Feminism: The Friend, The Foe, The Internal Fight

PART I

I first feel it one day, the inescapable judgment, while attending a women's conference. I am sitting with a group of ladies casually chatting in between the morning and afternoon sessions, when the talk turns to sexism in pop culture.  One women mentions a recent argument with her husband; she's taken him to task over the inclusion of Eminem CDs in his music collection. 

“I really like Eminem,” I say. “I think he's a poet.”

It's hard to explain how a look can feel like daggers through your eyeballs, but the glare I find myself on the receiving end of is stabbing.  Lasting only a fleeting moment but feeling longer, it is immediately followed by “Why are you here if you're not a feminist?”

I have no business there, her jab says.  I find it rude; I haven't spoken against feminism at all.  I also haven't seen the imaginary “Those Who Identify As Feminists Only” sign that she has clearly imposed on the front door.  She, though, has branded me based on her damnation of my words.  I respond with a smirk, “It's a good thing I don't call myself one then.”

No daggers this time.  As you can imagine, however, our time sharing that area of carpet ends quickly thereafter.  The feeling in the air between us is that I am the enemy.  Given a less hostile response to my initial comment, I would have explained that I, like Mr. Mathers, was a songwriter who could identify with the use of lyricism to exorcise one's demons – even if some of those lyrics were deeply disturbing accounts of one's contentious emotional and psychological relationship with women.  I would have explained that this was an artist working through deep-seated resentment of a mother who he'd blamed for decades for allowing the physical and mental abuse of him and his brother at the hands of their father.  I would've explained that this animosity continued to manifest in engagement with other females, and that the music was in many ways a salvation, a conscious outlet for the venting of that rage and pain.  But she would not have listened, I hadn't come to the conference to be an Eminem apologist, and I had no interest in begging forgiveness for my transgression. 

So instead she got a retort, honest and sarcastic in equal measure.

That was the day I realized that there exists a group of women, women in some ways very much like me, among whom I am an anomaly.  Such had been the case for many years.  In the beginning, I wondered if maybe there was something wrong with me, with the voice inside of my head, with my understanding of the world.  It seemed that every couple of months I would hear about something else that had been done or said in the name of feminism that made my affinity for the word dwindle further.  This was upsetting.  I wanted to feel the same desire to ascribe that moniker to myself that so many amazing women I knew did.  I was more than aware of the oppression faced by women throughout history and the struggles that persist today.  But I continued to hear things I found profoundly alienating.  I finally gave voice to this difference been me and many of my peers a couple of years ago in my piece The Bludgeoning Of The F-Word.

“People are shocked to learn that not once in my life - not in a Facebook post, an email, a blog entry or an actual conversation - have I ever referred to myself as a feminist. Theysay that it makes no sense in light of the things that I support, how I try to operate and what I believe in.”

The response from women when I've said this (which has actually been on very few occasions, but the reaction each time is memorable) has inevitably been an extended awkward silence, at last broken by a tepid “Oh really?” or “Wow...” or “Hmm... that's interesting.”  These spoken comments, I suspect, are highly edited versions of the script being written on the pages of their minds.  I feel them judging me silently.  I know that my words have left them feeling one of either confused, disappointed or betrayed – perhaps all three simultaneously.  It is amazing how uncomfortable they seem to instantly become, as if the person I was only moments earlier has morphed before their very eyes into someone else.

Only once has someone actually asked, “Why not?”  I'll talk about her later.

Since that day at the conference, I have met many women and read the words of many others.  I have had a panoramic view of what “feminism” is and means.  These opinions range from a direct reflection of my own values, to points of view I find wildly offensive and damaging.  Similarly, the holders of these opinions range from those I consider sisters in our shared world view, to those with whom I would frankly never share space unless under duress.

Some differences of opinion are interesting catalyst for debate.  And some are an unbridgeable chasm.

