathered them throughout the years and even put one on the back of my car:

Women are great leaders. You’re following one.

Bumper stickers are great. I love their brevity. They’re not all significant. They take commitment and a decent amount of self-assurance. Bumper stickers almost always elicit some form of reaction from me.

Laughter
The only bush I like is my own.
My boss is a Jewish carpenter. (Jesus reference)
My kid beat up your honor student.
01.20.09

Sighs
Bush/Cheney ‘04
Militant Agnostic
OBX
I don’t know and you don’t know either.
Abortion stops a beating heart

The addictive quality of bumper stickers is the immediate gratification, and usually, ease of understanding.
They’re straight to the point, directed, and pretty unapologetic.

I’ve been wondering if it’s possible for my feminist mind to arrive at such a place. Is it possible to sum up a whole load of feminism into a bumper sticker model, just enough to hook people in? Just enough to interest them? Could I come up with some quick elevator saying that could encapsulate the ridges of intellectual depth, compassionate fire, and steel will of feminism?

Probably not.

Yesterday, I spent a lot of time in a used book store, always seeking out someone’s disregarded treasure. In the “Women’s Studies/Gender Studies/ African-American Studies” section of ½ Priced Books, there are zero books about women of color, other than one from, obviously, bell hooks, shelved under African-American Studies.

Irritated.

I know, it’s just a used bookstore, but it furthers the evidence that most of the books that explore woc feminism, alternative to whitemainstream feminism is N/A. (either not application or not available, you choose)

I’d like to think it’s because they are being devoured and cannot be torn from the clasping hands of readers, but I doubt that. I’d like to hope that, someday, woc feminist theory is no longer separate from feminist theory. Today, that is not a reality.

The more I read and understand the feminist canon, the more indifferent I feel toward publishers, the academy, and press houses. MENTIONING, SIDEBARRING, REFERENCES to what is happening to women of color is not, is not, read: IS NOT equated to inclusion.

What more can I say on my own blog about this issue? I think, perhaps, I have run out of periods and may start abusing question marks and exclamation points. Books are books and, in simple existence, somewhat elitist. Of the estimated 1 billion people in the world deemed illiterate, TWO THIRDS OF THEM ARE WOMEN. And research has found that there are two significant factors that contribute to a women’s longevity: access to clean water and literacy.

Access to clean water.

Literacy.

Not health care. Not voting rights. Not abortion, vitamins, food, nor sun block.

Water and literacy.

This does not mean that other issues and challenges are not necessary – like stopping violence against women, reproductive rights, safe shelters, and equity in the workplace. These reside at the crux of the Movement, and yet, a simple combination is ignored when it comes to survival: water and the ability to read, comprehend, and learn deeply.

It is very easy to get swept away, myself included, in political theory, academic jargon, and bumper sticker confidence to prove points while attempting to move mountains. But my devotion is to women of color, all women of color. The women who are dying everyday in the dust of death, left to rot in open fields, and raped in every way a women can be violated. The simple fact remains that the Movement does not have a propensity to ignore woc, it flat out DOES ignore women of color, everywhere, in any part of the world, in all parts of the world.

The incarcerated, the poor, the ostracized, the wandering, the lonely, the ill.

I cannot fit that on a bumper sticker. And even if I could, what would that do except further gratify the need for everything to be overly simplistic and easily solved. Especially in feminism.

Books, I know, as an avid reader and writer, can be agents of social change. They possess a magical and sometimes unexplainable force to transform lives, instigate ideas, and halt the ignorant to think again. Books though, as an activist, are not the only answers. How can they be with so many women with limited access? What good is theory or a bestseller if it primarily translates onto clean hands, Microsoft Word quoted papers, and book circles with candles and wine?

I convict my own self in this interrogation, but I refuse to be part of a Movement that fights for an equality that presupposes and benefits only those who can decipher the tongue of privileged text, no matter how inclusive it claims to be.

Just found this at New America Media:

Black Teens Majority of Sex Traffic in the USA

“Is sex even fun?”

Getting real.

That’s what I’m talking about.

I’m sick.

I have a bug.

I’ve been thinking about feminism. Probably too much. Couching. Ruminating.

About how I walk around and am either joyfully grateful that I have knocked screens with some of the most articulate, real, insightful, and inspiring WOC writers I have ever read OR I straggle around this planet, aching for more passion, community, and sisterhood. I WANT to be blown away by the world. I want to be surprised and shocked and shaken.

I sulk because I am not.

