Last Year’s Rent

Let’s start with a few seemingly disconnected tidbits from my life: my friend recently sent me an Atlantic article about rethinking what we mean when we talk about capital-f Feminism; I can’t stop listening to the Rent soundtrack—it’s like I’ve reverted to my most extreme 2005 theater kid days and I’m not trying to make it stop; in the past few weeks, I’ve spent a lot of time with women I admire and love but don’t get to see often; I still don’t know how to talk about the past year.

I haven’t talked about last year much here. Just the one time, actually. And it’s probably not lost on you that the way I wrote was detached and impersonal. I didn’t know how to talk about it then, and I don’t know how to talk about it now. But I can’t stop listening to Rent and thinking about how we examine a year of our lives.

It was this time last year that all the bad things really kicked into high gear. My whole life unraveled in a torrential whirl, and the thing I try to avoid talking about is that it left me completely unmoored. I lost myself entirely. Fundamental aspects of my life and identity shifted. I’m so different than I was before. I didn’t find my way back to myself. I veered off course and became someone completely different.

I think our impulse in these moments is to talk about how we Survived the Trauma because we’re Warriors and Better because of the Struggle. I’m tired of that narrative. I don’t think I’m better because these things happened to me. I don’t feel broken or fragile, but I don’t feel like this was an essential to my personal growth. Any good things to have come out of the past year could have come about a different way. Preferably a way that didn’t involve having my life threatened, sleeping on couches because staying at home wasn’t safe, talking to police and  detectives, learning about filing restraining orders and temporary protection orders. I’m not glad that any of those things happened to me. There’s not one single part of me that’s grateful for any of those experiences.

The past year was devastating. I hardly recognize the shell I became for several months last winter. I spent most of my time huddled in a bathtub, trying to grow accustomed to the painful tinnitus that pounded in my ear. I completely isolated myself because, even though I didn’t do anything wrong, I didn’t ask for or encourage any of it… it still felt like my fault. And I have a degree in Women’s Studies! I literally have a degree in learning to recognize these patterns, to understand how abuse happens, how getting you to think that it IS your fault is a tactic manipulators use to gain more control.

It didn’t help that every system put in place to stop these kind of abuses failed spectacularly. There was never any retribution for the perpetrator. There was never any justice for me or for the friend who also experienced it. Our whole lives were upended. We left our jobs. We spent unseemly sums of money paying people to help us sort out the physical and emotional fallout that degraded our bodies.

I don’t like to acknowledge exactly how much of a toll being a Victim took on me. I don’t want people to treat me like I’m fragile. I know I should have acknowledged my own fragility, and that I should be able to talk about the ways my life remains completely altered. Because my experiences aren’t unique. This kind of trauma has an unfortunately ubiquitous quality. I like to blame my bad luck, but I think the reality is that we live in a perniciously malicious society, where the negative percolates to the top. I try to believe that there’s more good than not, but it seems like bad actions are constantly rewarded.

One of the disappointing aspects of my experience was that it left me wary of participating in the same kind of activism I’d done before. Spaces that were once safe felt foreign and dangerous. When I read that Atlantic article, I’d already been thinking a lot about the ways that Feminism, like many movements catalyzed by our reactionary internet culture, has gone off the rails in truly unproductive ways. When I started this blog its title (it. was. a. joke.) was a light-hearted jab at my own mellow, goofy personality and the way passivity sustains harmful norms. Now… I’m not as comfortable with the name. I’m still trying to articulate how in the quest for justice and inclusion, radicalized facets have created more discord and polarization.

I can see the ways that this exact inability to converse contributed to how the past year of my life unfurled. The institutional structures that should have protected me didn’t. The discussion was so bogged down in politics that what could have been solved quickly and painlessly turned into one of the most traumatic and prolonged experiences of my life. How else can I explain why the same person (who had the most ability and responsibility to rectify the damage) was able to say, “You’re not safe. You should never be alone—these are truly dangerous threats.” And a short time later, “Well, we do need to let him express his personality. We can’t ask him to change who he is.” …I mean… really? ‘Stalker’ is a protected identity now??

But then I come back to women who are smart and graceful and funny, who change the world by being themselves, who remind me that I’m doing just fine by doing exactly what I’m doing, who gently let me know that removing myself from the conversation isn’t the path to healing. And that’s the kind of feminism that matters to me. I wouldn’t have survived the last year without it.

