With the Autumn Equinox just past, it seemed like an appropriate time to get back to you all. A part of the delay was an effort to get my fall semester worked out and subsequently find the room for "fun" things like this emotionally-taxing-at-times blog and the occasional night of sleep. Happy to say I've done absolutely none of that!
While Queer Spirituality is back in full swing on campus, I have yet to return - mostly because I'm at home completing assignments until the last possible second and frequently just miss it. I've heard there has been a significant increase in attendance which excites me more than I can say. I have been taking the opportunity at home to actively inform myself on more current issues in the Jewish community, the trans* community, and other groups I feel as though I owe the attention to. I do miss the simultaneous relaxation and stimulation QS provided me in the spring though.
If you recall the last post I did before my extended absence (here if you don't), I was extremely aggravated about the exclusion of trans* bodies and individuals from medical discourse - particularly reproductive justice and the rights surrounding that, such as sterilization as a requirement for the recognition of gender changes, the old joke "Oh, you're a lesbian, it must be so nice not to need birth control," etc. I am more fortunate than most in my complaining because I've been given the opportunity to see this conversation get taken to the next level. Not only am I working with Advocates for Youth and their push for comprehensive sex education (which includes transgender individuals and their needs!) but my amazing partner has also expanded their masters' thesis to include similar discourse. Watching that come together is an amazing (and quite frankly, motivational) experience for me, and being so close to it has helped to remind me of why I was so aggravated in the first place.
I've also had several amazing chances to develop long-lasting connections with several individuals within the trans* movement and academic arena, all three of which have been inspiring in their own ways. Joy Ladin has really helped me reestablish that connection to my Jewish roots and make a space for that (personally speaking, not research-wise) reconciliation between bearing a trans*/genderqueer identity and my religious/cultural roots; Susan Stryker has motivated me to take my academic work to the next level and is out there creating a top-notch first program of its kind at the University of Arizona that I want nothing more than to be a part of once my time comes, and Janet Mock simply made my life by being one of the most beautifully down-to-earth women I have ever met in my life. Every day, these three women remind me of what destinations are truly possible and what the fights to reach them are often worth.
Anyway - I suppose it's time we get down to business. I've spent the last few months sinking in what seems like hopelessly difficult revelations, and while I've taken time to reflect on them in real life, we all know that nothing makes it easier to understand than writing an "angsty" blog post.
As I've said numerous times before, intersectionality is the air I breathe (because I was properly educated by amazing professors to do so). But I've forgotten recently that while intersectionality is a reality, that reality is constantly shifting, growing and evolving. While I've talked about several of my most important aspects of identity excessively on here, I've had the chance to dig up a few more over the summer that I had never really thought about before.
The Accelerating Racial Justice retreat I attended this summer was a catalyst for a very deep period of self-reflection and, as my friend Z said, growth of confidence in myself and who I thought that might be.
What I had never considered seriously before (although I had obviously thought about it because I very much view my Judaism as more ethnic than religious) was the racial aspect of my identity. I spent the entire duration of ARJ fighting battles with myself about how to accept that I had white privilege unless I voluntarily outed myself as something not white. I had felt guilty for "passing" but had also experienced racial discrimination as both a Jew and a Latin@ at the hands of "true" white people. So I obviously had conflicts there, not only within myself but in how I had identified myself to the group I was with. It was also the first time I had ever encountered myself as the racially disadvantaged member in a relationship of any sort, which created a weird sort of tension not only during the week but after I returned home.
I had also never previously thought about myself in the context of (dis)ability. I had, but only in the sense that it was an aspect I consistently refused to acknowledge. While I've had an interest in disability studies and the scope of that conversation for some time, it was hardly academic. It was mostly a selfish interest to test my limits when it came to owning my identity. This is a conversation I've had more in depth with my partner, but it was so long ago that I hardly remember what was said. Essentially, I just remember having a really difficult time with the idea of labeling myself as disabled in some way, because a) I don't think I even know the proper language to do so, and b) when I see someone in a wheelchair, or someone who is blind, or deaf, or in some other way more visibly, permanently so, how can I claim the right to that identity without feeling guilty? And then it occurred to me that I am really only disabled in the context in which I surround myself with healthy, able-bodied individuals.
