where the revolution's gonna begin

Bill of Rights for People of Mixed Heritage

2010-11-20T20:03:00.000-05:00

Note: The Bill of Rights for People of Mixed Heritage was created by Dr. Maria P. P. Root, a psychologist in Seattle, Washington who specializes in multiracial identity and families.
It's kind of amazing, and one of those things that hits the "YES! Why did I not find this earlier??" spot.

A PDF of the text is available online at: http://www.drmariaroot.com/doc/BillOfRights.pdf

_______________

Bill of Rights for People of Mixed Heritage

I have the right:

-not to justify my existence in this world
-not to keep the races separate within me
-not to be responsible for people’s discomfort with my physical ambiguity
-not to justify my ethnic legitimacy

I have the right:

-to identify myself differently than strangers expect me to identify
-to identify myself differently than how my parents identify me
-to identify myself differently than my brothers and sisters
-to identify myself different in different situations

I have the right:

-to create a vocabulary to communicate about being multiracial
-to change my identity over my lifetime - and more than once
-to have loyalties and identify with more than one group of people
-to freely choose whom I befriend and love

— Dr. Maria P. Root

ambi-ethnic

2010-11-20T19:58:00.001-05:00

"what ARE you?"

"go ahead and guess; i kind of like this game."

"are you (insert brown ethnicity here)?"
only one person has ever been close to being right. most people just assume one of the "usual suspects" of brownness: hispanic or latina, Indian, Mexican, Spanish, Middle Eastern, Native American. some of the more interesting / out of the blue assumptions were Somalian (which is actually sort of close), Venezuelan (really?), Egyptian (this was when I had cleopatra-style bangs), black in general, Ethiopian, Brazilian...I've gotten pretty much every ethnicity with traditionally dark skin.

when i went to (finally!) register for a library card at the Denver Public Library today, the woman behind the desk asked what I was. she had a slight Middle Eastern accent and was also brown, so I thought maybe she'd get close, or at least have a more creative definition of my brownness. Nope. we played the "what ethnicity do YOU think i am?" game, and her answer was the typical "I'd say either Spanish/Latina or Indian."
nope.

this question happens almost every day. whenever i meet someone new, they'll ask "so what ARE you, anyway?" (either right away or eventually work up to it.)
when i was younger, my friends were one or the other. mostly one, since i grew up in a very white Roman Catholic college town. i had one friend whose mom was euro-white and her dad was Seneca...but she mostly only claimed the Native side of her background. i don't think she had the words to claim both.

i grew up with two white-skinned older brothers, one very fair white-skinned mom, and one very dark-skinned dad. everyone but my dad and i presented as very white, and while my dark skin was a cute novelty for everyone to comment on (and a really big tease in the hope that my mom wasn't my biological mother), i was treated as the anomaly among my whiter siblings and praised for looking "exotic." but even with that, i was always assured that i was white. that i should check that box in whatever school or camp forms i had to fill out.

my first act of advocacy came when i was in 4th or 5th grade. a very pretty older girl (blond hair, blue eyes, lived in the rich part of my neighborhood) on Bus 7 yelled at me on the ride home one day and told me to move, that she didn't want a "black bitch" to be sitting with her little sister.
i got home and stood at the kitchen counter and penned a letter to the principal, explaining what had happened and that i wasn't offended at being called black, although i wasn't, but that i was hurt by being called a bitch. i'm pretty sure i suggested our elementary school get some racial sensitivity training. (i was a little precocious, for a 9-10 year old.)
i was proud of myself for standing up against racism, and my parents were too, but i was confused. i was white, i thought. why would she call me black? i had tanning contests with my dad every summer, so he and i were both sporting our summer shades of dark brown, but I didn't think that negated the "Caucasian" i'd always been told i was, the "white" box I always checked at school. I'd never questioned it. until that day.

i always identified with the racial oppression we learned about in school and read about in history books, but i then felt guilty for identifying with it. what right did i have? i was white. just because i was dark-skinned didn't mean i had the right to claim racial oppression. that doesn't happen to white people. and i was white. ....right?

in high school, i started occasionally checking the "other" box when forced to check a box. when i could, i just left it blank. i had no idea what i was. i didn't feel white. i didn't look like the white kids in my school. i looked more like the puerto rican kids in the neighboring town, but i didn't get it.

finally, in my first women's studies class, i learned about white privilege. some things started to click in my brain: when i gave my ethnicity (at least, the one that's acceptable to discuss), i was European. but everyday people didn't encounter me as European. they encountered me as brown. after 9/11, my dad and i would routinely get stopped when we crossed the border into Canada. not because we lacked proper documentation (though my dad did once, and told the border patrol agent he was a "world citizen," and we were stuck there for 3 hours. thanks dad.), but because our skin is what i half-jokingly call terrorist-brown. add to that my dad's very middle eastern features and mustache, and nobody would ever assume he was white. and nobody ever assumed i was white. any and every variation on brown, yes. but never white. neither of us has ever been afforded the privilege of being white. it stopped making sense to try so desperately to claim white privilege when i couldn't actually access it.
i made the conscious choice to stop checking the box that said "white." from then on, it would be "mixed" or "other."

but i didn't even see people who identified as mixed-race or interracial until my junior or senior year of college, when I encountered a (now-defunct, i think?) group at Smith: MISC. i don't remember what the exact acronym stood for, but it was something along the lines of multi-ethnic & interracial students of smith college. MISC. that felt about right. miscellaneous. ambiguous. yep.

and then i graduated to the real world, and entered repro justice nonprofitworld. and i became the token brown girl. (and the token gay girl. i'm a two-fer! diversity people LOVE me.) nobody really bothered to figure out what kind of brown i was, but they knew i was brown, and so the racial sensitivity work was up to me. as a lowly entry-level employee, it was up to me to tell my supervisor that her supervisor had said something not-quite-right about outreach to Latina/o communities. as a new employee, it was up to me to explain to my directors why it mattered for us to take a position on a ballot measure that disproportionately affected undocumented immigrants. the organizations i've worked for have been on the right track, and are making huge strides to improve, but i'm still the brown girl in the historically white-rich-lady organization.

it's exhausting. i mean, i love being that voice and feeling as though i'm finally using that annoyingly ambiguous ethnicity for good, but...christ. it's exhausting.
and i still feel guilty sometimes. like i'm claiming something that's not mine. like i'm claiming oppression that i don't have a rightful claim to. because, sure, i've been treated similarly to other "legitimately" brown girls, but on paper, i'm still white. mostly. I'm just a whole lot of European (mom's side: French, northern Italian, English, German-Jewish, dad's side: Sicilian and English). It's the Sicilian that gives me my dark skin, and it turns out the dark skin is from some illicit/not-talked-about "fraternizing" with East African ancestors wayyy back, but on paper, it's still just Sicilian.

so i've decided on a new term, one coined (or at least adopted) by my mixed friend, Daniel (who, btw, is Japanese and Hawai'ian and Argentinian).

ambi-ethnic.
ambiguously ethnic.
brown, but ambiguously so.
another one that works: mix-y.

as it turns out, there's a not-insignificant population of mixy, ambi-ethnic, mixed, interracial, etc people out there. lots in my generation, and lots more growing up now, now that mixed-race couples are just an everyday couple. (sign of my age: it's just weird and unimaginable to me that people would have had a problem with that.)

among that not-insignificant population:
-this book that i just grabbed from the library: What ARE You? Voices of Mixed-Race Young People, a book/anthology by Pearl Fuyo Gaskins
-Dr. Maria Root's brilliant Bill Of Rights for People of Mixed Heritage (pdf)
-a friend i made during my summer in DC who's now doing amazing things out somewhere on the west coast: mirasian: notes on mixed race asian studies
-and others i have yet to find

here we go again...

2010-09-14T01:47:00.001-04:00

Annnnnd we're back at it.

I'm working, again, against an abortion ban as a state ballot issue. And again, this one is the abortion ban ballot issue's second time around in as many years.

I'm feeling a curious sort of deja vu here.

Up side: this time, I'm in Colorado, not South Dakota. (No offense to SoDak - you all were fab! But let's be honest here. I'm not a rolling-plains kinda girl.)

Yep. The personhood amendment is back on the ballot in this lovely Rocky Mountain state I can now call my home. Losing by an almost 50-point spread in 2008 (73%-27% was the final count) was, apparently, not enough of a walloping for them. Political strategists, they are most certainly not.

Coloradans don't actually want to ban abortion, and they certainly don't want to ban emergency contraception or in-vitro fertilization or some forms of hormonal birth control. Thus, the 73% of voters who told them "No" last time around. But it's back on the ballot, again, and so we get to fight it again. I look forward to Nov 2nd, when Coloradans (again) tell Personhood Colorado No on 62.

It's a completely ridiculous amendment and painfully extreme, and I'm confident that with a well-executed field and media plan, the No on 62 campaign will have a sweet, sweet victory party on the evening of November 2nd. But the amendment is still a little scary to me. And here's why:

I'm voting no on 62 because I'm a survivor (victim? I still struggle with that label) of childhood sexual & emotional abuse.
I wrote something about this when I was on my way to South Dakota two years ago, and seeing as my past hasn't miraculously changed in these past 2 years, I'll just go the copy-and-paste route (with some minor edits for grammar and to be applicable to Colorado instead of South Dakota):

I’m voting no on amendment 62 because I’m a victim/survivor of childhood sexual & emotional abuse.

I was lucky in that the sexual abuse by my older brother never resulted in pregnancy. I had my first period just a few weeks before the abuse finally ended. I mostly understood how pregnancy worked when I was 13, and so I was completely terrified until I got my period again…more than two very long months later. “Luck” is a warped gauge at this point, but I know I was lucky to not have to deal with a pregnancy as a result of that abuse. But imagine (as I often have) that I wasn't a late bloomer and had gotten my period a year or two earlier. Imagine that the forced intercourse happened more than once, more than that last incident, within that time. And imagine that, at 13, I'd gotten pregnant from the sexual abuse and needed an abortion.

I know exactly what it would have looked like if I lived in a state where this amendment was part of the constitution:

There’s no way I would have told my parents. They already knew the abuse was happening and done nothing, they were already neglectful and abusive, and at 13, I would know that they were not a place I could ever go for support.

So I would have gone by myself to a gynecologist, for the very first time. I would have been terrified to go, but I would have told her that I was afraid I was pregnant. She would have asked me if I was sexually active. My shame would have given me away, I'm sure, and she would have asked if it was consensual. At 13, I would have given a very confused answer, probably admitting that I knew it was gross and probably wrong but that I still thought there was some element of consent, because at 13, I didn't understand coercion, and I certainly didn't connect the word "abuse" with my experience.
If she told me that I was pregnant, I would have desperately tried to get an abortion, by any means necessary. So I’d have to go out of state. How I would pay for it or obtain transportation to and from another state for the procedure, I have no idea, but the last thing that would have been an option would have been to ask my (abusive) parents for help.

And if there was no option to get out of state for a safe, legal abortion, I probably would have looked up some dangerous d.i.y. form of abortion and done it myself. That risk would have been preferable to bearing for 9 months and having a child created by that abuse at the age of 13.

It’s not a matter of the authorities knowing or not knowing about the abuse. I did eventually disclose to a mandatory reporter when I was 15, so it was (or should have been) somehow reported. The state didn’t actually do anything with that information, but that’s another issue entirely. Bearing and having that child would have been devastating to me, as a 13-year-old, as a survivor, and as someone without a reliable family support system. The abuse was awful, of course, but if I had gotten pregnant as a result of that and lived in a state with an abortion ban like this on the books, it would mean that I would have again been denied the control that I’d never had over my body. It would have had nothing to do with protecting women from violence or catching sexual offenders. It would have been completely re-traumatizing, to say the least. And that’s not protection or compassion or justice. That’s just cruel.

The "yes on 62" side will usually respond with one of these arguments: 1) you shouldn't punish the "child" for the crimes of the father, and/or 2) by having abortion accessible to victims of rape and incest, you destroy the evidence and let rapists go free.

I call bullshit.
On both of these.
Argument 1: what about the woman?
Argument 2: what about the woman?

She doesn't really factor into either of these arguments, except as a passive bystander. Why would you force a woman who's already been victimized and had control over her body taken away to again give up that control and go through 9 months of pregnancy because of the crimes of the rapist?
Why would you force a woman who's already been traumatized to go through, again and again, the less-than-perfect and often retraumatizing justice system if that's not a route she chooses to go down?

That's not protection. That's not justice. That's not compassion. That's cruel.

I'll end with a quote from a terrible post from the most anti-choice man I've ever come across. After I posted my story as I was en route to South Dakota in 2008, he posted a very, very personal response. And I know that putting my story out there in public invites responses, and some of the responses are going to be like this, but it still makes my blood boil and my skin crawl. And it reminds me of why I do this work. To try to shut down people like this.
This is his post in response to me. Now, excuse me while I go throw up.

An army of (mainly) angry, confused, hurting and misguided young people are enroute to South Dakota right now to fight the reasonable people here who think abortion shouldn't be available for use as a form of birth control.

This gal, named Jen, is getting on a plane today to come here from Northampton, Massachusetts to work for two weeks with the Campaign for UNHealthy Families. Her blog is curiously misnamed "righteous revolution" which is typical for pro-aborts to call wrong right. This gal is hardly on the side of righteousness or justice. Abortion is a justice issue for the unborn and for women who are lied to and exploited by those who profit from abortion.

But her blogs screams… I'm hurting and I need healing! The subheading is… a raging river of tears cutting a grand canyon of light! That's powerful and sad. It makes me angry at a lot of people in her life. Where is her sick brother today and has he been allowed to abuse other women? She uses the word healing eight times on her homepage. But she's fighting for something that leaves women in far worse shape. In her anger and hurt she's lashing out at the most innocent. It's not right to execute capital punishment on a child for his/her father's crime. If only her anger were channeled in a righteous direction - at those who lie to women to profit from abortion. Join me in targeting this gal in your prayers for these next two weeks that her pain would lead her to the Light and that she'd become what hundreds of thousands of other Roe v Wade survivors have become - a righteous army contending to a higher court on behalf of the plight of the unborn.

I hope you'll read her post in it's entirely because her real story comes out at the end. Read with understanding and compassion because she's hurting and misguided into thinking the best thing for women in these situations is to kill their baby. She needs to talk to my friend Dianne and I can set that up if she's interested. I'll pay for the appointment, as many as she needs.

so. it's mother's day.

2010-05-09T22:59:00.000-04:00

mother's day was never really one of my favorite days. in my family, it always played very well into that well-established pattern of putting on a unified "Big Happy Family" front, trying to make invisible the million dysfunctions that made our family not at all happy. and it played well into the often-enforced "mother is always right" rule. and the "feel bad for your mother because she does so much and is such a martyr for this family" meme.

and so i would always buy a stupid little sappy card from hallmark and pretend like we fit into that image of the family whose emotions are perfectly expressed by lovey-dovey Hallmark cards. or i would buy a snarky card, the kind that walks the line between mean and loving, and pretend that i could honestly sit on the "loving" side of that line. and yeah, sometimes i meant it, and sometimes i could identify with the "love your mother" sentiments in these lame cards. but more often than not, mother's day was just another opportunity to fake our way as that happy loving family that my parents wanted so badly.

once i was at college and far enough away from that family system to see how dysfunctional it really was, mother's day made me bitter. i was bitter that i still felt obligated to buy these cards that i clearly didn't mean, and i was bitter that i had to call my mom on mother's day and pretend that she deserved the honor that this day was set aside for. i was bitter that i'd tried to turn so many women into maternal figures over the years (i believe i was at about 15 or so at last count), and none of them had completely filled that void, and none of them had wanted to, and i probably couldn't have let them fill that void anyway. most of all, though, i was bitter at all the truly loving moms and daughters i saw around me, because it felt like a slap in the face. sure, i was happy for them, and i was glad that there were women around who had the capacity to be that truly "good mother" (read: able to love without narcissism/martyrdom), but i was bitter, and it made me feel cheated, and it made me feel sorry for myself. i hated feeling all of these things, which made me hate mother's day even more.

eventually, i started to open my eyes. by which i mean, i started to open my heart. all of the love that i saw around me between loving mothers and daughters felt more like warmth and less like a slap in the face. i stopped forcing myself to send my mother cards that had sentiments i didn't mean. one year, i just sent her a pretty card that said "happy mother's day" on the inside. that's it. i don't think i even signed it "love, jen." just "-Jen." the next year, i sent her nothing, and the next week, i cut her and my dad out of my life entirely. (she likes to tell the story that she got that letter on mother's day, that i planned it like that to hurt her. too bad mother's day is on a sunday, the postal service doesn't deliver on sundays, and i didn't put the letter in the mail until after mother's day. oh, drama queens.)
on one of those mother's days, instead of seeing what i never had growing up, i saw the mothers who i admired, and i saw the women who had mothered me in some way or another. i saw them for the love that they held, and i could honor them for that, without (ok, with only a little) bitterness.

(image: Nikki McClure, an artist in washington state.
i adore her work. you should go buy some of it.
no, really, you should. or, alternatively,
buy a print for me. you can do that here.)

this mother's day, i felt surprisingly little bitterness and sadness over the mother i didn't get from biology. i felt absolutely no guilt about not sending her a mother's day card, and only a little lingering guilt over estranging myself from my parents (that's guilt that i don't expect to ever completely go away).
this mother's day, i was able to fully embrace the fierce love i feel for the amazing mothers in my life. primarily, the mothers i've chosen to be part of my life, but also the amazing feminist, loving mamas i see around me all the time. not all of these women have had children, but that's the thing about the women i honor on mother's day: biology only sometimes correlates with great motherhood.

the two women who've taught me what maternal love looks like, who've filled my heart with that love: not anywhere close to biologically related. we don't even share a common ethnicity (they're both very white. me, not so much).
the two other women who took me in when i was a "stray" have stepped into some role between big sister and mom, who joke that they have to share custody with the former two women: neither has ever given birth or even (to my knowledge) been pregnant. they're only 6 and 7 (or 8?) years older than me. because you don't have to be related to someone to be a mother. and you don't have to give birth to know how to be a mother.
motherhood is so, so, so much more than pushing a kid out of your uterus. and maternal love comes in more forms than bio-mother/bio-child. i am so thankful for that.

so, today, i'm not bitter or angry about mother's day. i'm beyond grateful for the luck/fate that brought these women into my life and made my heart more full than i ever thought possible. and i am quietly rejoicing every time i see a woman who is or will be a great mother to someone who needs it, in whatever form that takes.

happy mother's day.

younger women, movements, and institutional feminism

2010-04-19T23:58:00.001-04:00

I'm not entirely sure how to address this one. I want to both defend and call out the large national pro-choice organizations involved here, because I believe in their potential and I think they have their hearts in the right place. But potential can only be realized through critical analysis of strategies and approaches, so I'm going to try to do that, and to tread carefully here.

This weekend, Newsweek published this story by Sarah Kliff about a recent poll that NARAL Pro-Choice America just released on the attitudes of younger voters and reproductive rights. The poll itself was, in my belief, a way to prove what most young people in the reproductive justice movement already knew: that younger people aren't engaged in reproductive rights at the level they could/should be, and that major pro-choice organizations need to step up in their attempts to engage younger voters and activists.

That's not the way that Newsweek presented the poll, though. Disappointing, because Sarah Kliff is usually a remarkably good journalist when it comes to covering abortion-related issues. Kliff used the poll, and select quotes from NARAL president Nancy Keenan, to make another hand-wringing case of "these young folks don't get it and they don't care and now we have nobody to pass the torch to and dammit, why don't any of them care?" Again. Because the (totally bogus) "young women don't give a shit about feminism" meme hasn't quite run its course yet, apparently.
Kliff did a lot of paraphrasing of Nancy Keenan's statements, so I'm not sure if they were accurately paraphrased. Maybe Keenan didn't disparage young women and just wring her hands in the way Kliff made it seem. Things like:

And what worries Keenan is that she just doesn't see a passion among the post-Roe generation—at least, not among those on her side.

....it's just straight-up bullshit, and I want to believe that Keenan actually sees and acknowledges the many, many young women working FOR her, in her own organization, who are phenomenally passionate.

But this isn't about calling out Keenan or the organization she represents.* It's bigger than that.

Younger women are passionate, and we DO care, as is evidenced by the responses to this piece.
-Jessica wrote a really great response on feministing today: The pro-choice movement would fail without young women."
-A friend of mine, Elise, just got her piece published on RH Reality Check: Reflections by a Young Pro-Choice Activist.
-And, because it's still relevant and still so well said, Shelby Knox's response to the hand-wringing over generational apathy (from during the Stupak debacle in health care reform): From a Young Woman to (Some) of the 'Menopausal Militia'.
Further evidence is here, from a PPKM action in December 2009, thanking Senator McCaskill (D-MO) for her opposition to the Stupak ban in health care reform. (I'll note that it was -5ºF during the visibility action, which was outside.) Of the 9 activists in that picture, 6 are under 30, and 2 are not much over 30.

Thing is, it's not a matter of the argument of whether young women care or not. While I haven't seen this poll data or methodology, the conclusion - that younger pro-choice women don't see abortion rights as an important issue when it comes to voting - seems believable to me. From the article:

A survey of 700 young Americans showed there was a stark "intensity gap" on abortion. More than half (51 percent) of young voters (under 30) who opposed abortion rights considered it a "very important" voting issue, compared with just 26 percent of abortion-rights supporters; a similar but smaller gap existed among older voters, too.

There is no "intensity gap" when it comes to my circles of friends...but I fully realize that the friends I select generally share my intense passion for feminist politics, and that we probably don't represent the majority of young women. I'll admit that my peers are not as intensely invested in reproductive freedom, and that some women in my generation do take their reproductive rights for granted.

The problem isn't in recognizing that younger voters aren't as engaged or invested in reproductive justice as they could be. That's a fact. I'll give you that.

The problem is in turning this into another bullshit "but NONE of them care!" argument. Playing that game means that the responses will be "but we DO care! and we ARE here!" It's important to note the contributions of younger women, but it's an unproductive game to play, because a) it creates a distrustful animosity between "postmenopausal militia" and "millennials," and b) it provides no options for moving forward.

Here's what the poll really means:

There is a big gap in engagement and investment in reproductive justice among younger voters.
AND there are a ton of very engaged, passionate, young "full-time feminists" who are doing great things in their communities to increase engagement and investment among their peers.
AND the large, national pro-choice organizations have not always done a great job in either recognizing the work of these younger feminists or in supporting their work.

See what I did there?
Both the "post-menopausal militia" and younger feminists are right.
My contemporaries don't always see how very tenuous their reproductive rights are. They do sometimes take it for granted, in part because of the incredible work that's been done by the generations that came before us.
Younger feminists are here, though, and we're doing some pretty incredible stuff. We're also doing it in a different framework than the abortion-rights framework of the generations before us, because the concept of reproductive justice is one that resonates more with our generation. We're ready to mobilize and engage our peers, the other "millennials" who are so often cited as the reason our entire generation has failed. We are also ready to take over, to share that torch with the older generations.
But first, we need to be acknowledged and supported by these organizations. And therein lies the way forward.

It was very poorly communicated in the article, but that's what this poll really says. It gives numbers to the truth that younger people in the reproductive justice movement - and especially younger people who've been involved with these larger pro-choice organizations - have known for years: that resources haven't been adequately or efficiently expended to engage the generation of younger people. And, therefore, that those resources need to be adequately and efficiently used to do just that.

Pro-choice organizations who are so worried about not having anyone to pass the torch to should (as Jessica said in her feministing post) look within their own organizations. There are plenty of young women working for them, doing the field work. Pro-choice organizations also need to start valuing these individuals, and need to start cultivating leadership among their younger activists.

Don't know how to do that? It's ok. If you stop making us invisible, we'd be glad to help you. There are plenty of younger feminist organizers who really get it, and who would be glad to help you craft a field plan to organize younger voters. You could ask the Obama campaign for help with engaging young people. Ask Choice USA, if you want to connect with an organization that really has their shit together when it comes to youth organizing.
Most of all, though, if you want to expand your base to include more young people: listen to the younger activists who are already involved in your organizations. You've got too many resources and connections and history within your organizations to let it go out with the retirement of your current baby-boomer leaders.

I truly believe in the potential of these organizations. And I truly believe that they want to do right by younger activists/progressive voters. I don't think that the Newsweek article accurately portrayed the way that NARAL, as a whole, sees younger people. But I think it did show that major pro-choice organizations have a long way to go to truly engage and honor the younger activists and leaders that they have.

------------------------------
*There's a lot of bullshit that should be called out for this article. The "moral complexity" piece is problematic. There is a place for that conversation. The general disparagement of younger women in the movement is a problem, as is the part where Kliff (paraphrasing Keenan, maybe or maybe not accurately) makes invisible the many younger women working in this field. But that's not where I'm going with this particular post. This time.

quick hit: my life, bullet-pointed

2010-04-09T11:31:00.002-04:00

I moved to Denver! Still in the repro justice nonprofit world (as I always will be -- I'm a lifer), but now, with mountains!

In KC, I was working for an organization that did both direct services and political advocacy, so the line I had to walk was sometimes complicated and tricky. In Denver, I'm at an organization that only does political advocacy & civic engagement/voter education. I still have to walk a fine line sometimes between 501(c)(3) and 501(c)(4) activities (I hate tax law, but thanks to the lovely folks at Alliance for Justice, I sorta-kinda-almost understand it. Sort of.

I have the. cutest. apartment. ever. Garden level, but not basement-y. Hardwood floors. Exposed brick in the living room. Adorable little kitchen, complete with a totally adorable breakfast nook. The nook has a little heart in the detailing on the leg. ADORABLE. Plus, the sweet adorable apartment has wide window sills, where kittyface contentedly spends most of her days.

I submitted my piece to this call for submissions (which, btw, has been extended to May 1st. You still have time!) I won't lie; it was kind of terrifying to send it in. It felt like one of those secrets you're not supposed to tell. But luckily, I had a couple of smartypants feminist friends who were willing to read through it first and reassure me that no, I won't lose all credibility as a queer woman or a victim/survivor or a feminist if I submitted it. Here's hoping they're right.

Speaking of secrets that feel like they're not allowed to be told, April is Sexual Assault Awareness Month. Check out National Sexual Violence Resource Center's SAAM page, and check with your local rape crisis center, statewide coalition against sexual assault, and/or local college campus. They probably have something going on this month. Fun/not-so-fun fact: I've already been to one SAAM event, by the CO Coalition Against Sexual Assault as a representative of my new employer-organization. I forgot how much it sucks to have to act professional and pretend like the stories of assault and abuse don't hit so close to home. Sigh. At least I've had lots of practice at putting on a good face?

Lastly, a quick hit blog post that I love. One of those Shakesville posts that leaves me saying, "Shit, why can't I express it as succinctly and clearly as Melissa?" I've tried to make this argument before, on why "exceptions" to abortion restrictions are bullshit, but Melissa does it so much better than I ever did. The post is here. And here's a little excerpt:

How ridiculously incapable of self-reflection can one be that one is able to acknowledge that rape (forcing a woman to do something with her body she doesn't want to do) is a Terrible Thing, but the denial of abortion (forcing a woman to do something with her body she doesn't want to do) is a Moral Imperative? I'm really hard-pressed to see why I should be any less contemptuous of a man who sits at a big mahogany desk in Washington making decisions about my body without my consent than I should be of a man who used physical force to make decisions about my body without my consent. Undoubtedly the Exceptioneers would be outraged and horrified to be compared, even obliquely, to sexual predators.

the end.

(re-posted) Call for Submissions: Queering Sexual Violence

2010-02-07T23:23:00.000-05:00

(re-posted from womanist musings)

I think I may submit an essay for this.
This is something that I've been frustrated by for years. I wrote this (ugly-messy truth) post almost 2 years ago. I spent my last semester at Smith immersed in theory and stories of and around queer survivors of childhood sexual abuse, writing a paper on how these stories are told. Thesis, way boiled down: aside from a few incredible, brave exceptions, these stories are not told. Not in a way that allows one to link (in a queer-positive way) the identities of being queer and being a survivor.

Almost 3 years later, I still think about that paper every other week or so. I still have it in a beat-up manila folder that I carry around with me when I'm heading to coffee shops, re-reading it and seeing what can be edited.

Anyway.
All of this to say:
I'm stoked that this project is happening!

And, like I said, I may very well submit an essay. We'll see.

Call for Submissions: Queering Sexual Violence

An anthology of LGBTQ writers, survivors and activists confronting heterosexual privilege and the gender binary system while creating a dialog about the limitations of the anti-sexual violence movement in hopes of creating change.
Edited by Jennifer Patterson

Queering Sexual Violence seeks 20- 25 LGBTQ writers who are interested in submitting pieces that confront the current state of our anti- sexual violence climate. Part memoir/ part criticism/ part call to action, this anthology seeks to address the limitations of a society that is not only unequipped to deal with rape culture but also unable to look at it without the lens of heterosexual privilege and through the interests of a gender binary system. The anthology seeks to destroy the image of the “perfect survivor” and motivate the anti-sexual violence community to embrace a more radical perspective in order to foster sustainable change.

For general purposes, the definition of Sexual Violence attached to this anthology is as follows:

Sexual Violence is an unwanted or non- consensual act, whether completed or not, that is sexual in nature and violates a person physically, emotionally, spiritually and/or politically.

To be more clear, Sexual Violence can be a range of non-consensual sexual exchanges, from unwanted interactions on the street, to non- consensual rape from either a stranger or within a relationship, to incest or also invasive sexually based comments in regards to ones gender presentation or identity, among many other things.

The pieces submitted should be of the writer’s personal experience and explore the intersections of ability, sexuality, race, class, religion, citizenship, gender identity, sex, age, ethnicity and how these either magnify or minimize your experience/ work and your history with sexual violence. I encourage you to write about living as a “survivor” but also the ways in which you navigate and celebrate not being a “typical” survivor (as I am sure most of us are not, by the larger societal definition.)

I believe that organizing from the center of our many different and overlapping marginalized communities could do nothing but improve the current anti- sexual violence movement.

I am looking for pieces 1200- 2000 words, Times New Roman Size 12, double-spaced in length. Upon publication, I will supply moderate compensation for pieces picked. Also, please provide a short bio (150 words or less) with your submission.

Please send submissions and/ or questions to queeringsexualviolence@gmail.com by March 31, 2010. For extension requests, please write.

Justice for Dr. Tiller

2010-01-29T13:19:00.000-05:00

Scott Roeder was convicted today of the murder of Dr. George Tiller.