We have to keep critiquing and reflecting and evaluating the ways our movement is working and the ways it isn’t. There’s not an end goal—we’re never going to be done. But we have the opportunity to save lives, and that’s not something we should give up on. So I’m not going to change the name of this site, or delete it, even though I sometimes think about doing both. I’m not an authority, but I do have a stake in this work. We all do.

When I think about the last 525,600 minutes I don’t think of them as being seasons of love. (I’m not going to apologize for that. Did you really think I wasn’t going to bring that in??) I want to be very clear that I do not believe those platitudes. None of this made me a better person. None of this should have happened. It was like being on a rollercoaster that was so violent you vomited the whole time and needed a chiropractor after. You don’t get off of that feeling Better. Different, but not better.

One last thought in this discordant jumble: autumn has always been my favorite season. And it’s been hard to love it in the same way this year, because now I associate it with the start of one of the worst times of my life. But nobody gets to take an entire season from me. I’m still here and I’m still trying. And I’m still an Angry Feminist Killjoy, but not in the way you might think.

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All About That Bass

It’s time for another fun round of my friends and I critically analyzing music videos via email!! As with “Hard Out Here” Sam sent us Meghan Trainor’s All About That Bass with this message,

yeah so issues with 1. skinny bashing, maybe? 2. basing appearance on what guys want to grab at night 3. jesus with the pastels 4. are the black back up dancers being used as props? is she being inclusive of all big booties or capitalizing on black booties? why can’t my white booty stop bouncing to this song?

I started to respond, but then I wrote an essay (why can I never shut up??) so I’m posting it here and maybe we can all talk about it together!

The message I took from this video is, “I’m not a size 2; I’m a REAL WOMAN.” Oh, ever so sorry, I didn’t realize I’m not a real woman. Turns out I’ve been a velociraptor this whole time.

I don’t understand how this song can simultaneously call for an end to unrealistic body images and harmful photoshopping while having lyrics like, “Go ahead and tell them skinny bitches that– no I’m just playing, I know you think you’re fat.” Haha, oh my god, that’s so funny, what a total laugh, women have been taught to hate themselves!! A real knee-slapper there. But then it goes on to say, “Every inch of you is perfect from the bottom to the top.” I’m so confused; didn’t you just say that the only good body is the one that has “that boom boom that all the boys chase” and that “boys like a little more booty to hold at night”?

We absolutely have body image problems in our society. We demonize fatness; “fat” is an insult. Our whole society needs intense therapy. We need to fix that stuff. Let’s all pause and listen to Beyonce.

Thin privilege is real. I could go to 7/11 right now and get the biggest size slushy possible and people would probably chuckle and think I was doing something endearing. Kind of like when I was out with Megan and Whitney and our server thought it was ever so precious when I ordered a cookie. He chuckled and gave me a look that said, “Aren’t you adorable?” But if my body were different, people wouldn’t think that. They would have nasty thoughts and they might even vocalize them. I don’t have to experience that, and I can only speak from my position as someone who benefits from having a body that’s considered worthy by the people who send certain sizes of clothes to Target.

I’ve noticed this demonization of fatness more and more as my sister’s gone through a weight loss journey. She’s lost nearly 100 pounds over the past year and people treat her differently now. I notice people responding to her differently. We talk a lot about how it’s been for her to transition, both bodily and in the eyes of society. People are nice to her now and they weren’t before. 100 pounds ago, people treated her like she wasn’t a human. That’s unreal.

With all of that in mind, this song seems like it should be great. We should be changing our cultural perceptions of bodies and worth. We need to stop equating skinniness to worthiness and fat to trash. But trying to replace one ideal with another isn’t the way to do that.

Sam, I read your comments before watching the video and I thought it must involve some kind of Jesus swathed in pastels. I think I would have preferred that, but you’re right, there’s no way to address that mess other than, “jesus with the pastels.” The video uses the pastels to play up classic femininity—sugar and spice and everything nice, now with big butts! But what all of this is really doing is saying that there’s one right way to be a woman. We’re still going to be pastel Stepford Wives, now we’ll just be curvy pastel Stepford Wives.

Swapping out one oppressive ideal for another won’t get us anywhere, ESPECIALLY if it’s done through the lens of pleasing men. Ugh. Ugh. Ew. I can’t. As the resident outspoken (ironic) misandrist of our friend group, allow me to loudly state that I don’t care what men think about women’s bodies. I don’t care and neither should anyone else. As kids, we’re taught that we should avoid peer pressure by being True To Ourselves and Not Doing Things Because Our Friends Are and Don’t Jump Off That Bridge Because Your Friends Say To, but none of those lessons seem to apply when it comes to heteronormative relationships. Then, throw all of that self-actualization out the window and do everything you can to make a dude happy.