In spite of this new development in how I see myself, I am happy to say that I have become more at peace with everything that had taken place in the winter and spring, and yes, I do feel even more confident in that self. I have started on the long journey to becoming more involved with things I am passionate about truly as myself, rather than someone whose rights were affected by such issues. I am beginning to embrace the community around me, and hoping to continue to expand it into the world at large.
I know this wasn't exactly revelatory, but I think it was a necessary "It's been so long, I've missed you, how have you been" sort of post.
10.16.2013
Janet Mock and I at Urban Retreat 2013, Photo by "Lloyd"
Coalitions and the Drive for Political Action
The following is a blog I posted for Amplify Your Voice, a project of Advocates for Youth. Originally posted 16 Oct. 2013.
Since coming back from Urban Retreat 2013, I’ve had a bit of time to think about what mistakes I made and avoided over the weekend.
Going into Urban Retreat, I wasn’t entirely sure of what my role would be as a Campus Organizer, because I had previously resigned from GenderBloc and we had decided another member should take the CO role. This resignation was largely a product of a busier-than-imagined fall semester, and trying to do too many things at once seemed incredibly risky. I had felt comfortable with my decision until arriving at UR.
For such a long time, group activism and building a family around that motivation had been a huge part of my life. From working with Human Rights Campaign throughout high school, to my current (light) involvement with GetEQUAL and other local activist and support groups, my identity had been constructed through its reliance on commonalities with others. As a consequence, it took me a very long time to decide who I was and what that meant outside of my political work.
Perhaps this lack of personal identity is what has contributed to my unwillingness to step back into an area where my only involvement was on the political front, with driving support for LGBT individuals and the issues that face our communities. I remained a staunch supporter of “working alone” for the last two years, with rare exceptions here and there. I let this cloud my mind heading to UR, and mostly saw my role there as “well, I’m here, I’ll get the info for the person taking over, and I won’t get attached.” As much as I hate to admit it, I was pretty successful.
It was not until I got back to Cincinnati, after wasting a weekend of amazing opportunities, that I realized I had blown everything I cared about in the interests of my own insecurities. After having very personal battles with myself last winter, a series of fallouts with my mother as a result, and ultimately revising my entire identity to all who had known me prior to “Micha,” I was anything but ready to work with 150 new strangers. What I didn’t understand was that every single one of those strangers had something they could have offered to me. If I had taken the time, I would have learned 150 new lessons…but I was too busy being scared.
Most of the time, I give a disgusted grimace when I hear the word “ally.” In my world, an ally is always a negative thing – it’s a privileged individual who wants a gold ribbon because they were human enough to be decent. Not because they took it to another level and dedicated themselves to working to confront oppression on every possible level, not because they were someone who routinely reflected on their privilege and found ways to use that to help the oppressed individuals they were allying with…just because they wanted to be our saviors. On the opposite end, though – I have always valued the idea of coalitions above all other forms of political communities. The idea of similarly-oppressed groups – and that is not to say that I am oppressed in one way, you are oppressed in another, so I understand your oppression, because that is simply not the case, oppressions are not equivalencies – that these similarly-oppressed groups could band together to find effective political avenues to change their situations and confront their oppressors and maybe work together to combat multiple forms of oppression – that has always felt like love to me. What Maria Lugones calls “loving perception” is how I imagine coalitions. While we recognize that we are all different, we are able to perceive each other with love and recognize that even with that difference, we are able to help each other climb our mountains. They may not be the same mountains, or even in the same range, but you cannot battle oppression and privilege on only one level. Eradicating one form of oppression is not eradication, it is reduction. A reduction which simply allows other forms of oppression to grow, or new ones to take over – and that helps no one.
What did I learn from UR? I learned that as social justice advocates, it’s our responsibility to give others a chance. Whether they are members of other oppressed groups, allies, or the oppressors, no one is capable of stepping up if we automatically condemn them as something “different” or “wrong.” If we truly want to drive political and social change, we have to actively accept as many willing individuals as we can, even if their methods of helping are not exactly what we want or expect. I know I could’ve done much better at living this on a personal level not only at UR, but at other points in my life. I can only hope that taking this time to reflect reminds me of the importance that friendships, partnerships, communities and coalitions play in our work, and that I learn how to use it to achieve my own goals and assist others in achieving theirs.
