A Mean Meme

I am usually the first one to defend social media when it comes under fire from those who see it as a harbinger of the end of the world as we know it.

Do I think that social media keeps us from interacting with each other? Do I think social media isolates us? No, I don’t. I am in touch with literally hundreds of people who, without social media, would be only vague memories. Now I know the names of their kids, their grandkids and their cats.

I also don’t think the end of the world is near. I don’t think our recent harsh weather is somehow sinister or “unnatural” or that a deity is punishing us for letting gay people get married.

Just because I’m a tarot reader doesn’t mean I’m superstitious. Just because I eat organic foods doesn’t mean I want to return to the eighteenth century.

Once in a while, though, I wish the “share” button on Facebook came with a disclaimer, or a warning.

Something like “Did you really read that meme? Do you really agree with it? Do you really think propagating this is helpful to the world?”

Many of the memes we wantonly share on Facebook contain inflammatory statements presented as facts. One trip to Snopes can save us from spreading lies and creating confusion, but it’s so much easier just to hit “Share.”

The meme that has my garters in a twist today isn’t factual, or even very political.  Well, to me it’s political, but most people won’t see it that way. It’s really just a cute, funny thing that means no harm at all. It’s from EMZKIE at Poopsie. It goes like this.

Yes, I'm a woman. I push doors that clearly say pull. I laugh harder when I try to explain why I'm laughing. I walk into a room and forget why I was there. I count on my fingers in math. I ask for food and then don't eat it when I get it. I fall in love too fast with someone who doesn't actually love me back. I hide the pain from my loved ones. I say it is a long story when it's really not. I cry a lot, more than you think I do. I care about people who don't care about me. I try to do things before the microwave beeps. I listen to you even though you don't listen to me. And a hug will always help. Yes! I am a woman! And I am proud of who I am.

Am I the only person for whom reading this is like sliding down a razorblade into a pool of salt? Ouch!

I’m all about gender pride in the face of oppression and all that, but let’s take a look at how this meme defines women.

Women are delightfully stupid. Women are giddy and silly. Women can’t do math. Women suffer in silence. Women are overly sentimental. Women are industrious in the kitchen. Woman do not require reciprocity. Women are comfortable being defined this way, because women are just featherheads with big hearts!

Who shares this meme on Facebook? Women do!

All I can do is shake my head.

There are so many great quotes about being a woman. What about Maya Angelou’s acclaimed poem, “Phenomenal Woman?”

When I see intelligent women hitting the Share button on the “Yes I’m a woman” meme, I want to respond with the words of Mary Wollstonecraft, from 1792 (that’s more than two centuries ago, if anyone’s counting).

In her “A Vindication of the Rights of Women,” she said, “My own sex, I hope, will excuse me, if I treat them like rational creatures, instead of flattering their fascinating graces, and viewing them as if they were in a state of perpetual childhood, unable to stand alone.”

I think Mary might have been inclined to poo-poo Poopsie, just as I am!

Equal Pay for Equal Work is a Terrifying Notion

I became aware of gender discrimination when I was a child in kindergarten in the 1960s. It happened because of a fabulous toy that suspended wooden airplanes on a metal track. Every day during playtime a group of boys grabbed the airplane toy before I could get to it.

On this one particular day when I checked the toy shelf I found the airplane toy still there. The boys were playing with a new toy that involved cars. Finally, the airplanes were mine!

I sat down with the toy, but before I got to play with it my teacher came running over.

 “Chrissie, dear, that toy is for the boys. I am sure there are some boys who want to play with it. Let’s put that back and find you a good toy for girls.”

I was hurt and angry, but I did as I was instructed. It didn’t make sense to me that there could be such privilege for one gender, and such injustice for the other.

That night my mother confirmed it. Women were not treated fairly, and had been fighting for their rights for years. Mom agreed that girls could play with airplanes, and even fly real airplanes. She also reminded me that my teacher was very old and might not understand that beliefs about what girls could do were changing.

When I was a teenager in the 1970s I subscribed to Ms. Magazine, wore tee shirts with feminist slogans and joined marches and protests. In the early 1980s I worked for the National Women’s Political Caucus campaigning for the ill-fated Equal Rights Amendment.

There was a song we used to sing which discussed the economic inequality of the genders. It was called Fifty-Nine Cents, a reference to the fact that, at the time, women made fifty-nine cents for every dollar earned by a man in the United States.

I bring up that equal rights anthem because of a remark made by President Obama in his State of the Union address this week.

“You know, today, women make up about half our workforce, but they still make 77 cents for every dollar a man earns," Obama said. "That is wrong, and in 2014, it's an embarrassment. Women deserve equal pay for equal work."

That really struck me. It has been over thirty years that I, as an adult women, have been engaged in the fight for gender equality, along with so many other fine people. In that time we have won exactly eighteen cents. Eighteen cents in thirty years. That’s not even a penny a year.