The song reinforces that message- that we should craft ourselves around the aesthetic ideals of men. There’s nothing more important than being wanted by a boy! And boys want big butts! And nobody likes skinny bitches!

Putting down women hurts all women. Why doesn’t anyone seem to understand this?? Love your body; it’s awesome. Be all about the bass. Just don’t vilify the treble while you’re at it. (Aside: I really can’t get over bass/treble being used as a stand in for fat/thin.)

I want to meet with every person who’s been hurt by this toxic thinking and clutch their cheeks while staring into their eyes and whisper, “All bodies are good bodies.” over and over until they believe it. And I want everyone to stop pitting women against each other. Nobody signed up for this fight, but we keep being thrown into the ring.

I didn’t even get to the race stuff going on in the video, but I think Sam’s right about the appropriation/capitalization. And, as always, a thousand thanks to Riot Grrl Whitney for popping in with some of her musical preferences. Here’s her selection: Half Girl’s Lemmy, I’m a Feminist. I’m going to slink back into my cave and listen to The National.

Dare to Use the F-Word

Happy Galentine’s Day! Galentine’s Day is a Leslie Knope-invented holiday that celebrates lady friends. Valentine’s Day is for romance, Galentine’s Day is for friendship. One of the most fun parts of being a feminist is learning to reject all the girl-hate we’ve been taught and embrace the incomparable awesome-ness of having lady friends.

In that spirit, I’m happy to share Dare to Use the F-Word, an exciting podcast project out of Barnard College. One of the coolest, most grounded, and most intellectually engaged feminists I know is a Barnard graduate. It’s been interesting to hear her talk about her experiences with feminism while being a student there, and it’s exciting to see the direction feminist discourse is taking on the campus.

Dare to Use the F-Word is great. I live alone and don’t have a television, so I spend a lot of my downtime listening to public radio and podcasts. Dare to Use the F-Word is wonderful and I’ve really enjoyed listening to the episodes. More on the podcast, and an excerpt from President Debora Spar’s recent interview on the podcast can be found below, in a post republished from Barnard’s website.

Dare to Use the F-Word is a new monthly podcast series created by and for young feminists. Street harassment, food activism, body image and slut-shaming are among the diverse issues discussed in the series, which is produced by Barnard College and the Barnard Center for Research on Women and aims to spotlight contemporary issues and activists. The podcast is available for download on iTunes, where you can also subscribe to the series.

In a recent episode, Barnard President Debora Spar, author of Wonder Women: Sex, Power, and the Quest for Perfection, talks with feminist media activist Jamia Wilson about how the drive for perfection affects young women today. Following the interview, President Spar shared her thoughts on the direction of feminism for the next generation.

Read this exclusive piece below:

Since the release of Wonder Women several months ago, one of the questions that I’ve consistently been asked is “how is feminism different today? What do you hear on campus? Do young women want to be feminists, or not?”  It’s a complicated question, without an easy answer.  Because young women, of course, don’t speak with a single voice or share a common attitude.  Some are quick to embrace the term feminist.  Others despise it. And many – sadly, for the mothers and grandmothers who opened doors for them – no longer really have a sense of what the word implies.

My own view – shaped, I’m sure, by the particular environment of Barnard College, a staunch and early defender of feminism in all its many guises – is that most young women today are feminist in nature if not in name.  What I mean is that they implicitly assume that the goals that feminism fought for are theirs to claim.  They assume, for instance, that they will work, for pay, for at least long stretches of their lives.  They assume that all jobs – be they in finance or law or public office or industry – are open to them, and that they will receive roughly the same salaries as their male co-workers.  They assume that their bodies are theirs to enjoy, and treasure, and share as they wish.  They presume that birth control is widely available; that relationships are theirs to make, break, and determine; and that the world is every bit as open to them as it for their brothers.  In other words, they think, without even thinking about it, that they have equal rights with men.  Which was, after all, the central goal of feminism.

What they don’t do, necessarily, is credit the feminist movement for this state of affairs, or eagerly claim the label of feminist for themselves. This is perhaps unfortunate but also understandable.  Because how many young people generally race to thank their ancestors for bequeathing the world they did?  How many adolescents want to attach themselves to the same political causes as their parents or grandparents – especially when they feel as if those causes have already been fought for and won? Or as one older woman once expressed it to me:  how many hard-core feminists of the 1960s defined themselves as suffragettes?