Since coming back from Urban Retreat 2013, I’ve had a bit of time to think about what mistakes I made and avoided over the weekend.
Going into Urban Retreat, I wasn’t entirely sure of what my role would be as a Campus Organizer, because I had previously resigned from GenderBloc and we had decided another member should take the CO role. This resignation was largely a product of a busier-than-imagined fall semester, and trying to do too many things at once seemed incredibly risky. I had felt comfortable with my decision until arriving at UR.
For such a long time, group activism and building a family around that motivation had been a huge part of my life. From working with Human Rights Campaign throughout high school, to my current (light) involvement with GetEQUAL and other local activist and support groups, my identity had been constructed through its reliance on commonalities with others. As a consequence, it took me a very long time to decide who I was and what that meant outside of my political work.
Perhaps this lack of personal identity is what has contributed to my unwillingness to step back into an area where my only involvement was on the political front, with driving support for LGBT individuals and the issues that face our communities. I remained a staunch supporter of “working alone” for the last two years, with rare exceptions here and there. I let this cloud my mind heading to UR, and mostly saw my role there as “well, I’m here, I’ll get the info for the person taking over, and I won’t get attached.” As much as I hate to admit it, I was pretty successful.
It was not until I got back to Cincinnati, after wasting a weekend of amazing opportunities, that I realized I had blown everything I cared about in the interests of my own insecurities. After having very personal battles with myself last winter, a series of fallouts with my mother as a result, and ultimately revising my entire identity to all who had known me prior to “Micha,” I was anything but ready to work with 150 new strangers. What I didn’t understand was that every single one of those strangers had something they could have offered to me. If I had taken the time, I would have learned 150 new lessons…but I was too busy being scared.
Most of the time, I give a disgusted grimace when I hear the word “ally.” In my world, an ally is always a negative thing – it’s a privileged individual who wants a gold ribbon because they were human enough to be decent. Not because they took it to another level and dedicated themselves to working to confront oppression on every possible level, not because they were someone who routinely reflected on their privilege and found ways to use that to help the oppressed individuals they were allying with…just because they wanted to be our saviors. On the opposite end, though – I have always valued the idea of coalitions above all other forms of political communities. The idea of similarly-oppressed groups – and that is not to say that I am oppressed in one way, you are oppressed in another, so I understand your oppression, because that is simply not the case, oppressions are not equivalencies – that these similarly-oppressed groups could band together to find effective political avenues to change their situations and confront their oppressors and maybe work together to combat multiple forms of oppression – that has always felt like love to me. What Maria Lugones calls “loving perception” is how I imagine coalitions. While we recognize that we are all different, we are able to perceive each other with love and recognize that even with that difference, we are able to help each other climb our mountains. They may not be the same mountains, or even in the same range, but you cannot battle oppression and privilege on only one level. Eradicating one form of oppression is not eradication, it is reduction. A reduction which simply allows other forms of oppression to grow, or new ones to take over – and that helps no one.
What did I learn from UR? I learned that as social justice advocates, it’s our responsibility to give others a chance. Whether they are members of other oppressed groups, allies, or the oppressors, no one is capable of stepping up if we automatically condemn them as something “different” or “wrong.” If we truly want to drive political and social change, we have to actively accept as many willing individuals as we can, even if their methods of helping are not exactly what we want or expect. I know I could’ve done much better at living this on a personal level not only at UR, but at other points in my life. I can only hope that taking this time to reflect reminds me of the importance that friendships, partnerships, communities and coalitions play in our work, and that I learn how to use it to achieve my own goals and assist others in achieving theirs.
5.04.2013
Birth politics are body politics are trans* politics - Identity Politics and the Medicalization of Bodies
I don't even have the words.
Trans* Politics tumblr.
I've been fortunate to stumble across a few conversations, with my partner, classmates, and coworkers, about the correlation between the politics and medicalization of the birth industry, and that of the trans* community.
BODIES, BODIES, BODIES.
