As evidenced by my Twilight post, I identify as a feminist. I didn’t used to of course. I spent most of my life getting mixed messages about being female. On the one hand, Woo hoo! you can make babies! On the other hand, you’ll be treated as a second-class citizen and everything about you will be considered inferior and week. Woo hoo?
My first lessons on being a woman came from the same place every woman gets her first lessons on being a woman: My Mom. Parents are not perfect creatures, mine is no exception. We’re from a long line of women who think woman = victim. Therefore, it’s best to act as ‘masculine’ as possible. But, at the same time, you hear them forever whispering in your ear, ‘You keep acting like that and you’ll never find a husband!’ What? I was so very confused.
What very little I knew about feminism came from the sensationalized stories you read in the history books. It never occurred to me back then that those books were written by men, whose perspective on feminism might be a little, um, skewed. I thought it was all bra burning, man hating, no wearing make up militancy. Then I learned the truth.
By virtue of my genitalia and the societal implications thereof, I will earn about 75 cents for every dollar a man makes. I will live under the constant fear of rape. Should I be raped, many people will find it to be my fault, no matter the circumstance. I will not be trusted to make my own reproductive decisions. I am expected to spend my entire life in pursuit of man, with whom it should be my desire to pop out kids. I thought all of these things were relics of the quaint 1950s, but no, that mindset is alive and well in this day and age.
This all came as a shock to me. In high school, I was simply the smart kid. Not the smart girl. No, the smart kid. I was also the goth kid. Again, not the goth girl, the goth kid. I had friends who were boys, I had friends who were girls. I had crushes on boys, but overall, I was sexless. Note that’s sex as in male or female, not as in getting it on. Which, I wasn’t doing either.
When I got to college though, and started taking stock of the world outside my little hole, I realized just how messed up things were. A boy can sleep around and he’s a stud. A girl does it and not only is she a slut, but she’ll also be at the receiving end of the dreaded ‘Bless her heart.’ (Note to non-Southerners: ‘Bless your heart’ when used in certain contexts is an insult. Chances are some fine, upstanding Southern matriarch thinks you’re a trollop, but is well-bred enough not to come right out and say it.) As women, we’re treated like cattle. Hysterical, overly emotional cattle. Not like human beings, no no no, we’re a ’special interest group.’ Young women put their sexuality on display not for their own gratification, but to attract males. Girls make out with other girls not in an effort to explore their own sexuality for their own well-being. Nope, they do it because it really turns the guys on. And let’s not even go into the sexual assault statistics at universities.
College was one thing, and I have Dr. Sheila Skemp to credit for opening my eyes to a number of different things. I thought, perhaps, that the real, working world would somehow be different. I mean, I would be working with JOURNALISTS. Journalists seek truth! Journalists understand the world on a competely different level than mere civilians! HA!
I found my answer in feminism. Feminism, to me, doesn’t expect you to be X, Y or Z, it merely expects you to BE. Whatever it is you choose, MAKE THE CHOICE. It isn’t about sitting around and whining about how I make less money or how everything marketed to me is pink. It’s not about doing as you’re told or even as you were taught. It’s about realizing something is inherently wrong with the system and getting off your bum to do something about it. The ways can be small or they can be dramatic. Merely reminding your coworkers that sexual assault is, in fact, not funny can be just as effective as running for office. It’s the small things that make a difference.
And the devil is, as always, in the the details. Look around and you’ll see sexism in the most innocuous of places. Watch commercials. See how the wife is positioned as the shrew to the poor, long-suffering man who just wants to drink beer and watch football? Because, you know, no woman EVER wants to drink beer and watch football. And if she says she does, well, we all know it’s because she’s trying to hook a man. PUH-LEASE. And that’s not even taking account how things get marketed to women. Waxing kits! Cellulite treatments! Weight loss products! Apparently you’re supposed to be thin, lump-free and hairless. What?
Take a look at our slang. We’ll call someone a pussy and tell someone to grow some balls. Obviously, vagina=bad, testicles=good. Fabulous. Really.
That’s not to say that I see sexism every where and that I throw a fit about it. But, these little things add up. Think about our country’s bipolar views on sex. Boobs used to sell things? Hell yea! Boobs used as nature intended, to feed infants? OMG! EW! Frank talk about safe sex with teens? NO!!! Nonstop deluge of rape, murder, torture on various crime shows? YAY!
There are so many other issues that deserve their own post, but let me wrap up. While there is no clear-cut answer to any of these questions, at least feminism brings them out into the open and says ‘Hey, this is a problem; let’s talk about it.’ And that’s at least a start.
2 Comments
July 6, 2008 at 11:52 pm
Nice! Wonderful post. I was planning to quote the best sections, but then I realised I would be quoting all of it.
July 8, 2008 at 9:45 am
amen…thank you!
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