I'm not really in a celebratory mood; I'm glad that the jury delivered justice for Dr. Tiller's family, but a doctor, father, husband, and friend is still dead. Those who work for abortion providers are still at risk every time they go to work...or sometimes even when they think they're safe at home. I'll echo the sentiments in Planned Parenthood's tweet after the verdict was delivered: "We strive for the day when women can enter clinics without fear of harassment and doctors can provide care without threat of violence."

On this day, I hope for the safety and peace of Dr. Tiller's family and of reproductive health care providers around the country. And on this day, I remain committed to ensuring that women have safe access to this necessary legal procedure, and sexual and reproductive health care in general.

remembering Ariel, less-than-profound thoughts on loss, and thankfulness journals

2010-01-23T16:16:00.000-05:00

This is the service they held for Ariel Grace Lawson, on Monday, January 11th, at her alma mater (my sorta-alma-mater, though I transferred out after they went coed in 2004), Wells College. I couldn't afford to travel back for the service, but Wells videotaped it and posted it online. It's here:

Celebration of the life of Ariel Lawson, Wells Class of 2008 from Wells College on Vimeo.

kim, her partner, was one of my first friends at wells, and one of the closest. i've talked to her a few times since ariel died, and she's doing mostly ok, but i never know what to say, other than "i love you," which seems so incredibly inadequate. what do you say to someone who just lost the love of their life? when that love of her life was only 23 fucking years old?
death is hard enough when it's someone old, a grandma or a parent who's at that age where, well, people die. but there's something so much more fucked up about it when it's a 23-year-old girl.
like i said. these are not exactly profound thoughts on loss. but there they are.

as i cried my way through watching the service on that video, one of the things from that video inspired me. kim, ariel's sister, and a couple of ariel's friends read from ariel's Thankful Journal. every night, ariel would write in this journal a few of the things she was thankful for. one day, she wrote "i am thankful for flowers, love, and Mylanta." little things or big things or serious things or silly things. the point was to remember all the things you have to be grateful for. she and kim would do their thankful-fors every night when they went to bed. kim told me it was one of her favorite things that she and ari had done together, that it really kept her grounded.
i started a thankful journal. i'm writing in it every night. just a few things, serious and not, big and little, every day. this was my entry the other day:
I am thankful for: weather above -17ºF, wells sisterhood (which is insanely strong), deep breaths, and facebook.

it's such a simple idea, but committing to writing in it every night, really being mindful of all of the good things that are there, all mixed in with the not so good things...is a pretty powerful thing.

thank you, ariel, for that inspiration.

profound post-mortem thoughts

2010-01-12T09:47:00.000-05:00

or, at least, that's what I feel like I should have for this blog today.

a beautiful, dear friend of mine died on saturday, january 9th. i still don't know all of the "how" or "why," but Ariel was in a bad car accident late Friday night. she was on life support through saturday, when her partner and her family decided to let her go.
Ariel was 23.

i feel like these things should elicit some profound realizations about life, its brevity and fragility, about love, about the importance of staying in touch, about the importance of expressing that love.

and it did, kind of.
before I became a Smithie, I spent 2 years at Wells College, in Aurora NY. Wells women are easily some of the most amazing women I know. the way that we've all come together over the past couple days is incredible, and speaks volumes of the bond that sisterhood can create. i've told more people how much I love them over the past couple days than I have over the past year. and i'm so thankful for the people i have in my life, for the Wells women I still have, for the family and friends that i love so much.

maybe that's all of the profound wisdom that can come of something so senseless. maybe that's it.

she was only 23.
i miss you, ariellie.

post-thanksgiving giving of thanks

2009-11-30T00:17:00.000-05:00

This is kind of blog-cheating, because I posted this on facebook already. To make up for the kinda-cheating, I'm elaborating - a little - on some of these "i'm thankful for" bullet points (and, of course, editing out some of the identifying information).

giving thanks. 2009.
so, sure, thanksgiving's past is steeped in really f-ed up politics of pilgrims "civilizing" the native people they came upon when they landed on this country, and celebrating thanksgiving with pilgrim hats and fake-traditional native headdresses is beyond offensive. i could go on and on about how we celebrate a time that resulted in mass genocide of native peoples and their cultures. there's certainly a place for that.

but i'm not going to go there right now, because thanksgiving may have a f-ed up history, but it's become something very different. giving thanks is something i (we) should be doing every day, but there's nothing wrong with having an entire day devoted to eating delicious food and giving thanks for the blessings in our lives.

so, a completely cliche but also completely necessary exercise in thanks giving:

I Am Thankful For:

the family that i've found in massachusetts. even when it's not easy, it's still the closest thing to family that i've got, and they're still a better family than i'd ever expected to find.
(this was one i was going to elaborate on, but...there's not much more to say. surprisingly enough for this verbose girl, simplicity sometimes best exposes the depth of emotion.)
northampton/home. i read tracy kidder's book, Home Town, a couple months ago, and i got wicked homesick. that "homesick" thing is kinda new. it's pretty amazing to have a hometown i can be homesick for.
coffee. no, really. everything about it: the making and the drinking. i love making pretty and delicious coffee drinks at my lovely cafes (both home in northampton and here in kansas city), and i really love drinking it. i'm so thankful for this wonderful beverage and all of its incarnations.
courage. that is, having the courage to extract myself from a family that was toxic. my lovely friend wrote this post over at feministing last week, about taking a risk and being prepared to be wrong, as she did when she left home before graduating high school. i'm thankful that i had the courage to take that much-needed step away/step toward the rest of my life.
Reproductive health care providers (including abortion providers), and the political movement that helps them to keep their doors open. mostly, I'm thankful for their existence in general. but more selfishly, I'm thankful for the really satisfying employment that they offer me. the people i work with in this movement are really incredible, and the people i get to work with across the states of kansas and missouri are some of the best & most amazing people i know.
eleanor maya (the cat). and, last week, emma (the denver dog). ellie makes my life in kansas city so much more bearable and less lonely. emma is...well, she's emma, and totally adorable, and totally a pup i'd drive 9 hours to denver to pet-sit anytime. (as long as it's at her owner-mama's house -- she would eat my cat if given the chance.)
i'm thankful that ellie is exactly as cuddly and snuggly as i need her to be...even if that cuddle means i will forever have a light layer of cat hair on every item of clothing i own.
pumpkin-based foods. like the beyond delicious pumpkin-apple-butter pie (with streusel topping) i made for thanksgiving this year, and christmas last year, and will make for pretty much every holiday it fits into. (from allrecipes.com) pumpkin pies and pumpkin bread and pumpkin cookies and pumpkin muffins and pumpkin spice egg nog and pumpkin butter and and and... yum.
related: egg nog. it's now after thanksgiving, so i've now given myself permission to buy my first bottle of egg nog. unlike most people, i never reach that "too much egg nog" state. i'll continue to buy egg nog, at least a quart a week, until they stop making it. this year, i'm SO SO STOKED to be living in kansas city, where i have access to the most delicious egg nog i've ever had, from Shatto Milk Company. if i gain extra weight during the holiday season, it's not from holiday meals -- i eat pretty normally through the season. it's from egg nog. (straight up, no rum. rum only distorts and distracts from the deliciousness of the egg nog.)
smith college. the education i got there, the connections i made, and the smith connection that continues past graduation.
also: the financial ability to attend smith, thanks in large part to the generous aid package they offered me. sure, i'll probably be paying off student loans until i die, but i was able to get those grants and loans, and i was able to make smith college a financial possibility.
and, of course, my friends. the people who make being in kansas city bearable, the people who make life in general so much better. from old friends that go back to preschool to the ones i just made out midwest/west (Denver). there are some really incredible people in my life, and i'm really grateful that they're around.

What a feminist bibliophile coffee connoisseur's dreams are made of

2009-10-31T00:54:00.012-04:00

The wonderful thing about almost-impossible dreams is that even if it's 100% not feasible (at least not yet), it's still surprisingly fulfilling to daydream about. It doesn't cost a thing to make plans or have ideas.

I have a new pie-in-the-sky dream to daydream about.
The last time I had a dream this pie-in-the-sky (we're talking, like, Balloon Boy altitude here) was two and a half years ago.
During my summer internship in DC, my Smithie roommates and I were daydreaming about a nonprofit based in the Bay Area that would serve mostly (though not exclusively) female victims of domestic and sexual violence. We even drew up some google documents. Lauren even took some time out of her internship on the Hill (during the slow time of August recess) to create some business plans in a binder, and did extensive research on 501(c)(3) certification and the political/lobbying limitations of such a nonprofit classification. We talked at length about the mission statement, and whether it would encompass only direct services or expand into policy advocacy and grassroots activism, and if the latter, what kind of lobbying we could & couldn't do as a (c)(3) nonprofit. (What can I say? We were total nerds like that. This is why I count these women as some of the best friends I'll ever have.)

That dream's not quite as compelling anymore; we all found our passions in slightly different forms of feminism. Both Lauren & Elizabeth are in law school on opposite coasts, and here I am in the middle, the underpaid and overworked grassroots organizer doing my best to stretch the hours long enough to make these red states slightly friendlier - or at least not more hostile - to the idea of reproductive freedom.

So we're all in different places, and I'm not sure what Lauren's & Elizabeth's dreams are anymore. (Are law students even allowed to have dreams?)

While I love my job and I love the politics of Kansas & Missouri (it's exhilarating to work in the same states as Great-White-Hope Lynn Jenkins (R-KS) and the always lovely Hunger-is-a-Positive-Motivator Cynthia Davis (R-MO), among other d-bags), it's not perfect. I think it's the flatness. Maybe if I were down near Springfield and Joplin, with the Ozarks closer, it'd be better. But then...I'd be near Joplin. And, well, no thanks.

So a girl gets to daydreaming.

Mostly, I daydream about Denver. There's something about that place that just snuck into my heart and set up camp there, like a really wonderful heartworm. Or maybe some metaphor less parasitic, but it's late, and that's what I've got.

But yesterday, a new and exciting daydream entered the picture.
I happened upon this lovely twitterer, @SugarAndSass. Well, to be accurate, she happened upon me, started following me, and I followed my email notification to check her out.

Eventually, it led me to her blog.
Here's her profile:

Um. Hi, soul mate. What's up?

I sent her a short direct message on twitter (lemme tell you, it's hard to convey the message of "Oh my god, I think you and I may be soul mates. I love your idea, and I think you might have stolen my dream. Tell me more about your dream coffee shop/bookstore/sex ed resource/awesomesauce establishment so that we can geek out over feminist coffee sweet greatness together? Email me at this address." in 140 characters or less. I ended up using 2 direct messages. Totally bad Twitter etiquette [twitiquette?], I know.), and she sent me a long email in response.

After telling me her pie-in-the-sky ideas (notice how I'm using the word "pie" a lot when referring to a potential bakery? so clever, i am), she asked me to share mine.

Well.
They're all of 24 hours in the making, but here goes.

Here are my passions, sortakinda in order:

Reproductive justice.
Specifically: truly comprehensive sex education.
Also specifically: abortion access / rights.
Also specifically: anti-violence & anti-rape work / working to subvert the rape culture.
Also specifically: all of the intersectional oppressions in the above (esp sexuality and race).
Books. (Under "religious views" on facebook, I wrote "used books." For real.)
Really good coffee. ← this requires, of course, fairly traded and locally roasted beans.
Really good local food products. And supporting local businesses in general.
Chocolatey baked goods. Creamy baked goods. Pumpkiny baked goods. Fruity baked goods. Sweet baked goods. Savory baked goods. Fancy baked goods. Everyday baked goods. (←both eating and baking. Mostly, eating.)
Activism around all of the above, particularly the repro justice related passions. Grassroots, community-based -- both within the community and empowering the community to take their demands up to decision-makers.
Transforming this movement/these movements into something emotionally sustainable for the activists within it.
Bringing an aspect of healing (personal, community, etc) into social justice & repro justice activism.

So.
In an ideal world, all of these things would come together into one beautiful endeavor that's both successful and immensely fulfilling on every level.
And since we're dreaming here, let's go for it.

At their best, cafés and bookstores that truly focus on what's local can bring the community together. (See, for example, my alma mater café, the Cup and Top Café in western MA.)
And at their best, organizations that want to achieve reproductive justice on a community level are tapped in and can respond to the real needs and wants of their communities, and their communities, in turn, rely on these repro justice organizations.
Way I see it, you've got two ways to gain power and be influential: have lots of money or have lots of people. The former is never going to be the case for most social justice organizations (unless I find a social justice minded heiress to be my endeavor's sugar mama). So community buy-in and trust and loyalty is a must.

That's the coffee portion of it. I love cafés and barista-ing, a love that started with my C&T above and continues with my café here in KC, so of course I'm going to bring that in.

The rest of it isn't so clear yet, and is still kind of a jumble of awesome ideas that probably don't jumble together into a feasible business plan.
But here's what would be lovely:

Smallish, cozy shop. Room enough for a regular coffee shop near the front. Lots of windows for window art by local artists. (Or maybe visiting ones, like my friend em jollie?)
The shop part will be part used bookstore, part coffee shop. Maybe the bookstore would instead be a lending library, with the option to buy?
The rest of the building / space not in use for food service / retail would be open office / workshop space. Workshops for parents and kids on how to talk about sex. Workshops for victims/survivors on how to honor the past and channel it into something positive. Creative workshops with a focus on healing/social justice (maybe with visiting artsy classes by my friend Dana or writing workshops by my friend Tanya?). Action camps for activists to hone their community organizing/activist skills. Workshops on repro justice in general. Sex ed classes for adults. Sex ed classes for legislators (they seem to need it the most sometimes). Speakouts on sexual violence. Speakouts on abortion. Accountability sessions with legislators around repro justice issues that affect the local community.

I could keep going with these possibilities forever, I'm sure.
And I'll probably keep listing them in my head as I go to bed tonight, too.

I really love dreaming about this endeavor.

And apparently, other people like the dream, too.

Within 5 minutes of posting a brief musing on Facebook, 2 people "liked" the status and 2 promised me their business. Within an hour, I had an offer from an old college classmate to be my baker. By the end of the day, I had someone suggest I find a partner or manager (subtly offering to be said partner maybe?).

I don't think I'd ever want to or be able to take the financial risk of opening my own business.
But.
Hmmmmmmmmmm.

Sen Kit Bond doesn't care about rape victims

2009-10-19T14:18:00.002-04:00

The note below is the letter I sent to Sen Kit Bond today in response to his "no" vote on the Franken Amendment.

First, watch the Daily Show segment calling out those who voted against Franken's amendment to protect rape victims:

The Daily Show With Jon Stewart

Mon - Thurs 11p / 10c

Rape-Nuts

www.thedailyshow.com

Daily Show
Full Episodes

Political Humor

Ron Paul Interview

Feel free to copy & paste what you want -- or write your own letter -- and send to your own Senator if they were one of the 30 male Republican senators who voted against S.Amdt. 2588. (Find your Senator's vote here.)

I cannot WAIT to replace this man with Robin Carnahan.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------

Senator Bond:

I'm writing to express my extreme disappointment with your vote two weeks ago on Senator Franken's amendment (S Amdt 2588) to the Defense Appropriations Bill (HR 3326). You, along with 29 of your male Republican colleagues, voted against his non-controversial amendment to protect rape victims. His amendment will deny the granting of federal funds to contractors that prohibit their employees from pursuing their full due process rights for certain crimes.
Your "nay" vote on this amendment protects these companies, putting their financial needs above the needs and rights of their employees. It troubles me that one of my Senators, elected to represent me and the people of my state, would prioritize corporations over rape victims.

There are a lot of things I do not understand about your vote, and I am genuinely curious to hear the reasons behind the decision to vote against this amendment.

I heard one of your colleagues argue on the floor that this bill targets Halliburton, and is a political move against one corporation. This amendment, though it does mention Halliburton by name, does not limit its scope to one corporation. Any company found to be participating in these practices would be denied federal funds.
The denial of federal funds due to unethical practices is nothing new. You voted "yes" to Amdt 2355 to HR 3288, prohibiting federal funds from going to ACORN. This adds a particularly troubling aspect to your vote: You are willing to deny ACORN funds based on the unethical actions of some of its employees. You are not willing to deny Halliburton or KBR or other similar companies funds based on the unethical official company policy.

The fact that it seems as though you are willing to side with large corporations over rape victims scares me. Last year in Missouri, one rape was committed every 5.5 hours (this number does not count any unreported or statutory rapes, or rape committed against male victims).* It concerns me that a representative of a state with such a serious problem with rape would not take the needs of rape victims seriously.

Sincerely,
Jen L.
Kansas City, MO

*MO's 2008 crime statistics on rape can be found here: http://www.mshp.dps.mo.gov/MSHPWeb/SAC/pdf/2008CrimeInMO.pdf

how to write about rape & sexual abuse

2009-10-16T23:12:00.008-04:00

But first:

How NOT To Write About Rape & Sexual Abuse
I'm sure that with a simple overview of my internet history from the past couple weeks, I could come up with a list of about 50 articles from mainstream media sources that exemplify the utter failure of most journalists to accurately and sensitively write about issues of rape, sexual abuse, and sexual violence.

I don't have the time or the patience to compile that list, though, so I'll just stick with the one that most infuriated me.
This story is also local to Kansas City, as is the better one I'll highlight below.

On October 11, the Kansas City Star printed a story from NY Times writer Michael Cieply. The KC Star version wasn't published online, but it was an abbreviated version of the full article, published on the NYT website here.
Surprisingly enough, the full version is actually slightly less offensive than the abbreviated version that the KC Star published. They left out some of the (still problematic) nuance that Cieply provided, giving a vomit-inducing, unmistakable narrative of "gee darn, no more sex with the young'uns! Weren't the good old days grand?"
For proof, I give you this picture of the headline subtitle that I took with my phone, as seen in the print version of the Star on Sunday, Oct 11th:

I hate how often I need to say this, but it seems to bear repeating. Again.
Rape. Is. Not. Sex.
Polanski did not "have sex" with the victim. Even the article itself includes this line (though it's mentioned & not addressed again): "...even while acknowledging that the victim [name redacted] had offered grand jury testimony of forcible rape."
Cieply's article was bad enough in its original form.
And somehow, the KC Star managed to take a terrible article and make it even more offensive.

Now, I get to the better part. A publication that is responsible AND responsive. This is also partially a story of how much I love Twitter.

How To Write About Rape & Sexual Abuse
On Thursday, Oct 15th, the Pitch Plog's Twitter feed (pulled directly from their postings) showed this:

Whoa.
Fail.
I was pretty sure that "child sex" was a misnomer, so I followed the link (the pic above is linked to the tweet pictured). Sure enough, the article that followed the misleading headline was in fact about a child sexual abuse case. The copy of the article was actually pretty well-done - factual and to the point, without any offensive mentions of "sex" with children.
I expected better from the Pitch, which is one of KC's local more alt-news papers. They're generally pretty liberal and responsible when they cover serious issues like this.

So, in a display of what I was pretty sure was naïveté, I sent this reply tweet to the Pitch:

And here's the part where I love the immediacy of Twitter.
Within a couple of hours, the headline had been corrected, and read as follows:
Settlement reached in child sex abuse case naming former KC bishop
Yes!
Thank you, Pitch. (And yes, I thanked them on Twitter, too.)
I wish all media sources were as responsive when it came to journalistic sensitivity and responsibility around sexual violence.

Oh, and I received this lovely direct message from @pitchplog on Thursday night:

There you have it.
It IS possible to get it right, and to admit when you've been wrong.
Well done, Pitch.
(Disappointed, KC Star.)

quick hit: rape culture 101

2009-10-09T19:49:00.005-04:00

So much has been said lately in the media about sexual abuse.
Unsurprisingly, the media has more often than not been pretty awful in their reporting. (See, for a quick example, MSNBC's story on Tyler Perry's revelations of childhood physical, sexual, and emotional abuse in which they describe his abuse as being "seduced" by a friend's mother at age 10. Yes. "Seduced." MSNBC: You cannot seduce a 10-year-old.)

There's a lot I could write about, from Mackenzie Phillips' memoir that reveals the drug- and alcohol-fueled sexual abuse by her father to Tyler Perry's recent revelations of childhood abuse to the debacle with Roman Polanski finally being (re-)arrested for the rape he committed 30-some-odd years ago.

But I won't, for now.
I don't have the emotional and mental space to hold all of that today. It's been a tough week.

Instead, I implore you to read Liss' post over at Shakesville. Read it. This is not one that you should pass over. This is one that every person who interacts with any other human being needs to read.

Rape Culture 101.

A long-ish teaser:

Rape culture is 1 in 33 men being sexually assaulted in their lifetimes. Rape culture is encouraging men to use the language of rape to establish dominance over one another ("I'll make you my bitch"). Rape culture is making rape a ubiquitous part of male-exclusive bonding. Rape culture is ignoring the cavernous need for men's prison reform in part because the threat of being raped in prison is considered an acceptable deterrent to committing crime, and the threat only works if actual men are actually being raped.

Rape culture is 1 in 6 women being sexually assaulted in their lifetimes. Rape culture is not even talking about the reality that many women are sexually assaulted multiple times in their lives. Rape culture is the way in which the constant threat of sexual assault affects women's daily movements. Rape culture is telling girls and women to be careful about what you wear, how you wear it, how you carry yourself, where you walk, when you walk there, with whom you walk, whom you trust, what you do, where you do it, with whom you do it, what you drink, how much you drink, whether you make eye contact, if you're alone, if you're with a stranger, if you're in a group, if you're in a group of strangers, if it's dark, if the area is unfamiliar, if you're carrying something, how you carry it, what kind of shoes you're wearing in case you have to run, what kind of purse you carry, what jewelry you wear, what time it is, what street it is, what environment it is, how many people you sleep with, what kind of people you sleep with, who your friends are, to whom you give your number, who's around when the delivery guy comes, to get an apartment where you can see who's at the door before they can see you, to check before you open the door to the delivery guy, to own a dog or a dog-sound-making machine, to get a roommate, to take self-defense, to always be alert always pay attention always watch your back always be aware of your surroundings and never let your guard down for a moment lest you be sexually assaulted and if you are and didn't follow all the rules it's your fault.

autumn is the most delicious season

2009-10-06T00:27:00.003-04:00

Quick update, 'cause there's a lot happening that should probably be recorded.

So, here's September, in a very small nutshell that's probably leaving out a lot:

I went home! I spent a glorious day and a half in lovely Northampton with the fam before heading to a weekend conference. I got a fantastic massage from my masseuse, paid for in part with gift certificates from my friend-mom's café. (i really wish i had a title for her. friend doesn't work, but surrogate mom is awkward, and i'm not sure what's in between.) It was really, really wonderful.

The weekend conference I went to was the amazing Women & Power conference at the Omega Women's Institute in Rhinebeck, NY.

The theme was "connecting across the generations," and I met some absolutely incredible people. One of my roommates there, Nina, is a freelance writer for WireTap. I met Katie, a 17-year-old high school senior from outside Boston. She started her own nonprofit when she was 14. No, really. Now 501(c)3 official and has spread across the country and everything. Minga is a completely youth-run nonprofit that empowers other youth to take action against the child sex trade. Ann from Feministing and I had a bonding moment over midwestern feminists. (There weren't many of us there. And we're kind of amazing.)
There were so many other incredible people there, I can't even begin to explain. Feministing live-blogged the whole thing, which was great. And we really did connect across the generations. Sure, there were problems. There was a serious lack of queer representation, for one. But it was great, and amazing, and on and on and on.
AND Omega is absolutely beautiful. Mmm.

My heart broke a little bit when the fam drove me to the airport on Monday afternoon. It breaks a little bit every time I leave my beloved valley next to the Berkshires. And then it melted when my 5-year-old little bro wouldn't let me go to get through security. And when he reached for his mama's wallet so he could "use all your money so jen can stay."
Broken, melty heart all over the place. What a mess.

Two days after I got back to KC, I left again, this time for Denver. First was a training for work -- we're switching data management to the VAN, which my inner geek couldn't be happier about. And then I stayed in Denver for the rest of the weekend with my friend. I spent the day wandering around downtown, we went to a show, I met & kissed a cute girl, we went to brunch, we hiked Red Rocks, and it was wonderful. As Denver always is.

And I decided that I'm 95% sure that Denver will be the next stop on this journey. (Always leave 5% of certainty to unexpected twists of fate.) Possibly, this will be soon. My beloved employer, like most employers and most nonprofits, is having a rough time, financially. The future of my position in the organization is no longer sure, and is currently only funded through a grant that will end soon. I could stay here in Kansas City if I lose my job. A friend offered to help me get a job at the used bookstore chain he manages -- which, to be honest, is a pretty close second to the work I'm so passionate about doing now. I could stay here and volunteer at what would then be my former employer and make my money slinging coffee and selling books.

But I would have to want to stay in Kansas City.
And, to be honest?
I don't.
It's not that there aren't amazing people here -- there absolutely are. I'm amazed and in love with a lot of the incredible, wonderful people I've met here. And some of them will hopefully stay in my life after I leave.
And it's not that I'm unhappy -- I absolutely love my work. I love the politics of these red states. I love the challenge of finding common ground. I love that it's not east coast politics, and not everyone thinks alike. I love the political champions I've met, and I'm impressed by their willingness to stand up, even in the face of the secret hotbed of crazy that is Missouri and the sometimes-violence that is Kansas.

But the place doesn't feel right.
I didn't know that place could have such a profound impact. Or maybe I did, but I thought maybe if you carried "home" and love with you, place wouldn't be a big deal. There's just something about Kansas City that doesn't fit with me, with who I am. Maybe it's the energy. I think it has a lot to do with the flatness. I grew up in the foothills of the Alleghenies and found home in the foothills of the Berkshires. There's beauty in the flatness, but it just doesn't feel right. I couldn't settle down here. I've learned and am learning so much, and I've grown and am growing so much. But I'm almost ready to go, to move on to the next thing.

Denver, though. Denver feels right. For one: mountains. Serious mountains. The Rockies don't mess around. For another: the feel of the city. The energy of it. It fits.

I mean, look at this place. It looks like a postcard, but I swear, this is real. I took it with my own camera and saw it with my own two eyes.

News Flash: Operation Rescue Lies

2009-08-30T19:20:00.023-04:00

Surprising, right?

Yesterday, my friend Taylor and I trekked up to Bellevue, NE (outside of Omaha) to join almost 200 pro-choicers from around the country (17 states!) to defend Dr. LeRoy Carhart's clinic, the Abortion & Contraception Clinic of Nebraska (ACCON).

It was an amazing experience, and I do want to write more about everything that happened, from the insane to the inspiring, but that'll have to wait.

Because Operation Rescue posted a story on their website today, detailing yesterday's events. I'm not entirely sure where they were yesterday, but the events they're reporting on is certainly not the same Operation Rescue-protest / clinic defense that I witnessed/participated in on Saturday the 29th.

Now, it's not that it surprises me that Operation Rescue would lie in their account of what happened; they're notoriously good at stretching the truth and falsifying things and filing false charges. I expected them to try to spin this weekend's events into an OR-sympathetic story.

But the lies in the story are just too egregious to not address.

So, point by point, as thoroughly as I can while maintaining my composure, here's how it really went down.
I don't want to link to them, because I don't want to drive any traffic their way, so instead, I'll do an old-fashioned copy & paste.

Successful Event Exposes Illegal Activity at Cahart’s [sic] Abortion Mill, Saves A Life

* Written by Operation Rescue * Posted August 30, 2009 at 4:10 pm

“Keep it Closed” campaign continues to bear fruit

Bellevue, NE – Amid pro-abortion hysteria and media over-hype, Operation Rescue, Nebraskans United for Life, and Rescue the Heartland conducted two days of peaceful activities in the Omaha Metro area, which successfully drew attention to accusations of illegal activities at LeRoy Carhart’s Bellevue abortion clinic that have been alleged by four of his former employees.

The event was bolstered by an investigative report printed in the Omaha World-Herald on Friday morning that broke the story that the former abortion workers had voluntarily come forward to blow the whistle on Carhart’s illegal practices, which they said included allowing unlicensed staff to perform medical duties, and the existence of filthy conditions, such as dried blood on surgical instruments laid out to be used during abortions.

Those women also contacted Operation Rescue and Rescue the Heartland and are working with the groups to get their information to the appropriate authorities. (Read previous story.)

I don't doubt that these are also fabricated allegations, which is annoying, but the burden of proof is on Newman & his so-called "whistleblowers" to prove these allegations aren't the pile of b.s. I suspect they are.

I can say, however, that Dr. Carhart's clinic is one of the cleanest clinics I've been inside. (Yes, it could use some paint on the outside and some parking lot grooming, but that's not really a top priority for the clinic when they're concerned about their doc getting shot. The inside is very clean and well-kept and welcoming.) You don't have to take it from me; he offered a clinic tour to a local news station, reported (in print) here: Exclusive: Controversial Abortion Clinic Gives Us Tour.

Press conference and a “staggering” list of allegations

The three pro-life groups held a press conference on Friday afternoon and released a list of allegations that one news station called “staggering,” detailing the allegations and the applicable Nebraska Criminal Statutes and Regulations. Because media attendance at the press conference exceeded expectations, the conference had to be moved to a larger space. (“Must see” news report and video.)

Representatives from Operation Rescue and Rescue the Heartland then met with the Bellevue Police Department, which was very cooperative. At Operation Rescue’s request, the police agreed to keep pro-abortion counter-protesters separated from the pro-life groups, because of security concerns on the part of the pro-lifers. Operation Rescue staff members have received dozens of death threats, a concern that was raised with the police.

The orange fence at Dr. Carhart's property line was not erected because of OR's so-called "security concerns." The orange fence was there to delineate the property line in order to better enforce the FACE Act (Freedom of Access to Clinic Entrances) and easily identify violations. Needless to say, the Bellevue PD wasn't so concerned about pro-choice activists violating FACE.

The police agreed to keep an eye on the protests because, well, maybe you forgot, but AN ABORTION PROVIDER WAS KILLED BY A "PRO-LIFER" THREE MONTHS AGO. Not because they were concerned about what we pro-choicers might do.

It drives me crazy that I have to continue to belabor this point, but only one side of this debate has a history of killing people for their beliefs. That's not us. Those are your people, Operation Rescue.

It is true that at first, none of us were to be allowed on clinic property; the clinic had concerns about liability if we were escorting patients or standing at the edge of the property to hold the line. The clinic changed their mind, though, when the date came closer. They didn't want us standing shoulder to shoulder with the antis, people like Jennifer McCoy, a convicted clinic arsonist who has been visiting Scott Roeder in jail.

THAT's why we were separated by the orange fence.
Not because the cops were really on their side and afraid of what we'd do while trying to protect patients and the clinic.

A Vision for Victory

Friday evening about 100 supporters attended a rally at St. Cecelia’s Cathedral where Opertion Rescue President Troy Newman encouraged the Omaha area pro-life community to press on with their already fruitful efforts to save the lives of innocent children from abortion and to make their community abortion free through the use of peaceful, legal means. Newman imparted a well-received vision for victory to the group.