Earlier this year, a woman decided to run a marathon while on her period without a tampon, to make a point about period-shaming.  I was stymied.  Yes, it is true that men (and some conservative women) may not be comfortable discussing menstruation or seeing it, and as a result many women feel that they shouldn't talk about it.  But we don't go around discussing other bodily fluids either, unless I've missed some conversations that I'm glad to have missed.  One comment I saw on Facebook read “Women have been made to feel that they shouldn't talk about their perfectly natural menstrual flow in polite company.”  Um... okay.  What I always thought was simply decorum is now apparently oppressive.  Have we been chatting up a storm about our urine and diarrhea and saliva and semen?  They're natural too.  We have turned every expression of disapproval or discomfort into “shaming”, which leads to over-the-top responses.  Can we not have a dialogue before leaping to extremes that only further repel those we wish to inform?  There actually is a very serious matter to discuss with regards to menstruation amongst poor women.  Women in poverty often do not have money to access pads or tampons.  This leads to REAL, heartbreaking shame.  There are wonderful initiatives to collect feminine hygiene products for impoverished or displaced women.  But even to make a point about that, making others run around your menstrual flow for an entire marathon route would not be the way to go about it.  Not only do such actions not bring those you wish to influence closer to you, but they can backfire and estrange those already sympathetic to the progressive cause. 

To the woman who ran that marathon, bleeding through her track pants for 26 miles is feminism.  That is her choice.  She is entitled to that view. 

But that is not feminism to me.

An artist recently decided to create an art project by inserting a camera into her vagina and allowing people to view the images.  She then used the images of her vagina and vaginal mucus – I am making none of this up – to create a silk scarf, which she named the Pussy Bow.  Her claim is that the project makes a powerful statement about abortion rights.  Yeah... it does nothing of the kind.  How does a woman walking around wearing a scarf with a pattern made from images of her vagina, which no one would know were of her vagina unless she announced it everywhere she went, advance the very real issue of a woman's reproductive agency? 

That, to this artist, is feminism.  That is her choice.  She is entitled to that view. 

But that is not feminism to me.

Just days ago, I'm reading an article about the latest song/video by the artist Peaches, entitled Rub.  The author extoles the video for its feminist statement and asserts that the video asks: Why are women still so ashamed of our vaginas?  (As someone who spent six years very closely linked to the quintessential piece of art related to the subject of vaginas, I can assure that that video does not ask that question.)  I have no comment on Peaches' music, her video or any of her artistic decisions.  She is, as Eminem is, free to make them regardless of what I or anyone else thinks, and evidently there are thousands and thousands of people who like what she does.  But I was turned off greatly the author of the article's maddening question, its suggestion being that if I don't find an all-female naked band practice turned orgy complete with a random penis smacking a woman in her face, a woman being thrown down on a table in a burlap sac, and two women urinating on-screen at the end to be a bold step forward for my gender, that I'm passively suffering from both genital self-loathing and a misunderstanding of female empowerment. 

That, to this particular writer, is feminism.  That is her choice.  She is entitled to that view. 

But that is not feminism to me.

One of the most stupefying examples of “What the hell” I have experienced is a viral video that came up a few times in my Facebook feed a couple of years ago, called “F-Bombs for Feminism”.  In it, a group of little girls called the “Potty Mouth Princesses” decry gender-based inequality and violence while repeatedly dropping the word “F*CK” into their message and giving the finger to the camera in one of the poorest displays of online judgment that I've seen.  Oh!  Such fun!  Let's turn some Grade 1 children into profane sailors!  Because NOTHING will get the point of violence against women across more legitimately than being cursed at by 6-year-olds!  It was exploitative and tasteless, and yet it reappeared in my feed several times.  Even more upsetting was the fact that the video had important things to say, but rather than simply trusting the power of the message – one that should never be distracted from – it went for shock value and undermined itself. 

To those who made that video and those who loved it, that approach is feminism.  That is their choice.  They are entitled to that view. 

But that is not feminism to me.

In cases where there is a genuine message worth conveying, as in F-Bombs, I am tired of shock value being prioritized.  In instances like the Pussy Bow, I am so over the pretense of substance when to shock is clearly the sole purpose.  While progressiveness and propriety can most certainly be at odds, the automatic assumption that they are always mutually exclusive is simply untrue.  I am tired of shock value being confused with or presented as power.  If you're a strong woman, own your reasons for doing what you do.  Say that you really wanted to make a silk scarf with patterns from your vagina.  If that floats your boat, fine.  That's your business and your right.  But have the guts to not cloak it in grandiose, insincere motivations.   