To be sure, there are many young women today who proudly wear the label of feminism, and are expanding both advocacy and theory in fascinating ways: leading the global fight against sex trafficking, for example, speaking out against domestic violence, and pushing at the very definitions of sex and gender and identity.  But there are others, too, the reluctant feminists, who carry the mantle even if not the name.

Continue the conversation by spreading the word about the amazing feminists we cover on our show. Click to tweet: Listen to Barnard College’s Dare to Use the F-Word podcast series to hear how young women are reshaping feminism. http://bit.ly/IDIgGg

Thanks to Alex for sharing this post with Angry Feminist Killjoy and have a very happy Galentine’s Day!

Hard Out Here

Back in November, internet feminists had a heyday with the release of Lily Allen’s video “Hard Out Here.” My friend Sam sent a link to the video and a group of the grad students in our department tried to unpack our concerns with it over an email thread. With their permission, I’m going to reprint that conversation here. Even though this is (certainly by internet time) outdated, I think it’s interesting to consider how we collectively form our opinions and challenge each other’s ideas.

Originally, we all thought the use of black women’s bodies in the video was a parody of Miley Cyrus’s recent (and continued) fetishization of black women’s bodies. In the course of our discussion, Lily Allen released a statement making it clear that no such parody was intended. That essentially ended the conversation and any hesitant defense of the video. Ultimately, it’s a good attempt but the violence and privilege of White Feminism are all over the video.

Sam: It’s hard out here for a bitch.

Lydia: I have been thinking about this ALL day. On the one hand, I love it. On the other, the use of WOC feels super problematic. I think it’s supposed to be a further satirization, but there’s really no explicit discussion of it. None of the lyrics reference race or the way white artists use WOC’s bodies in music videos, it just reconstructs that stereotype. So while I feel like Lily Allen is making a comment on it, it’s not explicit and is in a way further silencing/objectifying/disempowering. UGH HELP ME UNDERSTAND, WHAT DO YOU THINK???

Sam: That’s exactly what I was just saying to Jesse!!!…she is still coming from this place of power…her appropriation, even if satirical, is privileged. I tried to think that perhaps she was trying to mock Miley’s “black women as prop” thing, but now we have it in another form because, like you say, there is no explicit discussion of it.

Mocking the appropriation by appropriating it without acknowledging the “it” really just furthers it.

Lydia: It’s so frustrating because that’s such a glaring, harmful piece of the video but I feel like the rest of it is important for a wide audience to experience. But creating an army of White Feminists is not going to help anyone. ughhhhh. My hope is that teenagers see this, feel inspired, get into a Women’s/Gender Studies class and learn about intersectionality.

Megan: Y’all…..
#1 Sam, thanks for sending this! I love this vid. New fave….Pentatonix get lost!

#2…..the satire was blatant to me, and so I’m wondering if a discussion about the appropriation is necessary? I mean, I don’t think we (the ppl on this thread) need that explanation because we get it…so I think she doesn’t need to provide an explanation to an audience like us. Her satirical appropriation speaks for itself, even if it comes from a place of privilege. She can’t help that she’s privileged…in fact, I’m reminded of an Audre Lorde quote. Can’t remember it verbatim, but it’s something like “people should use their privileges for the benefit of others (to help stop oppression).” I think that’s exactly what Lily Allen is doing here, but Sam and Lydia are quite right in saying that she doesn’t explicitly say that she’s doing this. She expects the audience to figure it out. And perhaps that’s presumptuous on her part, but I think it’s also a sign of respect for the audience, since she’s basically saying “you’re smart enough to figure out what I’m doing here. So figure it out!” However, on the other hand, maybe the general public might need an explanation. I could see a lack of discussion being particularly problematic for people who don’t understand satire and/or privilege. Okay, so maybe the inclusion of a discussion is contingent upon different audiences. I dunno.

#3 Hope y’all are having a good night. I’m eating a salad and reading Foucault….talk about the BEST NIGHT EVER!!

Just found this comment on YouTube….this user agrees with you, Sam and Lydia…

“The thing with satire is that it DOESN’T WORK IF YOU CELEBRATE THE SUBJECT MATTER! e.g. the objectification of black women. Use a bunch of white women twerking to get your satirical idea across Lily!”

Vani: I love you all for having this debate in a mass email. PLEASE STILL DO THIS AFTER WE GRADUATE. YOU MAKE ME FEEL LESS INSANE.