Because making the Wichita community abortion-free, a fact that Troy rejoices quite openly in, happened so peacefully and legally.
Right.
Direct quote from Troy as we chanted "Welcome! Welcome! This clinic will stay open!":
"I do love the 'this clinic stays open' signs and chants. Because you know, the last time I heard that was at Dr Tiller's mill. Hahahaha."
The laugh at the end was a full, legit laugh. Not entirely forced, with a hint of joy in it. There may have been malice there, but I was a little too distracted by my disgust in Troy Newman as a person to try to analyze all the components of that creepy laugh.

Much anticipated “protest”

Saturday morning two Truth Trucks joined about fifty pro-lifers outside Carhart’s dilapidated abortion clinic in Bellevue where pro-abortion counter-protesters had been bussed in by national abortion groups. While pro-lifers prayed and sang hymns, abortion supporters chanted “Welcome, welcome. This clinic stays open!” and cheered each time a women entered the clinic to kill her pre-born child.

Nobody was bussed in. There were carpools that came from around the midwest and a few people who flew from far away, but we didn't just grab people off the street and throw them on a bus headed for Nebraska.

Oh, and by the way, Troy? Did you forget that you're not from Nebraska either?

“It’s pretty sick when someone cheers the fact that an innocent child is about to die,” said Operation Rescue President Troy Newman. “These people desperately need Jesus to help them rediscover their moral compasses.”

Not that it really needs to be said, but: our cheers were for clinic workers, who we are very thankful for. My moral compass is just fine. Moral compasses that point to harassing abortion providers, their staff, and clinic escorts and defenders? That's one that I'd say needs a little tweaking.

The outreach was never promoted as a large protest by the participating pro-life groups. It was instead an outreach to offer abortion-bound women help, compassion, and practical help, and to be a witness to the community to the devastating effects of abortion.

“Misguided abortion folks seemed to process our peaceful intentions through their hysteria filter and the result was overreaction and amped up rhetoric that completely missed the mark of what was really going on. Even at that, their predicted hundreds of counter-protesters never materialized, while we drew over twice as many people as we predicted on our side,” said Newman.

So the pro-choice movement is taking seriously any well-publicized call for donations and clinic siege / "outreach" from a group that has clear ties to the man who killed Dr. Tiller. That's hysteria?
Well, give me a diagnosis and an old-school electromechanical vibrator and call me hysterical.

At this point, I don't think that any pro-choice reaction to Operation Rescue tactics can be considered an "overreaction."
Your side is killing us, and has been threatening us daily for 36 years.
We're going to take that seriously.

“The news about the clinic workers blowing the whistle on Carhart’s dangerous and illegal abortion business really took the wind out of their sails.”

A baby saved and privacy violated

Carhart did not inform his patients that there would be protesters at his clinic. One woman who had scheduled an abortion was frightened by the pro-abortion protesters who repeatedly screamed and called her name over a bullhorn. A pro-life sidewalk counselor was able to ask the woman and her friend to pull into the crisis pregnancy center across the street from Carhart’s clinic, which they did.

So many blatant lies.
1st, Yes, of course Dr. Carhart informed his patients that Operation Rescue was planning on staging a very visual protest (i.e. Truth Trucks et al) this weekend. He also informed them that there would be clinic defenders.

2nd, We did not call anyone's name over a bullhorn. We didn't even have a bullhorn. One woman did go into the CPC while we were at Dr Carhart's clinic, but I'm willing to bet that this woman was a plant by the antis so they could enhance their media circus with a fake little story and resulting sonogram.
We chanted "Welcome, Welcome, This clinic will stay open." That's it. Other than clinic escorts helping patients from their cars to the door and trying to block their faces from the antis, nobody spoke directly to the patients.
Big fat lie.

The woman received support and counseling from the staff of the pro-life help center and made the decision not to abort her baby. She signed a written release authorizing the distribution of a sonographic image of her pre-born baby to protesters and indicated she was interested in filing a complaint against Carhart’s clinic for violating her right to privacy by making her name available to pro-abortion protesters and others.

“So much for a woman’s right to privacy,” said Newman. “This woman felt violated by the lack of consideration for her privacy on the part of the abortion clinic supporters. In the end, they drove her to us where we were able to get her the help and support she needed to make the decision to keep her child.”

As far as privacy goes, there was one side that was violating privacy. It wasn't us.
The photo on the left is from the Omaha World-Herald story and is of our friend Troy, and I took the photo on the right of another anti-choice videographer that morning.
The OW-H's caption: Counter protesters block the view of Troy Newman, president of Operation Rescue, as he attempts to take pictures of a vehicle arriving at the clinic, during the protest in front of the Abortion and Contraception Clinic of Nebraska in Bellevue. KENT SIEVERS/THE WORLD-HERALD
Mr Potatohead on the right was also pointing his camera at cars in the parking lot and at the patients as they entered the clinic.

|
(click images to enlarge)

We filmed and photographed the antis. We did not film or photograph patients or their license plates. That's what these guys do.

Blind to the truth

Newman attempted to distribute the sonogram images of the saved baby to abortion supporters, but each time his words seemed to strike a nerve, the pro-aborts began to chant.

“They couldn’t even look at the picture of that precious baby. They simply are blind to the truth. The fact that they can stand in front of that dump of an abortion clinic, which has been accused of committing illegal and unsafe acts that have endangered the lives and safety of women, shows that they are not willing to face reality. The look of the place alone should have scared them away,” said Newman.

“It shows that this blind support for Carhart amongst radical abortion groups is not about what is best for women. It is about perpetuating abortion at any cost, even if it means breaking the law and hurting the women whose so-called rights they pretend to support. If they really cared about women, they would be joining us in calling for the closure of Carhart’s shoddy abortion business.”

Blah blah blah, pro-choicers really hate women (which is why a lot of us also identify as feminists, right?). Blah blah, Troy is the only one who really cares, blah blah blah.

Closed-door training session

After a morning of peaceful outreach at the abortion clinic, Operation Rescue met with local activists at an undisclosed location for a closed-door training session on how to employ the legal tools that are available to close abortion clinics. The session was well attended and received with energy and enthusiasm.

Improper detention

During the training session, police wrongly detained two of Operation Rescue’s Truth Truck drivers in the parking lot of a public school that was closed for the day, where they had parked due to lack of street parking. The pair was threatened with arrest for trespassing on the public property. Several people watching a local air show were also parked in the lot, but they were not detained or threatened with arrest. However, cooler heads soon prevailed, and the drivers were released without being charged and without further incident.

Aww. Cry me a frickin' river.
For one, I don't care what day it is, parking a truck with bloody fake fetuses on it in a SCHOOL parking lot is never ok. It might not be illegal, I'm not sure, but it's certainly inappropriate.
For another, maybe the police just hadn't been able to identify whose car was whose. Fetus trucks & their drivers are pretty easily identifiable and therefore pretty easy to give warnings to.

Success exceeded expectations

“This event was all about two things. First we wanted to expose the criminal and unsafe conditions at Carhart’s abortion clinic, which was done successful beyond expectations,” said Newman. “Secondly, we wanted to identify and train a core group of leaders who could continue to work within the legal system in Nebraska to bring Carhart to justice and see his clinic closed through peaceful, legal means. That goal was accomplished. The pro-life community in Nebraska are amazingly dedicated people who we are proud to work with.

“Then to have a baby saved at our morning outreach in spite of ranting pro-abortions, police SWAT teams, cordoned off streets, and every other impediment, we can confidently say that this was an amazing event that exceeded expectations. God was with us at every turn. We look forward to going back at some future time to continue our efforts.”

Wait. I thought the police were on your side, because they were protecting you from us. Were you afraid of the police in riot gear?
Were you afraid of the bomb-sniffing dogs of SWAT (if they were even officially SWAT)?
There's no reason to fear a bomb-sniffing dog unless you've got something to hide.
Care to share, Operation Rescue?

We were not ranting. We chanted. Know who did rant? The woman who asked Taylor if she had kids, and then when there was no response, if she had an STD. The ex-priest who told us just how badly we were going to burn in hell, called us babykillers and murderers and "the women who kill the babies." The ex-priest who violated FACE by kicking through the fence to knock down one of our signs, kicking me in the process, yelling about how I was "asking for trouble" and "going to rot in hell." (Do you rot if you're burning? If I'm already burning in hell, wouldn't that hold off the rot?) The woman who yelled "mommy, mommy, don't kill me!"

Those people "ranted."

We chanted and did not engage.
We did not harass the anti-choicers.

And as far as "successes" go? Pretty sure we won this round. We outnumbered them at least 3:1. Not an impressive showing on their part, even when they did advertise on the Army of God website.

Anyway.
Thanks for the promise to return to Bellevue, Troy.
Just let us know. We'll be back then, too.

Young Feminists VS. Older Feminists? Or Young Feminists WITH Older Feminists?

2009-08-22T22:45:00.003-04:00

2nd wave vs 3rd wave.
Old biddies vs young visionaries.
Wise women vs ungrateful little girls.
Maybe even: mother vs daughter.
"This is not your mother's feminism."
"Young women don't know what feminism is."

We've heard all of these before, from each side, staking out their territory in generational wars. This is nothing new. Feminism has been declared dead over and over, sometimes even by older women who've dedicated their lives to a feminism that no longer exists in the way they knew it.

I come to this...debate? disagreement? full-out fight?...as one of those supposedly ungrateful, lazy, selfish young feminists. I'll admit that I get awfully sick of the older generation disparaging my entire peer group, condescending to us, not trusting us, and refusing to pass on that torch.
But I do understand where a lot of the distrust comes from. I'll also admit that I do have peers who don't value the wisdom of the older generation, who don't want to be passed the torch so much as either rip the torch from the older feminists' hands or try to reinvent fire altogether.

This older generation of feminists that so distrusts my generation has been through a hell of a lot. They've had to fight like hell so that we don't have to fight quite so hard for the same things. Most of them were around when abortion was illegal, and know firsthand what exactly we'll lose if Roe falls. A lot of them were trailblazers in their field, entering predominantly male workforces and facing intense, overt discrimination. They might have been getting married when spousal rape was still perfectly legal. They've got stories to tell and wisdom to share. And yes, there are some in my generation who don't really care, but really: most of us do care.
It's a respect thing, but it's also just a logical strategic thing: if there's wisdom there, learn it. You don't need to reinvent the wheel.

This generation gap / fight / debate / disagreement / whatever is a little tiresome. For everyone. When we waste our energy fighting with each other over who gets to carry the torch, we sacrifice our ability to blaze any trails.

This is why I'm super stoked to be going to this conference at the Omega Institute in a few weeks:

Women & Power: Connecting Across the Generations. (video will automatically start playing)

The Women’s Institute at Omega is breaking new ground and bringing women of different generations together for one electrifying weekend. Featuring more than 34 amazing trailblazers, Women & Power: Connecting Across the Generations will get you charged up to make a difference in your life, your home, your community, and the world.

Join us for a weekend of celebration, uplifting speeches, entertainment, and panel discussions with women from different backgrounds and generations. Award-winning novelist Isabel Allende; Alberta Nells, youth leader of the Navajo Nation: feminist icon Gloria Steinem; singer/songwriter Natalie Merchant; and playwright, poet, activist, solo-performer, Sarah Jones; are just a few of the diverse women coming together to share, unite, and inspire.

It's got a pretty rockstar list of faculty:

Isabel Allende
Lori Barra
Maya Breuer
Cathy Collins
Ann Friedman
Carla Goldstein
Angela Hucles
Charreah Jackson
Sarah Jones
Jensine Larsen
Andrea Lee
Elizabeth Lesser
Jana Long
Donna Lopiano
Courtney Martin
Jessica Mendoza
Natalie Merchant
Pat Mitchell
Elisa Mott
Samhita Mukohopadhyay
Alberta Nells
Ana Nogales
Sarah Peter
Adrienne Ressler
Eliza Reynolds
Sil Reynolds
Lateefah Simon
Gloria Steinem
Gail Straub
Helen Thomas
Jessica Valenti
Vanessa Valenti
Sakena Yacoobi
Miriam Zolia Perez

Yeah.
My homegirl Gloria Steinem will be there!
And OMG. Helen Thomas. I have such a grandma-crush on her. (i.e. I would like for her to be my grandmother)
And Isabel Allende!
And and and and and...
I'm stoked.

How To Write About Abortion Providers

2009-08-16T00:06:00.005-04:00

There's been a lot of linking among my pro-choice friends to the article that ran in Esquire last week. The Last Abortion Doctor has made its rounds to pretty much every major feminist blog: Shakesville, feministing, Feministe, and I'm sure plenty of others. None really commented specifically on the article; their posts just sent readers in the direction of Richardson's craptastic article.
Yes, craptastic.
I don't know if I'm in the minority in thinking it was so awful. Lots of people commenting on these posts loved it. I know, though, that I wasn't the only one who really hated the way that John H. Richardson wrote about Dr. Warren Hern.

Dr. Hern is an abortion provider in Boulder, CO. He is one of very few doctors in the US that will perform late abortions, usually defined as after the 22nd or 24th week.
Dr. Hern is a wonderful doctor, and I'm more grateful than I can express that he's continuing to do his work after losing his friend and colleague, Dr. Tiller, to the same threats that he receives daily.

John Richardson, however, is a terrible writer and ruined what could have been a great profile article of the personal side of an abortion provider and the life he must lead just to be safe. Not only is the article riddled with inaccuracies, he insists on calling Dr. Hern "the abortionist," a vilifying term coined by the anti-choicers...and one that Dr. Hern explicitly requested he not use.

So, the subject? Fantastic. The actual article? Piece of crap.

(At least one blogger agrees, and wrote a great piece about all the reasons John Richardson's article was terrible: see Ema's post at The Well Timed Period.)

Today, I found another profile of another abortion provider who is now performing more late abortions. This time, it was written by a journalist who actually knows how to write without ruining really fantastic subject matter.
Newsweek created a video a couple weeks ago:

And Newsweek published an article yesterday, The Abortion Evangelist: Why LeRoy Carhart Won't Stop Doing Abortions.
Sarah Kliff, who has covered abortion-related issues for Newsweek for at least a couple years, did a fantastic job with the article. She spent time with Dr. Carhart, got to know him, and told his story. She turned him into a person, and crafted a simultaneously emotive and informative profile of Dr. Carhart. She understood abortion politics, did not refer to him as "an abortionist," and, well, acted like a professional journalist.

This is how you write a personal profile of a doctor who provides abortions.
This is a good article.

And when you want to write more of your own personal narrative in a journalistic context? You do what Sarah Kliff did, and write a separate piece about your experience in watching an abortion procedure. Read that one, too: Watching My First Abortion - Competing Emotions

Mapping Our Stories

2009-07-17T18:12:00.004-04:00

I absolutely love this idea and this project.

Ariel, a guest blogger at Feministe, came up with this great idea. Using Google Maps, she is having Feministe readers map all of the places where we feel strong on a collaborative google map. A collective geography of strength.

I love that.

It's already getting pretty well filled in, and she's had the post up for less than a day.

Check out the map here.

As with most new Google technologies and tricks and widgets and whatnot, now I really want to incorporate this into the rest of my life. (I've already hooked most of my coworkers on Google docs.) Google really is made of genius. Most days, I wish I were much geekier and knew more about computers so that I could go work at that Google castle in the sky...or wherever their HQ is at.

I think I want to map my story.
Ooh! I could also map the history of reproductive rights & reproductive justice in the US.
And, and...oh, the possibilities are endless.....

I may or may not post the link of my mapped out story. Working in repro justice in the midwest, so close to where Dr. Tiller was killed, I worry about what will make me even more identifiable and easier to target. (aside: how fucked up is it that I have to worry about these things??)

Either way, I fully support this kind of self-reflective geekery, and I'd encourage anyone to map their story like this.

That (not really so) elusive "common ground"

2009-07-15T17:46:00.003-04:00

Five years ago, I would've scoffed at the idea of finding "common ground" with anti-choicers. I couldn't have imagined that I would ever be able to sit at the same table with them, let alone have a constructive conversation about "common ground" with someone who opposed abortion.
To be fair to my younger self, I hadn't really met any reasonable, rational pro-lifers -- I'd only met radical anti-choicers who thought I was a babykiller. I had one friend who opposed abortion, and we'd had some discussions about it, but for the most part, we skirted the issue.

Five years ago, I wouldn't have thought that I'd be actively working to find common ground with pro-lifers. I'd only ever seen them as my uncompromising opposition...and I certainly wasn't about to compromise, either.

With the course my life has taken, though, I've softened my view of (most) pro-lifers substantially. I loathe those who advocate violence, subtly or overtly, and I still can't stand to be in the presence of those who consider me and my co-workers babykillers because of the organization we work for. But in working in South Dakota during the past two election cycles, in moving to the middle of the country, I've realized that the anti-choicers I knew weren't representative of the majority of the "Other Side." I do think that most pro-lifers are reasonable people who I can agree with on some issues around sex, education, and prevention.

Take, for example, the numbers.
Here in Missouri, 86% of the state's citizens support comprehensive sex education, not proven-ineffective abstinence-only education.
65% believe pharmacies should be required to dispense over-the-counter and prescription contraception to patients without discrimination or delay.
And almost 60% would rather see our state legislators focusing on real solutions -- i.e. preventing unintended pregnancies -- rather than adding on to our already enormous list of restrictions on abortion.

Missouri, a state represented in the state legislature by a majority of anti-choice Republicans, is actually pretty full of relatively reasonable people.
Going out to gather petition signatures from Missourians to support prevention policies (access to birth control, comprehensive sex education, access to STD treatments), most people agree. I've had reasonable conversations with people who oppose abortion...but end up signing our petition anyway, because they agree with me on the need to emphasize prevention policies.

Turns out, common ground among real people (politicians don't usually count in the "real people" category) does exist.

So when I see something like this, a Democratic US Congressman ousted from the advisory board of Democrats for Life because he supports contraception, it makes me worry for the future of this whole push to find "common ground."

The woman I talked to while gathering petition signatures, a member of Feminists For Life, is never going to agree with me on abortion. I don't kid myself about that. I can tell her everything I believe, she'll respond with everything she believes, and neither of us is going to convince the other to change our convictions.
But she wasn't unreasonable. We could talk about contraception, about emergency contraception/Plan B, about sex education, about real solutions to preventing unintended pregnancies, and...we could agree. (Of course, FFL refuses to take a stance supporting or not supporting contraception because it's somehow "beyond their mission," but I have yet to meet a FFL member who disagrees with the availability of contraception.)

Real people, it seems, are on board with common sense prevention policies.
I don't expect pro-life Missourians to all suddenly change their beliefs and become pro-choice. (I'd welcome it, of course, but I don't expect it.)
This common ground, this place where we can agree on how to prevent unintended pregnancies...it does exist. It's not a mythical place of rainbows and unicorns. Really. It's there.
We just need the bureaucratic organizations that are stuck in the ideological pits of everything they're against to lift their heads a little, look up just a little beyond the hole they've dug, and come along with the rest of us.

(h/t for DFL article to feministing.)
((further reading on common ground that's insightful and real and honest can be found at RH Reality Check.))

Dr. George Tiller was assassinated today.

2009-05-31T23:05:00.004-04:00

I wish I had words.

All kinds of people are writing eloquently and profoundly about Dr Tiller's death.
My thoughts refuse to form those kinds of statements.
All I can come up with is a string of profanities, a line of "why" questions, and utter disbelief and shock.
I'm still stunned.

((For more eloquent statements and reflections, see: Cristina Page, Ann at Feministing, pretty much anything at Kansas Jackass, and former PPFA president, Gloria Feldt, at Salon.))

I received a text message from my friend Christene this morning, during my barista shift at my second job. It said, simply, "Dr george tiller - abortion doc in wichita - was killed this morning."
I stared at it, shocked. I assumed it was a sick joke. Or maybe she'd just read an old story about him being shot. He's been shot before. And he lived. He's Dr Tiller. He doesn't get killed. They've already tried.
The words tumbled out of my mouth as I read the text to my coworker. As I spoke, I called Christene. She said she'd just read it in the Wichita Eagle. That he'd been shot on his way into a church service.

I gathered tidbits from other friends via text for the rest of the day. That he'd been shot not outside, but INSIDE his church.
That the suspect had been apprehended in Gardner, KS. Just a short distance outside of Kansas City.
That the car was registered to someone who lived in Merriam, KS. A suburb of KC. About 10-15 minutes from me. A man who most likely has protested outside of the Planned Parenthood clinics here. Who is most likely pretty involved in the anti-choice movement HERE.

Dr Tiller was killed.
In Wichita, Kansas.
This is my turf.
I live a block from the Kansas state line.
I work in the reproductive health field in this region.
This is where I am.
Wichita's not exactly close, but it feels like it's my backyard.
This is where I am.
This is what I do.

And someone's been killed, in my backyard, for doing work in the same field I do work in.
Not just any someone.
Dr. George Tiller.
Golden boy of the pro-choice movement.
Woke up to death threats and pickets and protests almost every day.
Had been shot before. And lived.
Kept working, despite all of this, perhaps in spite of all of this, because he knew what it meant.

Without Dr Tiller, there will be no abortion providers between Denver and Overland Park, KS.
That's only part of what this means, on the broader level, for women. For Kansans. For all of us.

well, this complicates things.

2009-05-06T17:03:00.002-04:00

last year, in july, i wrote this post, telling what was then my messy, mean, politically incorrect truth. in that post, i rejected the clear-cut version of survivorhood and queer identities - i.e. the insistence by both the CSA survivor community and the queer community that abuse could not, does not, will not ever cause a victim to "go gay." in that post, i stated my (then) truth that i am gay because i was abused.

i didn't say as much, but a big part of what i saw as that causal connection was the fact that i was abused by men and now have relationships with women. implying, of course, that i can't be with men because i was abused and raped by men.

but what if i discover memories of being abused by a woman, too?
what of my queer identity, then?
if so, i couldn't say, "i sleep with women because they're safer, because i have had violent and abusive experiences with men."
i couldn't say, "i trust women more because i have only been betrayed by men."
does it then go to the opposite extent, where i'm a lesbian because i was abused by a woman? that argument is usually used against gay men who were abused by other men. but i suppose it could apply here, too.

except, the thing is....i know that's not true. it doesn't feel true, or real. saying, "i'm a lesbian because i can't trust men, or picture myself being with someone of the same gender that so abused me," seems real, and a little bit true, still. but saying either, "i'm a lesbian because i was abused by a woman" or even "i'm heterosexual because i was abused by a woman" feels wrong. not because the latter is just 100% untrue, but because i don't think that experience really affected the development of my sexuality. it affects my sexuality, absolutely -- only one person has ever so commanded my attention that i don't fall into painful memories halfway through sex. i haven't been fully present for the majority of sexual acts with every other person i've ever been with. but it doesn't affect how i view my sexuality regarding the people i'm attracted to.
for this piece of the abusive puzzle, it doesn't connect. the two are completely unrelated.
but each of the other assaults? yes. they absolutely factor in to who i am attracted to.

does it make sense? no.
but is it true? yes.
it's true, and complicated, and even messier than i thought it was a year ago.
it's not a generalization, and this may very well not apply to the rest of the survivor community, but what's a community without individual truths? these are not the truths that the mainstream community wants to tell. hell, they aren't truths that i want to tell.
but it's a truth, and it's real, and in the inclusive survivor community i want to be a part of, individuals tell their full, messy, complicated, ugly truths.

filling voids and finding love (and so on)

2009-04-19T17:41:00.003-04:00

a new blog i've been reading on a relatively regular basis: Blooming Lotus. faith is using this blog to document her process of healing from child abuse, and while it's sometimes a little painful to read, it's comforting in the familiarity of the content. and the places that i still can't talk about (despite the hypocrisy of my dedication to speaking the unspeakable), faith goes there. she talks about it. and for that, i am thankful and in awe.

recently, faith posted about searching for something to fill that void of being motherless. not "motherless" in the straightforward sense; faith had a woman to call 'mother,' as did the commenter who inspired this post. "motherless" in the sense that neither of these women's mothers acted motherly. neither of these women's mothers fulfilled that role. and so, both of these women have huge, gaping holes in their hearts where a mother's love should be.
it's incredibly sad to see someone with such a void.
it's incredibly painful to feel that camaraderie.

faith's post is specifically about trying to fill that void, and is something of a follow-up to this post, about wishing for another mother.
a mother do-over, if you will.

familiar? that's an understatement.

i've searched for a mother figure in my life for almost as long as i can remember. i wrote a story when i was in 2nd grade about my teacher, Mrs. Osmon, adopting me and taking me away from my family to live a better, happier life. i was 7 years old. (i'd also recently read Matilda, which may have had an impact on the mother figures i sought out. thanks, Roald Dahl.)
i went from Mrs Osmon to Miss Clark, my 4th grade teacher. from there, i clung to other teachers, always female, always with a maternal, loving air about them. it went on through high school and into college. i gave up on searching for that maternal figure for a year in college, when i'd given up on pretty much everything else. ...and then i went back to yearning for it.

for all my efforts and all the different maternal figures i'd tried to latch onto, none of them stuck. not one of the 26 or so women - teachers, coaches, professors, deans - i'd hoped to make into my 2nd mother stuck around. most of them, i pushed away, consciously or unconsciously. most of them, too, i pushed and pulled and pushed and pulled until they had to step away. what i thought i needed was someone to take care of me, to hold all of the wounded little parts for me. what i was really hoping for was someone to do the work for me, to mother me without the expectation that i'd do it for myself.
and maybe, if i'd been able to voice it or really ask for it, i could've gotten that when i first started looking for it at age 7 or 8. but by the time i was in high school and college, i needed to be adult enough to take care of myself...i didn't want to. and so i hoped and expected that these caring females that i clung to would take care of me for me.

long story short, in the middle of a huge storm of intense healing (and pain), i realized, in my heart, that i needed to take care of myself. that i needed to be my own mother. that i needed to take responsibility for myself and stop trying to make other maternal figures take responsibility for me.

i attribute this to an incredible twist of fate, or the timely return of karma, or something of some power well beyond my own: almost immediately after realizing and accepting that fact, i found that mother figure i'd always wanted and needed.
...in my boss, of all people.

she didn't take care of me in an unhealthy caretaking way, but she did (and does) nurture me and love me in exactly the way that i'd always craved. she sat with me through some of the worst memories, she made me laugh exactly when i needed to, she forced me to take responsibility for myself when i didn't want to, she let me nap on her couch in her house when i needed to be away from my roommates, she even drove with me halfway across the country when i moved away from new england. her amazing family, too, let me in and i came to love them as well, and i got to see what a real, loving family is like.

it feels like i've known her forever, but really, i've only known her for a little over a year and a half. in that year and a half, our relationship has evolved from employer to sorta-friend to mother to what it is now. i can't really explain it, but it's somewhere between and within maternal and one of the best friends i've ever had.

so, yeah. i have managed, somehow, to fill that void. at least, to fill it as much as it's going to be filled. there'll always be an empty spot where the woman who raised me should've been, and i grieve for that loss. but the rest of that emptiness, the vast expanse that needed to be filled with love? it's full. overflowing, sometimes, even.

i don't pretend this was anything i could've willed to happen. it happened because i got lucky, because the fates aligned, because whatever good karma i'd stocked up all came back in a rush, because some higher power allowed it to happen. and every time i talk to H or her wife or her kids, i feel that luck/karma/fate/higher power, and every time, i'm in awe of how incredible it feels to be a lot more loved and a little more complete.

sad, and true, and real

2009-04-03T00:16:00.003-04:00

Melissa just posted "The Survivor Thread."

i maintain my linguistic issue with the term "survivor," because of the capital-S Survivor Story it implies, but in this case, i'm ok with using it.

because this thread over at Shakesville isn't about that mainstream idea about what survivors should look like and act like and be. this thread is about reality.

specifically, this reality:

And many of us who are survivors of repeat assaults will not speak of it; many of us will pick the "worst" one and talk about that in threads on assault, as if it's the only one. We do this for many reasons: We might feel embarrassed by being repeatedly victimized, as if it's indicative of a character flaw within ourselves; we might have trouble discussing multiple assaults without undermining what tenuous feeling of safety we have; we might have faced reactions of incredulity from people with whom we shared this information and thought we could trust; we might have been called liars or hysterics—accusations born of the silence about sexual assault.

Disbelief is the inevitable result of swimming in a culture which renders invisible the reality that enormous numbers of women—and men—have been sexually assaulted, many of them more than once.

as of the writing of this, her thread has been up for about 12 hours.
there are currently about 225 comments.
so many stories, so many stories within stories in conjunction with other stories.

it's powerful, and sad, and i don't know if i'll ever be able to read all of the stories in those 225 comments.
it's also true, and real, and for that reason, you really should go read it. if not all of it, at least part of it.
really.
go read it.

poems for survival

2009-03-01T22:23:00.005-05:00

A Litany for Survival
Audre Lorde (in The Black Unicorn)

For those of us who live at the shoreline
standing upon the constant edges of decision
crucial and alone
for those of us who cannot indulge
the passing dreams of choice
who love in doorways coming and going
in the hours between dawns
looking inward and outward
at once before and after
seeking a now that can breed
futures
like bread in our children's mouths
so their dreams will not reflect
the death of ours:

For those of us
who were imprinted with fear
like a faint line in the center of our foreheads
learning to be afraid with our mother's milk
for by this weapon
this illusion of some safety to be found
the heavy-footed hoped to silence us
For all of us
this instant and this triumph
We were never meant to survive.

And when the sun rises we are afraid
it might not remain
when the sun sets we are afraid
it might not rise in the morning
when our stomachs are full we are afraid
of indigestion
when our stomachs are empty we are afraid
we may never eat again
when we are loved we are afraid
love will vanish
when we are alone we are afraid
love will never return
and when we speak
we are afraid our words will not be heard
nor welcomed
but when we are silent
we are still afraid

So it is better to speak
remembering
we were never meant to survive

(via.)
also: listen here. (will play automatically)

and, of course:
Still I Rise
Maya Angelou

You may write me down in history
With your bitter, twisted lies,
You may trod me in the very dirt
But still, like dust, I'll rise.

Does my sassiness upset you?
Why are you beset with gloom?
'Cause I walk like I've got oil wells
Pumping in my living room.

Just like moons and like suns,
With the certainty of tides,
Just like hopes springing high,
Still I'll rise.

Did you want to see me broken?
Bowed head and lowered eyes?
Shoulders falling down like teardrops,
Weakened by my soulful cries?

Does my haughtiness offend you?
Don't you take it awful hard
'Cause I laugh like I've got gold mines
Diggin' in my own backyard.

