I Need Feminism Because

Anyone who's been spending a good deal of time on the internet (or, at least, most of the corners of the internet I tend to frequent) has probably seen the "I need feminism because..." meme. It's pretty fantastic, really, with some really amazing, illustrative reasons for why this movement exists. The photograph ones are especially poignant:

But today I want to share my own personal notes after something that happened on Purdue's campus. Walking back from a theater performance, I was getting nervous because it was dark and (once I passed Heavilon) I was alone. To make things even worse, it was raining and I'd actually taken off my glasses because I could see better without them than I could with them getting rain-speckled (...which is to say, I couldn't see at all, but at least there were recognizable shapes). 

As I got to a darker part of campus (across from one of the frat houses, which only aggravated my nervousness), I found myself walking behind two older men. They were obviously middle aged, and obviously (from their conversation) coming from the same show I'd just seen. All in all, they were pretty unthreatening. So, when it became obvious we were heading in the same direction, I confirmed that they were, in fact, heading to the same parking garage.

Me: "Oh, great! I really hate walking alone after dark."

Guy: "Of course. You can join us. Our wives (who were walking about a block behind, chatting) won't mind."

....and then he tried to put his arm around me. 

I'd like to say he meant it as a protective gesture, but he very obviously didn't (his tone was highly suggestive, if only jokingly) and, regardless, it was a completely inappropriate move. I'd just expressed the fact that I was feeling vulnerable. The last thing I wanted was to be touched, and he was the last person who would have had the right.

Nothing happened. I say this to reassure friends and family, rather than to dismiss how much this bothered me. We walked to the garage in an awkward gaggle, I quickly got in my car, and I drove home. The end. But it's been two days and I can't forget it.

I also can't forget the fact that, as the rain started, I had the thought that "Well, I should be safer now, because no one is going to want to assault someone in this...."

....I need feminism, because I shouldn't have to tell someone to keep their hands to themselves when

1. They are a stranger
2. I am vulnerable
3. I have blatantly said I feel worried about being victimized

I need feminism, because I shouldn't have to factor weather systems into my ability to walk safely.

I need feminism, because so many women are not as lucky as me and have had to deal with more than an inappropriate side-hug.

And I need feminism, because I'm sitting here, getting ready to post this, and wondering whether it will be seen as overreacting.

But I'm posting it anyway.

Learning to Listen

I remember student teaching. I was a senior at Olivet Nazarene University...a tiny little bubble of a community, tucked away from the rest of the world. In many ways, it was an idealistic haven. It was a world of praying problems away, worship times (mandatory--every Tuesday and Wednesday), (mostly) white skin, (mostly) middle-class, and an enthusiastic promise of changing the world.

And then there was Kennedy Jr. High.

Stepping into that room, I was the only white face besides my cooperating teacher. My students--23 fifth graders with fidgeting hands and shifting eyes--dealt with things I had never even dreamed of. They came to class after a morning break-in. They went on visits to the nearby prison to see parents or uncles or cousins. They struggled with bladder infections when their parents refused (yes...refused) to take them to the doctor. And they rolled their eyes through remedial test-taking strategies that were necessary because over half of the class had IEPs, and we didn't have enough manpower to diversify the curriculum. I can't think of a time that was more difficult in my teaching career....or a time when my struggle mattered less.

It's an experience that broke me more times than I can count, right before building me back up. I'm beyond grateful for that opportunity...and it's what sits in the back of my mind as I read things like Damian Baca's The Chicano Codex, Richard Ohmann's Reflections on Class and Language, or Jaqueline Jones Royster's When the First Voice You Hear Isn't Your Own. It's the lesson (or lessons) that linger as I wade through James Paul Gee's work on becoming a part of a discourse community. Because it's my reminder that these concepts--couched in the now-familiar jargon of pedagogy, terministic screens, rhetorical situation and sovereignty--are so much more than academic, theoretical constructs.

They are 23 faces, hungry and bored and waiting for recess because the math makes no sense to them. They're 32 middle schoolers who don't understand why "Reading Workshop" should be considered an elective and who are convinced they hate reading. And they are 30 freshman from the Chicago-land area, some of whom have only just finished the remedial CHANCE course before nervously wading into college-level English.