I wonder what I would say to my twenty-year-old self if I could travel back in time. “All those doors you are knocking on, all those letters you are writing, all that fundraising you are doing…” I might say. “All that you are doing, along with all the hundreds of thousands of other women, will earn you eighteen cents over the course of thirty years.”

How might my twenty-year-old self react to that? Would I say “Well, at least it’s a step in the right direction?” Or would I hang up my marching shoes and recognize my work as a basic waste of time?

Eighteen cents in a step in the right direction. Change takes time, especially when the power structure doesn’t want to change.

Our gender-based society of yesteryear defined masculinity as being able to take care of a woman. I suppose if a woman is making enough money she doesn’t need a man to take care of her financially. That could be threatening to men, I suppose.

 Some of the fault lies with the women, too, who feel that having a man take care of a woman financially makes her feel “like a lady.”

Every family has to figure out what works for them financially and logistically. Sometimes one parent elects to stay at home with the kids while the other brings home the money. The days in which the man was always the breadwinner and the woman was always the caregiver are long gone.

To deny a woman, especially a mother, access to equal pay for equal work creates hardship not just for women, but for their families.

When I was very young, my family consisted of just my mother and me. Mom worked a job to support us. One day she discovered that a male peer whose time with the company was shorter than Mom’s and whose tasks were exactly the same was paid substantial more than she was.

When Mom confronted her boss, this was the answer she received. “We have to pay him more because he has a family.”

That was almost forty-five years ago. I remember it as if it were yesterday. In the eyes of the boss, our family was not a family because it didn’t contain a man.

We’ll come a long way since then, but obviously not far enough.

These days, I notice many strong men and women who believe in the radical concept of equal pay for equal work choose not to identify themselves as “feminist.” When I ask them why, they don’t really have an answer. The concept of being a feminist feels uncomfortable to them.

I think they have let other people define feminism for them in false ways. “Feminists hate men.” “Feminists don’t love their children.” “Feminists are complainers.”

Rush Limbaugh once said “Feminism was established so as to allow unattractive women access to the mainstream of society.” I don’t think I need to deconstruct everything that is wrong with that sentence.

The sad part is, that kind of smear campaign against a simple request for inclusion actually worked.

Here’s another quote about feminism that makes more sense to me, from suffragist and journalist Rebecca West. “Feminism is the radical notion that women are people.”

When I was young I believe that to be a funny quote. It was tongue-in-cheek. Of course the basic notion that women are people can’t be radical and scary, can it?

Apparently, I was wrong. The concept of treating women like people is terrifying.

The sad part to me is this. If I do the math based on history, I am not likely to see equal pay for equal work as a national policy in my lifetime.

Sigh.

Carry on, daughters.

The Power of a Word

Health educators and feminists are understandably concerned about the demonization of the word "vagina."

On June 13, 2012 Michigan State Representative Lisa Brown's use of the word led to her censure. In the aftermath a state representative declared the word "vagina" so offensive that he wouldn't say it in mixed company.

Now Idaho High School science teacher Tim McDaniel is being investigated for saying "vagina" during a sophomore science class on human reproduction. No fewer than four parents complained about his use of the word.

Helene Martz and I had a conversation about this topic last night on Christiana's Psychic Café. She felt as I do, that this is another way to disempower women. That the "offensive" word refers to a specifically feminine body part is evidence of the misogyny that is working its way into the fabric of our society.

We must find a way to normalize words that describe our bodies. Teaching our children to refer to their genitals as "wee wee" or "pee pee" or other pet names is a huge mistake. Bowing to a misinformed public who prefers not to hear word "vagina" is another.

The underlying message is that women are bad, sex is bad and our bodies are bad. Turning the vagina into a Voldemort-like thing whose name shall not be spoken can only hurt our society in the long run. We must remember that the vagina is the pathway to life for us all.

And, as Helene pointed out last night, this is another attack on science. The teacher and the lawmaker both used the proper scientific term, and both were punished for it.

A society that tries to marginalize both women and science seems very dangerous indeed.

If we are not permitted to speak the word "vagina" now, eventually those with vaginas will not be permitted to speak.

When people's sensitivities become squeamish about scientific facts, eventually decisions will be based on those sensitivities rather than on facts.

It is interesting, too, that as the acceptability of the word "vagina" decreases, the acceptability of rape seems to increase. We even have a buzzword for that now - "rape culture." It may be that the freer we are in speaking of our bodies the safer our bodies will be.

On the other side of things, there are young artists such as VulvaLoveLovely who create pillows, jewelry and statues in the shapes of uteruses, vaginas and vulvas. I had never really before understood why I might want to wear a vulva around my neck. Now I get it. To honor our bodies in art is to love ourselves. It may be that the only way to fight misogyny, or any kind of hatred, is with love.

Why I love Beyonce

I have absolutely no interest in football.  I have only minor interest in the collateral Super Bowl buzz- the parties, the ads, the half-time show. But I love Beyonce, so I made sure to watch a clip of her stunning half-time performance.