You may shoot me with your words,
You may cut me with your eyes,
You may kill me with your hatefulness,
But still, like air, I'll rise.

Does my sexiness upset you?
Does it come as a surprise
That I dance like I've got diamonds
At the meeting of my thighs?

Out of the huts of history's shame
I rise
Up from a past that's rooted in pain
I rise
I'm a black ocean, leaping and wide,
Welling and swelling I bear in the tide.

Leaving behind nights of terror and fear
I rise
Into a daybreak that's wondrously clear
I rise
Bringing the gifts that my ancestors gave,
I am the dream and the hope of the slave.
I rise
I rise
I rise.

Even better, see her recite it herself:

and, 'cause i can't resist a link to this piece of beauty if i get a chance....Ben Harper's version:

if the L word were facebook...

2009-02-17T22:18:00.005-05:00

because this is just too brilliant not to post....

Some genius (with the username stuntdouble) over on AfterEllen.com has translated The L Word episodes of Season 6 thus far into facebook news feeds.
One of the funniest things I've ever seen. (Only if you've seen the episodes will it make sense, though. Warning: spoilers in the following facebook news feeds.)

(see the original post here.)

And for the other brilliant installments:
Episode

Episode 6.4

Episode 6.3

Episode 6.2

Episode 6.1

Oh, and if I may, on a more serious note about season 6 of the L Word, a letter:

Dear Max Sweeney (and the clearly poor researchers of the L Word writing crew),

I'm not sure if they're pulling you through all of this bullshit for the sake of some really awful trans storyline (for now, I won't even delve into how poorly they've conveyed your transition on the show), but you, my dear, were lied to.
You claimed, in your rightful burst of anger in the clinic hallway, that "It was too late" and that you were 4 months along.
4 months, dear Max, means 16 weeks.
Past the first trimester, yes, and so you were beyond the limit for the common form of abortion - a vacuum aspiration. Those are generally only done up until 12 weeks. However, California's got pretty liberal abortion laws, and abortion clinics in the state will do the more difficult kind of abortion - dilation and evacuation - up at least through 20 weeks. The Planned Parenthood in San Diego, last I knew (which was about 5 or so years ago) was doing D&Es through at least the 22nd week. I presume, then, that a Planned Parenthood clinic in LA would have a similar policy, and would not have turned you away at 16 weeks.
No abortion clinic in California would turn a 16 week pregnancy away without at least a referral.

Now, a D&E is more involved procedure, and it does cost more. I'm not sure what kind of insurance you have as a -- what is it you do again? website designer? -- but if you had the funds to pay for top surgery, you've got the funds for a D&E.
If it was that you decided you wanted to keep the baby, or if it was that you decided it wasn't worth it to go through the D&E procedure, sure, I'd understand that plot line.
But NO, Max, it was NOT too late for you to get an abortion.

I'm disappointed in you, L Word writers. You did so well with the crisis pregnancy storyline a few seasons ago! What the fuck happened?

Oh, and for the record, I'm not sure if you were at a Planned Parenthood, Max, but most Planned Parenthood clinic staff around the country go through queer & trans sensitivity trainings. So, a receptionist or clinic assistant who was doing her job right would not have treated you so poorly.

this is the midwest?

2009-02-15T00:41:00.006-05:00

In yet another hit to my east coast stereotypes of the midwest, I heard about this amazing protest that happened right here, about 15 minutes away from my apartment in Kansas City.

I've never really thought of Kansas as being gay-friendly. I knew the KC metro area was generally pretty liberal, at least as far as MO & KS go, but I would never have expected this to happen here.

A Shawnee Mission, KS high school was the target last week of Fred Phelps' Westboro Baptist Church (of GodHatesFags fame). Shawnee Mission East not only has a GSA, but, according to the KC Star article, they elected a gay homecoming king in 2007. (Horrors!)

Fred Phelps' group turned out 14. Including two small children.
They were met by counterprotesters, organized mostly by the incredible students of Shawnee Mission East High School.

450 of them.

Yes. That's in Kansas. There were 450 of them. That's 32x the number of people that WBC had.

To make things even better, they used the counterprotest as an opportunity to raise money for AIDS and cancer research. They had a goal of raising $250 for each minute that Phelps' group was out there. When the reporter talked to the student with the donation bucket, he said they'd so far been meeting that goal. I don't remember what the final number was, but it was a very substantial amount.

These students totally made my day.

welcome to kansas city, the midwestern leg of your trip.

2009-02-11T22:36:00.006-05:00

i've been neglecting this little blog lately. oops.
things have been a little crazy, what with moving halfway across the country and all.

in fact, we almost didn't make it here at all. we came thisclose to death on I-90, just beyond the NY-PA border. we spun out, and ended up facing oncoming traffic. well past sundown. in what should've been travel-ban-worthy snowy weather. H, my invaluable travel buddy, claims we only spun around one and a half times (that's 540 degrees, if you're counting). i maintain that it had to have been way more than that. as the driver, i think that my version of the story trumps hers. in any case, it was absolutely terrifying.
makes me regret never doing donuts in safely abandoned parking lots when i was younger...
we miraculously didn't hit anything and got out of it alive...then crawled with the rest of the traffic over 2 miles of black ice to the next exit, where we slid into the first hotel and downed a shot of tequila each at the pub next door. (i should probably clarify: H downed a shot of tequila. i downed maybe a half shot, after dribbling the other half on the bar. i blame my lack of coordination on nervous energy from the spinout.)

if we'd taken our intended route - through Ohio, Indiana, and Illinois - we probably would have died. luckily, the inordinate amount of money i paid for a moving company also afforded me an absolutely wonderful moving truck driver who told us terrifying tales of the awful conditions of I-70 (his route and our intended interstate). John, our driver, strongly advised us to take a different route.

never one to doubt a trucker, reroute we did. and so two massachusetts homos in a little blue car with a rainbow sticker on the back window drove, instead, through west virginia, rural kentucky, rural indiana, and rural illinois.
luckily, we both pass. H as a midwestern suburban mom, me as just plain het. we only got a few dirty looks from drivers with Jesus-fish on their back bumpers. not bad, given our route. and we only went about 300 miles out of our way. small price to pay for not spinning out off of a cliff en route, i suppose.

once we got to KC, we quickly found a really great local coffee shop (The Roasterie - not entirely fair trade/organic, but they've got some, and they're very invested in the local community, and they air roast their own beans). i still love dean's beans the best, and H sends me care packages consisting solely of their coffee. but it's good to have a local alternative.

before she left on a jet plane, H also introduced me to a friend of hers here in KC, who just added two super cute 8(?)month old babies to his family. twins - one boy & one girl. i've babysat for them once so far. i miss my babysittees in northampton, but these adorable babies are helping to ease the pain quite nicely.

i've been here for four weeks so far. i'm more homesick than i ever thought possible, but i love my job just as much as i thought i would. not quite a balance that i've struck yet, but it's on its way.
in the four weeks i've been here, i've learned more than my brain has the capacity to hold. the organization i work for bases their (successful) organizing strategy & tactics on the Midwest Academy's style of organizing. my new Bible is their activist manual. it lives on my bedside table. yes, i read it before going to sleep.

i've also learned an awful lot about Missouri politics.
like, for example:

there are essentially three parties in MO (related to repro rights, at least):
anti-choice Democrats, anti-choice Republicans, and the minority party of pro-choice Dems.
i've also learned that my state Senator, Jolie Justus, is one of the best in the state...and the only lesbian to have ever graced the state Senate floor.
i've also learned that sometimes, some of our state Representatives are still a little confused about which side Missouri took in the Civil War (officially, it took no sides), and refers to the Civil War during a hearing as the "war of northern aggression." yep. to make it even better, this reference was made in a hearing about a do-nothing House Resolution to register Missouri's disapproval of the possible-maybe-might-happen passage of the Freedom of Choice Act...which hasn't even been introduced in the US Congress this year. (the MO legislature spent hours on this pointless resolution this week, eventually passing today by a pretty big margin.)
but back to the "war of northern aggression" comment: FOCA, claims Rep. Stevenson (of Webb City, in southwest MO), would be "the greatest power grab by the federal government since the war of northern aggression."
yeah. he really said it. see?

there are other, more substantial bills that have been introduced already, and there are some really good, pro-prevention and pro-choice bills that have been introduced.
it'll certainly be interesting to see how this legislative session turns out...

let's see, what else about my new home state?
H's friend also introduced us to the world of really good Kansas City bbq. i'm a little confused about the bowl of sliced dill pickles that came with our takeout order (really? who needs an entire bowl of pickles with their dinner?), but aside from that: delicious. i'm not much of a bbq fan, but it's clear that they know their stuff down here.
i miss my cafe way too much. so, to ease the pain of separation...i applied to work part-time at a coffee shop in Westport that may be opening sometime soon. (they're waiting on permits from the city.) one of the few connections i have in this city is connected to the owner of this would-be coffee shop. hopefully, it'll come through, and hopefully, it'll come with the most important perk: free coffee. i could totally work weekends in addition to my slightly-more-than-full-time job...right?
speaking of that job, i spent an enlightening few days in st louis for some job training. i didn't get to see much of the city - mostly, i was in the office. i did, however, get introduced to one of st louis' best coffee shops, thanks to my wonderful and hospitable and similarly coffee-addicted host. and really, that's the most important piece of discovering a new city, right?

so there's the catch-up post. the common theme seems to be coffee. uh oh. my addiction is showing...

anyway, i've been thinking a lot lately about the connections between reproductive justice and sexual violence, so that may be a forthcoming post topic.
i've also been thinking about queer identities in not-so-queer-friendly environments (like most parts of the midwest).
and the connections between reproductive justice and queer movements.

wonder where this midwestern journey will lead...

goin' to kansas city...

2009-01-05T19:59:00.003-05:00

in 7 days and less than 12 hours, I'll be hitting the road and on my way to my new home in Kansas City, MO.
not the first place i ever thought i'd move to.
and this is not what i envisioned happening when i finally found a place to call home, and a family i could call my own, but here it is. and as sad as it makes me to leave, it feels right.

i hired a moving company for this move, which feels really good. it's gonna cost me a TON of money (though only slightly more than it would've cost to rent a moving truck), so my opinion may change once i have to start paying off that bill, but for now, knowing that i won't actually have to lift these boxes that i'm packing (or, more accurately: thinking about packing) is an amazing feeling. highly recommended, if you can afford it.

this post, though, isn't going to be about the merits of hiring a moving company vs. self-service moves. this post is about home.
i wrote this in april of 2008, but it's still relevant today.

home is a lot of things. home is something you’re born into. home is something you find. home is something you stumble upon. home is always inside you. home is something you create and cultivate. home is the soil you till, and the act of tilling the soil. it’s a noun, and adjective, and a verb.
my sense of home is fragmented.
the wounded part of me fears it, knows, quite well, the danger of it. can feel only the lack of safety. it hates the idea of home and wants only to escape it. … home, for that piece of my self, is a simple, large black circle. a trap. a seemingly embracing, friendly shape, with ominous darkness filling the inside, entirely.
but there are other parts, too.
…
there’s the part that has found a home. one that’s everything a home should be – a safe physical location, relative financial security, a town and region that i love, and a huge community of women who truly care for and love me. a family, chosen/found/cultivated, that’s actually centered around real love and compassion. a family of mothers, sisters, friends. none related by blood. all related by heart.
family means love.
home is where your family is. home is where your heart finds its fullness. where your heart is at its fullest, overflowing with love. home is a (physical, emotional) dwelling, bursting at the seams with real love.

it's terrifying to me to leave that home, now that i've finally found it. this nest i've built is quite comfortable, and it's going to be quite uncomfortable to leave it behind.
but a very wise friend told me this:
"you didn't build this nest to stay curled up in it your whole life. you built it so you'll have something to come home to."

and, as always, she's right.
i look forward to coming back home. now that i've got somewhere to come home to.

victims, survivors, and everything in between

2008-12-13T15:07:00.005-05:00

I don't know that I could articulate any of this better than Cara already has, so you should probably go read her post first.
I also don't think that my thoughts on any of this have settled into much of a cohesive post, so this will mostly be a stream-of-consciousness response / expansion on the coherent, articulate thoughts over at Cara's post.

I've talked about the troubling rhetoric around the terms "victim" and "survivor" before. That post, though, focuses more specifically on the trouble with the word "survivor," and the implications of that term and the universal "healing process" that it implies.
Cara's post, though, focuses a little more on the word "victim," and that side of the rhetoric. It's all part of a similar discussion, I think.

A little excerpt from Cara's post, to start it off:

I understand the desire by those who have been raped or abused to use the word “survivor” instead of “victim,” to take the focus away from what someone else did to them and gave them no choice about, to something positive that they themselves have accomplished. But let us be honest for a minute: is there more to it than that? Is there really something there that has to do with shame, with constant admonishments either directed specifically towards them or towards women everywhere, saying “don’t be a victim”? Is there a desire to get away from that embarrassing, horrible word? I tend to use the word “survivor” myself. And I have to wonder.

And if it’s about shame, about stepping away from “victim,” is there any way for there to not be a touch of self-blame in the reasoning?
.....
“Don’t be a victim.” “I won’t be a victim.” “Women always want to play the victim.”

The insult in “victim” is that victims are weak and helpless. Victims are whiners, attention-seekers, cry-babies. They want to dwell on the negative.

My first response to her post was a loud (out loud), "THANK YOU."
It's always unexpected, and so incredibly relieving, to hear other people making arguments along the same lines that I've been making...the arguments that I assume are n the margins, are unpopular. Of course, just the fact that the two of us (and some of her commenters) are saying the same kind of thing doesn't mean that it's not a marginal argument, but it does mean that I've got a little company here on the margins. And that's always a pleasant surprise.

Cara, and a couple of the people in her comments, put into words the other side of my problem with the rhetoric; they open the conversation up even further, beyond my old discussion of why "survivor" doesn't fit everyone and into why it is that "victim" is such a derisive term.
Lea, in the comments of cara's post:

There seems to be a time limit on how long people are comfortable with someone being a victim. It might just only be for a day, or a week, maybe even a few months, but it is never on the victimized woman’s terms. But I think that because so many women are not believed about their experiences with violence, that ‘victim’ becomes a powerful word of acknowledgment. It grants permission to be vulnerable, fragile, to feel ‘degraded’ if she needs to, to take time, to break under pressure if that is all she is able to do. Disparaging the identity of ‘victim’ silences us, it says “get over it and shut up”. People don’t want to hear the rawness, the complexity of violence, they want it in tidy packages that don’t challenge them, or demand any recognition or support.

This, I think, is another big part of why I have been, and still am, so resistant to the limited rhetoric of "surviving" sexual abuse and assault.

I risk getting too personal, too "lying on the couch talking about my mother," but I think the only way to start this off is to acknowledge where my investment in this whole discussion comes from.

For a year after I was released from the psych hospital when I was 15, I was shuffled around from therapist to psychotherapist to psychologist. I refused to confide in a male therapist, and since Western NY, at least at that time, was seriously lacking in female counselors (that were covered by my insurance), my therapists ranged geographically from my hometown all the way up to Buffalo and the suburbs of West Seneca, Amherst, and Williamsville. There was a brief stint with "family therapy" with a daughter-blaming male psychologist in my hometown, as well, which, thank god, only lasted one session.
I eventually ended up back with the therapist I'd been seeing since I was 13, one of (then) two female therapists in my hometown, but she was under strict instruction from my parents to achieve a very important goal for them:
I needed to stop playing the victim. Julie, my therapist, was instructed by my parents to move me from "victim" to "survivor" mode.

I was resistant, but I could never put my finger on why it was so important to me to resist that shift as directed by these people who (supposedly) loved me. That was what healing was supposed to be, right? Moving into a more healed place would mean that I'd identify more as a survivor than as a victim.

"Don't be a victim anymore."
"Don't play the victim."
"Be a survivor, not a victim."
"Move beyond being a victim."
This all would've left a bad taste in my mouth coming from anyone, but coming from my parents, this is what they really meant:
"Stop dwelling on this. Just get over it. Don't talk about it. Don't remind us of this. Stop being so weak. Be stronger. It wasn't really that bad."

Yes, it was worse because of the source, and that is worth mentioning. My being a "victim" meant that I was still affected by what their son did, my "acting" like a victim meant that they couldn't forget that their daughter had been hurt -- that they'd been part of allowing their daughter to be hurt.
I was resistant to the idea of moving beyond "victim" into that "survivor" mode, because their incentive, their intent was never for their daughter to heal or empower herself to the point of finding her self-worth, and their intent was never for their daughter to stop blaming herself. Their intent was for me to take responsibility for what happened, and to subsequently move on, for the sake of that coveted "happy family."
If I stayed in "victim" mode (i.e. not denying the pain that the abuse caused, not minimizing it for the sake of my bio-family, actually acknowledging that this happened and, yes, it affected me deeply), I could somehow strike back at my parents, at my brother, at my family. If I resisted their efforts to forcefully push me from victim to survivor, I could give them the finger in the only way I felt comfortable. It was the only subtle way I had to maintain for myself an acknowledgment that I'd been hurt while still keeping some semblance of peace for my family. Remaining a "victim," then, especially while I was in that emotionally damaging family situation, was the only way I could survive. Maintaining my "victim" identity was, somewhat ironically, the way I managed to survive those years.

Even with my own history with the word, and even putting my parents' self-interested denial of abuse aside, though, the pressure for "victims" to "get over it" is still incredibly problematic. I think that it has a lot to do with wanting/needing to blame victims, with putting the onus for, well, everything directly onto the backs of raped and abused women. Nobody wants to be a victim, and nobody wants to believe that they can be victimized. Telling a victim to step up and be a Survivor, telling her to move on and not be a victim anymore implies that there's a way out of it. If a victim can become a survivor by being strong, then that means that she stays a victim by being weak. Which implies that if the victim would've just been strong to begin with, she wouldn't have been a victim. Implying, therefore, that you can avoid being a victim if you're just strong enough.
Which, of course, is bullshit.

In the comments at Cara's post, Ilyka likens the "survivor" rhetoric to the pink ribbon campaign, which I think is right on:

I think the preference for “survivor” is one of those things that started out with mostly good intentions but is increasingly feeling like the pink ribbon campaign for me. You know, breast cancer isn’t something that kills women; it’s something women survive! Except when they don’t.

The campaign for re-branding women who've been victims of sexual abuse and assault as "survivors" rather than "victims" started in the right place. It started as a way to empower women, to give us agency and a way to give us power in a situation where we had none. It's shifted, though, and it's fallen into the trap of victim blaming. It's been co-opted by people who just want to silence victims, who don't want to hear about how much hurt it can cause, and who don't want to take responsibility for their part in allowing the rape culture that we live in to continue. If women are survivors, after all, and if they're able to move on to the point where the rest of the world doesn't have to think about how they've been hurt, then maybe sexual assault isn't so bad. And maybe we don't have to dedicate so much time to the kind of activism that deals with the kind of things we don't want to think about.

(Like I said, my thoughts on this are far from refined into a cohesive, organized essay. They're rambling and not at all concise, and are subject to later edits...if I can mold them into something more organized.)

heh.

2008-12-07T17:17:00.005-05:00

This did actually happen to me (with the shorter, more everyday version of the word) in the Scrabble game played at my moms' house this Thanksgiving.
Come to think of it, this has happened in a lot of Scrabble games I've played...is it because I'm gay?

(click image to go to original comic at xkcd.com)

Related: did you know that the airport code for Charlotte Douglass International Airport is CLT?
This makes me giggle every time I look at my ticket from last weekend, which had me stop in Charlotte on my way to Kansas City.

Yes, I have the sense of humor of a 12-year-old boy. And?

Ann Coulter's Jaw Wired Shut

2008-11-26T23:52:00.003-05:00

isn't it ironic? don't you think?

Despite how inhumanly hateful she is, I will not say that I'm happy that Ann Coulter was injured so badly in a fall that her jaw is now wired shut. (As an aside, WTF is it with the NYPost's blurb about this calling her a "leggy reactionary"? She's a hateful asshole, and the "reactionary" label is accurate, but what does the length of her legs have to do with that?)

For the most part, I'm in agreement with Rachel that a woman being hurt so badly that she is silenced is not funny. Especially before the cause of the injury was revealed. A reaction of "haha, bitch deserved it" to this news is absolutely inappropriate here.

However, that said, I'll admit that I did have the slightest tinge of schadenfreude.
And if anyone is ever unsure about or having a hard time understanding the definition of "irony" (Alanis Morissette, I'm lookin' at you), this should be cited as the epitome of all things ironic.

the ignorance, it hurts

2008-11-26T16:34:00.002-05:00

I really should stop reading crazyface Steve Hickey's blog. The election's over, we beat him & VYFL decisively, and I have no real reason to keep tabs on the opposition. (I'm pretty sure that most of the hits to his blog come from SDCHF folks, anyway.)

For the most part, his ranting doesn't get under my skin. Mostly, it's harmless, far-far-far-right complaints about the "abortion industry" or how Obama isn't his president. Ridiculous. That stuff is easy to just roll my eyes at and move on to more interesting news and such online. When he makes personal attacks though, it gets to me. (like attacking me, or our campaign manager, or one of our field organizers, or our very brave spokesperson.) It also gets under my skin when his rants go past that line of "ridiculous" and far into the realm of "offensive."
The crap that he posted today is one of those offensive things.
I hesitate to link to him, because I don't particularly want him re-finding my blog and talking about how "hurt" and "angry" I am, and I'd rather avoid him repeating his offer of financial assistance for a therapy session. But here goes, anyway.

the title of his post:
SD abortion law would've stopped British father from raping his daughters for 30 years.
You can probably guess where this one is going.
A horrific story came out of Britain today. A man raped his daughters for years and years and years. The failure here is in the system; nobody asked the questions that needed to be asked, nobody reported things that they were mandated to report, and nobody looked into allegations of incestuous rape.
Crazypants Steve Hickey, though, is somehow...blaming Planned Parenthood? Or the potential Planned Parenthood? The imaginary one that supposedly "wouldn't do anything" if this scenario happened in South Dakota.

It's exhausting, really, continuing to argue for common sense and a realistic picture of the world, in this question.
But here I go again, briefly.

Banning abortion will not increase reports of rape, nor will it fix the broken system that mishandles almost every rape case that comes before it.
Here's why:
You can't scare victims into reporting their attacks.
And also because: Denial of reproductive health care in order to force rape reports is simply cruel.

So please, please, please. STOP already.

south dakota 2008, the conclusion (a little overdue...)

2008-11-24T18:27:00.003-05:00

It happened three weeks ago, so this is old news, but just for the record: yes, we did win South Dakota.
Easily.
Nobody thought we would -- hell, at the beginning of this fall, I was pretty sure there was a good chance we'd lose. But I, and everyone else, underestimated both the Campaign for Healthy Families and the state of South Dakota.
We identified and turned out a TON of voters for our side, winning by almost 40,000 votes. In South Dakota, that comes out to a ten point lead. Yeah. We pretty much kicked ass.

We ran an incredible field campaign, and our field organizers and volunteers and the rest of the campaign staff worked their hands to the bone to get this win.
Victory night couldn't have been sweeter. We watched the numbers roll in on SD's secretary of state website, refreshing the page about every 45 seconds, and as they came in, I kept waiting for them to turn against us. I knew we were probably going to win, but I kept expecting the other side to pull something, just like I expected the Republicans to pull something in the presidential election. But they didn't. The numbers held. The margin stayed at 55-45 the entire night.
First, my friends and I celebrated Obama's win. But then we remained tense, watching the numbers and waiting for the official results to be called.
Then, when the AP finally called our race, the campaign celebrated our sweet, righteous, well-deserved and necessary - and decisive win.

We won because South Dakotans made it clear to the country that government has no place in their family's medical decisions.
We won because it turns out that, surprise surprise, South Dakotans do in fact trust women and their families to make their own decisions.
We won because it's what had to happen.
And, of course, we won because our field campaign was tight, well-run, well-targeted, and actually focused on real voter contact, unlike VYFL.

((VYFL, of course, is not listening to the state's voters and giving up. We didn't really expect them to. I, for one, was hopeful, but I knew it wasn't a realistic hope. I don't expect them back in 2010 -- what would be the point with an Obama presidency and Obama nominees replacing the impending retirees on the Supreme Court? My guess is they'll wait until 2012, when Obama's up for reelection, and bank on the hopes of an anti-choice Republican presidential candidate.))

If you want to know why VYFL lost, here it is:

In the Argus Leader (Sioux Falls' newspaper) today, a letter to the editor was published from S.F. resident, Roger Uppman. He is still bitter over the VYFL loss, three weeks later, and can't seem to let it go. Roger identifies himself as the man who stood on the sidewalk outside our office three times, by himself, holding a sign about the "killing of the unborn." He also stood in front of the PP clinic, presumably also by himself, holding that sign up for passersby in traffic. That was his contribution to the campaign.
This is a pretty good indicator of how VYFL's campaign ran, in general.
I'll be brief, because I don't want to give away really obvious ideas, but it seems they haven't yet caught on to this campaign not-so-secret: talking to voters works. Yard signs, however, do not grow legs and walk to the polls.

The following argument, it seems, was popular with VYFL. A few days before the election, we were doing some visibility at a busy corner in Sioux Falls. A VYFL busload of people came to take over our corner, as was their desperate style in the final crunch time. A very loud, disrespectful man screamed the following in my face shortly before we left to make better use of our time (and shortly before he made an absolutely uncalled for and offensive remark about Tiffany Campbell, who somehow weathered all of VYFL's increasingly personal attacks as the election drew near, but that's another story).

Roger's argument, and the angry screaming VYFL protester's argument, is thus:
Roger: I have asked many people: "Did your Mother abort you?" Before they could answer, I answered for them, saying, "No, she did not. She gave you life."
Angry screaming VYFL protester: "STOP KILLING BABIES! YOUR MOTHER CHOSE LIFE! YOUR MOTHER CHOSE LIFE! STOP THE KILLING! SAVE THE BABIES!" (and on and on and on. you get the picture.)
At the third or fourth "YOUR MOTHER CHOSE LIFE" screamed at me, about four inches from my face, I turned to the man and said, calmly,
"Yes, exactly. She CHOSE it. And I was a wanted child. It was her CHOICE."
He didn't get it, of course. I don't think he listened to me. He didn't even let me finish my sentence before he went on with the "save the babies" chant.

But the argument is a ridiculous one. If you tell my mother that you're glad she chose to have me - well, for one, she may very well think you're crazy. But the point is that you're acknowledging that she had - and, implicitly, deserved - a different choice.
You're undermining your own argument. Which is nothing new; VYFL tripped over its words and went back on its statements and circled around and stepped on its own toes more times than I can count. They were perpetually off message, probably because they didn't really have much of a message beyond the politically stupid message of "save the babies!" It's more complicated than that, and South Dakotans get that, even if VYFL does not.

But it goes beyond abortion, as most "abortion arguments" do. It's about more than aborting fetuses; it's about being able to choose to give birth. Empowered motherhood is just as important as every other aspect of reproductive rights and reproductive justice. Yes, Roger and Mr Angry VYFL Protester, my mother did choose to have me. Because she had the right to choose to give birth. She had that power over her reproductive future.
If you get what you want, and abortion is re-criminalized in this country, or even just in the state of South Dakota, your argument - "YOUR MOTHER CHOSE LIFE!!!!!" - will be completely void and meaningless, even more so than it is now. Because a mother in that rights-deprived world won't have a choice in the matter. She may be happy she's having a kid, but she may not. Her "choice" to bear that baby will mean something very different, because she won't have had all options available to her. She won't be "choosing" life at all -- she'll be forced into it. Forced pregnancy. A lofty goal. (Somehow, I don't think that'll come out quite so bluntly in VYFL's next campaign.)

As a related point, I can't believe that the letters to the editor are STILL filled with stuff about Measure 11. I mean, really? You lost, guys. Move on. Please.

(h/t to cara)

s.d. campaign part two...

2008-10-25T22:10:00.005-04:00

So I'm back in Sioux Falls. I'm so, so beyond happy to be back. As much as I love my little cafe in Florence, and as much as I miss my noho family, this place feels like exactly where I need to be right now. I flew back into Sioux Falls late Saturday night..and United promptly lost my luggage. It came the next day, thankfully. But not until after a late night wal mart run (I know, I know, there was nowhere else to go!) for underwear. Yep.

It's been wonderful to be back. I won't lie; part of me really does regret not taking this full time job back in July.

We spent all of today in Huron, SD, about 2 hours northwest of Sioux Falls. We canvassed for about 8 hours today. I'm exhausted.
It was a pretty successful canvass, though!
A few highlights, categorized appropriately...

what the eff?
This was by far the most disturbing part of my day. It had nothing to do with the campaign, really. Which makes it slightly better, I suppose?
I was harassed and assaulted by an 8 year old boy.
I know - already, "what the eff?," right?
As I was walking to my last house (under the "heart sinking" category), I walked past a playground in a small park, where four 8 to 10 year old boys were playing. One called out to me, "Hey girl! Hey! Girl!" When I looked over, he pointed to his friend and said, "this boy has a crush on you!" I shook my head and walked on to the house. The boy with a crush kept sticking up his middle finger at me. I ignored him.
As I was leaving and heading toward the park to wait for my ride to my next canvass location, Crush Boy called out to me, "Hey! Hey Girl! I want to have sex with you!"
Again, I ignored him, and headed toward one of the benches. I called the field director, just to have someone on the phone while I waited, so I wasn't alone. She'd just picked up the phone and said hello when Crush Boy runs over to me, says, "Hey! I want to fuck you!" .... and threw a handful of the wood chips from the playground in my face.
I didn't really know what to do. I've never had experience dealing with that situation. So I brushed off the wood chips, sat down by the water, and told my friend what was going on.
Out of the corner of my eye, I saw them getting closer to me, and so I kept an eye on them.
But Crush Boy moved quickly. Next thing I knew, he was behind me, pulling back the neck of my shirt, and stuffing wood chips down my shirt. Then he ran away with his friends, back to the playground.
I screamed after him: "What the hell is wrong with you?!" I mean, really. Who does that?

As I was walking away, back toward where I came from in hopes of meeting my ride a little further down the street, Crush Boy grabbed his crotch in my direction. And humped the air.

Keep in mind that Crush Boy is probably 8 years old.

Good lord.

the Heart Sinking and Heartwarming after the jump.

heart sinking:
The last house I went to, a very nice looking woman answered the door. She was clearly fixing dinner; she had an onion in one hand and she was wearing an apron with her name on it (Kay).