On someone’s blog a few weeks ago, a comment accused the blogger of being jealous of a famous feminist, a mainstreamer. I thought long and hard about that accusation; the accusation that a feminist would be jealous of another feminist because of her fame and power. Am I jealous? Even though the comment wasn’t directed toward me, could I be? I forced myself to take a five minute look into my own eyes in the mirror. (Try it, you’ll be amazed by what you feel.)

Among many attributes, I am also jealous, whiny, short-sighted, impatient, and self-centered.

I’m completely jealous. I am. I am pissed and jealous that mainstream feminists are hooked to more resources and can attend conferences, meetings, and rallies that most of us can’t afford, whereas other WOC feminists have to campaign and find funds to get to grassroots organizational conferences. I like my nobody-ness, but I hate what that means in terms of being HEARD. I’m absolutely whiny about the state of indifference toward women in developing countries, forgetting that their SURVIVAL is in question and, yes, I find that a bit more imploring than Hillary vs. Obama. Short-sightedness feeds my inability to consider privileged liberal women who keep their organic ink pens flowing and ears closed. I’m totally self-centered. All I do is think about my fears and how I STILL cannot overcome the self-hate, euro-centric brainwashing of White society, how I still don’t know how to BE and receive the world with all its violent imperfections, flawed feminism, and phony leadership.

Today’s another pissed off, restless day.

I’m sick of this bug and I want to shake it off. Permanently.

Any suggestions? (Besides feminist anger management)

Ignoring the differences of race between women and the implications of those differences presents the most serious threat to the mobilization of women’s joint power.
–Audre Lorde

Oh, dear.

Starting off with a quote from the overquoted Audre Lorde could backfire. I could be immediately disregarded as cliché, academic, or at best, trite.

I’ll risk it.

Lorde’s quote is the simple backbone to much of the flesh-cutting diatribe going on in the feminist blogosphere lately. The skin of it is Valenti’s book, Full Frontal Feminism, and in some arguments, Valenti herself. The jugular of the problem though, is feminism, inclusion, and the politics of difference.

I have read Valenti’s book and I’ve read the reviews. There are two things that FFF and certain reviews have in common: 1) there are some good points points 2)I am completely turned off by the tone and style of the writer

FFF is written from a mainstream feminist to young women about feminism. There. Simple enough. Well, it might be simple, but that is quite loaded. The problem can begin with the front cover. You don’t need to be a genius to know that putting a naked white hip and calling it Full Frontal Feminism is not going to attract some negative opinion.

The problem with the cover and the book is that it says it targets young women (“young,” I assume is late teen/very early 20s) and I found, frankly, it did little to address young women of color. “Even now, issues of race and class come up in feminism pretty often,” (10). Well, I just laughed out loud when I read that because race and class don’t just come up for women of color “pretty often,” it is their lived experience as human beings. Valenti breezes over this and even uses the Lorde quote when she talks about intersectionality.

Those aren’t just road blocks, they are serious, structural problems within the Movement, Feminism, Women’s Centers, academic programs, the workplace, on the street, in the media…you get the point. Valenti mentions this from time to time, referencing Sojourner Truth’s, “Ain’t I a Woman?” and mentioning racism exists throughout the waves. No elaboration, just dropping some pebbles. Some of the heavy duty issues like sexual assault, poverty, public policy, motherhood that Valenti brings up are never broken down to illustrate how women of color experience them differently. It’s brought up and told from a White perspective. “That’s not her fault!” cry the FFF fans. It’s not her “fault” but it certainly doesn’t apply to young WOC does it? Or it doesn’t acknowledge the different experience they may have with those issues. I think that’s pretty significant to know when trying to sell feminism to young women, especially, those of color.

Is it Valenti’s responsibility to go head first into this issue? I believe yes. The book is CALLED full, frontal feminism, so yes! What other place to discuss the pressing, urgent, undeniable exclusion of *other* women? Probably because it’s too serious. And heavy. Oh, everyone hates that combo. Such a drag.

Is Valenti responsible for speaking for others or women of color? Certainly not. I’m not looking for Valenti to pretend she has answers or have any other skin tone or background than what she has. I am, however, looking for leaders to step up and shake the racist tree of the Movement. Other issues are clearly detailed with personal accounts and stories to illustrate. Why not for issues of difference? Why not model to younger feminists how she experienced the Third Wave’s struggle in terms of racism? For anyone, Valenti or whomever, to leave it untouched or is like that old excuse White women professors used to give for not using WOC literature in Women’s Studies’ courses: they couldn’t teach it because they themselves are not people of color. (But, as Lorde points out, there are no problems teaching Shakespeare and other great works of men) Ok, so that translates into “progressive” or liberal feminists refusing to tackle issues of racist oppression because they’re White. Leave that for the colored women. Right.