Sam: WE ARE MASS DEBATERS. SOMEONE HAD TO, SORRY GUYS.

Lydia: MASS DEBATING ALL OVER YOUR EMAIL RIGHT NOW.

Someone once said (lol, like I know who, what are citations???) that satire goes up, that satire is meant to critique those with the power, who create the oppression. That’s why most rape jokes are the absolute worst, but this Wanda Sykes one is SPOT ON because she’s making fun of rapists and the idea of rape, etc, etc.

So I feel that in this instance, the character of the white man directing the video should have been a more prominent figure, because HE’S the one who needed to be satirized. In this delivery, it feels too much like it’s falling back on the WOC… and I honestly think the whitewashed masses are too bought in to realize what’s happening. BLEH.

Amanda: I’ve been thinking a lot about this, because I generally like what Lily Allen does. I think that her critiques of pop culture are smart and subtle. I understand what you guys are saying. I think that it’s probably true that her use of satire will be lost on some. One of the things that we’ve talked about in my classes is the idea of intentions vs. consequences.

It might be that an author’s intention was to make a certain point, but if they’re too subtle or ambiguous, what are the consequences of their text? Ultimately, the consequences are important. For me, the satire is blatant. For those that are just looking for entertainment, this may not be the case.
I guess the question is: to what extent can we hold an author accountable for their audience’s ignorance? To what extent does she need to blatantly show that she is commenting on this behavior and not promoting it? I dunnnotheanswer!

Here’s one of the better ones, I think: The Fear.

Sam: Jezebel. [This article includes Lily Allen’s response to criticisms.]

Whitney [resident punk rocker and musical aficionado]: NOT TO MENTION THAT IT’S THE WORST SONG I’VE HEARD ALL YEAR!!!

DAY TWO: After Lily Allen’s response, now we all know it wasn’t any kind of parody.

Megan: Thanks for sharing the Jezebel article, Sam! Lydia and I were talking about it yesterday….I was under the impression that Lily Allen’s video was an obvious parody of Miley Cyrus, but sadly I was wrong :/ It’s shocking that she’s like completely oblivious to what’s going on….makes me think about the video very differently now.

On a related note, you all might be interested in checking out this game….it’s “A Day in the Life with Female Experience Simulator

HAPPY FRIDAY EVERYONE!!!!!!

Know Your IX!

Hey, everyone!

In light of sexual assaults occurring on my own campus this semester, at a running track I frequent, I’ve been thinking a lot about Title IX.

It’s so important that we all keep each other safe, and our schools need to be doing their part. Knowing our rights and holding our schools accountable is an invaluable first step. Do you know your IX?

This video is a collaboration between the Know Your IX campaign and Amy Poehler’s Smart Girls. Awesome!

Stay safe, friends.

DOMA: The fight is not over yet.

I’m late getting this posted, but am so pleased to have Katherine back with another great guest post! Katherine previously shared “My Love Matters” with us. If you haven’t read that, please do, and visit Katherine at her blog, A Collection of Lights.

——-

For weeks I have been a little anxious. Dreams about something specific – some happy, some awful – have plagued me. On Wednesday morning, when I woke up, I immediately pulled my laptop into bed and began scouring the webpage that was already open.

It’s an interesting morning when your right to marry (i.e. right to be treated as a legitimate human being) is being decided.

I live with my partner, Marisa, and I don’t know that I could be happier. I want to be married to her. I want our love to be worth something to the country – and world – we call home. I was overjoyed when I learned that DOMA and Prop 8 were overturned. This is a huge step! One of many, to be sure, but a step all the same.

As the day progressed, however, my thoughts grew darker. In my Sexual Behaviors class, the professor knew nothing of the Supreme Court’s actions as he lectured on – who would have guessed? – gay people. I am a quiet individual, but I could not help but find the courage to point out the stride made that morning. When I learned that he had “no idea” the cases were even to be decided, I waited a few minutes and walked out, fuming. Look, the guy is straight, white, and has two kids. He just came back from a vacation during which he acquired the stomach flu. While I am more than willing to give him some leeway, his apathy toward my goddamn rights infuriates me.