When I introduced myself and asked her if she'd heard about Measure 11 on the ballot this year, she responded with this:
"I have. And I have to say, dear, that I don't think your family is very healthy when you're advocating for death and pushing for abortion. [i try to gracefully exit, say "ok," and get ready to turn around and leave] I mean, these girls who have this procedure have all kinds of emotional problems that nobody ever talks about. And, you know, it's linked to breast cancer."
"Actually, there have been absolutely no scientific studies to confirm that myth."
"I read it in a science...."
"In a peer-reviewed journal? In a reputable source? Because it's been debunked by the American OB/Gyn Association in at least a couple of statements. And there's never been a reliable study done that proves it. There've been plenty of studies done that disprove the causal relationship."
"Well, we'll just have to agree to disagree."
"I suppose so. I'm glad I've got science on my side. Have a good day."

Seriously? I knew they were using the "abortion hurts women" argument. But the breast cancer one? Really?

Ugh.

heartwarming:
I talked to a lovely couple, Sylvia and John. They were for sure voting no. They really believe it's a woman's choice to do with her body what she will. They plan on going to the polls on November 4th, rather than going to do early voting, because they think it's a good thing to do. Also, they always take John's sister to vote on election day. I suggested they make a day out of it, go out to dinner, have a good time. Sylvia was totally into the idea. She was adorable.

I also talked to another couple, Pamela and David. Their friend Kathy was over, helping them straighten out their garage. Pamela was the only one who was unsure -- she, like most people, doesn't want people to use abortion as birth control. (I shouldn't have to say this, but...they really never do.) Kathy was a strong supporter of ours - "Pamela, you should vote no on that one. It's a woman's choice."
But David was the one who really warmed my heart.
"Pamela, you can't vote yes. It's your body! Why do you want the government to tell you what you can and can't do?"
Pamela will be voting no.
So will David.
And Kathy.
And Kathy's husband, Joe.

i <3 south dakota.

2008-10-21T21:39:00.003-04:00

that is not something i ever expected to use as a title to a post.

but there it is.

i'm currently at the airport, waiting for my flight to board so I can be on my way back to Sioux Falls to work for SDCHF for the final push before and through the election. (13 days to go!)

while i wait, i'm going to post this video. you should probably watch it. and then send some money the way of SDCHF. if you're not in south dakota, it's one of the best ways to support the campaign.

because even though this fight is on the ground in South Dakota, and even though the rest of the nation is just now starting to slowly take notice, this isn't just about South Dakota.
if this passes, it will be a direct threat to Roe. the VYFL people are (inconsistently) trying to convince folks that Measure 11, the abortion ban, can coexist with Roe, but that's just absurd. Measure 11 is absolutely unconstitutional.
the majority on the Supreme Court right now is absolutely not undeniably in favour of Roe. our swing vote, Kennedy, wrote the majority opinion in the awful Federal Abortion Ban decision. we could very well lose it.

this is about the women in South Dakota. and this is about the women in every other state in the country. and this is about you. and your rights.

watch this video. and donate now.

reporting rape and abuse

2008-09-30T21:38:00.004-04:00

pastor steve hickey, an avid member of the opposition here in sioux falls, wrote about me on his blog last week. he named me as the "gal" coming in to south dakota from massachusetts, and called me an "angry, hurt, anti-life young person." i have no idea how he got to my blog, but i do give him credit, at least, for reading all the way through my post. (even if it does creep me out a little to have someone like him know that part of my life.)

at the end of my post about coming out to south dakota, i explained why my situation made me particularly empathetic to the victims of sexual violence that may need real access to the full gamut of reproductive health care -- which, yes, includes abortion.
Steve Hickey doesn't think that women, like me, who've been victims of rape or incest should have access to this service (he calls it babykilling, of course).
he also seems to believe that every single woman who's been a victim should be forced to report their attack. which means, bringing it back home to me, that he thinks i should have been forced to report my rape(s).
he links to a woman, Dianne Heynen, who, after accusing Planned Parenthood of wanting rapists to go free (a logical accusation for an organization that promotes women's rights...), claims that reporting rape is important, if not essential, to healing.

Dianne Heynen, my dear, you are wrong.

reporting rape is not essential to healing.
reporting rape is not important to every person's individual, unique healing process.
reporting rape can, in fact, be downright detrimental to healing.

if a woman chooses, with her own agency, to report her rape, then yes, it is a powerful tool of healing.
if a woman is forced into reporting her rape, into rehashing every ugly detail of every aspect of her violation? if it's not her choice, if she has no agency? that is not healing. that will only make things worse. that is repeating the violation -- forcing her to do something that she would not have willingly done. force at worst, coercion at best. this is not empowerment, nor is it helpful for any kind of healing, no matter how you look at it.

if i would've reported my rape, i would've been laughed out of the police station.
if i would've reported my abuse, i would have lost my family a full 7 years before i chose to cut my family out of my life. i would've lost my family long before i was ready or able to survive without them.
not reporting my rape or my abuse to the state saved my life. not reporting my violations is what enabled me to get to the point i'm at right now, to the point of calling myself a survivor.

i know myself and my healing process well enough to know that a report of the rape would make things a million times worse.
i know that by looking at myself, and i know that by looking at what was said to me, and i know that by knowing the laws that govern nonconsensual sexual relationships.

introspection:

reporting the rape that happened on new year's of 2006 would have been impossible. i didn't even call that encounter "rape" until a full four months later. (meaning, if i'd gotten pregnant and needed an abortion, i would've called it 'nonconsensual,' but I absolutely would not have called it rape at the time.) a rape reported four months after the fact would be entirely moot, in terms of prosecution. it took me almost until june of that year - 6 months after the incident - for me to really come to terms with the reality of the situation. if i'd had to endure the judgmental faces of police officers and court officials, i doubt that i would have ever really come to terms with that rape. i'd still be in denial, i'm sure.
reporting the abuse i endured at the hands of my brother would have been equally impossible, given the fact that i didn't even call that "abuse" until 2 years after it stopped. i won't lie; i still have a very hard time believing that i wasn't at fault in those incidents. having to face the shame of that in front of my psychiatrist and therapist and the adolescent psych hospital staff and immediate family was bad enough. facing that shame with people i didn't trust...it's unthinkable. i can't even imagine how horrible that would be. which is not something i'd have to imagine, because it simply never would have happened.

what people have said:
so, so, so many people have insinuated or said straight out that i could not have had any realistic expectations of anything short of intercourse in the situation that came up on that New Year's a few years ago. so many people have told me that they understand why Bill felt it was ok to just go ahead, that i inadvertently gave him the green light when i made out with his girlfriend or went upstairs with the two of them. that i couldn't realistically expect to withdraw my consent to intercourse and make him stop after he'd already started.
and this was all without filing a legal report of the rape. without subjecting myself to the legal system that's so often harsher on victims than so-called "supportive" communities (like the one that expressed all of the above sentiments).
and an awful lot of people have termed the abuse by my brother as "childhood experimentation." even some of the nurses, who should be well versed in sexual abuse, working in an adolescent psych ward, classified my experience as such. my bio parents, unsurprisingly, believe it was nothing more than innocent childhood play. and these are people who i should have been able to expect unconditional love and support from. how would i expect support from a legal system that barely recognizes sibling abuse? how is that a legitimate expectation? it's not.

the legal system:
pure and simple, legally defined, what happened to me on New Year's would never have even made it into a court of law. and if it did, i'd be sent straight out of the courtroom. what Bill did was only a violation of me in terms of conscience and a nuanced understanding of "right" and "wrong." the legal system, especially in western NY, would never have protected my right to say "no." my "no" came after my "yes." it would've been a "he said/she said" case. and we all know which way those cases go. (hint: it's almost never to the "she said" side.)
and my abuse? well, let me tell you. when i was in 11th grade, i called a child advocacy hotline, one that provided legal advocates for children. i asked them what they might be able to do in my situation, given that my parents would absolutely not support me filing charges against my brother.
they, flat out, told me that there were no options for me, especially without my parents' support. they said that there was no point, really, in bringing a legal case - mostly because the age difference between my brother and i was so small. forget the fact that, in any sane person's view, it was absolutely abuse. that doesn't matter. because the law is the law, and it is narrowly written, and the accepted age difference for it to be considered "abuse" cuts off at 5 years. if john had been born in 1980 instead of 1982, i may have ahd a chance. but 3 years was just too small a difference. they all but told me that the court (like my parents, like an awful lot of the unsupportive people in my life) would see it as nothing more than innocent childhood experimentation.

i had no legal options.
i survived sexual abuse, and i survived rape.
but neither would have been legitimate or actionable legal claims. neither would have fit any criteria of sexual violence that currently exists in almost any state laws.

if i hadn't been so lucky, reproductively, in both of these situations, and if i'd lived in a south dakota with this abortion ban in place, i would have two babies right now, neither of which i'd be able to care for, neither of which i would have wanted. both of which would remind me, daily, of what happened to me. the thing i work so hard to move past/through would be thrown in my face, day in and day out. i'd be stuck, in a million different ways. and i would've been doubly traumatized, first by the sexual violence, then by the legal landmines i'd have tried - and undoubtedly failed - to navigate.

this south dakota law that's on the ballot this year would have made my path to healing that much more unmanageable. i thank god that i didn't have to maneuver through these kinds of hoops to find my way to where i am now. i thank god i was lucky enough to not have to try to maneuver my way through, because i'm almost positive i would not be where i am now. i would not have found my way to this place of (in-progress) peace.

s.d. campaign, day 1

2008-09-27T22:53:00.002-04:00

there may or may not be an update every day. probably not. but today was kinda a big day, being the first (and only) full day of PP's Live Action Camp, so i'll do a little overview of the highlights.

-first was sign-making for the visibility that we did at a fairly busy intersection in downtown Sioux Falls. but wait. more importantly, what came before that:
coffee, from Black Sheep Coffee, the coffee shop that's pretty much right next door to the campaign HQ. they roast their own, and not all of their beans are fair trade, but at least some are. independent coffee house, so it's not shitty coffee like starbucks. i also had a soy latte later, which is my drink of choice, and what i'm most picky about. it wasn't the best i've ever had (the best is a tie between the ones i make and the one i got at The Buttery in boston), but it was pretty good. whoever picked that spot for campaign hq is a genius, and i would like to give them a huge hug.

-the visibility went well. more supporters than not, and only a few rude comments or hand gestures. far less than the supportive honks and thumbs-ups that we got. very encouraging way to start the day...even if we did leave the corner with numb hands and sorta hoarse voices.

-lunch, then phonebanking. phone banking was good, and it actually might be my favourite campaign activity.
it was great, until Mr. Jared.
Jared was a 33 year old male, registered Independent.
at first, he seemed unsure about the measure, so i launched into an explanation. he had intelligent questions that seemed based in simple uncertainty and a lack of information. i answered all of his questions the best i could, and i made a ton of really stellar points.
turns out, though, he was on the other side the whole time. or, at least, that's my best guess. he said or implied something about babies being more important than the woman's health. he talked about the "greater good" -- basically, telling these women whose circumstances aren't covered by this ban to suck it up and deal, 'cause overall, it's "saving more babies." he claimed, at the end, that our conversation had not only cemented his decision to vote for this abortion ban, but that he saw now that he needed to spend his time working against our campaign.
Mr. Jared is a douchebag.
I wasted 15 effing minutes on him.

-speaking of antis, i'm famous. an anti-choice pastor here in Sioux Falls who's pretty well-known actually mentioned me, by name, linking here, on his blog.
he called me an "angry, hurt, anti-life young person."
cute.
he has compassion for me, supposedly, which...is nice, i guess?
i'm not gonna link to him, he doesn't deserve that. but...there'll be something later about his claim that all victims should be required to report rape because it's "good for the healing process." or something.
because it's not true, but i've not got the time or energy for that post yet.

-after phone banking was canvassing. sorta successful. the supporter houses i found were full of more than one supporter, so that boosted my numbers. but it was long, and i was tired, and the houses were far apart. however, everyone was very nice. i even met a republican man who's leaning toward voting no, and is also definitely voting for Obama on the 4th. he's sick of Bush. and he thanked us for getting out there and doing what we could to make change we saw was needed. very sweet. i liked him.

and now, it's about 10:30pm on my birthday, and i'm going to bed. for some well-deserved sleep.

the south dakota post.

2008-09-25T20:00:00.003-04:00

edited to add, 9/27/08:
Below is the post I wrote before I headed out here, in which I question CHF's strategies in not focusing or really talking about (from what I could tell) the so-called rape/incest "exception."
Now that I've spent a day and a half with the campaign (more about that soon), I want to add this: I get now why the campaign's not focusing on the bureaucratic b.s. of the rape/incest "exception." I should've known they had good reason, and they do. I've never really been great at "strategy," because I'm not really stoked about using messages that I see as missing anything. I understand why they're used, and I'll use them without complaint, but in my ideal world (which is, clearly, not reality), I'd be able to use the "abortion as basic repro health care as a human right" message. but i can't use that here, and I get that.
That said, this is the campaign's actual stance on the rape/incest so-called "exception," which I didn't understand when i first wrote this post:
The way the measure is worded creates an awful lot of bureaucratic red tape. Red tape that victims shouldn't be forced to find their way through. Reporting rape is not always in the best interests of the victim. It also, as with most rape laws, is really restrictive, and it'd require victims to fit a very specific set of circumstances to really "count" as victims. which is, obvi, bullshit.

The reason it's not the main message is this: SD voters are more compassionate to women with certain health problems not covered by these so-called "exceptions" than they are to rape victims, mostly because they believe that required reporting of rape will automatically mean more rapists in jail. It's an understandable belief, and one that a whole lot of americans share. It'd be great if it were true, and it'd be great if prison was really the best deterrent for sexual violence. But it's not. However, this isn't really the fight that the campaign is fighting right now, so it makes sense that combating that faulty view of rape law and the state's role in rape prosecution isn't a focus of the campaign.

That said, on to the original post.....

--------------------
i leave for south dakota very shortly. my flight leaves bradley airport at 8:52am on Friday and arrives in Sioux Falls at 2:15pm. i'll be there through sunday, october 5th, when i return to bradley airport at 12:15am. (when someone more interested in me than their sleep will pick me up. i have yet to find that willing someone.)
i'll be with the Campaign for Healthy Families throughout. the first weekend is a live action camp sponsored by planned parenthood. the second weekend's live action camp is sponsored by the aclu. in between, i'll be doing whatever the campaign wants me to do.
i'm not gonna lie - i'm nervous about going, and about leaving my little baby cafe for over a week, and about what'll happen if our campaign loses....but i'm still looking forward to it. it was an incredible experience last time (made all the more incredible by our victory), and i'm sure it'll be just as incredible this time.

i've talked about the concerns i had last time around. the strategy we used was successful...but it kinda set us up for this year's ban. of course the Vote Yes For Life folks were going to take our campaign strategy and incorporate it into a revamped version of what was then Referred Law 6, what is now Initiated Measure 11.

and so now, their abortion ban includes so-called "exceptions" for the things we attacked their last ban for excluding - rape and incest or the health of the woman. except...not really.
the health "exception" is vague, and, given that violation of IM11 means a Class 4 Felony, doctors are not likely to be solely concerned with what's best for the woman's health, as they should be. this isn't exactly the most cut and dry exception: "serious risk of substantial and irreversible impairment of a major bodily organ or system". what does that mean, really? does anyone know? are doctors going to be able to figure out whether their patient's best option is going to mean they've committed a felony? and as for the fetuses that won't be able to survive outside of the womb? too bad, you have to carry it to term anyway. there's no provision for fetal fatal anomalies in this law either.
the Healthy Families folks have this argument down pat. their materials focus in on the health exception. they have people on the campaign willing to tell their stories about why their decisions were so important...but wouldn't be allowed under IM11.

but what i can't figure out is why the Healthy Families folks aren't really talking about (and what the VYFL folks are) : the rape and incest "exception."
these are the guidelines for this exception (as explained by the attorney general's explanation(pdf):
-you, as the victim, and/or your doctor must report the rape or incest to the authorities.
-you must consent (is a requirement really considered "consent"?) to a DNA sample of the fetus' tissue. to be used, with or without your consent, by the state attorney's office in the prosecution of the crime perpetrated against you.
let me repeat that.
with or without your consent.
but hey! don't worry, abused girls. this oh so gracious law includes a protection for you - you can't be charged for the incestuous sexual conduct that led to your pregnancy. whew. there's a relief. and here i thought this law was heartless.
oh, wait..it still is.

now, of course i think that an ideal outcome would be a report of the rape. i'm not advocating for letting rapists and abusers off the hook.
hi, my name is jen, i'm a survivor of rape and sexual abuse. i'm all for holding rapists and abusers accountable for their actions. i shouldn't have to say that, but i do, because that's how VYFL is painting our side. they're painting us as people who don't care if rapists and abusers are put away. which is, of course, bullshit.

what i'd like to advocate for, though, is victims' rights.
the best way to disempower a woman who's just been disempowered in an extremely intimate way is to force her to re-live her experience, take away her right to tell or not tell her story of violation, and her decision to immerse herself in the fucked up 'justice' system. take all of that away from her. tell her that she must give all of the details she knows, that her story will be reported, that DNA evidence will be taken, and that the state attorney will make the decision as to whether or not to follow through with prosecution.
tell her all of this, and when she makes the very reasonable and understandable decision not to report her attack, tell her that she's going to have to keep this child, whether she wants it or not. after all, she's probably used to people making her do things with her body that she does not want. she's a woman, so she's probably used to people coercing her into "consenting" to x, y, and z.

this is not compassion.
this is not what caring about rape and incest victims looks like.
this is not empowering.

this is degrading.
and disgusting.
and ultimately disempowering.

i was lucky in that my brother's sexual abuse never resulted in pregnancy. i got my first period in the same month that the abuse ended. i didn't understand how pregnancy worked as fully as i should've (thanks, inaccurate abstinence-only education!), and i was terrified until i got my period again...two full months later, because regularity doesn't accompany menarche. but imagine (as i often have) that i wasn't a late bloomer and had gotten my period a year or two earlier. imagine that he forced intercourse on me more than once in that time. and imagine that, at 13, i'd gotten pregnant and needed an abortion. i know exactly what it would have looked like if i lived in a state where this law was in effect:

maybe i would have gone to a gynecologist, for the first time. i would have been terrified to go, but i would have told her that i was afraid i was pregnant. she would have asked me if i'd been sexually active. my shame would have given me away, i'm sure, and she would have asked if it was consensual. at 13, i would have given a very confused answer, one that admitted that i knew it was gross but still thought there was some element of consent, because at 13, i didn't understand coercion, and i didn't connect "abuse" with my experience.
if she found that i was pregnant, i would have tried to get an abortion. how i would pay for it or obtain transportation to and from the procedure, i have no idea, but the last thing that i would have been prepared for would be to tell my (abusive) parents. if i had to tell my parents AND the police? if that was my only option? well…i would have recanted. i would have made up some story about some boyfriend my age, about making bad decisions. because that would have been preferable to being forced to tell my story to my parents, to countless state officials, and having the story of my brother’s abuse whispered in the halls of my high school. and i wouldn’t have gotten the abortion, so i would’ve had to find a way to travel out of state. or i would have looked up some dangerous d.i.y. form of abortion, and done it myself. i was no stranger to self-abuse, so inducing a miscarriage could’ve been an easy option.
these options – traveling far away by myself, literally beating myself up, taking some kind of dangerous mix of chemicals – all would have been higher on my list than telling my parents. and far, far higher than telling any authority figures.

and maybe that’s not all that compelling as a reason to be against the so-called “incest exception” in this abortion ban. certainly, there should have been some state intervention in my family. (and there would have been, if the doctors and nurses in the psych ward at ECMC had followed mandated reporting laws – which they did, for every other sexually abused girl in my ward who was darker than me or poorer than me. purely coincidence, though, i’m sure. *coughcough*)

but hold on. i was sexually abused, and like a lot of other abuse survivors, that’s not the only violation in my history. so here’s another scenario:

when i was 20, i was raped at a New Year’s party by a guy i’d been friends with since preschool. he and his girlfriend took me upstairs on the pretense that the only sex i’d be having would be with the girl (who i was legitimately into), and they coerced and coaxed me into consenting to sex with him. i withdrew my consent two seconds later and told him to stop, but he didn’t care, and kept going.
i don’t think he finished in me, but i was still pretty terrified until i got my period, on schedule, three very long weeks later. (emergency contraception was around at that time, but i somehow didn't know anything about it.)
that fear was well-founded – i could very well have been pregnant. if i was, and if i lived in a South Dakota with this ban in place, i would not be able to get an abortion. even if i’d called the unwanted sex “rape” from the get go (which i didn’t), what happened is not a crime that would ever be prosecuted. i’m smart enough to know that. what happened would absolutely count as rape to any person with a conscience, but as we know, the state is not a body that “conscience” usually applies to. i would have to carry this rapist’s baby because the idea of having my sex life illuminated before judgmental police officers and my shame magnified and multiplied by court officials is fucking terrifying. the idea of carrying my rapist's baby to term is terrifying and awful, as well, of course.
but not terrifying enough to be willing to subject myself to the trauma of a state investigation.

you can’t scare rape victims into reporting their rapes. you can’t frighten abuse victims into doing what they’ll see as “betraying” their families’ secrets.
that’s not how it works.
that’s not compassion.
that’s cruelty.

and maybe the Healthy Families folks aren’t using this angle because it’s controversial. maybe it’s too inflammatory, too emotional. maybe it’s because it doesn’t boil down to a nice sound byte. there are lots of nuances, there is a lot of emotion, and there’s a lot of complication.
but that’s how it’s supposed to be. that’s what reality is.

i know that simplified issues have become what electoral politics are all about. i would love for this to be a simple issue, for it to be black and white and easy to grasp for every South Dakota voter.
but it’s not.
and i’d like to give more credit to the voters than a lot of campaigns ever give them. there are nuances. there is a lot of messiness. we all, i hope, get that. these aren’t easy issues, and they’re not supposed to be.

when i’m out in South Dakota tomorrow and through the next week, i will of course stay on message. i’ll use the message they want to use, the message they’ve decided is their strategy this year, and i’ll hope that it doesn’t backfire or come back to kick their ass. and this all will be in my mind. this is what i’ll be thinking, even if it's not the main message we'll be using.

for the record...

2008-09-16T20:21:00.005-04:00

Sarah Palin as potential VP (i.e. president when mccain dies two days into office) terrifies me. Tina Fey, who bears an uncanny resemblance to the clueless Alaskan governor, however, is a genius.

Like Cara, I'm staying optimistic that Obama will win. Mostly because it's unfathomable to me that he won't. And I don't wanna have take part in that mass exodus to Canada on November 5th. (Although I won't lie; I'll have my passport handy while watching election results come in.)

Thinking about the economy makes my head hurt. And it makes me sad for what it might mean for my little baby cafe. So I'm not going to think about it. For tonight, at least.

I may be watching election results come in somewhere in South Dakota, if things go as planned. I turned down a full-time campaign (read: obsession-inducing, inevitably unhealthy) job with the SD Campaign for Healthy Families, but I'm still invested in the outcome of election day out there. I'm still looking for funding for a second volunteer trip out there for the couple weeks leading up to the election (contact me if you want to fund me yourself), but I've got one trip planned and booked. I'll be heading out September 26th (the day before my birthday!), spending a week and a half with the campaign, canvassing like my life depends on it ('cause really, it kinda does), developing a charming midwestern accent (don'chaknow?), and heading back to western mass on October 6th. Wish me luck! In the meantime, watch this new ad from SDCHF:

And my biggest wish, as of 8:30pm tonight, is to explain to this Vote Yes for Life woman, Janet Folger, what it's really like to be a victim/survivor of rape and incest. Because she so, so, so clearly does not understand. And in my optimistic state, I need to believe that if she understood, she wouldn't be making this absurd speech:

community organizing.

2008-09-07T16:15:00.008-04:00

I'm a day early on this one, but I've got a few long days of work/babysitting/etc ahead of me, so I'm throwing this up on Sunday instead of Monday. Which is probably fine, since this post doesn't really fit in the parameters of what tomorrow's virtual mobilization of community organizer/bloggers is supposed to be about anyway. I may still throw one up tomorrow, and maybe it'll actually fit into said parameters.

Tomorrow, a lot of bloggers will be blogging on community organizing. The idea behind this is to have bloggers who are community organizers blog about their experiences, about what being a community organizer means, and about why it's important work.

----
This is all in response, of course, to the "jokes" about community organizers at the RNC, coming from both Giuliani and Palin. Really? If you're going to make fun of Obama, you've gotta at least find some better material.
This whole thing is just absurd. The reason they need to mock Obama, though? Not because he was a community organizer. Because of what Ezra points out:

But look, let's call a spade a spade: When Giuliani sneered about community organizers on the "South side" of Chicago, it's pretty clear what he was saying: Barack Obama spent his time rabble-rousing among black people. It's no different then when the RNC called him a "street organizer."........
Community organizer isn't being used to describe a job but a background. Obama organized poor black people. Helped channel their anger and grievances and anxieties. That's change you can fear.

----

The RNC debacle created a wave of defense among a whole slew of bloggers, especially feminist bloggers.
As it should. Because grassroots, community organizing is vitally important to movements like feminism. Organizing on the personal, community level is how you build a movement. And community organizers are the people who do the dirty work, who make change happen, who are a lot more in touch with the people they're serving than "public servants" like politicians and most lobbyists ever dream of being.
Except...
The mainstream feminist movement? Not really all about building a movement. The mainstream feminist movement isn't really about community-building on a local level. They do great work on the state level, they do great work in legislative processes and working with bureaucratic bullshit and getting funding toward their causes. They sometimes provide important services to the community at large. But when it comes to getting into a community, becoming immersed in it, becoming part of it, so that they can be responsive to what people really need, they're usually pretty absent. That's not where their priorities lie.

When I say "they," I'm talking about the Big Feminist Organizations. The "career feminists" (most of them, at least). The feminist organizations in the beltway ("national" organizations) are mostly concerned with beltway politics. This is important, but they aren't organizing communities. They're organizing politicians. Rounding them up, gathering them together, getting legislation passed or working within the state institutions to make change. (I suppose politicians can be considered a "community," in some sense, but that's really not the kind of community I'm concerned with here.) This is great. It needs to happen. But it's not community organizing.
Even organizations that function within their individual states don't always engage with community organizing. NARAL Massachusetts is a perfect example. I have a million grievances with NARAL's political choices nationally, but even in Massachusetts, the NARAL organizers are not community organizers. I say this because I live in western Massachusetts. In my 3 1/2 years here, including 2 in college, I've heard about exactly one organized NARAL MA event here - meeting with an aide of western MA's congressman in Springfield. I almost went, but couldn't get off work, and didn't want to pay the gas to drive all the way down to Springfield. I think they drew maybe one or two volunteer activists from the area to that meeting. NARAL MA's priorities don't bring the organization outside of Boston or Beacon Hill. They lobby the state assembly and the state senators. I think they've held events for Obama in Boston. They probably work with some student groups at some of the many colleges that Boston is home to. But that's pretty much it. Their priority is at the state level. Their priority is purely capital-P Political.

What NARAL MA, and NARAL Pro-Choice America, and PPFA, and PPLM, and NOW, and so many of the Big Feminist Organizations do is organizing, I don't deny that. And, depending on how broadly we're defining "community," it could easily be considered community organizing, as well. But what I'd like to see celebrated and validated more isn't just that kind of Big Feminist Organization advocacy. What I'd love to see this movement, if we're really going to be a movement, doing more of is movement-building. Getting Obama elected and fighting court battles and working to get congressional funding allocated to abuse victims is important work. But it's not (necessarily) building a movement.

When I think of "community organizers," much like the organizing that Obama did on the south side of Chicago, I think of movement-building. Organizing state players is one thing. Organizing the community and building a base for this movement is an entirely different thing.

Which I guess is why I, like some other bloggers, are a little confused about why all of these big feminist bloggers are now coming to the defense of community organizers. An awful lot of them are career feminists. An awful lot of them have gone the "strategic" route in lieu of the community organizing, collective route (perhaps because we live in an individualistic culture and collective feminism is not what we do?), because collective organizing is not 'practical' or 'realistic.'
(Thank you, thank you, to the always amazing bfp for hitting the nail on the head and helping me understand, in sentence form, why the sudden rush to defend community organizers seemed so off to me.)

And now, with all of that said, this is how I see community organizing.

Community organizers value collective action and movement building.
Community organizers are not always paid staff of a recognized activist organization.
Community organizers listen to what the people in their community need, and do whatever work they can, whatever is in their power to do, in order to find ways to help their community get their needs met.
Community organizers don't wait for power to be "granted" to them by bureaucratic governmental agencies. Community organizers don't take power for themselves. Community organizers help communities to gain power, collectively, to make the changes they need.
Community organizers empower their communities, help their communities to empower themselves.
Community organizers do not forget about the "forgettable" members of their community, the least privileged, the ones most often denied a voice.
Community organizers are facilitators. They facilitate dialogue, they facilitate your finding of your own voice. They do not speak for you. They enable you to speak for yourself.
Community organizers are political, by nature of being organizers, but can move beyond capital-P Politics. When community organizers are helping to organize for capital-P Politics, they do so collectively, as part of a community, and without losing sight of their community's roots.
Community organizers are catalysts.

Also, via ybp:

Anyone who blogs, ESPECIALLY to give a voice to those often not heard, is a community organizer.
Anyone who has helped younger generations understand their relevance is a community organizer.
Anyone who has volunteered to help register voters is a community organizer.
Anyone who has tried to organize a group for a cause is a community organizer.
Anyone who has spoken out about injustice, whether writing into a campaign, talked to their friends, or made a phone call is a community organizer.

hurricane gustav. not katrina part 2...right?

2008-08-31T14:42:00.005-04:00

oh, look. the poorest of the poor, the ones without a real, safe opportunity for evacuation, are being conveniently "forgotten" yet again. color me surprised.

CNN has a story on some of the people who can't leave New Orleans to evacuate for Hurricane Gustav, which is headed straight for the gulf and expected to be even more devastating than Katrina.

and this AP article kind of makes me a little nauseous. at least, this paragraph does:

"This is the real deal, not a test," Nagin said as he issued the order, warning residents that staying would be "one of the biggest mistakes of your life." He emphasized that the city will not offer emergency services to anyone who chooses to stay behind.
...
Advocates criticized the decision not to establish a shelter, warning that day laborers and the poorest residents would fall through the cracks.

About two dozen Hispanic men gathered under oak trees near Claiborne Avenue. They were wary of boarding any bus, even though a city spokesman said no identity papers would be required.

"The problem is," said Pictor Soto, 44, of Peru, "there will be immigration people there and we're all undocumented."

bfp has a post with links for how you can help.
i've already sent some money to INCITE!, whose members are working on getting help to low-income women of colour, and i suggest you do the same, if you can. and/or donate to the red cross. and check out BFP's post on how to help prisoners in New Orleans.

peerless.