Roaring reviews about disappointment came out followed by catty, non-linked accusations of the she said/she said, No I didn’t/Yes You did variety ensued. Some of the most disturbing trends were young women WOC who blogged their opinion about the book and getting whacked by a freight train of Valenti supporters and FFF Mean Girls.

Audre Lorde once wrote a letter to Mary Daly, a radical feminist theologian, about a book Daly had published. After Daly did not respond to her, Lorde opened it up publicly for discussion. Read, “An Open Letter to Mary Daly,” for details. What Lorde first privately and then publicly raises, is why in Gyn/Ecology does Daly not sufficiently explore African examples of goddesses? Why are all the images white and judeo-christian? Lorde tells herself that Daly probably narrowed her focus to deal solely with western European women. But, Daly does eventually expand in her book, poorly. And that is where Lorde takes off. She realizes that Daly interjects sporadic quotes and information to back up her assertions, but never fully recognizes or acknowledges the contributions of Black women and other women of color. She uses particles of the women of color experience to add a be-dazzler effect on her lens, but she never integrates them into her work.

These observances, publishings, and exchanges took place before I was born. And I unabashedly use the following to illustrate what is still occurring in the feminist literature canon and the blogosphere today:

What you excluded…dismissed my heritage and the heritage of all other noneuropean women, and denied the real connections that exist between all of us. It is obvious that you have done a tremendous amount of work for this book. But simply because so little material on non-white female power and symbol exists in white women’s words from a radical feminist perspective, to exclude this aspect of connection from even comment in your work is to deny the foundation of noneuropean female strength and power that nurtures each of our visions. It is to make a point by choice.

Note: is Lorde getting personal and name calling and labeling Daly a racist? No, she does something better: she gets critical with her WORK. She validates her engagment with a piece of literature by offering to the author and the world her experience. Lorde is a master of eloquent indignation. This is not about formality or jargon or the academic vibe. This is an example of a powerful woman using her voice to articulate her experience of racism by literary exclusion. Now, THAT is a feminist dialogue.

My personal reaction to the book deals with its content, marketing, and style; not with the author as a person. I found it light, at best, and skimming the feminist ocean of depth. I’m sure someone right now is saying, “But it’s not meant to be the academic, dry, serious crap. That’s what makes it so good!” Well, I happen to agree that it’s not meant to be those things, but delving deep into the consciousness of the Women’s Movement and explaining it to young women is hardly limited to theory, the academic and serious spheres. One can profoundly and radically explore with young women without being boring. On the contrary, the most fascinating and exciting feminist lessons are the ones that dig deep. It’s more than just trendy, it’s resonating.

I can see now that I am definitely not the target audience. That’s not a source of contention. I was misled, just like several other books I picked up and found, after the first chapter it was not written for me. What I have a problem with is what the book stands for and what it symbolizes. The book has a big feminist hat that says TOUR GUIDE and then frolics with young white women and splashes around in the shallow end of the ocean.

Valenti often utilizes the phrase, “in my opinion,” or a variation of that. Right on. The entire book is her opinion. The facts and figures, all current and legit, are funneled through yet another set of well-meaning eyes. The frequent focus on the “ugly” fear, appearance-oriented explanations, and rocking sex freedom tips is not full, frontal feminism. It’s Part of the Surface Feminism. Once again, race, class, and “intersectionality” is the the beloved frosting. It (frosting) is definitely a must-have, but too much of it ruins the enjoyment of the actual cake.

I am rather mystified that when a White woman claims a book she has written is not an end all, be all text and then the criticism confirms the claim, why a legion of defenders comes with swords. The book is being held at both extremes. It’s been called trash – which it’s not. It’s also been the called the greatest thing ever since sliced bread – which it’s not. It speaks from and to the naked White hip cover fans. There’s no crime there. There’s just no depth there either. And as she is entitled to write what she likes, so are reviewers! In the face of critical and substantial rhetoric, you gotta grow thick skin. Yup. Ya deal. And you fight back. You just don’t fight back by pandering to the lowest common denominator and silencing others because W-W-Wahhhh, some women don’t like my shero’s book. Hello – grow a vagina and check yourself.