I have loved Beyonce since Destiny's Child was a group of four girls wearing dresses made by Beyonce's mother. I saw Destiny's Child open for TLC many years ago. Their big hit at the time, if I remember correctly, was "Bills, Bills, Bills." Even then there was one girl who stood out above the rest. I remember looking at her and thinking she would have a powerful solo career one day. Later I discovered her name was Beyonce Knowles.

Hip Hop, R&B and Pop are not my favorite genres of music, although my years working in FM radio gave me a certain appreciation of each decade's best jams. Beyonce has set herself above the rest not only with her vocal range and power, classic grace and snappy dance moves. The thing that in my mind makes Beyonce the current reigning diva supreme is this.

Underneath the skin-tight clothes and sexy moves, Beyonce is a feminist. While so much of the Hip Hop vibe is obviously degrading to women, Beyonce used the medium to empower women.  Her songs such as "Independent Woman" and "Single Ladies," so beautifully reprised during the half-time show, remind us of our power as women. Her decision to put together a great all-female band reminds us that women aren't just showpieces, or pretty girls who sing. Women have power.

That's a message young girls and women need to hear and remember.

Back in the days of the "Second Wave of Feminism" it often seemed that powerful women needed to avoid being attractive. If you were pretty you were simply playing to the patriarchy. To have power your looks needed to be unremarkable.

Even in recent years the most powerful women in our country have usually not been the most beautiful. Oprah has a weight problem. Hilary is the queen of the pantsuit.

Beyonce demonstrates that we can have our beauty and our brains as well.

We can be sexy. We can be desirable. But that doesn't make us weak, and it doesn't make us playthings of men. Beyonce shows us we can be strong, beautiful and independent.

A Terrible Time Machine

Not too long ago I had a bit of a heated conversation with a good friend who claimed there was no "war on women" brewing here in the US.

It reminded me that, as I approach my 50^th birthday, I have to claim my roots as a crusty old feminist from the old days. In my youth, I read Ms. Magazine, volunteered for NARAL and went door-to-door in support of the ERA. In my junior year of high school my favorite souvenir from our field trip to Washington, DC was a T shirt with the slogan "A Woman's Place is in the House…and in the Senate."

Over the years, I decided that women had gained enough political and social clout that I no longer needed to chastise people for referring to grown women as "girls." I decided it was ok to trade my hiking boots for a pair of high heels once in a while. My daughter grew up with few of the inner or outer gender limitations that had been placed on the young women of my generation. We had done a good job, I thought. Even without the passage of the ERA and the protections that would have afforded us.

Never did it occur to me that the rights and recognition we had worked for could be fragile, or temporary.

The right to reproductive freedom has always been in question. I remember a friend who was an organizer for NARAL telling me that we could lose the right to choice in 1985. When it didn't happen then, or any other year after that, I relaxed.

The fact is, I get the basic concept of the pro-life movement, at its heart. I understand the sorrow at potential human life extinguished. If I saw those same people interested in offering health care, nutrition and education to unplanned-for children I might take their movement more seriously.

My biggest concern now is not the possibility of an overturning of Roe V Wade. My biggest concern is about something much deeper and darker, something of which this fevered drive to control women's bodies is only a symptom.

I have a friend who is another crusty old feminist from back in the day. She has often exclaimed to me her upset with rap, a music form I have come to respect and enjoy. Her feminist heart is hurt by the disrespect to women she hears in the lyrics. I have always heard the same thing, but decided not to let it bother me. The old me, the young feminist in T shirts, denim and hiking boots, would have. But, since I thought we had already won the war, I decided the battle was unnecessary. Let people say, sing and rap what they wanted, our position in society was secure. We could study what we wanted, work where we wanted, and enjoy equal protection under the law, even without the ERA. We had won.

Now it seems I was wrong.

The evil root that I see growing now is nothing short of misogyny. And, in many cases, the purveyors of this hatred are women themselves.

The recent conversations about "forcible rape" and "legitimate rape" have sent shivers of dread up my spine.

But nothing compares with the news story I saw today out of Arizona. Apparently, an off-duty police officer went into a bar and sexually molested a woman. At the hearing to sentence the assailant, who has been removed from his job, the judge, Coconino County Superior Court Judge Jacqueline Hatch, told the victim that if she hadn't been in the bar she wouldn't have been groped, according to the Arizona Daily Sun. The judge said that she hoped the victim "learned a lesson" from this experience. The judge reduced the assailant's sentence from time in jail to probation.

Did we all just step into a time machine and get sent back to 1940?

Of course, Judge Hatch is the appointee of Governor Jan Brewer, whose record against women speaks for itself.

I wonder what social influences have created this return to the dark ages for women. Is it, as my friend suggests, our tolerance of song lyrics? Is it the growing influence of anti-woman religions here in the US? Is it a somehow a result of difficult economic times? Or is it that we feminists failed to be vigilant?

I don't know what the answer is. I don't know what to do to stop this time machine that threatens us. To me, it is like something out of "The Handmaid's Tale."

I see the problem. I see neither the cause, nor the solution.