This, combined with the fresh realization of how virulent opposers of queers can get, soured the brightness I felt somewhat. My right to be treated the same as any other human being has nothing to do with religion. Marriage is not the whole point. Marriage is not about religion, either. I’m an atheist, too, and it isn’t any concern of yours.  Frankly, my sexuality is none of your goddamn business. While it may chafe at my delicate fucking sensibilities, it does not matter to me what you think of who or how I love. My sexuality does not make me abnormal. Sexuality is anything but black and white. Who one has sex with does not dictate sexuality, necessarily! Were this about sex, I am not certain I would feel the desire to be in a relationship at all. Hell, the definition of sex is murky enough as it is (though lesbian sex certainly is sex, fuckers). The rhetoric surrounding sex and marriage in this country is awful and largely without scientific merit.

In simpler terms: if you would like to talk to me about gay people and/or marriage equality, I am more than happy to do that… as long as you are kind and don’t pull facts out of your ass.

I do want to be clear that I am not totally bitter. Being queer is a new challenge each day, but I would not trade the perspective it has given me or the contentment I feel with the self-knowledge I have now. I am going to keep on walking, and I am going to hold the hand of the person I love tightly, and I am going to believe that we can push through the difficulties we are facing. I am going to appreciate the fact that those around me are also fighting for the rights of those discriminated against. Despite the anger I express here, I feel extremely lucky to be where I am today. I am proud that we have come this far.

The fight is not over yet.

ICWA, Revisited

Hi, everyone. I have some housekeeping notes before we jump back into the world of feminist blogging. I’m interested in dialogue. I really like to know why we form our beliefs and convictions. I would like to hear about opposing opinions. But throughout the duration of this blog, there has only been one comment that successfully conveyed an opposing viewpoint while following the rules of the blog. I won’t post comments that are vitriolic or accusatory in nature. I know the cloak of internet anonymity brings out the worst in people, but I truly believe we are better than that. Please review the rules before you comment. The comment feature will be suspended if these rules aren’t followed. I think that would be unfortunate, but I’m not willing to continue subjecting myself to thoughtless, violent attacks.

Now, let’s follow-up on the last post. I can’t believe how many white people were severely offended by that. Once again, I’d just like to mention that acknowledging privilege doesn’t erase it. I will never understand why so many people fly off the handle when they’re told about the ways they’re advantaged. When we start feeling self-righteous about our position in the world, when we feel accomplished even though we were born on top of the mountain and didn’t have to do any climbing, I think it’s important to seek out information from folks without the same privileges. After the last post, Jacqueline Keeler shared her wonderful piece on ICWA with me. I hope all of you read it- suspend the privilege rage fits and really read it.

Finally, here’s my response to a Facebook commenter who was very displeased with my post. Most of the comments I received (none of which were posted due to their reliance on inappropriate threats and violence) echoed the sentiments this commenter expressed.

And clearly the color of the skin shows that a person is responsible for a complete history of wrong. And clearly a white person could never, ever ever seek out resources to help a child of a different culture connect to their past. Incredibly over simplified account of a not simple situation, in any aspect. This isn’t about race, this case is about stupid legal red tape. It’s horrible and sad that this is going on, but the fact of the matter is that these events are happening because some individuals are taking advantage of legal loop holes. “I hate white people. I really do.” That is not an attitude that will further any kind of progress. It is just sad, spite and narrow-minded.

As a result of generations of Native children being removed from their communities, against the wishes of the community, ICWA was passed to bring stability and security to tribal families. Under ICWA, when a child is being placed, priority lies with the family. If the child cannot be placed with a member of their extended family, then a member of the same tribe is sought. If no member of their tribe can take the child, then the child is placed with any American Indian. Finally, if there are no Native families to take the child, then and only then should the child be placed outside of their culture. If this procedure is followed and the child does end up with a non-Native family, okay. I’m sure that family will love and care for the child. The problem is that the procedure laid out by ICWA is very rarely followed. We see that Native children are often immediately placed outside of tribal governance. This is such a huge problem that the tribes of South Dakota organized a summit with the US government to address the lack of ICWA compliance. The US Government failed to attend. (http://www.npr.org/2013/02/06/171310945/south-dakota-tribes-accuse-state-of-violating-indian-welfare-act) When Veronica’s mother moved for adoption and her father expressed a desire to raise the child, that’s where the story should have ended. Instead, the father, extended family, and tribal members were completely disregarded and the child was immediately placed with a non-Native family. The SCOTUS acknowledges this was wrong, but voted in favor of the non-Native family simply because they don’t like ICWA. This sets a precedent that justifies and encourages the removal of Native children from the families who want to raise them, which hearkens directly back to the American Indian Boarding Schools.