2008-08-27T16:28:00.005-04:00

(full disclosure for this post: i have a personal investment in the subject of spelling. here's why: i was thisclose to making it to the national spelling bee when i was in 8th grade. at regionals, i missed the word that is the title of this post - peerless - because the word-giver [is there an actual job title for this?], who i have yet to forgive, pronounced it "perilous." the sentence she gave could've gone either way. had i asked for a definition, i would've easily gotten it -- and every other word that would've fallen on my turn -- and, most likely, gone to nationals. but instead, i spelled "perilous," and was eliminated. and no, i'm not still bitter about a contest that happened over ten years ago. why do you ask?)

according to this article on spiked (via), some "progressive" educators are arguing in favour of de-emphasizing correct spelling and, instead of engaging in the tedious task of correcting students' spelling, accept the most commonly misspelled words ("truely" in place of "truly," for example) as "variant spellings." they claim that an adherence to correct spelling is elitist, discriminating against people from "disadvantaged backgrounds."

my first thought: have these people not seen Akeelah and the Bee? a young girl, quite disadvantaged, from south LA, wins the National spelling bee on her first trip there. a talent for spelling did not elude her, so why should it elude other similarly disadvantaged students?

thought number 1.5: what kind of generalization is that? assuming that "disadvantaged" (read: low-income, people of color, inner city, Other) kids can't spell? talk about elitist assumptions.

my second thought: ok, there's a good possibility that kids who've grown up and have been placed at some kind of educational disadvantage perform less well in spelling than their more advantaged counterparts. it's not as if educationally disadvantaged students are the only ones consistently employing these "variant spellings." really. this fact comes from a girl who was educated in a very good public school and attended a top tier college. even if it were confined to those "disadvantaged" students, the answer is not to meet them at their misspellings. maybe a step would be to, i don't know, stop de-funding education, put a little effort into these neglected schools, actually make the educational changes we've needed to make for years.

maybe i'm a spelling purist. if it's "progressive" educators that are lobbying for the acceptance of "variant spellings," maybe that makes me "conservative." for once, for the only time in my life, i'm ok with that label. literacy is not a luxury of the elite, and correct spelling is an indispensable facet of literacy. illiteracy is not a badge of honour, or, like the article rightly bemoans, a "virtue." spelling is not arbitrary. spelling things incorrectly does not show your self-expression or creativity.

there is a place for self-expression and creativity in literature, of course. literature would not continue evolving if that weren't the case. it's ok to sometimes cast off some of the restrictive grammatical rules in order to expand literary creativity. you'll notice that i rarely construct sentences that include capitalization, and that often, i include sentences with one or two words - not a complete sentence, by definition. this is not, however, because i don't understand correct grammar or sentence construction or literary rules. i generally do not capitalize the first word of sentences for aesthetic purposes. i like the way paragraphs look without the interruption of capital letters. (i could probably make an argument challenging the hierarchical nature of capitalization, but that's really not my motivation.) my incomplete sentences exist for the sake of the literary voice that i've chosen. the voice i write with reflects the voice i speak with. i think that's an important similarity for a writer.
the difference here is that i know what the literary rules are. i'm consciously choosing to break them, for reasons that are defensible in the literary world. misspelling words due to ignorance of their correct spelling, though? that's not "variant" or "self-expression." that's just an aspect of illiteracy.

lastly, a note on the argument Frank makes near the end of the article:

In essence, variant spelling is a true companion to the idea of variant truths. Contemporary cultural life has become estranged from the idea of Truth with a capital T. In academia, social scientists never tire of informing students that there are no ‘right’ and ‘wrong’ answers. Instead of the truth, people are exhorted to accept different perspectives as representing many truths.

The demotion of the status of truth calls into question the purpose of gaining knowledge. Celebrating variant truths, like variant spellings, is presented as a pluralistic gesture of tolerance. In fact it represents a reluctance to take education and its ideas seriously. And not surprisingly, those who do not take ideas seriously are also not very worried about how they are spelled.

as an avid challenger of accepted capital-T Truths, i disagree with this. the calling into question of the status quo, of long-accepted social Truths (i.e. normativity and homogeneity) does not call into question the value of gaining knowledge. on the contrary; gaining knowledge is one of the things that allows the status quo to be challenged. the academy is certainly not the only place that Truths can be challenged, but it's been an important front in that for a while now. for example, i (and many feminist scholars) absolutely disagree with the long-accepted "Truth" that small children have inherent differences based on their genitalia. little boys can be just as sensitive and pink-loving as little girls, and little girls can love to play with trucks and do science experiments just as much as little boys. challenging that Truth had absolutely nothing to do with employing "variant spellings." there is absolutely no connection.
seeking and accepting a pluralistic version of truth(s) doesn't mean taking ideas less seriously. making the connection between progressive scholars advocating for the acceptance of a variety of truth and "scholars" advocating for the acceptance of "variant spellings" is a red herring, and an ineffective one at that.

leslee unruh: traces of humanity?

2008-08-16T20:36:00.004-04:00

normally, just hearing the name "Leslee Unruh" or seeing a picture of her face gets a whole lot of angry blood pumping through my system. it's not often that one person can incite that much negative energy in me. Leslee, though, is a sure bet. she infuriates me...and, as much as i hate to admit it, she scares me. not because i think she can win this fight she's working so hard at, but because she can come close. because, unfortunately, she's a good strategist. and because there's just something about her that instills fear. when i worked on the campaign against South Dakota's abortion ban a couple years ago, my friend Christine told me that some of the CHF staffers had dressed up as Leslee for Halloween. it would be a totally appropriate, totally horrifying costume.

so normally, my reactions to Leslee range from terrified to horrified to hate-filled to infuriated.
which is why this article, published in the most recent issue of More magazine threw me off. i expected to be angry. i expected a description of the work she puts in to limit women's lives and choices, and i expected to be appalled that this woman could exist. that a human being could exist like her.
my reaction followed the same lines as Cara's: she called it "creepy and compelling." on some level that shakes me up a little, it also intrigues me. she intrigues me. and i'm a little more convinced that maybe there's a little bit of human being in her still.
and my grand Theory of Leslee has changed: maybe instead of being just pure evil incarnate, maybe she's just possessed. because little bits of humanity peek out in this article.

it was written by Amanda Robb, whose uncle, Barnett (Bart) Slepian, was an ob/gyn and abortion doctor back on my home turf in Western New York. He was murdered in 1998 by an anti-abortion activist. it's an incredibly well-written article - for journalistic value only, it's worth the read. Robb was somehow able to get close enough to Leslee to make her seem human. real. it showed her for how crazy she can get, but it also showed her as a real person, with what appears to be a trying past.

i could look at the article, at the discrepancies between Leslee's story of her life and the lie that Robb catches her in and call her a dirty liar. i could look at the legal/safe (though not incredibly well-executed, patient-advocacy wise) abortion she got a while back and call her a hypocrite. i could look at the manipulations that Unruh describes, the manipulations that make up almost all of Unruh's campaign work, and say that she's utterly deplorable. but i'm not going to. because even though it was a very long article on one of the people i most deplore, i wasn't left with a nasty taste in my mouth. i was left wanting to know more.
i was left feeling....well, i feel kinda bad for Leslee.

what else has she gone through to make her feel this need to construct her life around controlling everyone else's sexuality and sexual choices? what does she gain from this? does it really give her the satisfaction and fulfillment that (i'm guessing) she's pursuing? and if so, why does the control of other people fulfill her? what void is she trying to fill here?

south dakota? colorado? where to, this time around?

2008-07-20T21:11:00.006-04:00

two years ago this november, i went to south dakota for a week to volunteer with South Dakota Campaign For Healthy Families, the coalition formed to oppose the ban on abortion (Referred Law 6, that year) that was placed on the ballot by the same coalition. (for the few of you not in the know: the south dakota legislature had passed, and the governor had signed, a ban on abortion in march of that year. putting it on the ballot was safer than going through the courts system to make the ban go away.) it was a totally amazing, incredible experience; i missed a week's worth of classes, flew to a state i've never been, mostly closeted myself as a queer (...well, sorta. that is, if making out with a girl in the front seat of our rental car still counts as "closeted"), picked up a midwestern accent, and actually made change. saw a victory, and was part of it. incredible.

we won by a pretty decent margin...but in a weird way. the way that the campaign strategy worked, we opened ourselves up for exactly the ban that's currently on the ballot for this year: the ballot initiative, this time, includes the exceptions for rape, incest, and women's health that were our strategic points last time around.
(i fucking hate leslee unruh.)

so it's back.
i'm working on finding a way to get back to south dakota for november, to volunteer again with the SDCHF. to work again with some of the people still kicking around SD, still working against the ban, to work for this amazing coalition, to help them win again (they have to win again. we have to win again.).

footage from SDCHF's and PPMNNDSD (planned parenthood of minnesota, north dakota, & south dakota) follows:

(also see PPMNNDSD's blog, Stand Up South Dakota)

now, though, i'm torn.
do i go back to south dakota, work again with the coalition i love, work against the crazy that is leslee unruh and her campaign?
or do i go to colorado, where there is a full zip code full of evangelical woman-haters (focus on the family's frightening hq is in colorado springs), where there's another abortion ban on the ballot for november?
the campaign against this ban in colorado is Protect Families, Protect Choice. (interesting how they both use the emotionally loaded word, "family," in their campaign names.)
this ban is really frightening for a lot of reasons. mostly, because it's not explicitly a ban on abortion; instead, it's a "personhood amendment." meaning that it would change the state constitution of CO to define "personhood" as beginning at fertilization. this definition extends to the sections of the state constitution regarding due process, inalienable rights, and equality of justice.
this, by extension, makes abortion illegal. this makes a lot of forms of birth control illegal. this makes emergency contraception illegal. this has no exceptions, whatsoever. not for rape, not for incest, not for the health (maybe even the life) of the mother. nothing.

(one of my big fears: the colorado campaign will go the way of the SD campaign and use the so, so problematic strategy of opposing it based on the lack of exceptions. it worked in sd two years ago, sure, but now the ban is back, with a much worse prognosis for us than before. please, colorado, learn from this. please please please.)

so, decision-making time:
colorado?
south dakota?
(or maybe california, where that fucking parental notification bullshit is back on the ballot again?)

où vais-je?

(my) truth about causality, queerness, and abuse

2008-07-13T20:34:00.005-04:00

When I came out to my birth mother, one of her first questions (or, more accurately, accusations) was: “This is because of what happened with your brother, isn’t it?” She couldn’t speak the words that held the truths of my life; “this,” for her, was as close as she could get to admitting that her only daughter was queer. “What happened” was as close as she could come to admitting that her only daughter had been abused by her own son. The causal link that she saw linking these two unspeakable truths about this girl she birthed was terrifying to her, but at the same time, made it easier to dismiss and refuse to engage with each hard truth.

These are my terrifying, real, hard truths:
I am queer.
I am a survivor* of childhood sexual abuse, a survivor of emotional abuse and neglect, and a survivor of rape.
I do not see these aspects of my identity as separate, or separable. They do not exist as isolated truths. Each identity plays into and informs the other. (Yes, intersectionality applies here, too.) I cannot say that the abuse does not affect my current sexuality, just as I cannot say that my sexuality wasn’t an aspect of the abuse as it happened.
I was victimized in part because my sexuality was already a point of vulnerability.
And here’s the other part of this truth that nobody wants me to say, nobody wants to hear: I am queer because I was sexually abused.

Yep, I said it. The way my life has panned out, there is a connection. There is a link. It is, at least in part, a causal one.

Which isn’t to say that every queer woman is drawn to women because she was sexually assaulted (although the number is a little overwhelming), or that every woman who was victimized “goes gay.” But it’s my reality. And I do not think I am alone.

I’ve spent almost the entirety of my “out” life (5 years now) running away from that truth. Denying it and downplaying it and making it not mine, fitting myself into the mold of the (already marginal) rhetoric of queer survivors of sexual violence. I was terrified to lose that legitimacy as a queer woman, terrified to open up that most painful part of my past to scrutiny and disbelief (as if it weren’t already). And maybe, in most people’s eyes, and certainly in the eyes of the mainstream alphabet-soup (LGBTQ) movement, I just lost my claim to a “real,” “legitimate” queer identity. But when it comes back to it, this is my truth. This causal link between sexual violence and my queer identity is real.

(so much more to say after the jump)

Here are some more truths about that link:

It has nothing to do with legitimacy or authenticity. More specifically: my admission to the causal link has nothing to do with illegitimacy.
I am still a legitimate, authentic queer woman.
I am still a legitimate, authentic survivor of sexual/emotional/spiritual violence.
My sexual interactions and realities and pleasure-seeking moments are inextricably wrapped up in my experiences of abuse.
My experiences and memories of abuse are inextricably wrapped up in my queer sexuality.
This link is normal.
I am not an anomaly. (The anomalous part: I am speaking about it. I am not hiding.)

There are certain standards of authenticity that the mainstream LGBTQ movement and a majority of queer people cling to and uphold. This one comes from a lot of different angles, from almost every aspect of both the queer and survivor movements. With this, I reject this standard of authenticity. I refuse to continue to fake it.
In The Courage To Heal, the text that usually stands as the bible of the survivor movement, Laura Davis & Ellen Bass declare there to be no causal connection between child sexual abuse and coming out as a lesbian. They are committed not to providing a space for different truths, different standards of authenticity, to exist; they are committed to disavowing that connection, and, by extension, denying authenticity and legitimacy to those queer women (like myself) who may see – or live - a causal connection between their abuse and their sexuality. In an article in The Advocate on the prominence of lesbians in the survivor movement, Davis says, “If child sexual abuse was responsible for women becoming lesbians, then the lesbian population would be far greater than it is today. Sexual abuse may be one factor among many in someone’s sexual orientation. But saying that abuse causes homosexuality is making an assumption that there’s something wrong with being lesbian or gay.”
Her first point is a fair one; we would, indeed, have a hell of a lot more (out) queer women if every survivor were queer. And, of course, not every queer survivor’s sexuality is a direct result of her abuse. But the rhetoric put forth by Davis, the same rhetoric put forth by the majority of the LGBTQ and survivor movements, is a limiting discourse. It creates and enforces a very strict standard of authenticity and legitimacy.
Here’s the thing about standards of authenticity and legitimacy: they, by definition, exclude people. I don’t think it comes as much of a surprise that the people excluded are most often members of minority groups (women, queers, p.o.c., etc.). Before I wrote out my truth, before I gave voice to it, I was excluded from the queer movement and from the survivor movement. I was part of each, of course, but only as a (self-)censored woman. I shut off that truth-telling part out of internalized standards of authenticity and out of the fear of being denied authenticity and entrance into the “real queers’” club by the rest of the “real queers” – that is, the queers who adhere to the rules of authenticity and presentation and legitimacy. (Which, ironically, is a little anathema to the idea of “queerness” itself.)
By contrast to Davis’ later point, I give you this quote (on p. 90, if you’re curious) from Ann Cvetkovich’s An Archive of Feelings: Trauma, Sexuality, and Lesbian Public Cultures: “But why can’t saying that ‘sexual abuse causes homosexuality’ just as easily be based on the assumption that there’s something right, rather than something wrong, with being lesbian or gay? As someone who would go so far as to claim lesbianism as one of the welcome effects of sexual abuse [word!], I am happy to contemplate the therapeutic process by which sexual abuse turns girls queer.”

Speaking honestly and truthfully about this connection does not need to imply a negative assumption about queerness and/or lesbianism. If the LGBTQ movement is so invested in fighting homophobia, why does it play into its assumptions here? Assuming that speaking about causality would imply an inherent dysfunction of queerness is homophobic; it is, on some level, an admission of queerness as something that could be dysfunctional. If we, in our queer communities, truly based our rhetoric on the assumption that nothing could de-legitimize or de-authenticate our queerness, there would be no need to fear speaking honestly about these things we censor.
The survivor activist community plays into similar homophobic fears when it censors its members and so vehemently denies a causal link. It makes sense; the survivor movement has worked very hard to gain legitimacy and credibility in the mainstream culture, and a refusal to play by the rules of homophobia could very well threaten that mainstream legitimacy and credibility. But by creating such a rigid disavowal of the connection, the survivor movement is giving in to, rather than rising above, the power of lesbian baiting and homophobia…and therefore, forfeiting their potential for truly radical – and truly effective – change.
And that’s just on the social movement level.
On the individual level, both the queer and survivor communities are excluding people like me. People who are no longer going to censor ourselves or our sexualities or our very messy realities that we live. I’m creating a community that I can belong in, but no “established” community is particularly happy to have me, this woman who speaks the things you’re not supposed to talk about. I’m still committed to social change, and to these social movements, despite their exclusion…but that’s no thanks to the communities that would deem me inauthentic or illegitimate. I’m still committed to these movements and communities because I’ve got a stubbornness that allows me to believe that I’ll eventually be accepted, with all of my messiness. That’s not a stubbornness that we can expect from most people, or a stubbornness that’s necessarily all that healthy or communicates a healthy sense of self-worth. My standing commitment to these movements doesn’t negate the fact that these movements and these communities are in pretty dire need of change, expansive change. Something’s gotta give here. And it sure as hell had better not be my, or Ann Cvetkovich’s, or any of the other women whose sexual realities mirror mine.

The solution here is not about marching on the nation’s capital or signing petitions or writing letters. The solution is pretty simple: talk to each other. But not just in the bullshit rhetoric that’s dictated by the LGBTQ and survivor movements and communities. Speak openly and honestly, in full truths and full sincerity. Talk about the messiness, if your reality is messy. Don’t shy away from it and don’t buy into the shaming that the rest of the culture, and even your intimate communities, puts on you (far, far, far easier said than done, I know).
Control your knee-jerk reactions to realities or explorations of causality, and don’t make judgments about authenticity or legitimacy.
This is not about changing your realities or experiences. This is about being true to your reality, uncensored, uncut, this is about experiencing your reality. This is about resisting oppression, both self-imposed and community-supported. This is about revolutionary change, from individual to community to world. This is about changing attitudes, changing perspectives…and with that, changing lives and opening communities.

____________________________
* yes, i have finally settled on this side of the victim/survivor rhetorical divide. mostly for simplicity’s sake in speaking about my past, but also for other, more necessarily-long-winded reasons.

immigration is a feminist issue

2008-07-13T18:11:00.003-04:00

just in case you needed more proof that immigration is, indeed, a feminist issue:

the vast majority of women are sexually assaulted on their journey across the US-Mexico border.

According to experts, rape is now considered "the price of admission" for women crossing the border illegally.

But this scourge goes largely ignored, and is suspected to be vastly underreported. Not surprisingly, few women care to describe their ordeals to authorities in stark government detention facilities.
...
Civilian border-watchers tell of hearing these women's cries.

"I thought the wailings we heard at night were the coyotes barking at the moon," one volunteer told The Washington Times. "I didn't know until later that those sounds were the cries of women being raped in the Mexican desert, some less than 100 yards away from the border. There was absolutely nothing anyone could do about it."

The rapists are known to hang women's bras and panties from tree limbs as trophies.
.....

read the whole article. really.

coming soon to this space

2008-07-06T20:42:00.004-04:00

check back soon.
there's an almost-done post on queer survivors of sexual violence coming up.

(similar to the last paper i wrote at Smith, on queer survivors of childhood sexual abuse, but less academic / with more heart. also, dissimilar in that i don't think this post will come close to killing me in the way that paper did.)

{ETA: the post is now up, but I'm leaving this one up so that I can keep the totally awesome sytycd videos up.}

in the meantime, enjoy this, my love from SYTYCD (sadly, eliminated last week).
not gonna lie, half the reason i love her so much is 'cause she danced to Ani. what? it's an easy road to my heart.

also, her totally fucking amazing (also Ani) audition:

trauma, bodies, healing, revolution(izing)

2008-07-06T14:59:00.002-04:00

what she said.

Unfortunately, what I most often witness is people’s trauma around their bodies getting in the way of uniting. As queers, as fat people, as people with disabilities, as people of color, we have often located so much of our pain in our bodies. We internalize so much anger, we get sick from it and throw up walls and make divisions. I get inspired when I see the connections made on an individual level. But on a larger scale I don’t really see it happening yet.

I think there are two main obstacles: 1) Most of us spend a lot of time outside of our bodies. I’m not sure how many people are willing to get into their bodies in the way it would require in order for this kind of movement to build. Phat Camp was an amazing place to witness people going through this. They come in with their brains in a tizzy, wondering “What is empowerment? What is self-acceptance?” and then they realize we don’t want their brains to do the work—we want to go to a deeper place. A place where all of our bodies are unified in the struggle to be whole and real.

2) People who don’t have to think about their power usually don’t. Sometimes I wonder if we can really build anything effectively without figuring out how to cross over and get people to examine their privilege. There is so much mythology about health and wellness, that it’s hard for me to picture having a deep moment with someone who more than anything believes I just need to lose weight. Even if we agree that the prison system needs to end and Bush is a motherfucker.

I see the goal of all work like this to be community building, healing, and revolution. In that order.

(via bfp, via nadia)

mothering as a feminist act*

2008-06-25T18:24:00.007-04:00

*i was tempted to title this post, "mothering as the ultimate feminist act," but that felt wrong. it felt very hyperbolic, similar to "Bean is the cutest two year old that ever existed." true, on some level, but really only true-ish. (but not truthiness, because there's legitimate truth in there) Bean is, indeed, an unbelievably adorable 2-year-old, but creating a hierarchy where she towers so far above every other adorable two year old is a little silly.
because while mothering is an absolutely vital part of taking feminist action (at least, a certain kind of mothering that i'll discuss herein), it is, of course, not the absolute most important feminist act one can take. there's no hierarchy here. it's all important. but in this post, mothering - truly feminist mothering - is the focal point of feminist action(s).
------------

when you think of "feminist action," most people think of petitions, marches on washington, lobbying your congressmen & women, taking it to the streets, working for legislative change, working for community change. most people do not think of family as a site of feminist action. at most, they'll think of family as the breeding ground for feminists, raising feminists by instilling ideals of equality and social justice in their kids, so that their kids can one day take these more obvious steps we call "feminist acts."

the family, though, IS a site of feminist action.
or, at least, it can be.
(i will speak directly to the act of mothering here, because that's what i can speak to most eloquently and knowledgeably, but that of course does not preclude other kinds of parenting, and it does not necessarily apply only to women.)

mothering is not black & white, but, if you'll allow me some brief essentialism, it can pretty much be boiled down to one of two forms:
feminist mothering,
and anti-feminist mothering.

my mother, despite identifying (somehow) as a feminist, engaged very intently in anti-feminist mothering. her self-proclaimed identity as a feminist did not stop her from acting toward her daughter (and her sons) in distinctly anti-feminist ways. it's pretty clear to most people who know me that i have plenty of grievances to file against my mother and the way in which she chose to mother me. here, though, i won't air the particulars, because they're not especially relevant to my point.

in general:
anti-feminist mothering is unloving mothering.
anti-feminist mothering plays into sexist and misogynistic views of women - in either/both blatant or subtle ways.
anti-feminist mothering refuses to empower daughters to exist in a powerful way in our racist heteropatriarchy. (it also refuses to teach sons how to exist in a privilege-conscious way in our racist heteropatriarchy.)
anti-feminist mothering expects daughters to pick up the slack of the mother's lost opportunities, not for the sake of the daughter's opportunities, but for the selfish sake of the mother's need for approval and validation. i.e. not encouraging the daughter to succeed on her own merits or of her own volition, but instead, to succeed for other people.

on the flip side, and what i'd much rather talk about, is feminist mothering.
(which isn't a given when a feminist becomes a mother. see, for example, my own mother. and also, Alice Walker.)

feminist mothering is based in love. because true feminism is, at its base, all about love, feminist mothering necessarily has true love at its base as well. (the "true" part of "true love" there is important; wounded, selfish ways of loving do not allow for a feminist action of mothering.)
this basis in love is really what informs all other aspects of feminist mothering.
feminist mothering is empowering, because it teaches (through example) self-responsibility for actions & feelings. feminist mothers teach their daughters how to embrace their own power, how to use their power to protect themselves.
at the same time, feminist mothers protect their children. not in a smothering way, not in a disempowering way, but in what should be an expected way. a protection based in love. it's not selfless, none of this is. to be selfless is to give up the self, which is anathema to the idea of self-responsibility. feminist mothers create a net of safety for their children, a place where their vulnerabilities (being female, for example) are not open invitations for abuse or mistreatment.

the best way i know of to identify feminist vs. anti-feminist mothering is this: feminist mothers are those mothers whose interactions with their children give me - and, i think, most people with a developed feminist consciousness - a warm, full feeling in my heart.

some women i know who engage in daily feminist acts of mothering:

- N, whose 2-year-old daughter i babysit. Bean (my nickname for her) -- yes, the same Bean who's hyperbolically the cutest 2-year-old in the world -- has a childhood that i envy. not in a malicious way, of course; i'm ecstatic that Bean gets to grow up with such an incredible, incredibly loving, incredibly feminist mother.
watching N and Bean interact is, quite honestly, one of the best parts of my Wednesday afternoon (my weekly time with Bean). not only because it's so inconceivably different from the way that my mother interacted with me, but also because it creates that warm, full feeling in my heart. in a non-creepy, non-voyeuristic way, i could happily watch N & Bean interact all day.
Bean is safe, because N, along with her husband T, have created a safe haven for her to grow up in. Bean asks for her mother to cuddle her, and, in what's (sadly) kind of a surprise for me, N readily agrees. lovingly agrees.
N protects her. i can't give examples, but i can feel it. it's not a smothering protection, it's not an experience-denying protection, but it's a very true, real protection. it's palpable.
N is a feminist. this, of course, is mostly a given here in the pioneer valley, but it still merits a mention, because i can see that this feminism is going to be passed on to little Bean. (as will, i'm sure, N's passion for Obama's campaign -- which is also being passed on from N's sister to her kids, who are 3 and 6. N's nephew, W, had the biggest grin i've ever seen spread clear across his little 3-year-old face after Obama took one of the bigger primaries this spring. it was fucking adorable.)
i could list off example after example of how N is taking feminist action by way of mothering Bean, but that would take all day, and it would all come back to this:
every action N takes when parenting Bean is based in pure love. true, maternal love, with no unreasonable expectations of her daughter.
i wish sometimes that everyone could witness the way that N holds Bean. it's one of the most beautiful things i've ever seen. even given all of the activism i've participated in and been a part of, the love shared between N & Bean when N is holding her daughter...that is one of the most purely feminist actions i've ever seen.

-H, the owner of the cafe that i manage (also, my very good friend and northampton-mom).
H has her own kids, with her wonderful wife D, who are 4 and 7. (a boy & a girl, respectively.) and the way in which she mothers both of them is, of course, also an act of feminism. but what i want to talk about here is the way she has mothered me.
a 22 year old woman who maybe shouldn't need a mother anymore, but nonetheless still does. a 22 year old woman who never really had the mother figure that she craved/needed.
i don't feel particularly comfortable explaining a whole lot of detail here, but:
the warmth & fullness that fills my heart when i witness Bean & N interacting is the same warmth & fullness that fills my heart when H extends her very feminist (truly loving) mothering actions to me.
she offers a safe place. it's not entirely her, but the safety i feel in this home i've created here in Northampton does indeed have a lot to do with her, and with the safety that she provides. she offers protection, too - less overtly than the way in which N is able to protect Bean, because a 22 year old needs a different kind of protection than a 2 year old needs, but it's there, still clearly filed under "protection."
i've had plenty of years living out feminism in the feminist training grounds of Wells & Smith Colleges, and here in Northampton, MA. the way in which she teaches me feminism, then, is a little different, and a little more give-and-take than the way that Bean is learning feminism. but i learn from her. i learn a lot from her. i learn different aspects of real-world feminism, sure, but i also learn in a feminist way; that is, in an egalitarian, non-hierarchical, empowering way.
given these years in feminist training grounds, it's weird to think that i can still get empowerment from someone else. i've empowered myself plenty, what with the 20+ women's studies classes i've taken and the feminist organizations i've worked for / worked with, the extracurricular feminist reading i engage in on a daily basis (in blogs, in the books i buy addictively, etc). the empowerment that a daughter (loose definition) can get from a mother (loose definition), though, is different. it's a kind of empowerment that can't really happen without the feminist act of mothering. it would've been lovely if the woman who should have provided this kind of validation & empowerment (my bio mom) had actually done so, and there's a limit to the validation & empowerment that a surrogate mother can provide this late in the game. but as much as she can, H is providing that for me.
and she, like N, is doing all of this out of the pure, true love that is necessary for feminist mothering.

this is love.
this is feminism.
this is feminism, in action / this is love, in action...taking the form of mothering.

dear lesbians,

2008-06-24T08:17:00.002-04:00

this is why you should care about what's going on in the reproductive justice world.

because refusal clauses cover more than just those pills for those straight girls.

because Guadalupe Benitez represents more than just one wronged woman in California.

because people like Americans United For Life, the American Association of Pro-Life Obstetricians & Gynecologists, and the American Civil Rights Union (the asshole counterpart to the ACLU) are organizations that all hate you, my fellow queer women, just as much as they hate women who've engaged in PIV intercourse and want to be able to exercise control over their bodies.

because these organizations and people aren't just going to stop with trying to control contraception and abortion, which applies more directly to het women than to my women-loving women friends. because you've got vaginas too, my dear lesbians. and the anti-choicers? they want to control your vaginas (and the rest of your reproductive systems), too.

yes, what happened in Benitez's case, when she was refused IVF (in vitro fertilization) treatment because she was an unmarried lesbian, is different from the use of refusal clauses by pharmacists, hospitals, and doctors when women are denied EC or other contraception because these health care professionals have "moral, religious, personal, or ideological objections" to providing this kind of health care. of course they're different. the individual discrimination in Benitez's case isn't always involved in your everyday invocations of the "conscience clause." but they're fruit of the same fucked up tree.
make no mistake: these doctors were able to refuse to treat Benitez based on her sexuality exactly because of the groundwork laid by anti-choicers. this "conscience clause" that they've pushed so hard for has worked...on a much larger scale than we usually recognize.
it's worked on a level that directly affects us, as queer women.

now, my dear lesbians, i know that there are few of you that i need to speak to here. most of us already have what seems to be an odd, misplaced investment in the reproductive rights movement. from the outside, it seems weird that all of these women who aren't engaging in PIV intercourse and don't usually need ready access to contraception or abortion would care so deeply about repro rights.
i don't have sex with people who have organs that can get me pregnant. i don't really need to care about whether or not my pharmacist is going to be able to refuse my prescription for birth control. except...i do.
because i might want a kid someday. and i might want to use a fertility doctor to make that happen (for my partner - no baby is squeezing out of this vag). i don't want my doctor to be able to cite some bullshit piece of legislation that says he doesn't need to treat my lesbian partner, and i don't want to sit in that office, years from now, and think, "fuck, i guess i should've paid attention to that refusal clause shit."

this movement is something i need to be invested in.
this movement affects me, directly.
and, my dear fellow lesbians, this movement affects you, directly, too.

perpetuating the legacy of woundedness (creating a new cycle of truth)

2008-05-07T18:18:00.004-04:00

some facts:

-from the time i was 6 or 7 until i was 13, my older brother sexually abused me.
-when i was 9, my parents walked in on it, did nothing (aside from scolding me). this was not the first or the last time they failed as parents, not the first or last time they failed to protect their child(ren).
-i come from a wounded family. my mom was sexually abused and raped. so was her mother. my dad grew up in a less-than-supportive household. my mom's first husband, my oldest brother's father, was an abusive alcoholic rapist. my brother, the one who abused me, was sexually abused. it was not a family of love. it was a family of facades, of falsehoods. our family dynamic is based squarely in denial.
-i am healing. my parents are not. my brother, the one who abused me, is not. my oldest brother has some stuff he could work on as well. (thus, part of the reason i am extracting myself from this family, immersing myself in one that loves me, one i chose.)

every so often, i look at all of the terrible, abusive/unloving (unable to love) parents, and my heart breaks, ten times over. and i wonder: why the fuck are these people bringing children into their lives?

which brings me to the underlying reason for this post:
my brother's girlfriend is pregnant. 11 weeks along. (only one more week for a legal abortion in virginia...but she's not going that route, and as much as i wish she would, i can't - and wouldn't, even if i could - force her. obviously.)
she's keeping the child.
my brother, the one who abused me, is going to be a father.

i'm not going to go into the individual feelings of obligation i feel toward this child, to save this kid from the abuse that may or may not happen, or to alert hir mother to the possibility so she can save the child if/when the abuse starts. (projection much?)

i will, however, go here:
the continuation of the legacy of abuse.
people talk all the time about breaking the cycle. they'll say, "it stops with me."

but does it really?
how can you know that for sure?
in most places, there's no way you could lock up your abuser for long enough that he'll no longer be able to find victims - the law doesn't work that way in a rape culture such as ours.
you can't control your rapist's/abuser's life to the point that he will not have access to more victims.
you can speak out, you can call him out, you can name the abuse for what it is. he may or may not believe you. if he believes you, he may or may not get help. if he gets help, he may or may not change. you have no control over that.
sure, you're naming it. you're coming out about being abused.

but what does that really do, outside of yourself? can you expect it to do anything outside of yourself?
if "it stops with me," what power am i claiming for myself here? and is that really power i even have access to?

fact is, i can't control anything outside of my own individual reality. i can't make ashley abort this child. i can't make john not abuse the kid, and i can't prevent anything when it's outside of my own existence.
i know, of course, that if john abuses his child, it's not my fault. there's nothing i can do to stop it. and that, right now, if i were to decide to fulfill that perceived obligation and not detach from my family, i wouldn't be taking care of myself in any way that would allow my presence to be beneficial to this child.

what's the point, then, in speaking out? outside of oneself, i mean. if there's no chance of controlling your abuser's life to the point of preventing him from abusing again, how are you breaking the cycle of abuse?
i guess the answer to that (or, at least, the best i can come up with now) is:
the point is making it known. the point is speaking it so that other people can continue to speak it.
the point is creating a new cycle, one of truth and words and speaking and listening, in whatever form(s) those things may take.
in speaking, in making it known, you're creating a second thought for those rapists and abusers. you're not being a passive victim, and so you're making it harder for them to abuse someone else. on a societal level, your voice is disrupting the rape culture. on a community level, your voice is carrying to others, creating a space for others to speak. on a personal level, your voice is creating a space for you to inhabit, a space of truth, because life is not possible or worthwhile without truth.

quick hit: some south dakotans really hate women. still.