If we’re going to make some – ANY – progress whatsoever, we must be doing better than this. “This” being: putting out feminist literature that implies a select audience within its target audience and then exploding over negative evaluations. In a nutshell, this book is for: somewhat confident white young women, mild to intensely curious about the Movement and can stand a lot of sexually explicit language, and who want a quick bumper sticker 411 about issues of difference among women.

FFF is not for anyone seriously struggling with their identity, or any form of religious, sexual, and political binaries. This is not for anyone who is Republican or even mildly conservative (given the I Don’t Fuck Republicans shirt references). It’s far left and contributes to the division between camps (given the “feminism isn’t for everybody” explanation). Any young women of color, anyone with ties and concerns with other countries outside the USA, especially developing nations, or if you have already experienced some form of discrimination and are looking for answers won’t find much haven here. Immigration, adoption, religion, family, mental illness, physical challenges, the deaf community…Leave these topical expectations at the door.

Valenti wrote a “love letter to feminism,” and just like love, we all have our own valid experiences and perspectives. But if this is the guiding love letter for young, marginalized women of difference about being in a feminist relationship, I’d probably advise to stay single and look elsewhere for companionship, in my opinion.

I have more thoughts about activism in my car than I do in my job, the supposed locus of academic freedom and liberal activity.

For the past three years, I commute to work and every day I pass two terrifyingly unorganized intersections of traffic. In my three years, I have witnessed probably 6-8 horrific accidents. Two of them, I guessed from brief glances, had to be fatal. The cars were smashed by with what looked like Godzillas’ fists.

A year and a half into this crazy commute, I began called the Department of Transportation in my district, always being transferred to someone else once I identified as, “a concerned citizen wanting to know the process and chain of communication to put a stoplight in a dangerously unguarded intersection.” When I finally spoke with a bored voice, our conversation when something like this:

“All I want to know is who I can write a letter to or call about this. I have a legitimate concern!”

“Unless you want to privately fund a new traffic light, there is no one to speak with.”

“There’s no one? Am I hearing you correctly? As a tax paying citizen wanting to ask a simple question, you are saying that there is no one I can speak with about a public intersection where I believe I have seen an obscene number of traffic deaths? There’s no one who I can address a letter to voice my opinion?”

“No, there isn’t.”

I hung up and screamed BULLSHIT.

That was just for traffic safety.

One of the problem with everyday activism for everyday citizens like myself is that I don’t sit on big budget boards, I’m not a consultant on a council, I don’t make a lot of money, and I sure as hell don’t know the “right” people. All I am and all that I WANT to be is a passionate writer and cultural critic. That doesn’t exactly fly with most people. I can’t sit through any more books that tell me how to carry on the fight or different ways I can write an op-ed piece in the newspaper. When I hear about my friend’s punctured car tires who works at Planned Parenthood or when a pro-life identitified activist gets spit on during a march in D.C. by a bystander, I can’t help but wonder, “Is this the best we can do?”

An activist exists to improve a situation, a cause. An activist witnesses a need for improvement and attempts to find outlets to actualize this vision. Sometimes it’s an environmental issue (ending global warming), sometimes it’s a community vision (electing a local official). Regardless, the psychology and emotional tolerance of an activist is normally overlooked. It is overlooked because a true activist is so rare these days. A true activist is someone, in my opinion, who is simply and truly alive. An “Active” person who feels things, deeply, so deeply she feels compelled to use physical, emotional, and psychological strength to overturn a law, protest a decision, empower the survivor, or influence the voter.

What’s odd is that an Active person is often looked at as superhuman. Because she does something that most people wouldn’t normally consider (being “active”), this role shadows the reality that, in fact, activists are really examples of what we all are born to do: be active, react, and feel. The role “activist” creates an air that makes the reality of tiredness, vulnerability, and agitation difficult to see. The very thing that motivates the activist is also the very thing that gets winded, sometimes permanently. We think that just because someone already as the nerve and agenda to be active, they must have emotional cores of steel. Sometimes yes, but not for eternity. Activists are made of bone and skin,too. Our hearts gradually age with the best of them.