It would be easy for me--a white, middle class, educated woman--to make assumptions and claims about class and race and socioeconomic factors. I can talk about lenses and strategies. But I don't want to. I don't feel that I have the right. Because I've been teaching these "at-risk" students for years, now. I've been interacting with them on a daily basis. And they have shown me, first hand, that "[we] do not simply and eternally belong to [a] class. Rather, in all [our] doings from day to day, [we and everyone we are affected by] constantly create [our] class position" (Ohmann, 11). They, like bell hooks, might say "[I find it] a necessary aspect of self-affirmation not to feel compelled to choose on voice over another, not to claim one as more authentic, but rather to construct social realities that celebrate, acknowledge, and affirm differences, variety" (2). My students have their home voices. They have their street voices. They have their work voices. And they have their classroom voices. Sometimes these overlap. Sometimes they don't. But what I'm learning more and more is that I don't want to be the kind of teacher who doesn't hear what my students are saying because it doesn't fit into a specific, "accepted" discourse.

I have opinions. I can be very vocal about them. But on issues of race and class, I think I would much, much rather listen.

hooks, bell. Talking Back: Thinking Feminist, Thinking Black. Boston: South End, 1989.
Ohmann, Richard. "Reflections on Class and Language." College English,44(1), 1982. 1-17.

From a Peacemaker...or why compromise isn't always the right answer.

Dear Well-Meaning, Respectful, Socially-Conscious Sir:

We're friends. Or we're friends of friends. You're the kind of guy who cares about people as people. You are considerate and intelligent. You care about social injustices, and you genuinely want to have honest and frank discussions.

I want you to know that I respect you. And I know that you respect me. I enjoy the conversations we have, and I welcome the questions you bring to me. And so I hope that you will indulge me as I give a layered response to a concern that keeps coming up in our conversations...

This is a concern over the tone of arguments for feminism and women's rights. It's the doubt that you voice about the effectiveness of confrontation. You know that violence and inequality exist and you think they're important issues, but you question whether loud exclamations of "RAPE CULTURE" and "MISOGYNY" are more detrimental than helpful. After all, when everyone starts shouting at each other, how is anyone supposed to actually hear each other?

As a rhetorician and an incorrigible peacemaker, this is a concern I understand well. I value conversation over confrontation and--like you--I'm quick to advise that people aim for a middle ground and communication rather than an ideological throw-down. When I teach my students about effective arguments, we talk about issues like addressing both sides, seeking compromise and affirming multiple points of view. So I'm not disagreeing with you, by any means. At least...........not here.

But (and here's my compromise), I want to talk about why you're maybe (completely unintentionally) missing the point when you ask "angry" or "confrontational" feminists to "tone it down" in the name of productive conversation.

When I teach argument to my students, one of the first things we consider is how our approach changes, depending on who the audience is. And we talk about how, often, the audience that is verbally addressed isn't the actual audience. (Think of any political campaign that attacks the opposing party. That's not a message meant to change minds...it's a message meant to rally existing supporters.) And while "preaching to the choir" often has a negative connotation, it can serve a very important purpose.

In the case of marginalization and oppression, these vocal, seemingly one-sided exclamations give a very clear, very necessary message: "You are not alone."

It's a well documented issue that victims of oppression don't talk about what they've gone through. There are a lot of reasons for this. One of the largest issues is that, in order to victimize someone, an assailant (physical or otherwise) has to deprive the victim of power. They make them feel weak. Alone. Once this has happened, reclaiming that power can be incredibly difficult (and can feel impossible). And it's not just about the "strength" or "will" of the victim. Society itself often continues the process that the assailant began. This is because the arguments used by assailants aren't new...they're simply extreme versions of things we hear everyday. So when a victim tries to speak up, they now have to speak up against their attacker, their trauma, and a society that's often unwilling to listen. No wonder they're so silent.

When a group takes up a cause of marginalization, they are confrontational. Often times, this confrontation falls into anger and belligerence, which is very upsetting and off-putting to the well-meaning, respectful, socially conscious people they are addressing. After all, these are rational, empathetic individuals who would never intentionally victimize someone else, nor condone that behavior from someone else. They feel attacked. They feel blamed. And this, like you've voiced, is not a good starting place for meaningful discussion.