2008-05-01T21:36:00.004-04:00

Leslee Unruh and her ilk are at it again. for real this time, though.

(leslee spearheaded the anti-choice campaign in South Dakota two years ago, heading both the lobbying for the abortion ban law - passed by the SD legislature and signed by the still-governor mike rounds - and the "vote yes for life" campaign that answered Planned Parenthood's campaign (the South Dakota Campaign for Healthy Families) challenging the law and leaving it up to the voters. she's pretty much pure evil.)

just last week, leslee's new campaign - Initiated Measure 11, which does the same thing as the 2006 law, with a couple important differences - gathered enough signatures to put the abortion ban back on the ballot for south dakotans to vote on in november.

in 2006, SDCHF's approach was thus: the abortion ban passed by the legislature was extreme and didn't even include exceptions for health of the woman or for rape or incest.
i took issue with this strategy, since it kind of avoided the whole abortion as a basic human right (i.e. abortion = choice = bodily autonomy) and kept abortion in that shame-full closet. and it opened up the door for exactly this:
the same measure, but with exceptions for health, life, and rape/incest.

we only won with 56% of the vote last time around.
i do not doubt that we'll lose those crucial 7% who will vote for this law to take effect because it has those exceptions. because, you know, it's ok to control women's bodies in general. just not in those few anomalous cases where the pregnancy is endangering her health or the even rarer occasion when she's willing to come forward about her assault.

i'm saddened. and angered. and disappointed. and disillusioned.
and:
catalyzed.
i may be going to south dakota again this year. i'd better start working on those long "o"s and my midwestern accent.

straining my voice.

2008-04-29T15:40:00.001-04:00

*i started this post almost a month ago, and promptly lost it among the drafts here. it's still totally valid, still totally appropriate, so here we go again. updated, finished, published, done.*

i've been developing an intense knot in my shoulder/back over the past month or so (ever since dinner with my parents, now that i think about it.)

i've been noticing it as it's gotten worse and worse, but i've been mostly unsure about what it was stemming from. i had some ideas, mostly related to the cafe and the rest of the general stressors in my life, but none of them were all that convincing to myself.
still, i was ready to dismiss it as your general sore muscles, as general stress-related tightness.
(aside: it's times like these that i especially wish i had the funds for massage/bodywork on a regular basis. my friend tried to help me out, work it out a little bit at work, but there was only so much she could do for me. a full massage, though? where i could get to the bottom of what's really causing this ever-growing knot? would be amazing. so, those of you who know me: this isn't a bad idea for a birthday (or any-day) gift.)

this morning, though, i noticed a distant soreness in my throat. i pressed down near my larynx, above where my vocal cords lie, and...
i felt the pressure of my fingers on my throat...directly in the center of this knot in my shoulder.

my vocal cords connect to this pain, this soreness, this tightness.

directly.

i'm still a little unsure as to what exactly this means.
is my voice/body sore from speaking these things i've kept such a tight lid on for so long?
or is my voice/body sore from still not speaking those things i'm still pushing down, under that tightly sealed lid?

i wanted to lean toward the first. a big part of me wanted to believe that this work i'm doing, this incredibly hard, painful, excruciating work, was actually doing damage instead of good. a big part of me was searching - is always searching - for a reason to abandon all of this entirely.
...but after therapy a couple weeks ago, the large, large knot loosened a little. not a lot, barely enough to be noticeable, but still, enough.

and so this, i guess, is what speaking does. the act of speaking those unspeakable things, those unspeakable truths, is going to make you sore.
but keeping those unspeakable truths unspoken and pushed down underneath that ever-tightening lid...that is what causes the most pain.

i've tested this theory recently, this theory that keeping silent causes this pain, this bundling of energy into a painful little knot.
i went to Rowe Camp & Conference Center up in Rowe, MA (in the hilltowns/berkshires) last week for a self-designed personal retreat. despite the miles i spent hiking (including accidentally hiking up Todd Mtn) and the unfamiliar mattress/pillows, when i returned to northampton, that huge knot was significantly smaller. despite spending almost the entire 25 hours i was at rowe thinking about and speaking (to myself/in writing) my truths about family, trauma, abuse, love, all of these things that are so hard to think, the knot that's tied to my speaking parts (my vocal cords), was alleviated.

in the past couple days, i've thought a lot about the prospect of removing my parents from my life, of really & truly prioritizing this more real chosen family here in northampton. which means i've thought a lot about what it would mean to NOT do it, to take the easier(?) route of continuing with the self-sacrificial peacekeeping of the family, to continue caretaking my parents and the rest of the immediate family.
and the knot has re-emerged. with a vengeance.

keeping it quiet, squelching it, smothering it beneath this happy-family pillow of so-called "protection" and "peacekeeping" is painful. actually causes pain.
the process of starting to compose letters of separation to my parents, of facing and writing and really acknowledging the truth of my life was heartbreaking...but it was a welcome soreness.

to analogize:
sports aren't always apt metaphors, because the athlete culture is usually one of self-sacrifice, but in this case, i think it's appropriate:
when you pull a muscle, it fuckin' hurts. i pulled my groin last fall playing soccer. i tried to play a full game when i hadn't taken the time to get back into soccer-playing shape. bad idea. i rocked that game, sure, but i could barely walk the next day. i spent most of the day sitting on a chair in my kitchen, rotating between bags of frozen corn & frozen peas. i only got to play one or two more games for the rest of the season, at half-speed it seemed, because i'd pulled my muscle. i'd actually hurt myself.
when you wake up the day after going for a long, intense run, your muscles are sore. even if you've spent the time to cool down, to stretch before bed, to get that acid out of your muscles, there's going to be a little soreness. but it feels good. so good. it hurts, but not in a painful way. it hurts in an accomplished, satisfying way.

i don't want to be out of commission for weeks like i was when i pulled my groin muscle. i don't want to suppress my own truth to the point that i seriously hurt myself and have to take months of extra time to get back to a place where i can start to even think about my truths again. the heart-soreness that i felt at rowe hurt, sure, but in that same really good way that my calves and quads feel the day after a long run. i want more of that. i want more people to feel more of that. i think our culture would be a much more welcoming one if people weren't so incapacitated by their refusal to tell/face their truths, if people felt the growing/muscle-building pains of what it meant to tell/face their truths more often.

family is.... (take two)

2008-04-17T18:37:00.003-04:00

i'll start this post the same way i started this post, last month:
new memories are fuckin' hard.

(seriously? new memories every month? is this going to become a trend? 'cause i'm not sure i'm really up for that.)

with that said, on to "family."

i was reading a piece in Skin, Dorothy Allison's collection of essays, today. her keynote from OutWrite 1992, "Survival is the Least of My Desires." i think i need to transcribe for you/for me the paragraph that spoke directly to my heart:

I know the myths of the family that thread through our society's literature, music, politics - and I know the reality. The reality is that for many of us family was as much the incubator of despair as the safe nurturing haven the myths promised. We are not supposed to talk about our real family lives, especially if our families do not duplicate the mythical heterosexual model. In a world in which only a fraction of people actually live in that "Father Knows Best" nuclear family, in which the largest percentage of families consists of women and children existing in poverty, we need to hear a lot more about those of us who are happy that we do not live inside that mythical model. But I also believe in hope. I believe in the re-made life, the possibilities inherent in our lesbian and gay chosen families, our families of friends and lovers, the healing that can take place among the most wounded of us. My family of friends has kept me alive through lovers who have left, enterprises that have failed, and all too many stories that never got finished. That family has been part of remaking the world for me. (p. 215-216)

sometimes, it seems like dorothy allison takes the words directly from my heart and places them on paper, visible so that i can read them back to myself.

to illustrate d.a.'s point....
tell me which one of the following families sounds like a real family to you. tell me which one sounds as though it has the capacity to heal wounds.

Family 1.
i share their genetic structures. they fed me and clothed me and gave me physical shelter and some financial (loan) assistance for college.
when i came out about the abuse at 15, my birth parents acted shocked, told me that they had no idea that this was going on. told me that they would of course have stopped it if they knew.
but when i was 9, my birth parents walked in on it. (i've told this story for years until now as: my mom walked in, my mom scolded me for "teasing my brother," my mom failed to protect me. i realized today that i don't have to protect my dad, and i don't have to protect myself from the truth that he was there too. i learned today that i can't deny reality just to save myself that one "good parent," because i can't keep hoping that he'll come through as such.) my mother told me i couldn't tease john, because "boys can't always control themselves." my dad hovered in the doorway to my bedroom as my mom told me this. they believed my brother when he said he didn't know what i was doing, what i was thinking.
and they continue to maintain that they knew nothing. my mom continues to believe that she would protect me if she knew someone (her fantasy "husband" for me) was abusing me.

Family 2.
have never blamed me for the abuse. have extended love and compassion and non-judgment. when i've told them about what happened, they get angry, or sad, or both. when i put up defenses like excessive sarcasm or laughing off my pain or dismissing painful situations or shutting down entirely, they call me on it. they don't try to control it, they just point it out and let me do my thing.
they push me, past what i think are my limits but not further than what my actual limits are. they see those limits. they care that i have them.
they think i'm a good person.
they trust the decisions that i make for myself.
some of them i work with, some of them i work for, all of these members of my family give me far more as an employee/co-worker than financial support, and they all make this post-smith-college food service job something i look forward to going to at 5am every day.
every member of my family, in some way, relies on me, but they aren't co-dependent. most of them are aware of why they do the things they do. most of them are willing to look at that and change.

they love me, unconditionally. i feel that love deep in my heart.

i think it's probably pretty obvious which one fits into the category of "family." it's clear which family is more family-like.
it's not hard to tell which family has more potential to re-make the world. to revolutionize the world, abolish these structures of abuse that undermine the revolutionary potential of the idea of "family." that undermine "family" in general.

like dorothy allison said, family should be a site of re-making the world. making it into one that's not only free from abuse and neglect, but full of love and support. families (biological AND chosen) are exactly where our children should be learning these values - of love, support, awareness, etc - so that they can go forth and create their own (biological + chosen) families and communities in which to perpetuate these ideals.

changing the world through love, on a grassroots, familial/community level.

what is family, anyway?

2008-04-16T21:08:00.002-04:00

i've recently come to the conclusion that the family i was born into - in particular, the parents i was born to and the brother i grew up with - does not constitute a "family."

my brother, for obvious reasons. ("family" doesn't do that to family.)

my parents, for somewhat more covert reasons.
i share their genes, yes.
i appreciate that they fed me and clothed me and kept a roof over my head.
i appreciate, also, that they took out loans for about half of what was left to pay for my B.A. after grants and scholarships.
i understand that they love me in the way they know how to love. and i totally get that they truly believe that they know how to love in a loving way.

but they've never protected me.
i gave up on my mom being a mother a long time ago. i was ok with that, with seeking out maternal figures in increasingly healthy ways. there's still a small (and shrinking) part of me that still holds out hope for her, hopes that she'll change of her own volition, but i know i'd never accept her attempts at mothering me anymore. it's well past that.
i've found mothers outside of, beyond, better than her.

i didn't give up on my dad until this past monday. when i finally shattered the illusion of my dad as the Good Parent, the one who actually unconditionally loved and supported me, who actually knew how to parent in a truly loving way.
i thought he could do these things.
i know now that i was wrong. quite wrong.

so yes, i am, in some ways, now an orphan. i am parentless. at 22, i shouldn't need parents anymore, but when you've never really had them, you still long for it. maybe i'll always long for it. even parenting myself, or doing what i can do to parent myself...i still miss it.

and it still fucking hurts. i'm still grieving that loss, even though i lost something i never had in the first place. i still grieve.
maybe i always will.

where i want to go with this:
family does not mean blood. family does not mean genetic ties.

maybe this is totally radical, but i think maybe it would do us good to completely sever those two aspects. make "family" mean something else entirely, make "family" mean all of the things it already means/is supposed to mean, but not have it dependent on or default to the genetic link.

i know i haven't thought this through, and there'd be all kinds of complications, and it's totally not realistic.

but it's appealing, to think up a cultural meaning behind family that would support - not attack, not challenge, not simply tolerate - a cutting of ties with abusive biological families. a complete cutting of ties.

as things stand now, i see absolutely nothing wrong with a person, in an attempt to (finally) take care of herself and not neglect her own needs, cutting off the ties that hurt her. that have traumatized/still traumatize her.

i'm so fucking sick of hearing people talk about how it's selfish to do so, to take care of yourself when your "family" needs you (i.e. needs to be able to continue to abuse you). i'm fucking sick of hearing people talk about "rash decisions" of cutting out your biological family. i'm fucking sick of hearing people speak of that decision as if it were the most radical thing you could do.
(i'm sick of hearing the people i thought supported me buying into this bullshit about family being primarily biological and using that line to judge me.)

here's my dream: a world where making this decision did not ostracize you, did not make you vulnerable to attacks based on "selfishness." a world where this decision was fully supported by everyone around you, where your chosen family - the people who actually love and support you, unconditionally - holds a lot more prevalent position in your life than the people who birthed/raised you.

i dream about a world where it is understood that the definition of family is dependent not on biological connections, but on spiritual/heart-connections. on the giving and receiving of unconditional, no-strings-attached love and compassion and support.

that's family.
the people who share my genes and witnessed (or denied/ignored/neglected) my growing up? they absolutely do not count under that category.

-------------------
somewhat related, and really important reading:
Concerning Forgiveness: The Liberating Experience of Painful Truth, by Alice Miller.

speaking out, speaking truth, speaking the unspeakable

2008-04-14T13:27:00.002-04:00

just fyi...there are a couple other posts in the works right now, still in draft form (one is about straining / finding my voice, one is about anger). they'll still be posted in chronological order, based on when i started them, so there may be two more recently posted pieces below this one.

i went to smith's sexual violence speakout last night, the cap of their Sexual Abuse Awareness Week.
it was small, not incredibly well-attended, but it was still a great event.

almost everyone who was there got up and spoke. it was beautiful to see people giving voice to the places they hadn't expected to be able to speak from.
as happens most years, though, there was one woman who especially struck a chord in my heart.

i am totally in awe.
and in shock.
my mind? mostly blown.

a very young (but very old) first-year got up to speak last night. this, in itself, isn't astonishing - there are a ton of first-years who are victims/survivors, just as there are a ton of sophomores, juniors, seniors, and alumnae who are victims/survivors. her age didn't surprise me. the fact that almost every person there had something to say also didn't surprise me.
what astonished me was what she spoke. what she gave voice to.

speakouts are for talking, for telling your truth. that's the point.
but.
there are certain truths that are spoken, certain ways of telling your story, certain "rules" of speaking that are generally followed. most people don't deviate from that, despite its limitations and shaming capacities. i, personally, have never seen anyone really deviate from that prescriptive speech. at a speakout, you do some or all of the following things: you tell of your victimization, with or without details. you demonize and vilify your abuser. you express anger or grief -- but only toward those outside of yourself. usually (but not always), you end with something along the lines of "but now, i'm empowered, i'm keeping myself safer, i'm standing up to him/her/them, i'm doing advocacy for other victims."
this is all well and good, and these are all important words to be spoken, but they do tend to (quite effectively) cover over all of the many more complicated realities.

this first-year, though, told something else. about her older brother. (this, itself, isn't so common at speakouts. just as in every other dialogue about sexual violence, sibling abuse is usually unspoken or very quietly spoken at these events.)

but she didn't only vilify and demonize him (although she did acknowledge how many boundaries he crossed). she also spoke of the love she felt for him. and the anger, too. she talked about how he coerced her -- she was excited to receive his attention, and so she went along with it.
yes.
she actually spoke that part.
out loud.
at a public speakout.
she spoke that truth. (that truth that's almost always unspoken, but is so fucking common for so fucking many of us.)

she talked about silence, too, but not in the usual way (that is, of the rape culture silencing all victims in general). she spoke to the silence within and of the survivor movement with regards to sibling abuse. she spoke to that, to the shortcomings of this survivor movement that we're supposed to be a part of, to the shortcomings that are so, so rarely named.

she spoke. she spoke all of these things. (seemingly) unafraid.
and it blew my mind.

thoughts.

2008-04-09T21:40:00.002-04:00

i haven't had much time to write in this past week. or, i have, but i've been reluctant to delve too deeply into any thoughts, because this week, i'm a little afraid of where those thoughts would go.

it's sexual abuse awareness week at smith. it took over my life and swallowed me up last year. and to a lesser degree the year before.
i've had a wonderful, fantastic couple of weeks. there was that wonderful, fantastic, inspiring CLPP conference. i wrote a check for the awesome, fabulous new apartment (house, really) that we move into in may. i've been in charge of the cafe while the boss is on vaca this week, and it's gone so well. i'm reconnecting with a lot of women, sisters of mine, who i'd lost touch with, some from as far back as high school.
it's been great.
but this week brings with it a lot of reflection. on the things that haven't been so great.

and also, given that it's SAAW, the clothesline project is up at smith. so it's brought a lot of reflection on not only the very personal difficult things, but also reflection on what it means to break silences, what it means to speak, when and where it's ok to speak. (there's a whole lot of controversy around and resistance to the clothesline at smith. long, long story.)

on top of all of that, i'm still totally unsettled on what my idea of "home" is.

funny how this process of re-definition / re-processing never seems to actually end.

in which jessica hoffmann blows my mind.

2008-04-05T22:03:00.002-04:00

in such a good way.

An Open Letter to White Feminists.

this is exactly what we've been talking about all weekend at this CLPP conference.
this is also exactly what i'm afraid will never stick in the minds of white feminists, the mostly white, mostly student activist attendees of this conference.

but here's hoping.

and here's hoping that Jessica Hoffmann's open letter reaches someone who needs it.
i can't imagine how it could not.
it's one of the best, most incisive, insightful, concise critiques of white feminism i've read since the last INCITE! anthology i held in my hands.

read it read it read it.

clpp conference: healing, arts, & activism.

2008-04-04T22:23:00.003-04:00

quick recap from the first day of the super-awesome, super-amazing, super-inspiring CLPP Reproductive Justice Conference, here in western MA at Hampshire College:

there was one workshop session today. i chose the Arts & Activism one. it was fucking incredible.

Cara Page, Tanya Karakashian, and Olga Candelario were the speakers.
(Tanya & Olga are both local, Cara lives in Atlanta.)

they were all wonderful, of course.

but i was especially blown away by Cara Page.
she's the national director of CWPE (Committee on Women, Population, & the Environment), which is sweet. what was totally incredible, though, was hearing her talk about this new project she's doing.

my renewed purpose in this social justice thing is to bring healing into the movement, make it part of this struggle toward social change. to help people understand how crucial it is to heal, and how self-defeating all of this unhealthy energy around, and unrealistic expectations of, organizing is killing our organizers. it's burning out our activists, and it's making them jaded and cynical instead of inspired and hopeful.

cara's new project?
has to do with exactly that. well, that, plus art. which is a totally logical addition, since the following equations are absolutely true:
art=healing.
art=activism.
healing=activism.
healing=an art.

she's calling it Deepening the Dialogue, and she's interviewing healers who are also organizers. i talked to her a bit afterwards, and i'm going to be emailing her soon, i think. but she was saying exactly what i'd been thinking about the state of our movement. how none of us take care of ourselves, let alone take care of others. how crucial this healing aspect is, so that our movement can be sustainable. and how art - whatever form of art it is that heals and moves you - is a perfect avenue to integrate this kind of healing into activism.

of course, i didn't think that i was the only one who had ever had a thought regarding the traumatized, wounded status of a large portion of our movement. but it's not something that's talked about at the high, mainstream level. and so, to meet someone who's invested in it, invested in documenting it, invested in making it more a part of our movement?
it was mind-blowing.
(i hope to have my mind blown many more times this weekend. i think it will be.)

i wrote about how broken my heart was yesterday.
and it's still broken. that much doesn't go away.
but now, it's also full. and swelling with inspiration and community.

heartbreak. (blog against sexual violence 2008)

2008-04-03T21:29:00.003-04:00

this is how i started this post:

i noted, in the about page of this blog, that my story as linked (here) was a little outdated.

and it is. i wrote that post for Blog Against Sexual Violence Day 2006.

today is Blog Against Sexual Violence Day 2008.
i would not tell my story in the same way today.
i do not speak my truth in the same way.

the facts, of course, remain. the truth around them has evolved.

so, for 2008's BASV, i will re-tell my story. as it has evolved.

but that's not what i'm going to write.

i can't write that.

in fact, i can't write much right now.

because right now, my heart is too broken to come out in words. right now, that heartbreak can't come out in much of anything but dry tears.

my heart aches for the family that shattered it. my heart aches for the family - the blood-family - that will never be what i wanted them to be, that will never love how i needed them to love.
(my very wise friend t said that the grief would come. that the sadness of never having the mother & supportive family that i needed would eventually hit me. i think this is the start of it.)

so i guess my Blog Against Sexual Violence post comes to this very simple, very emotive statement:

this is what sexual violence does.
this is the result.
the broken hearts that you see in millions of women around the world, the broken hearts you don't see, the broken hearts that are hidden behind very well-designed shields...those are what comes of this rape culture.
this heart, its brokenness, its woundedness...this is what comes.

(...awareness of the brokenness is just the beginning. the healing of it is next. but that, i think, will need to come another day. another week. another month.)

i'm trying to find hope here, an opportunity for some healing....but i've got nothin'.

2008-04-02T18:48:00.006-04:00

for a while there, i was mostly avoiding the news. i'm still currently almost totally avoiding the primary election coverage, because it only breeds frustration. but for a while, i was avoiding it all - even most of the stories posted on my fav feminist blogs.
but recently, i've been sucked back in.
first, there was that story out of South Africa, about the "rape me" games children were playing on the playgrounds.

and now, there's this.
out of Maryland.
(out of Silver Spring, MD, actually, which is where I lived when I was in DC for the summer a couple years ago.)

Backstory:
A man with severe mental health issues drowned his three children in a bathtub.

This man, Mark Castillo, should have had a restraining order against him.
but he didn't.
his wife, Ann Castillo, tried to get one. she even had a hearing.
she was denied a restraining order, despite her husband's repeated threats to her and the children.
why?
because, according to this judge, she was still "having sex" with him.
read this, and tell me if it sounds like consensual sex to you:

After the hearing, Judge Joseph A. Dugan Jr. declined to issue a permanent order. Dugan noted that Amy Castillo said she had continued to have sex with her husband, including twice on the day he allegedly talked about killing the children. Amy Castillo testified that she had sex with her husband because she was frightened of him and was worried that if she didn't, he would "assume something was wrong" and suspect that she was trying to get a restraining order against him.

huh.
that's funny.
that sure sounds like rape to me.
apparently, it doesn't sound like anything out of the realm of typical marriage to Judge Joseph Dugan:

"I am not satisfied," Dugan said, "that indeed there is clear and convincing evidence of abuse in this case."

so Dugan didn't issue the restraining order.
no restraining order because Ann Castillo was "having sex with" (read: being repeatedly raped by) her husband.
and so Mark Castillo drowned each of his three children, Anthony, 6, Austin, 4, and Athena, 3.

it's these stories that make my heart break, over and over.
and over.
and over again.

it's these stories that make my belly ache. and my jaw clench. and my head pound.

and yet.
it's these stories that never, ever surprise me.

finding/discovering/creating "home."

2008-04-02T04:36:00.002-04:00

my good friend, e, asked me to contribute to her final project. i'm more than thrilled to do so; E is an incredible friend, and i'd be happy to do anything for her, but even more than that, E's project is a lovely one. it's an art piece, centered around the concept of "home." i don't want to give away too much of what it is, so i'll just leave it at that.

i want to contribute - i intend to contribute - but: my concept of "home" is unstable, at best. in one part of my mind, home is unsafe, a place of danger and lies and deceit and abuse. but then, i think of the home i'm creating here, in northampton. the family i'm creating here. the love that fills the home space i'm slowly forging in this town, in what's become my town. my home town.
home is in the heart, yes, but it's not just centered around my heart. it's in the connections to the hearts of the women around me. it's in the hearts of the women i admire, the women i love.
home is, traditionally, a place of oppression. of familial shame and secrecy and silence.
bucking that tradition, creating a home that's a place of love and silence-breaking and openness and honesty, then? that makes "home" a place of feminism. that makes "home" a site of this revolution that we're working towards.

but even with all of this, all of this positivity surrounding my concept of "home," i'm torn. because even with this home i've created, this home that's actually made up of and centered around love, home is still also the place where all of this heart-pain originated. and so i feel as though i have to be honest about that, as well.

i guess my point is:
my sense of home is still very much in fragments.
fragmented into pieces of love and pieces of abuse.
how do i condense my fragmented self into a contribution for E's art project? can "home" be a conglomeration of fragments?

awesome, amazing conference

2008-03-31T16:53:00.004-04:00

just an FYI:

This weekend(!), at Hampshire College (in Amherst, Massachusetts) marks the 22nd annual CLPP conference, From Abortion Rights to Social Justice: Building the Movement for Reproductive Freedom.

It's always an incredible conference, and this year will be no different, I'm sure. Loretta Ross will be there, and she's a rockstar. As will Ellen Story, MA state rep from the Amherst area, who's pretty much the best friend that repro justice advocates could ask for in the State House. (She's been to the conference every year, and even used to work for Tapestry Health, western MA's sexual health organization.)
So many other incredible speakers will be there, so many that I can't even begin to name them all -- you can go here to see the full list.

Best of all?
IT'S TOTALLY FREE.

All you've got to do is get yourself to Amherst, and (with pre-registration), CLPP / Hampshire College will feed you and house you and provide childcare if you need it, as well as provide you with incredible workshops and breakout groups and plenaries.
Last year?
Well, I got to help organize it, which was one of the best experiences of my entire college career.
And!
I learned how to do an abortion on a papaya, how to perform gynecological self-exams, and even got a free hand mirror and speculum. And got to meet a ton of awe-inspiring activists and have a lot of thought-provoking, challenging, wonderful conversations and discussions about everything pertaining to reproductive justice.

It's all so good.
So yes, I'll be there from Friday-Sunday. (I'm even taking a day off from the cafe - unheard of!)
I hope to see you there!

what counts?

2008-03-30T14:17:00.001-04:00

this is about:
truth. reality. authenticity. level of: influence, trauma.

how do you define violence as violence? what counts as sexual abuse, violence, rape, assault? if it didn't totally destroy you, if it didn't ruin your life and send you into some (visible) insane spiral of self-destruction, does it deserve a place in your story? should you include it when you tell your story?