When I say I hate white people, I don’t mean that I actively hate every single white person no more than I hate every banker or lawyer when I say I hate bankers and lawyers. I hate the idea of bankers, lawyers, and white people. I am a white person, and I’m not much for self-loathing. What I hate is that we, collectively, use our privilege to continue the marginalization and oppression of people we have only ever marginalized and oppressed. Acknowledging that my whiteness gives me privileges won’t take those privileges away. Recognizing that we historically and currently, if sometimes unintentionally, harm people by the very nature of our whiteness is the very least we can do to begin righting these wrongs. When I see a campaign called “Save Veronica”, a campaign that has hundreds of thousands of backers, I know that we’re, as a collective group of white people, acting in a racist manner. Implying that Veronica needs to be “saved” from the father who loves her and wants to raise her is wrong. While I personally don’t support this campaign, as a white person, I am complicit in this collective racism.

——-

That’s it for now, everyone. What I hope we can think about is just why it is that we’re so quick to say, “It’s not about race!!” What would it mean for us, especially as white people, to acknowledge that a lot of things ARE about race. What would it look like if we tried to recognize the ways we’re advantaged and tried to dismantle some of this country’s systemic white dominance?

This Week in Politics [part 1]

If ever there’s been a week that’s made me want to move to Sweden… well that’s every week, really. But this week in particular has been vexing in regard to US politics and culture. This week reinforced the many reasons why the United States ranks sixth overall on the Social Progress Index. (We’re seventh in personal freedom and choice, sixth in personal rights, fourth in equity and inclusion, and forty-eighth in ecosystems sustainability. OUCH.) Sweden is ranked first overall.  I want to go to there, Liz Lemon. But running away or choosing not to care doesn’t do any good. Apathy does not an ally make.  Let’s talk about two big things happening around the US this week, and why we should care.

The Supreme Court overturned DOMA. Huzzah, hurrah, it’s about time. I’m annoyed that this is even an ‘issue’ that the government needs to intervene upon. I’m more annoyed by all the idiotic and frustrating responses coming out around the ruling. This morning I heard some lady on NPR say, “Of course I don’t support same-sex marriage because I don’t support same-sex couples.” Hi, lady. I don’t support you or your bigotry! Other people were going on about the man/woman marriage precedent set by the Bible, which is a totally valid argument since this country is and should definitely be governed by that particular religious text. I feel absurd stating that I’m being facetious here, but apparently there’s still a large group of people who don’t understand why the Bible isn’t a credible political document. Hey, y’all. Don’t like same-sex marriage? Okay. Don’t have one. And while you’re at it, stop trying to legalize discrimination. All that hatred doesn’t look cute on you.

Wendy Davis is a rockstar. Oh, man. Oh, men. Oh, white men of the Texas senate. You are the worst. Wendy Davis led a one-woman filibuster against SB 5, a bill that would ban abortions after 20 weeks and would close most clinics across Texas. For thirteen hours, Wendy Davis stood and spoke against the bill. She did not sit. She did not even get a bathroom break. For thirteen hours. Republican senators tried to trick her into speaking off topic, a violation of rules, which would have ended the filibuster. They tried to claim she broke the rules by receiving assistance putting on a back brace. When the bill was finally voted on, the numbers were in favor of passing SB 5. (After all that!) The vote took place a few minutes after midnight and was therefore invalidated on a technicality.  But because white men in politics can do anything, they tried to change their own rules. They tried to kill the bill, even though the vote was taken after midnight. Wendy Davis was treated terribly all day long by a bunch of people without uteruses (Hey there, white dudes. Don’t like abortion? Okay. Don’t have one.) and then they tried to change their own rules. All that hypocrisy and cruelty doesn’t look cute on you. Oh, and Big Media? The way all of you felt the need to comment on Davis’s pink tennis shoes? That sexism doesn’t look cute on you, either. And I clearly know about what looks cute on people, seeing as I have a uterus which radiates fashion sense. That’s a biological fact, isn’t it?

I love the idea of politics and hate the way they’re carried out in this country. A cursory glance at any comments section will show a lot of sweeping and often off-topic generalizations about “all liberals” and “all conservatives”. We’re so mired in our camps and we all get off on hating each other so much, that we’ve lost the ability to converse like compassionate humans. We can’t even treat each other with basic decency. (Someone helped you put on a back brace because we won’t let you sit down and we don’t care about your physical wellbeing? Rule-breaker!!!) We’re not willing to listen to each other. This includes me- I don’t want to hear anyone’s ideas on why they think homosexuality is wrong. I’m a fallible human and I don’t have time for that nonsense. I just wonder when we’re all going to realize how terrible we are, and decide to do something about it. When are we going to decide life could be a little better if we tried to be a bit more like Sweden? Is that ever going to happen? I worry about the fact that none of us seem to be concerned with the embarrassing and shameful conduct of our country.