That's what it comes down to. One of my classmates, a co-participant in a feminist leadership group I'm in (previously mentioned: WILL), does a lot of her work surrounding reproductive justice, birth politics, and the birth industry in the medical complex. She also works with doulas, midwives, and other "alternative" forms of birthing (i.e. home-births). She recently came to my Women, Culture and Power class as a guest speaker, for the discussion on birth politics, and posed the question of whether or not reproductive justice was just a concern for those women to whom it applied (in this case I am assuming heterosexual, cisgender, fertile, of proper age, "fit" to reproduce, so on and so forth).
I didn't have time to get into this during the class (a disadvantage of sessions lasting less than an hour) but I did get a chance to talk to her about it later, briefly.
It's not. Birth politics are not just for the women giving birth. The process of birthing is heavily dictated by what is convenient and what is faster and what is best for those involved....in the medical industry. She talked about the trend of medical procedures that weren't consented to being performed on mothers who were sedated, tranquilized, paralyzed while giving life to their children - mothers who couldn't do anything to stop it.
I'm not going to go in-depth with the birthing politics, because I don't know much about it, and the last thing I want to do is come off as an uneducated ass. I'm working on it though, I promise.
The fact is, it is all about the bodies. We could talk for days about the connection between "birth" and "rebirth" that infants and trans* individuals (respectively) experience, but it's about more than that.
It's about medical professionals and the capitalist-structured medical industry telling us, from day one, that our bodies are in their hands. It's why we sign so many consent forms, and why we sign forms that basically relinquish medical rights should anything unexpected happen to us in an unfamiliar setting. From infancy, once we've cried - indicated our dissatisfaction and our need for another human, we are torn from our mothers (literally), often "cleaned up" before we're allowed to eat, drink, or even look at our new life-force.
From the moment we enter the world, we are sexed and gendered and taught to be what society needs us to become. With regularly-scheduled check-ups, "self-maintenance," and the way bodies are portrayed by those around us, we learn exactly how they are supposed to behave, look and feel. When we put on a few extra pounds, we're told we're "at risk," but rarely given effective techniques to make natural bodies less "risky." Fat-shaming, and I would even argue, the disabilification (if that's not a word, it is now) of "fat," build up the medical industry on a lying foundation of shame and humiliation, and show us exactly why movements such as Health At Every Size are so important.
All of this - the way bodies are represented and treated in our world, from birth until death, and even after - it all contributes to the way trans* bodies are affected by the medical complex. I can see similarities between the extensive consideration that goes into birthing - when, where, how, with who, what conditions - and the consideration that is given to transitioning. The hormones, the physical and psychological testing and certifications required to finally be in a body you feel is in line with your mind and soul - it's all connected.
Any kind of body politic is related to all kinds of body politics.
The one thing I can't stand, as either a lesbian, or a transgender individual, is when those I speak to (whether in an academic setting, a political environment, or even just as friends) assume that I couldn't care less about reproductive rights. They make jokes or comments about "how nice it must be, not having to worry about birth control," getting pregnant, fertility, or anything related to reproduction - and I will usually laugh along with them. It's one of my biggest faults, but sometimes I can't bring myself to just say, I do. I do care about it. I probably care about it more than you do, if your biggest concern is getting impregnated through casual sex (which I think is the biggest concern in my age group). For me, reproductive rights are boiled down to a very basic right to exist. Not only an infant's right to exist, but more specifically my own. I'm not pro-life, or pro-abortion. I'm pro-choice. I fully support the girl next door's rights to do whatever she decides, and I don't think, at any point, that abortion, contraception, home births, or midwifery should be illegal. In fact, I think they're all absolutely necessary, especially in a world where the medical industry plays its patients as though it's fucking God the Almighty. They're necessary because anything else is terrifying.
But that's not what this is about.
It's about the control of bodies that aren't yours to control. It's about how you decide to create and evolve and become and truly be. Whether it's as a mother, a child, or someone a little more comfortable, it just comes down to being.
Trans* Politics tumblr.
I've been fortunate to stumble across a few conversations, with my partner, classmates, and coworkers, about the correlation between the politics and medicalization of the birth industry, and that of the trans* community.
BODIES, BODIES, BODIES.