That is not feminism to me.

This leads me back to the question I've heard only once – the “Why not?”  I attempted to answer that in The Bludgeoning; my answer is as true today as it was then.

“I've explained that my decision - to not use that self-identifier - is one I have consciously made because the word, to my mind, has been blugeoned. Beaten within an inch of its life. And because I can never be sure what meaning (illogically derived or otherwise) someone else ascribes to the word, I choose to not put a descriptor on myself which can in turn be viewed through a skewed lens and misinterpreted based on whatever that person's self-determined definition of 'feminist' is.”

There are feminists who continue to look down at women who choose to be homemakers – who see it as self-subjugation –  while others celebrate that choice.  What if you very much want to get married?  Are you a feminist?  Some believe not.  What if you make your husband's dinner every night?  Are you a real feminist?  I have also seen proud wearers of the F-Word publicly rip each other apart – far beyond thoughtful criticism – which hurts the cause, takes the power away from women, and hands it back to sexists who are only too eager to divide and conquer.  There are warring factions within feminism, which to me belies the entire point.  At the same time, there are a whole lot of things worth respectfully calling out.  I wholly reject the notion that constructive criticism of women by other women is anti-feminist.  I mentioned this in The Bludgeoning:

“... for any woman to criticize another woman – no matter how valid, constructive or potentially reparative the criticism - is to be not a 'real feminist'.  Because apparently, 'real feminists' think that every horribly bad and self-destructive decision a girl or woman makes is awesome simply because she should have the right to make it.”

In this climate of even the slightest criticism being seen as “bringing other women down”, what can be said and what cannot?  Which actions can you question the “feminism” of and which can you not?  How quickly does your desire to improve feminism through critique turn you from sister to bitch?   Who gets to call herself a feminist and who does not?  What if you wear tight clothes, high heels and short skirts?  Some feminists consider that self-objectification and presenting yourself as a body above all else.  Some call it empowering.  What if you don't believe in pre-marital sex?  Can you believe that you should only explore your sexuality if someone proposes to you and still be a feminist?  What if you watch Game Of Thrones, a program that gratuitously adds rape scenes not in its source material, or if you consume other pop culture that features violence against women?  Can you justify your viewership and be a feminist?  What if you're religious?  Is there a place for you in feminism?  If you are a Christian who doesn't believe in women ending their pregnancies, does that automatically disqualify you from feminism regardless of the rest of your views?  What about cultures in which girls are valued more than boys?  If women choose to abort because they are pregnant with girls, is the feminist thing to do to allow that choice, or is the feminist thing to do to block sex-selective termination and save female fetuses?  Is a nun who spends her life serving underprivileged women and girls a feminist – even if she doesn't believe in abortion?  What if you wear makeup?  Some feminists see that as masking or decorating oneself for the male gaze; can you do that and be a feminist?  What about one's stance on prostitution?  Many believe that feminism necessitates its legalization, others view it as exploitation and believe the exact opposite.  Can you support the right to engage in sex work and be a feminist?  Can you be a prostitute and a feminist? 

Questions.  Questions.  So many, many questions.

My mind is a perpetual questioner, but it doesn't know the answer to these questions.  What it does know is that “Feminism is all of it!  Feminism is women doing whatever they want!” doesn't work for me.  Because something cannot mean all things for the sake of convenience, or for the ease of not having to refine or encapsulate it.  Permitted to be all things, we end up with Miley Cyrus saying “I feel like I'm one of the biggest feminists in the world” and young girls believing her.  When a word is pulled on and defined from a million directions – some of them diametrically opposed – it winds up tattered on the ground, virtually meaningless.  Sound and fury, signifying nothing. 

____________________________________________________________

PART II

This is the thought swirling through my mind at 4:41 a.m:

Derogatory self-labelling in an effort to be ironic does not empower, but further solidifies negative perceptions in the eyes of the very people whose views you are attempting to change. 