(i think i have answers to these. feel free to share your answers. but these aren't questions that really need direct answers. more, they need acknowledging as questions that exist.)

my oldest friend (since pre-school) and i discussed this a few days ago. we didn't come to much of a conclusion. i still haven't come to much of a conclusion.

for some context:
M and i are both well acquainted with all of the definitions of rape and sexual violence. we've both done a good deal of activist work around violence against women. we know the talk, we know the realities of violence.
we were both abused as children. we've both been in unhealthy relationships - hers more blatantly violent than mine. we both grew up in less than functional families. so we both have plenty of trauma in our respective pasts.
but this one part, we both aren't sure about including when we tell our stories.
she and i were both, by definition, victims of an alcohol-related rape a few years ago.
we were both wasted, mostly at his insistence - especially M. the guy involved? he was totally sober. things happened that neither of us wanted to happen. things that would never have happened if we were sober. things that he was well aware would never have happened if we were sober. there was no doubt about the lack of consent; neither of us really consented to this.
neither of us know, though, whether or not to call it "rape." whether or not we want to call it that for ourselves, acknowledge it as such in our minds.
for one thing, if we do...that makes three for me, between the ages of 6 and 21. and at least two for her. that's a lot. that's a scary kind of truth to usher into either of our lives.
and the major sticking point here is: neither she or i were destroyed by this, by what happened with erik. (aside: i first wrote that as "by what we let erik do." and i caught the self-blame and rephrased. what does that default to self-blame say about what happened, about what it counts as?)
both M and i are far more scarred by the rapes we experienced prior to this, when we were little. the fact that erik made us go down on him when we clearly didn't want to? seems to pale in comparison. it didn't wound us as deeply because we didn't expect anything better than being used/abused.

does that make it less of a rape, then? should we be calling it rape when we weren't even all that traumatized by it? what does that mean for our stories, for our relationships?
other (compassionate, educated) people would probably look at this and call it rape.
but if we don't call it that...what implications does that have for the stories we tell?
does it affect our honesty? can i tell my story honestly and not include that as part of it? or, on the flip side, can i tell my story, include this as part of it, call it "rape," and still be considered "honest"?

M asked me, this week, if i included that incident when i told people my story.
usually, i don't. sometimes, i do. it's mostly an arbitrary inclusion/exclusion.
M does, kind of. but not as the main thing. and not always, but most of the time.

the questions come down to: who decides what counts as "legitimate" assault? where is that line that defines rape, and who gets to draw it?

stepping back from all of this, stepping out of the confusing tangle of facts and truths and questionable definitions, though, i go somewhere else, somewhere even bigger than this question of what counts/doesn't count.
that is: why does it matter? why is legitimacy and authenticity so important to us?
we all look for validation outside of ourselves, for people to tell us "yes, that's awful," and "yes, of course it counts." and that's so important. having people in our lives who believe us, who don't doubt our stories - it's vital for survival. but no matter how much they believe us, their validation won't validate anything...if we don't believe it ourselves. if we don't believe in ourselves.
we can't make our stories believable...if we don't believe them ourselves.

so i guess, when you break it down even further, it comes down to this question: why do we doubt ourselves? why do we doubt our own accounts, our own stories?

i could answer this with some obvious answers, answers that would sound wise and well-informed and maybe even beautifully self-aware...but they wouldn't be coming from my heart, because my heart isn't there yet. so i'll just leave the questions without answers, and add a few more:

when was this self-doubt ingrained into our psyches? how did it get to be so widespread, so endemic? where does it come from? what purpose does it serve? and, lastly: how do we heal that, how do we extend the same kind of validation and legitimacy and authenticity to ourselves that we (most of us) are so willing to extend to the people we love?

trauma, large-scale (societal/national)

2008-03-29T19:09:00.000-04:00

via feministing, a disturbing, sad story from South Africa:
"Traumatised South African children play 'rape me' games".

reproduced in full, emphases added:

(byline: Chris McGreal, Johannesburg)
* Thursday March 13 2008

South African schoolchildren are so affected by crime that they play games of "rape me, rape me" and mimic robberies in the playground, according to the country's human rights commission. In a report on school violence published yesterday, the commission said schools were the "single most common" site of crimes against children, such as robbery and assault, including rampant sexual violence, some of it by teachers.

The commission said it had identified a number of games pupils played in response to the violence, including one in which they pretended to rape each other. "This game demonstrates the extent and level ... brutalisation of the youth has reached, and how endemic sexual violence has become in South Africa," it said.

The report said that a fifth of all sexual assaults on young people occurred at school. A survey of 1,227 female students who were victims of sexual assault found that nearly 9% of them had been attacked by teachers.

......

A separate study by the Thohoyandou Victim Empowerment Programme found that a quarter of secondary school students said that forced sexual intercourse did not necessarily constitute rape.

The human rights commission report said that more than 40% of the young people it interviewed had been victims of some form of crime. It recommended that the education department consider introducing metal detectors and fences at schools, after the Red Cross children's hospital in Cape Town said it commonly treated school pupils who had been assaulted with fists, knives, machetes or guns, or who had been raped.

when i first started this blog entry about this article, i had it up in another tab on firefox. the full title didn't show up in the tab - i only saw "traumatised south afr." looking at the title as it appeared on the tab, i didn't connect it to the full title of the article. in my mind, that excerpted title turned into "traumatised south africa," as in: a traumatized nation.

and, really, that would also have been an accurate title. because south africa is a traumatized nation. and the cycle of trauma continues there: the atrocious societal and individual traumas that it's endured in recent years aren't being healed. instead, they're being passed down, generation to generation. passed down from the adults of the country to their children.
the fact that children are playing "rape games" on the playground is disturbing and sad, yes, but not all that surprising. kids act out and play at what they know. i wish it surprised me that they know rape and sexual violence. but it doesn't. it doesn't surprise me about south africa, and it wouldn't surprise me about the u.s.
if you think of it from a child's perspective, it makes perfect sense: if they're playing these games, if they're doing it "willingly" (however "willing" something that comes from such a wounded place can be), they have control over it. if they can control this violence that they see all around them, this violence that they endure, then maybe it's ok, maybe they'll be ok. they don't even have to play games that pretend the outcome changes, they don't have to pretend that they get away in the end...just by playing it, by choosing to play these games, they can have the illusion of control. and that's vital for these abused kids to have.

(we, as adults, play these games all the time, too. they're not as obvious as running around the playground, running from a pretend-rapist, but we have the same underlying intention and seek the same kind of control.)

i get the impression from this article (in a newspaper from the country that colonized South Africa for so many years), that there is an assumption about traumatized nations. being that: South Africa, a new democracy, is so fucked up that their kids are playing rape games. that South Africa, this backward country trying to forge their way "into civilization," is so different from us developed western countries. that South Africa has created this rape culture because it's had such a turbulent history.
thing is:
we're pretty traumatized over here, too. we've got a rape culture every bit as damaging as South Africa's; ours is just more concealed. our kids rarely breathe the word "rape," even though it happens to them at what's probably a comparable rate to South Africa's. (and let's not forget that it was Britain, the country now reporting on this recent report, that colonized and, in a lot of ways, raped South Africa for years and years, contributing a good deal to their national trauma.)

[for further reading, see also my good friend's blog post on this article, here.]

moving on to a second, related point:
the ellipsis in the article as posted above was my decision to leave out a small section of the article, since it's a bit of a subject change. however, it's a subject i still want to pursue here, so here's the paragraph i left out above:

The commission also found that some boys committed what they called "corrective rape" on lesbians, justifying the assault by claiming that it would make the victims heterosexual. "There is a growing phenomenon of corrective rape. This refers to an instance where a male learner [student] rapes a lesbian female learner in the belief that after such a sexual attack the learner will no longer be lesbian," the report said.

...i wasn't aware that there was actually a term for lesbian-target rapes. "corrective rape." it's chilling. (literally: a shiver just shook my body.)

again, though, this doesn't surprise me. it chills me, but the chill doesn't come from being astounded that this happens. i'm well aware that this happens. i want to say that i may be more aware than a lot of queer women, but i don't think i can -- being raped for being queer isn't exactly an unheard of phenomenon.

i wish i had more to say about this. something wise, revelatory, beautiful, or touching. i wish i could say more about the fact that the level of homophobia in South Africa, a country which actually has protections against discrimination written into its constitution, is so high that lesbians - lesbian schoolchildren, even - have boys trying to "correct" them through sexual violence.
but all i've got is:

my heart is weighed down with rocks, stones, pebbles, sand.
this news story? it's more than a news story.
it's her story.
and her story.
and millions of women's stories.
all different, all the same.
millions of women with heavy hearts,
weighed down with rocks, stones, pebbles, sand.

other people's writing.

2008-03-20T17:48:00.004-04:00

(because today, writing about my own individual healing is just a little bit too raw.)

this piece is from Word Warriors, an anthology of female spoken word artists, edited by Alix Olson.

Miscarriage, by Thea Hillman

I have been a mother many times, but I have never been pregnant.

There was that one child, older than me. I picked her up in a bar. Her apartment was small. She leaned back against her headboard, smug and sexy. Her mouth went slack, eyes soft, when she pulled down the straps of my bra. She made a noise I didn't understand yet.

I am the mother she never had. There have been a few of us in her life, makeshift mothers who fuck away the pain, or cry trying.

It was only moments, but it was no longer just sexy. She buried her head in my chest, arms around me. Surprised, I held her close. Something happened to this girl's mother, my head told me. This girl hasn't had a mother in a long time, my heart told me.

I am only thirty but I have been a mother to many girls. Oh my sweet girls. I haven't saved a one of them yet.

I hold her. Tell her she's beautiful. Hold her and rock her when she's hysterical, heaving sobs harder than any I've ever cried and I wonder, how will I ever hold all those tears, how can I teach her to let them go, that they are part of an ocean, lapping a welcome shore? My mother's heart breaks for a baby that isn't mine and for a child I know I'll have to give up.

I hold many of them longer than nine months. I have never carried any of them to term. It's funny that miscarriage sounds so much like marriage, but without the promise, the ring, or a future.

Poor baby. She is older tahn me, but I see the beatings in her young eyes housed in an ancient face. It's the pictures that kill me, a knife twisting in my mothergut. She shows me pictures. She hands me her hurt like a beloved headless doll, oblivious to what it reveals, each year another scar. The baby eyes in the pictures give way to a hard teenage grin and a glint that makes me wince. Each year a pristine new dress hung off her, and the pictures look progressively wronger than the year before, the boy peeking out from the girl that's getting beaten to death inside there, by her mother, by her.

I fall for the girl who takes refuge in her brother, in boyhood, the girl who sees her survival in a square ass and flat chest. Today my girls wear army fatigues, hooded sweatshirts, and briefs. Their shoulders curve to hide their chests. They get mistaken for boys on the street and in public bathrooms, but I see the little girls, invisible to the others, but unmistakable to me. Bigger than me, they get sirred all the time, but they'll always be my little girls.

I love their little boy bodies. I love their breasts. I put food on the table, I hold down a job, I keep the house clean. Each time I tell myself, this one, she'll be the one, I'm going to save this one. And she lets me in. She lets me touch her. She lets me in and I tell her I love her and I tell her how to keep a job, to feed herself, to succeed in the world. I tell her I believe in you, you have something to offer the world, you have a chance. But motherless girls don't want to be nurtured, they want to be mothered. And they'll do anything to not grow up, and not let go. So with every word of encouragement, I cement her failure. With every hope, every word of support, I build the tower of expectation she's going to fall from. And then with every hurt and disappointment, I seal a future without me in it. For she is motherless, and I will necessarily lose her, she will necessarily grow up without me. I lose another baby. And maybe I will try again, when the bleeding resumes.

see the ugliness.

2008-03-19T21:31:00.004-04:00

do you remember when i mentioned, in my review of Louise Wisechild's The Obsidian Mirror, that what i loved about her book was that she didn't sugarcoat the ugly? she didn't gloss over the ugly, ugly, ugly, painful parts of healing.

healing isn't all about beautiful truths and incredible insights and wonderful, life-changing epiphanies.
healing's also about facing the ugly. the awful. the unfathomable. the unforgivable.

i'm not going to share my ugly.
at least, not here.
with my journal, i think.
and maybe with my therapist.

but here's part of the non-glossed-over healing, a small bit of what i'm willing to share with the world, to more accurately track this healing revolution of my own:
this fucking hurts. more than i could've ever imagined.
and it hurts because, says my therapist, all of this shit is like poison. keeping it inside is awful, and it makes you sick, and it sometimes makes you want to die, but letting it out...isn't always that much more enticing. to let it out, you've got to feel all of it on its way out. you've got to feel all of that pain that's been muffled, somehow, inside of you, and you've got to feel it fully.
she says it gets better.
that it won't always hurt like this.
i know she's right.
i just can't believe it yet.

because...
fucking.
ouch.

a couple of announcements

2008-03-15T07:22:00.005-04:00

first:

there's a new (temporary) logo/link on the sidebar for Blog Against Sexual Violence Day. (which falls, by the way, on A Day To End Sexual Violence). the date for both of these campaigns is April 3rd...the third of the month of April, which is Sexual Assault Awareness Month.

Blog Against Sexual Violence Day is, well, exactly what you'd think it is: a day for bloggers to advocate against sexual violence. i kinda do that every day, but the nice thing about these days is that the organizer (marcella chester, this year) will create a comprehensive list of everyone who's participating.
it's a great campaign, and one i hope lots of people will be participating in.

so, on April 3rd, I'll be blogging against sexual violence.
will you?

___________________________________

and second:

this YouTube video, created by David Ilan of Points With Purpose, a pointillism project, creating a drawing made up of dots that represent individual survivors.
the project itself is powerful, and sad, and beautiful.
but this video....
it's really powerful.
and sad.
and so good.
go watch it:

on healing and heart-pain. (words of wisdom)

2008-03-13T18:53:00.004-04:00

a few hours ago, i sent my very good friend, e, this question:
people say that nobody ever died from working on this kind of healing work.
but, given how much my heart hurts right now, i'm having a hard time believing that. believing that it won't just up and give out on me. i never thought i'd get to the point of being afraid of dying from these wounds. and yet, here i am. with that as my new biggest fear.
my question, then, is this.
have you ever heard of anyone dying (as in, just dying, not directly by their own hand) because of this?

and she sent me this answer, which i re-post here, because this is wisdom that just begs to be shared:

i have not, thankfully, heard of anyone dying from this kind of work. i have, however, had the feeling -- this hurts too much. this hurts. this is so huge. i once said to beth, "i feel like i am dying." and she said, "perhaps you are just learning how to live... how to really truly love and hold your own self through your life." and i think she is right on.

it's like when you are out in the cold (all those difficult memories) and it's freezing, freezing, and your hands go numb. and they just stay numb, and you keep skating or skiing or whatever you are doing. and you do fine... it's good enough (is it?). and then you walk into a warm space -- a house (a therapist's office) for instance -- and your hands start to warm up. and the feeling starts to come back. and the first sensation is pain. unbelievable pain. and you wonder if it would've just been better to keep those hands numb because, well, OUCH! but then the warmth returns... slowly, slowly... there is tingling and it starts to feel better but a little bit weird and unfamiliar... and then they keep warming. and the feeling returns. and then you can use those hands to hold things and make things... beautiful delicate things...

writing as healing

2008-03-13T16:02:00.005-04:00

to start off:
new memories are fuckin' hard.

(at one point, i would've looked at this as an obstacle to be avoided. who knew that i'd ever get to the point where i look at this as an obstacle to be surmounted, healed, learned from?)

and to expand, in a completely depersonalizing (or, well, not "depersonalizing" so much as "masking the too-revealing personal truths") way:
writing as healing.

i've had a long, long, long post in the works about this topic for over a month now.
it's still not nearly finished - in fact, it might be one of those that never gets "finished" - but here's a little bit of it. a little taste.

this one's about writing and healing, about healing through writing and writing as a conduit of healing.
(i love that word, “conduit.” i’ve recently rediscovered it. “a means of conveying something from one location to another.” moving from (wounded) location to (healing/healed) location. appropriate, no?)

so here we go, some thoughts on writing, healing, the process, telling the truth, and so on.

the woman whose (adorable!) daughter I babysit, Nerissa Nields, has this quote on her website:

I believe that our stories are what make us sick AND our stories are what heal us.

i'm also currently reading this absolutely incredible book by Louise DeSalvo: Writing as a Way Of Healing.
in this book, she quotes Wayne Muller:

our own wounds can be vehicles for exploring our essential nature, revealing the deepest textures of our heart and soul, if only we will sit with them, open ourselves to the pain,...without holding back, without blame.

in this same book, DeSalvo talks about how not telling our stories makes us sick, both emotionally and physically. by extension, then, telling our stories heals us, not only emotionally, but physically as well.

over time...the work of inhibiting traumatic narratives and feelings acts as an ongoing stressor and gradually undermines the body's defenses. like other significant stressors, inhibiting our stories and emotions can adversely affect immune function..

this isn't really a new concept for me; a good friend - we'll call her T - and i have been talking for a while about how this kind of suppression / repression / woundedness is probably behind her severe anemia, my roommate's borderline narcolepsy, my own poor immune system, my mother's fifteen (and counting) physical disorders, even T's mother's death.

so.
our stories make us sick, yes. holding them in, inhibiting them, repressing them sets off an extremely unhealthy cycle: we get sick because we don't open up to our stories, we tell ourselves we can't open up to our stories because we're not well enough to deal with the ramifications we imagine would come with this kind of openness.
and we can't get well by constantly, actively repressing our stories, the traumatic events of our past. we get sicker.

that paper i tried to write at the end of my senior year at smith centered around "breaking the silence." i came to kind of hate that aphorism. it seemed overused and, after reading writer after writer using it to describe how they Healed From Abuse™, i was sick of it. i'd been talking about the abuse for years, since i was 15. i'd broken the silence, and i wasn't healed. my "healing" path, my silence-breaking, wasn't achieving that kind of healing catharsis that was supposed to come from telling my story, from "breaking the silence."
yet, despite my cynicism, my argument in the paper was still based on the revolutionary aspect of breaking the silence, particularly, the community- (and self-) imposed silences around being both queer and a victim/survivor of sexual violence. i knew i didn’t fit into the model of The Survivor – at least, the one who Healed by breaking her silence – but i still saw the potential of that model. how breaking the silence could be revolutionary, could be a (the?) path to healing…even if i hadn’t quite found that path yet, or figured out how it worked. i’ve always seen the value of breaking the silence, always repeated that aphorism, even as it frustrated and eluded me.
frustrating and elusive because i was talking. i was writing. i was, at times, talking and writing at length about the abuse. breaking that silence. but something was missing. it wasn’t helping. i wasn’t healing.

what i didn’t realize then, what i didn’t realize until recently, is that there’s a particular kind of breaking that silence that is healing; just talking in facts, sans emotion, the way i had been for years, isn’t the kind of healing silence-breaking that i’d been seeking.

not feeling feels safe. being numb feels safe. but it’s not healing.

DeSalvo cites a study that forms the basis of her book, her program for writing as healing. the study was done by James Pennebaker and Sandra Beall, and they found that writing a full narrative -- with both facts and emotions -- of a trauma was healing in a way that writing only half (only facts, or only emotions) was not.

We must write in a way that links detailed descriptions of what happened with feelings – then and now – about what happened. Both thinking and feeling are involved. Linking them is critical. Feelings about the traumatic event in the past and the present are expressed and, perhaps, compared so that the writer unravels how the past impinges on the present but how, too, it’s different.

so that’s what was missing.

when amy, my last therapist, first asked me what i felt during the abuse, i was lost. i didn’t have anything to say.
“i’ve never really thought about that. nobody’s ever asked me before.”
she was floored that, in my years and years of therapy, nobody had asked me about what it felt like to that little girl who was being abused. it didn’t seem all that strange to me; people wanted to know what happened, they wanted to know what my parents did, what john did, what i did. why would they care about what any of us felt? the feelings seemed irrelevant….because nobody had ever let me believe that they were relevant or told me that the “safety” i felt by avoiding them was actually a totally false sense of security. i’d become really good at telling the facts of what happened, with little or no feeling. feeling anything about it was dangerous, opened up things that i didn’t think i could bear opening up. so i didn’t.
and, until about three months ago, i kept up that stoic façade. and then i met T, a woman who, for the first time, offered the kind of safety that i’d always sought, but never found. when i told her my story, it was different. the story itself was the same, the facts didn’t change, and i still consciously left out those parts that felt (still feel) too shameful to share, but what i opened up in the telling of the story was profoundly different. when she asked me to tell her my story, and i obliged, i felt it. for the first time, when i told the facts that, over the years, have become a little mundane, i felt them in my heart and in my gut. i told a full narrative – a short version, but full nonetheless – of the story. i opened up, with her, a package with both facts and feelings.

“ah.” i thought, “that’s what it’s supposed to be like to break the silence. this is the kind of healing that people have been talking about.”

it’s all part of living fully, of living with your heart and your head. it’s bigger than a healing way of writing, it’s bigger than me telling my story in a full way, it’s bigger than my friendship with this woman who first showed me what heart-living was about.

writing in a way that heals is just a part of living in a way that heals. but i’m a writer, always have been. so, for me, writing in a way that heals is a big part of living in a way that heals. writing in a way that links my heart-understanding of what happened with my head-understanding of what happened…that’s what it means to “break the silence.” that’s what it means to live that old, possibly overused, easily misunderstood aphorism.

so, in that vein, let me tell you a story.
...............

...and this is where the post i've been working on veers off, unfinished, into convoluted storytelling, unorganized narrative, and totally non-healing writing. so instead, i'm going to end it in a different way. read on.

i could tell lots of stories. i've considered, thoroughly, my options for which story/stories to write in this way that's supposed to heal, which stories i could share on this blog.
there are plenty of easy ones. plenty. but they're "easy" because they're things i've already done a good deal of healing around/over/in. the ones i need to tell are the ones that...are hard.
like this new memory.
the one that i tried to tell my therapist about today...and couldn't get through all of it.

it's the things that are the hardest that i most want to do. i've never liked settling for the easier tasks. i thrive on challenges, on things that are supposed to be impossible or implausible.

so i can't tell you these "easy" stories.
because the stories i want to tell aren't easy.
and i can't tell you the hard stories, either. (because i can't tell myself these stories yet, either.)
but there will be stories. they'll come.
i promise (myself. and you).

generational legacy of wounded women

2008-03-09T15:22:00.005-04:00

when i decided to write today*, i intended to write about this topic, one of my "to-come" posts:

3) the ways in which a lot of women's reluctance to reject and deferment to the desires of (especially hetero) men is not only a sign of her own individual woundedness, but also indicative of our shared woundedness. i also want to discuss how "the patriarchy" (and everything that goes along with it) contributes to our own individual woundedness, how the oppression we feel is rarely capital-p Political, and how healing from it doesn't need to be Political. (healing, though, is inherently political, inherently an act of social change.

i thought about it, thought about Gerry, the (much older hetero male) customer at the cafe who seems to think that i want him to be more than just another regular customer i'm friendly with. i thought about my huge, huge difficulty with saying no to him, with refusing his gifts (...he gave me pearls. and a half dozen roses on valentine's day. i know, i know.) i thought a little about what that meant, given my own personal history and my socialization as a "nice girl."
i was about to write a long, well thought out post about the implications of my woundedness on my present life, how my past wounds carry on and continue wounding me now...as exemplified by this situation with gerry.

and then...my mother left me a message on my voicemail.
and, unsurprisingly, the direction of this post shifted dramatically.

this seems like a trivial anecdote, but it epitomizes the codependent, dysfunctional woundedness of my relationship with my mother (or, more accurately, of her relationship with/to me).

i recently changed my voicemail message. it's now much calmer, more peaceful, more mellow. a couple friends - friends who are part of this healing community of mine - have commented approvingly on it. they like the calmness, adultness, maturity of the new greeting.
my mom called today and left a message on my voicemail.
it started with a halting, seemingly distracted, uncomfortable: "you changed your voicemail. it just..it's...it throws me off every time i hear it."

yes.
of course it does.
because when i recorded it, i felt at peace. i wasn't in excruciating, life-impeding pain. the person on the voicemail isn't the daughter that you've grown used to, that you've cultivated. the person on my voicemail isn't a slave to the pain that you have created / rely on.

when i heard her remark, i laughed out loud. shook my head.

at some point, i know, the grief will set in. i'll mourn for the woman my mother never was, for the mother i never had, for the peace she's never felt, for the healing she will probably never feel.

but for now, it's funny. sad-funny, definitely. that kind of funny where you laugh, but you think that maybe you should also be crying. but still, funny.

the point of this anecdote? it's a generational thing, this pain. the generational legacy of abuse, of trauma, of woundedness. my woundedness, even if it weren't directly caused by my mother's wounded actions (and a big ol' chunk of it was), would still have a lot to do with the legacy of my mother's woundedness. because when a woman as wounded as my mother tries to parent, she inevitably passes on that woundedness to her child.
so, yes, in a way, my wounds are hereditary. my depression is hereditary, my PTSD is hereditary, my addictions - to unhealthy relationships, to self-injury - are hereditary. but it's not the hereditary that's passed along in genes (or maybe it is). it's a different hereditary trait.

this all means that generations of women are still wounded, grow up wounded, because they were raised by wounded women. these girls, raised by wounded women, will also raise wounded women...unless they address their wounds. acknowledge them. try to heal them.

this woundedness, this generational woundedness...it's sad. it's sad to see women, just about everywhere, in so much pain. my heart goes out to the women i see with unhealed, unacknowledged wounds. but it also makes me angry. because this legacy of woundedness is another one of those things that supports the continued prominence of patriarchal structures. it's this woundedness that, on an individual level, enables patriarchal dominance over women who are too wounded to embrace their power, who can't see that they deserve something better than what they have.

_______________________________

*"today," at first, referred to monday, march 3rd. but i didn't get around to finishing the post until today, sunday, march 9th. noted just in case the chronology of these events matters...even though i'm pretty sure it doesn't.

the best book i'd somehow never heard of

2008-03-08T19:01:00.008-05:00

Yesterday, I finished this book: The Obsidian Mirror, by Louise Wisechild.
It took me close to two weeks to finish it.
Not because it's particularly long - it's typical memoir length, a little under 300 pages.
Not because it's intellectually dense or particularly difficult - it's well-written, but in a perfectly accessible way.
Not even because I wasn't dedicated to reading it -- there were few days I didn't have the book with me, in my bag, few days that I didn't pick it up and have a hard time putting it down.

No, it took me so long to finish this book because it was just that intense. Because there were entire chapters I didn't want to forget, so I finished, then went back 20 pages to re-read it. Even the preface (by Laura Davis) and new introduction (by the author) were read twice.
This is a book I took out from the Smith library. I don't really want to return it. I'm now torn as to where to spend the remainder of my book budget for March; I had planned on buying Writing As A Way of Healing by Louise DeSalvo (about which I've got another post in the works for), but I also need this book as an addition to my library.

Why am I so enamoured with this book?
Part of it, I don't deny, is because I see myself in it, in what Wisechild is writing. I see my healing journey reflected in this memoir of her healing journey. It's my own journey, just as hers was her own, but it's a journey that reminds me that even in these hardest parts, I'm not the only one who's ever been there. Reminds me that not only have other people been there, they've gotten through it. That's huge.
But the bigger part of why I'm kind of astonished by how much I love this book is this:
It tells the story that nobody else tells. It's brutally honest about what "healing from sexual abuse" means.
I've been bitter about the myth of the Survivor, about the rhetoric around surviving / healing for a long time. Most books, stories, movies, and whatever else I've ever read or seen have emphasized the telling as The Healing Moment. Have given the impression, intentionally or not, that telling, breaking that silence, is the thing you need to do to "heal." Made it seem like healing comes automatically afterwards -- as in, speak out about the abuse, call it what it is (rape, abuse, incest, etc), tell your therapist, confront your abuser(s), and suddenly, you're healed! You're officially a Survivor!
Except...that's not how it works.
Maybe for some people, it really is that simple. But not, I don't think, for most. And certainly not for me.
Which isn't to say that the initial telling isn't important - it is, it's vitally important, and essential to starting that healing process. But that's what it is: a start. Of a process. Not the be-all and end-all of healing.

So what I love most about Wisechild's book is that it's honest about the up and down (and down and down and up and down) nature of the healing process. It's honest about it being a process. It's up-front and frank about the things she's healing from, without inaccurate metaphors and allusions to abuse. It's real, and it's true. It's not beautiful. It ends beautifully, in a very healed & still healing place, but she doesn't gloss over the ugly, ugly, painful parts of healing. In this book is so much truth, so much truth that's so often overlooked or (intentionally? subconsciously?) left out of the larger rhetoric of surviving, the larger myth of the Survivor.

And, to be totally honest, another reason I've developed such an attachment to this book is because it triggered a lot of things for me. Her story hit places in me that I needed to uncover. Places I'd been somewhat intentionally avoiding, things I'd been resisting. It hurt, to read it. It was painful. But it wasn't an unpleasant pain. It was a pain that opened, that triggered the pain of opening. It reminded me a lot of myself, I saw myself reflected often in her story...and then I also - briefly and distantly and uncertainly - saw myself in the last couple chapters, when her healing journey becomes calmer, when she's a more healed woman. A more whole woman. It hit home.
A moment of irony, fate, coincidence, something:
I'd been using a flyer as a bookmark. For the Block Island Poetry Project. I was interested in the weekend, even though I knew I could never afford it. I'd taken the brochure from the cafe's bulletin board, though, just so that I could pine away for my lost opportunities of writing poetry in a place like Block Island. I'd been to Block Island before, and had fond memories of it and its beauty. Reading this book triggered a new memory for me, something that hasn't happened in years, something which was painful beyond what I can describe here. The new memory?
From our trip to Block Island in 1998.
Ironic, don't you think?

healing comes in memories, in monologues, in rants, and in prayers.

2008-03-01T20:00:00.003-05:00

I'm currently reading A Memory, A Monologue, A Rant, And A Prayer, an anthology edited by Eve Ensler. It contains writings about (and to stop) violence against women and girls, from 49 amazing writers.

It's incredible.

And so intense.

I can't read it straight through; I don't think any person with a connection to hir own heart would be able to read heartbreaking (but also heartening) story after heartbreaking/heartening story all the way through.

So I've been flipping around.

One that really resonates with me is called "Rescue," by Mark Matousek. Which explains how his childhood, growing up with a single mother and three sisters, affected his life -- that is, how growing up in a family of raped women made him into a "rescue artist." the familial, generational legacy of violence against women.

But also, Jane Fonda's afterword, which talks about healing, and also talks about that familial/generational legacy of sexual abuse.
Specifically, this sentence, regarding "healing activism":
"It's important to create an intentional community of love, friends who are also committed to living as fully and wholly as possible."
an intentional community of love.
i love that idea.
part of creating a community. part of integrating healing into activism. part of putting love, and heart, and wholeness (back?) into social justice movements.
I'll expand on this more in some (or lots) of posts to come, but for now, I'll just leave it at this:

Yes, I am indeed creating (and finding) my own intentional community of love.
And I do, sincerely, hope that you can find your way into one of your own.