That's what it comes down to. One of my classmates, a co-participant in a feminist leadership group I'm in (previously mentioned: WILL), does a lot of her work surrounding reproductive justice, birth politics, and the birth industry in the medical complex. She also works with doulas, midwives, and other "alternative" forms of birthing (i.e. home-births). She recently came to my Women, Culture and Power class as a guest speaker, for the discussion on birth politics, and posed the question of whether or not reproductive justice was just a concern for those women to whom it applied (in this case I am assuming heterosexual, cisgender, fertile, of proper age, "fit" to reproduce, so on and so forth).
I didn't have time to get into this during the class (a disadvantage of sessions lasting less than an hour) but I did get a chance to talk to her about it later, briefly.
It's not. Birth politics are not just for the women giving birth. The process of birthing is heavily dictated by what is convenient and what is faster and what is best for those involved....in the medical industry. She talked about the trend of medical procedures that weren't consented to being performed on mothers who were sedated, tranquilized, paralyzed while giving life to their children - mothers who couldn't do anything to stop it.
I'm not going to go in-depth with the birthing politics, because I don't know much about it, and the last thing I want to do is come off as an uneducated ass. I'm working on it though, I promise.
The fact is, it is all about the bodies. We could talk for days about the connection between "birth" and "rebirth" that infants and trans* individuals (respectively) experience, but it's about more than that.
It's about medical professionals and the capitalist-structured medical industry telling us, from day one, that our bodies are in their hands. It's why we sign so many consent forms, and why we sign forms that basically relinquish medical rights should anything unexpected happen to us in an unfamiliar setting. From infancy, once we've cried - indicated our dissatisfaction and our need for another human, we are torn from our mothers (literally), often "cleaned up" before we're allowed to eat, drink, or even look at our new life-force.
From the moment we enter the world, we are sexed and gendered and taught to be what society needs us to become. With regularly-scheduled check-ups, "self-maintenance," and the way bodies are portrayed by those around us, we learn exactly how they are supposed to behave, look and feel. When we put on a few extra pounds, we're told we're "at risk," but rarely given effective techniques to make natural bodies less "risky." Fat-shaming, and I would even argue, the disabilification (if that's not a word, it is now) of "fat," build up the medical industry on a lying foundation of shame and humiliation, and show us exactly why movements such as Health At Every Size are so important.
All of this - the way bodies are represented and treated in our world, from birth until death, and even after - it all contributes to the way trans* bodies are affected by the medical complex. I can see similarities between the extensive consideration that goes into birthing - when, where, how, with who, what conditions - and the consideration that is given to transitioning. The hormones, the physical and psychological testing and certifications required to finally be in a body you feel is in line with your mind and soul - it's all connected.
Any kind of body politic is related to all kinds of body politics.
The one thing I can't stand, as either a lesbian, or a transgender individual, is when those I speak to (whether in an academic setting, a political environment, or even just as friends) assume that I couldn't care less about reproductive rights. They make jokes or comments about "how nice it must be, not having to worry about birth control," getting pregnant, fertility, or anything related to reproduction - and I will usually laugh along with them. It's one of my biggest faults, but sometimes I can't bring myself to just say, I do. I do care about it. I probably care about it more than you do, if your biggest concern is getting impregnated through casual sex (which I think is the biggest concern in my age group). For me, reproductive rights are boiled down to a very basic right to exist. Not only an infant's right to exist, but more specifically my own. I'm not pro-life, or pro-abortion. I'm pro-choice. I fully support the girl next door's rights to do whatever she decides, and I don't think, at any point, that abortion, contraception, home births, or midwifery should be illegal. In fact, I think they're all absolutely necessary, especially in a world where the medical industry plays its patients as though it's fucking God the Almighty. They're necessary because anything else is terrifying.
But that's not what this is about.
It's about the control of bodies that aren't yours to control. It's about how you decide to create and evolve and become and truly be. Whether it's as a mother, a child, or someone a little more comfortable, it just comes down to being.
4.10.2013
Intersectionality: Religion, Oppression, and Navigating Identities in Tight Spaces
Aporia- Derrida's term for "an undecidable impasse, a question that, no matter how urgent, cannot be answered (Parker, p 289)."