But what I'd like you to realize, when you come to me and say "I know violence towards women is a problem, but..." or "I know racism still exists, but..." you're actually pointing out exactly why this kind of communication IS valid. Is important. Is vital.

YOU know that these inequalities exist, but the victims of these crimes often don't. They have been isolated. They have been stripped of power and agency and community and support.

You hear angry voices, but they hear a rallying cry.

You see a fruitless endeavor, but they see a community.

You're right, you know. If things are going to change, we need communication. We need compromise and understanding and intelligent discussion. But in order for that to happen, there is a whole community out there that needs to get its voice back. They need to be able to safely and securely join the conversation because, until that happens, a large part of society is going to continue reinforcing all the lies their assailants forced on them.

Yes, extreme voices are angry. Yes, they are often just noise...sound and fury and raw emotion. And to you, that's upsetting and unhelpful.

But to people who have spent years in silence, that noise is exactly what they need.

Sexual Choice...what freedom of choice should mean.

There is a lot that's been said about feminism and sexuality. It's a heated argument on both sides, from women's right to control their sexual health and the way they express their sexuality to the fear that this demand has led to the sexual exploitation of women.

In many ways, I side with feminism and its painfully simple (and yet often denied) truth that a woman's worth is not defined by her sexuality or what she does with it. This is not meant as an attack towards anyone who values conservative values, but rather it's an attack on the idea that sexual exploration (even--or especially--when it's a bad idea) "corrupts" or "pollutes" a woman. This mindset is often the product of slut-shaming, a double standard that links the value of a woman to her "purity"...which often means that those who express themselves outside of this value are seen as lesser. Other.

There are plenty of articles out there talking about why this is a bad ideology, and how slut-shaming leads to the perpetuation of our current rape culture. I think those are important articles. They're necessary. They're timely (the Miley Cyrus uproar, anyone?).

They are not this blog.

I don't disagree that public opinion is still often skewed towards objectification and dehumanization of women (yes, ladies and gents...when you place a woman's value entirely in her sexuality--rather than her characteristics as a person--you are practicing dehumanization). But this is actually a response to a scathing review of 50 Shades of Grey.

Normally, I am all for scathing reviews when it comes to Twilight or its fanfiction offspring (again, that's another post), but what struck me this time was the author's snidely dismissive comment: "Are we honestly supposed to believe that a 20 year old woman hasn't had sex?"

....Ouch.

There is so much loaded in that question. There's the idea that, if you are 20 or older and are still a virgin, you are "Other." And, like every time we "other" people...there's the implication that if you fit into this "other" category, something must be wrong.

Let's put aside the ideas of repression, religious duty, or political appropriation of sexuality. Let's step back from the (very pressing and real) concerns posed by lack of proper sex education and the prevalence of STDs.

Instead, let's talk about the meaning of the word "choice."

Last time I checked, feminism was all about a woman's right to choose how to express her sexuality. Which means, if she so chooses, she can choose not to have sex.

That's right. A woman has the right to say no to sex. Not on a case by case basis. Not for safety, or for virtue, or because it's the "right" thing to do. Simply because they do.

If we try to define the justifiable reasons a woman has for saying "No," we're limiting her as much as if we define the justifiable reasons she has for saying "Yes."

I do not believe that women need to "save themselves" to be "good," "pure," "holy," "safe," "virtuous," "nice," or "smart." But I also refuse to believe that saying "That's not something I want to do," whether it means right now, in the near future, or ever, is always a sign of being "repressed," "close-minded," "naive," or "controlled."

A woman's sexuality is just that. Hers. Her comfort level is also hers. And she is the only one who has the right to define what she chooses to do with them. Regardless of what that choice is.

Dear Judge Baugh...

This will be short, mostly because I'm not sure I have the words to properly convey how heartbroken I am right now. I also am not sure I can trust myself to be entirely coherent. But I have to try. For whoever stumbles across this blog, or maybe only for myself, I have to say something.

For the past two days, I've scrolled past a handful of news headlines and facebook statuses decrying a sentence passed down by a judge where a 49 year old man was sentenced to 30 days in prison after the rape of a 14 year old girl led to her suicide. I didn't scroll past them because I agreed with the sentence. I scrolled past them because it didn't occur to me that, today, after all the publicity with Todd Akin's atrociously ridiculous claims of "legitimate rape" and the events of Stuebenville and Delhi that this could actually be true. After all, hasn't this been publicized enough? Surely people have started to realize how pervasive rape culture is and how devastating it is to our children. Our boys. Our girls.