It is interesting to note that while modern-day feminism seems to be losing sight of its actual definition, it has simultaneously introduced some truly cringeworthy vocabulary to our language.  “Slut-shaming” tops that list.  I would love to pick the brain of the person who came up with that term and thought “Nailed it!”  Why, when talking about how women are wrongly stigmatized and condemned sexually, would you include the very word that stigmatizes to convey that something is wrong?  That boggles my mind.  “Sex-shaming” would have been an infinitely better term; simply meaning to shame women because of the sex they have.  Straightforward.  It asserts the idea that the woman is being shamed for sex – sex itself not being inherently negative.  “Slut-shaming”, on the other hand, implies that you're shaming a slut.  Why on earth would those who oppose the term “slut”, and who know it to be inexorably linked to the idea of promiscuous women in the minds of those who judge, use it in this way?  With the quest for respect already difficult, how could anyone think that putting the term “slut-shaming” into the lexicon would help to secure more of it?  How is that a good idea?

Oh, and by the way, I must digress for a moment to say that encouraging women to take responsibility for their conduct and actions is NOT victim-blaming.  As a survivor of sexual assault, and an activist, it infuriates me when people suggest that warning a woman about excessive drinking at parties, going to the bedrooms of strangers, etc., is somehow deeming her responsible if she is violated.  It is not about blaming, or shaming.  It is about trying to protect women in a world that includes predators.  There is nothing more feminist than a woman looking after herself.  Sometimes every effort will fail and victimization will still occur; this is devastating.  You always always always, however, do what you can to shrink your target.

And now back to 'slut'.      

In 2011, a police officer conducting a public safety forum at Osgoode Hall commented that women should avoid dressing like sluts if they want to avoid sexual assault.  (I shared my thoughts on this in The “Don't Dress Like A Slut” Debacle.)  Two Ontario women responded by creating a protest march called SlutWalk.  When it was announced, I was asked probably fifty times if I was going.  Fifty times I said no.  I understand why people went and felt it was important; several of my acquaintances attended.  I know its purpose was positive and I admire its intention.  My personal feeling though was that the event name was highly problematic.  I felt that I would be playing into the hands of misogynists by attending an event called SlutWalk.  If the idea behind the name was, as their website states, to suggest that the word “could be something we could challenge, it could be re-appropriated to be something different”, I personally don't think it did that.  I can assure you that the men (and women) whose attitudes the event was created to challenge did not look at it and see a bold reframing of the word.  They did not see the root of the anger or a gathering of unfairly treated women.  They looked through their sexist lens at an event called SlutWalk, and saw nothing more than a few thousand sluts walking.

Derogatory self-labelling in an effort to be ironic does not empower, but further solidifies negative perceptions in the eyes of the very people whose views you are attempting to change.  

To those who would disagree, let us play a little “real history vs. revisionist history” game.

Scenario A: We’re in Missouri and Maryland in the wake of the deaths of Michael Brown and Freddie Gray.  African-Americans are feeling deeply wounded, degraded, and blamed for crimes committed against them.  Racial epithets burn like acid on the lips of law enforcement officers.  It inspires a groundswell, and blacks decide to march through the streets of Ferguson and Baltimore, eventually holding similar marches in streets around the country.  This movement, these protests, are named Black Lives Matter.  

Scenario B: We’re in Missouri and Maryland in the wake of the deaths of Michael Brown and Freddie Gray.  African-Americans are feeling deeply wounded, degraded, and blamed for crimes committed against them.  Racial epithets burn like acid on the lips of law enforcement officers.  It inspires a groundswell, and blacks decide to march through the streets of Ferguson and Baltimore, eventually holding similar marches in streets around the country.  This movement, these protests, are named NiggerWalk.

I have no more to say on that front.

The race door now ajar, however, I could not go any further without addressing the big “I”. 

Intersectionality.

A term coined by the brilliant Kimberle Crenshaw, intersectional feminism grew out of the realization by women of colour that the feminist movement – much like the original suffragette movement – negated them all but absolutely.   For decades, white women fought to bring attention to every inequity that affected them, while completely ignoring two critical facts: (a) every injustice experienced by white women is experienced by women of colour at exponential rates, and perhaps more importantly (b) there were injustices experienced by women of colour that white women do not and will not ever experience at all. 