Speaking of that shame and embarrassment… tomorrow we’ll be talking about racism. George Zimmerman, Paula Deen, and the Supreme Court’s interpretation of the Indian Child Welfare Act…get ready. This Angry Feminist Killjoy is coming for you.

Activist Burnout

I know this is a cliché, but I’m still going to tell you: working on this blog has been incredibly rewarding. My posts here have sparked conversations with friends and strangers. My perspective has been challenged and I’ve learned a lot by listening to different points of view. Sometimes I get messages about topics and current issues I should cover, and I’ve found that I’ve become much more aware of gender and social justice issues in the news and my daily life. I have a huge stack of books, articles, and objects strewn about my home waiting to make an appearance here. I haven’t been absent for lack of interest or material.

The title of this blog is somewhat of a joke- folks who know me personally know that I generally maintain a quiet and gentle disposition. I can’t remember the last time I actually yelled at anyone. The conversations I have, even when they’re heated and passionate, are still rational and don’t involve personal attacks. It’s no secret I’m a feminist, but I don’t think anyone in my personal life would have ever called me an Angry Feminist Killjoy.

But just because I’m gentle doesn’t mean I’m not genuinely angry about the state of social affairs today. When I first started working on this project, I did reading about the role of anger in activism. Anger, I learned, is a great motivator. When we get angry and actively choose to throw aside complacency, we can create change by challenging and dismantling oppressive structures.  When this project was just beginning, one of my advisors warned me that this activist anger can seep into our personal lives, exhausting and depleting our mental and emotional stamina.

I thought I was handling the personal/political/professional crossover perfectly well. For every positive comment and message I receive here, I also get one utterly vitriolic personal attack on my character. You don’t see them show up here, because they’re in clear violation of the House Rules. For the most part, these nasty messages don’t bother me. They’re a good indicator that we need to keep having these discussions. My feelings aren’t hurt when a stranger on the internet calls me a cunt/bitch/whore/slut/etc. It’s another sign that we need to keep doing work in this area. But there’s also this swelling feeling of panic and nausea every time I get a new comment notification. Waiting to see if the new message will garner productive discourse or more personal attacks makes my heart do this really uncomfortable jump. My hands shake a little bit. It’s all very fight or flight. Even though I can brush off the hate and move on with my life… I don’t like that it happens. It’s exhausting and draining to know that there are so many hateful people lurking around.

And then my depression showed up. I’ve had depression for years, and I’ve luckily reached a point where I can manage it rather adroitly- ie: no self-medicating or self-harming, yay! But that doesn’t mean it’s easy when it shows up. My depression has this way of showing up out of nowhere, so I go from perfectly content to full existential crisis overnight. Suddenly, looking at the piles of books and articles and objects waiting to be blogged about wasn’t exciting; it was overwhelming.  Every developing news story about injustice made me feel hopeless and heavy. I turned my phone off and slept for something like 20 hours the other day, because moving (not to mention acknowledging the harshness of society) felt like too much to handle.

I’ve held off making this post, because I can only imagine the kind of messages I’ll get, wielding my little hiccups in happiness as veritable proof to invalidate my thoughts.  There’s also the fact that I don’t like talking about my depression with anyone. But as the personal, professional, and political continue to intertwine in my life, and because you’ve all been supportive and generous readers of this site, it only seems fair to be a little vulnerable and provide some kind of explanation.

 One thing I’ve learned about my depression is that it gets much worse when I stop doing the things that make me happy. Unfortunately, I have a way of convincing myself I’m not really happy, and then I abandon things I love. Writing these posts and connecting with all of you really does make me happy (regardless of what my brain chemicals sometimes try to say) so I’m going to stop listening to so much sad indie music and jump back in. Maybe a little more cautiously this time. I think I need to make sure to step away often enough to keep that activist anger from consuming my personal life and pushing me into a giant pit of sadness.

I’ll see you soon. Remember that you can always submit ideas or posts to angryfeministkilljoy@gmail.com. In the meantime, let me know what you do when the personal becoming political becoming professional overwhelms you. How do you avoid activist burnout?