I am furious and heartbroken that I was wrong. I'm appalled that, when I finally did click on a passing link, it wasn't to see an article from some backwater publication that needed to be double-checked for sincerity on Snopes. I don't have words to describe how awful it is to see a rape condoned because the victim was "troubled."

Judge Todd Baugh has defended his decision by saying that Stacey Dean Rambold has already lost his job, his wife, and will have to register as a sex offender...and hasn't his life already been ruined enough?

Except this is not about "ruining" one man's life. Whatever I feel towards Rambold, that's not the point. The point is that he did that ruination to himself. He is a (presumably) mature, sane, consenting adult.

She. Was. 14.

She had a name. Cherice Morales.

She had a future and it was stolen from her.

Has he suffered enough? That's not my call to make (though I would argue that, no. He hasn't. How do you ever "make up" for emotionally manipulating, sexually violating, and destroying a young life?). But what I do know is that this ruling sends a very clear message to all the young men and women who are in Morales's position right now. Because they're out there. They're broken and, yes, "troubled" and scared and tired. And they've just been told that, even if anyone found out what they were going through...well...losing your job and sitting in a cell for 30 days is penalty enough.

Because that sounds like a fair exchange, doesn't it?

Searching for Clarity (or When Did Academic Writing Come to Mean "Confusing as Hell?")

There are times when I don't think I deserve to be an English major.

I enjoy literature. I get insanely thrilled over nerdy things like composition pedagogy and rhetoric. And I love to write. I'm even crazy enough that I'm starting my doctorate (which is a completely different, terrifying topic). But, however much I love my subject, I can't stand "academic" writing.

I say "academic," because I'm not actually convinced that the writing I hate should even qualify...or that, if anything, it should be classified as "bad" academic writing. Yet it's the kind of writing that we all know to expect. Hell, it's even the kind of writing our students "aspire" to, because those are the signposts they've come to recognize in "intelligent" writing. It's that article that is jargon-heavy and vague. The one that's so complex and hard to understand that you can't quite tell whether you're too stupid to understand it or if the author never actually said anything at all.

This isn't the first time terrible writing has wound me up into a fury, but normally it's because--as a student--I'm being forced to read it. This time, though, it's the teacher in me that wants to scream.

I've been reading Robert Connor's Composition-Rhetoric: Backgrounds, Theory, and Pedagogy for an Independent Study class. I know. It sounds like a snoozer, but Connors actually does a masterful job of keeping a potentially dry subject interesting. He's funny, he's conversational, and he's clear...all while staying true to the rigor you'd want in a research textbook. As far as texts go, it's pretty great.

What isn't great are the writers he's talking about. Going through the history of writing instruction, it becomes increasingly obvious that Composition-Rhetoric methods have been forced into formulaic, prescriptive, boring frames because that's what was "easy" to teach. Because that's what's easy to write. And that's what's easy to understand.

Prescriptive, formulaic scholars like Alexander Bain weren't the only ones out there, though. There were innovative scholars. Conscientious scholars. Scholars who realized that the process and student interaction and non-linear lessons would get better writing than five paragraph essays. Except, time and again, Connors points out that their textbooks and articles just wouldn't catch on. And why not?

Because they were too difficult to understand.

Never mind torturing those poor graduate students who are forced to study onerous textbooks for hours on end. These are decades and decades of prospective writers and learning minds who wasted years of writing instruction on formulas because academics couldn't learn to be clear.

I get it. Theory is complex. And, sometimes, the only way to discuss theory is in abstractions. Not everything can be put into practical, layman's terms. But if you truly believe that you've found a valuable, useful way of teaching... why wouldn't you make it accessible?

Obviously, the history of composition-rhetoric is more complex and relies on more than the writing quality of a few theorists...but it's not a problem that is stuck in the past. THIS is what we call academic writing. And these, truly, are the consequences we face.

As a teacher, I'm not sure I can think of anything more depressing than the idea that the tools are out there...they're just not being shared.