Intersectional oppression is the reality for every non-white woman living in a white-dominant society.  Although it is experienced by different racialized groups to varying degrees in different circumstances, every woman with pigmented skin carries its weight.  It is an interesting thing living with duelling oppressions, the one you feel more deeply depends on the moment.  In general though, you tend to feel less deeply the one that you share with the larger group (Canadians who are female: just over 50%), as opposed to the one you share with the more marginalized one (Canadians who are female and black: 2.9%). 

The work I have done as an anti-VAW activist was crucial in introducing intersectional feminism to my life, and I am bountifully grateful for that.  I was certainly aware of black feminists before that, but the mainstream movement seemed so non-inclusive of them, so non-inclusive of ME.  It is an unfortunate truth that as a black Canadian female born in the 1970s, the dominant picture of feminism I observed for the first three decades of my life was that of middle-class Caucasian women wanting to be paid as much as middle-class white men.  A justifiable demand that is, to be sure.  But the feminist movement was sabotaged by a lack of connectivity and education, and an excess of myopia.  I have respect for Gloria Steinem, whom I've always sensed was more aware of the role of privilege in feminism than many of her disciples.  How incredibly bizarre it was as a woman of colour to watch predominantly Anglo females of European descent – the smallest female demographic globally – march and strike and picket and sit-in for “women”, while remaining so removed from the depth of subjugation experienced by the majority of the women on the planet.

Fortunately, this is changing and changing in a significant way; the rise of the anti-VAW movement worldwide, for example, is incredible.  The presence of women is strong and our voices are loud.  Are the cries of non-white feminists heard as loudly?  That's another conversation.  Considering how difficult it can be for middle class white women in North America to be taken seriously, non-white women the world over would appear to have a very steep hill yet to climb.

I have heard it said that if you don't don the label of feminist, that you are unaware of how you have benefited from the movement.  In my case, nothing could be further from the truth.  There is no lack of awareness here of the acuteness of the ongoing female struggle.  I know it each and every day.  I understand the complexity of my intersectional womanhood, both my abundance of power and my total lack of it.  I also know, sadly, that the feminism that in part shaped the last ten years of my life is now only one facet of the feminism of today, and I know that I am greatly troubled by many of its other facets. 

If feminism was, as many purport it to be, simply the belief that women and men are equal and deserving of equal consideration and opportunity, I wouldn't be penning this piece at a ridiculous hour of the morning.  I know that this next statement is where I and many of my acquaintances part company, but the view from where I stand is that that is NOT all that it is – not anymore.  Pure feminism – the aforementioned belief – has been hijacked and convoluted to the point of near unrecognizability.  For far too many women, particularly young women, feminism is now anything goes.  Feminism is now being as shocking as possible.  Feminism is now being insulted by everything.  Feminism is now sexual irresponsibility.  Feminism is now pussy bows and swearing children and menstrual blood on the street. 

That is not feminism to me.

If you were to call yourself a socialist based on your values, and year after year you saw people contorting the idea of socialism, or if you called yourself a pacifist or a humanist and saw the same – the immediate impulse would be to continue living by your values while perhaps dropping the label.  But if one holds the same view of feminism, watch how quickly one is accused of betraying women and a century of progress.  The truth as I see it is that a word which should command utter reverence – feminism is a powerful, powerful word – has been co-opted to validate all sorts of comments, actions and stances that are simply incongruent with who I know myself to be.  Do I ignore that?  I cannot ignore that. 

If something is swirling around me with which I do not feel aligned, I simply step out of line.

Perhaps the most contrary thing I have observed during my complicated journey with feminism is the number of people I have seen it contain instead of free.  Time and time again I have come across women who, instead of seeming liberated by their publicly declared feminism, are bound by it.  I watch, fascinated and depressed, as they regulate their public voices based on whether their opinions are considered “feminist” or not.  (I couldn't find a single other admitted female Eminem fan for over two years, which made me wonder if there were women who wouldn't say so out loud, or if I was just a horrible person.)  Even though millions of women listen to hardcore hip-hop, I couldn't find one woman in my circle who would say that she did.  Even though millions of women watch dirty movies, I couldn't find one woman in my circle who would say that she did.  I witness women toeing what they perceive to be the feminist party line, which is kind of like watching a Gloria Steinem-cast version of The Stepford Wives.  Deeply ironic it is, seeing women whose primary label is Feminist become less individualistic and less bold versions of who they were before.