We’re open to criticism and accusations of short-sightedness, idiocracy, falsehood, and malicious, thoughtless agendas. Activism is simply draining because too few people will do it, whether out of fear or laziness, who knows? On one hand, Activists are feared but also, paradoxically, they are put on a pedestal because they dare and risk what most will not. They feel what most don’t care to understand beyond the media’s explanation. In a way, the existence of the activist is needed to balance the homogeneity of the majority. As long as there are a few that disagree, let them! And, darn it, don’t we just love that they have the freedom to engage in acts of civil disobedienc so we can go along with our merry ways because someone ELSE is doing the feeling, the work, the shit that no one wants to do? Activists don’t just improve the situation for the better, they make apathetic people feel better about their own complacency. As long as someone else is doing it, I don’t have to. Fine job they do, those activists. They speak for me. I don’t know how to hold a picket sign. I can’t write like that. What if everyone looks at me that way, too?

Activists will never be satiated. They do not dream of perfection, they’re not that naïve, but they do dream of peace. They dream of actuality, and palpable justice. The only problem, “activists” are grouped as a minority group. Should I remind what happens to vociferous minority groups who challenge the system?

It is time to dispel myths of activism so we ALL can actively live:

Activism is for “liberal” people.
Only non-profit folks and grassroots tree huggers are cut out for that work.
You have to know about everything about anything before you can articulate an “anti-” or “pro-” opinion.
Attending protests sits at the top of the activist’s priority list.
College educated citizens/students are the best organizers.
D.C., NYC, and coastal cities are the only places to be heard.
Complete allegiance to one of the binay perspectives of an issue is needed.

You can give seven big fat ass NOs to those statements. Most people tend to believe stereotypes about activism and activists to excuse themselves from the scene. Sorry to burst your bubble, but “the scene” is life. So unless you find the planet an unsuitable place, I’m afraid to tell you that there are no exit doors. We’re all here, together. And with a lucid brain and heart, there is much to be done, and much can be accomplished.

The word liberal is no longer a word. It is a label. My mother and father are Bush dynasty fanatics. They called me the day of the 2004 Presidential election from their community Republican offices, asking me who I voted for. Now, my parents know full well I voted for John Kerry, but they wanted to engage me, once again, as to WHY I would not vote for Bush. While the memory of that phone call makes me throw up a little in my mouth, the point is that my parents were active. Granted, they were for the other side and helped elect a baffoon to lead our nation, but their own action, their movement, their passion in what they believed was best for our country was undeniably clear. I cannot be acidic with my Republican family. I’m tired of drawing lines between myself and those who I truly do love. It can be infuritating and it has probably taken at least 4 years off my life, but I understand where they are coming from. My parents are activists, we’re just not on the same side.

But,

come time to discuss the nitty gritty details of legislature, the toll of the Iraqi war, and the role of the United Nations, and my mother’s head will tilt as she listens to me, ask questions, and then say she’ll go back to her prayer group and ask what they think. She’ll call and say that many of her church peeps agree with me, but they still choose to vote the other way.

They still choose to vote the other way.

There is something very exciting about respectful, energetic disagreements. Something about it does give me hope. Going head to head with other activists in my own living room is more daunting and empowering for me than dancing in the streets outside Fort Bragg in Georgia when I protested the School of the Americas with thousands of people surrounding me. They are both large scale, just in different ways.

Activists must be translators. They must be adaptable to different populations, tongues, and reasons. It’s not a small order. Very few people I know are well-versed and fluid in connecting the local and global communities with hard-pressed issues. They possess an ability to admonish the simplicity in the complex situations, but also simplify the complex. Again, these aren’t the most sophisticated folks or those with an entourage of letters after their name. They are the ones who took the energy to best understand a situation and then apply it to daily life.

My dentity as an Activist has evolved over the past ten years. It’s gone through many phases and permanently resides in my everyday encounters. I take the time to learn and react. I train myself to be patient. My activism roars when it needs to but also understands the dynamics of planetary change. I can appreciate a thoughtful activist across the line and that appreciation neither neutrilizes or furthers my devotion to change; only visions of justice and equality can do that.

I was happy when a new traffic light was installed in one of the two dangerous intersections that I raised hell over. Does that make a dent in vast cave of social and political issues of life? Or will that affect the “real” issues that I regularly take up – women of color feminism, racism in higher education, poverty in developing nations, sexuality and religion? It most certainly does not. Will it save a life or two this year? Perhaps.

That possibility alone makes it all worth it.

If you still don’t believe that women are under a global boot of oppression:

What about these women and girls?

Or this young girl asking for justice for her rapist or permission to die?

Or look at what’s happening in with our friendly face WALMART who employs more women than men; women with families, needs, and children.

And don’t forget what happens to those who try to organize and resist.

Or if you don’t like to read, check out this photo essay of interrogate and detained Iranian women activists and advocates.