It makes me frustrated.  It makes me sad. 

People don't understand how someone with 9 years as an anti-VAW activist can hold this position.  They think I am “anti” feminism.  Wrong, wrong, wrong.  I think there are aspects of feminism that are wonderful.  On the flipside, I think there are aspects of feminism that are a hot mess, and it's many of these aspects that are getting the attention and starting to define the movement in the public arena.  To those who ask “How can you be a voice for women and say these things?” I say that it is because of how deeply devoted I am to the uplifting of women that I say these things.  I also say that how I choose to label or not label myself is only an obstacle if people choose to make it one.  As stated in The Bludgeoning:

“I've worked with young girls, and in the anti-violence movement with incredible women who self-identify as feminists, and I have never needed to attach any noun or adjective to myself as evidence of my credibility as their colleague or their leader.”

Many of the women I admire most in the world call themselves feminists.  That's great.  It truly is.  If identifying that way feels right to you – own it and wear it proudly.  This piece is written because of my personal relationship to the word, in light of my observations about its use.  I claim to speak for no one else but myself.  I've spoken a lot about what feminism, in my view is not.  This is what it is.

Respectful.  Decent.  Compassionate.  Committed.  Informed.  Engaged.  Honest.  Contemplative.  Mature. 

Feminism, to me, is about the integrity and connectedness with which you walk through the world.  It is about what you do in your life to support women, and to support men in their understanding of women.  It is how you raise your daughters AND your sons.  It is the meeting of strength and tenderness in the same place.  It is conviction.  It is nurturance.  It is passion and fortitude and consciousness and courage. 

These also happen to be the characteristics of many of the people I love and admire most. 

Talk to me about Karen Emerson, Wendy Komiotis, Tanya Porter, Mehrak Mehrvar, Daphne Simone, Ayesha Mansur, Nadine MacKinnon, Tina Zafreen Alam... women whom you may have never heard of but who are lighting it up with their ferocity every single day.  Talk to me about Bell Hooks, Audre Lorde, Susan B. Anthony, Christine Schuyler Deschryver, Peggy McIntosh, Kimberle Crenshaw, Agnes Pareyio, Malala Youzafzai and my sister Eve Ensler – just typing their names renders me awestruck.  Talk to me about Stephen Lewis and Dr. Denis Mukwege, two of the most extraordinary feminists on the planet.  I do not love or admire these people because they identify as feminists.  I love or admire them because each of them reflects the above qualities and a love for women.  No label is required to be any of these things.  No label is required to love and fight for women.  I've done both without the label for nearly a decade. The truth of a human being - the spirit of feminism is seen in a life led, not a word worn. 

And now the woman who asked “Why not?”

Years ago someone asked me why, if I espouse the best of its values, why I don't forget about the misuse of the word, and just focus on the good parts and call myself a feminist.  I replied that in my view the word had been bastardized.  I told her that despite the large numbers of incredible women doing important work who identify as feminist, I felt that modern-day feminism was a hijacked train only one or two badly taken corners away from derailment, and that it needed to get its act together in a whole lot of ways.  I said that in the interim – until I felt the word in my blood again – to me it was a label, and I didn't need it to embody my values.  The person asked “Do you believe that men and women are equal?”

“Most definitely,” I said.

“That's called a feminist,” she said.

She seemed pleased with herself, as if she had just won the argument that clearly only she was having.  I took a moment before responding.

“Do you believe that black people and white people are equal?” I queried.

“Of course I do,” she replied.

“What is that called?”  I inquired. 

“What do you mean?” she asked.  She seemed confused.

“You said that you believe that black people are equal to white people.”

“Yes.”

“And I presume you believe that gay people are equal to straight people?”

“Yes.”

“What is the name for each of those beliefs? 

No answer.

“What do you call yourself to let people know that you feel that way?”

She was silent for several seconds.  Then she spoke.

“I never thought of it that way,” she said.  “There aren't really any words.”

Then she added, “I guess you'd just call it being a good person.”

“Yeah,”  I said.

- TT