Can you maintain religious traditions, especially staunchly "patriarchal" ones, like Judeo-Christian denominations, but still assert our feminist beliefs and values?
We change the traditions. I can be a practicing Jew and still be a strong transfeminist activist. A common example is the revised seder plate, where women will now place an orange to accompany the rest of the symbolic items. The orange stands as a reminder of women's, and now LGBTQ individuals', exclusion from the stories and practices Judais, has taught us all our lives. Susannah Heschel addresses this idea as well.
I've seen a lot of conflict over these two identities surface recently. People have often expressed feeling at odds within one of these communities or the other (feminism vs. religion), and the difficulty of living on the boundaries of both. It is seemingly an issue that many feminists don't deal with, especially those who identify as atheist, agnostic, or are otherwise disengaged from a religious community.
It takes a lot of effort to combine these two worlds - one where we constantly critique religion as a patriarchal and devaluing institution, and one where our religions are huge factors in defining ourselves and our groups. We can't do it as individuals, alone; we have to rely not only on ourselves, but on both our feminist and religious communities. It becomes the role of each community to step up and welcome individuals who have previously forced themselves to shut parts off in certain realms of being; it's our responsibility as neighbors, friends and sisters to encourage each other to exist as wholes - and in doing so, reach our full potential in every area of living and being.
"...the pressure to essentialize identity continually invites us to deny the hybridity around us and within us (Parker, p 282)."
Both of these were taken from Robert Dale Parker's text, How to Interpret Literature: Critical Theory for Literary and Cultural Studies.
Our discussion in Queer Spirituality today focused on exactly what the title sausage I was thrilled because it actually gave me a chance to hear other people talk about a subject I think about all the time, and it allowed an opportunity for discussing it with someone other than an invisible online community (yes, you, dear reader).
Now that I'm thinking about it, I'm realizing I should have led a different meditation, one that really focuses on feeling a presence in your identity, but I was happy some new people got to experience a meditation in their "gardens," and others got to return. I always find new experiences in the garden more elaborate and difficult. As I progress, my companions and experiences become harder to understand, digest, and interpret; I also learn more from them.
Anyway!
There are certain moments when I can feel that click, that remind me that I am exactly who and where I need to be. Today's QS was one of those moments. To be able to talk so freely, surrounded by friends, was an awe-inspiring experience in and of itself. I didn't have nearly as much to say as I had wanted to, but that's what brings me here.
It is very rare to find a space where you can let every aspect of your identity exist, whether quietly or loudly, but remain at peace. While we all have common subsets of identity, it's a rare experience to find someone who has the exact same identity group as you. Even if you do, the idea of being the same is still radical.
As we navigate through very steep hills, terrifying valleys, raging rivers, and everything else life throws at us, we learn to balance every part of our identity: this balance and realignment is a way of protecting ourselves.
Example: I identify as a trans* Jewish woman-loving student. I'm an employee, a dog-lover, a physically debilitated queer. While in typically any context, I feel more comfortable keeping my has-been lesbianism (now woman-loving - as who I am morphs so do the words I use to describe myself) to myself, and my Judaism is usually a very public part of who I am. However, today in class, we were discussing post-colonial and race theory in the context of HG Wells and The Time Machine. One of the students (who is very well-known for ill-planned responses and a lack of focus) asked who in the class was a Jew. I raised my hand, and at that moment (and still now), I was not sure why. I think it might have been less awkward for me to announce to the entire class right then and there that I identified as trans* than it was to awkwardly claim Judaism as my public identifier. For a very long time, I lived comfortably as a lesbian, but in my own house, I refused to acknowledge myself as a Jew (due to experiences previously and future-ly addressed).
When we are in public or private, who we are changes. Not necessarily as a whole, but certain aspects of identity come to the foreground and others sink back temporarily.
So as queers, and as people who value some type of spirituality (even atheists can value spiritually), how do we keep ourselves safe while still embracing our queer identity in a religious/spiritual space, or our religious identity in a queer space?
Henceforth the term aporia. Although, this isn't so much a question without an answer, rather one with multiple, fluid answers. Everyone has their own method of negotiating these situations, and they all have different results. I'm interested in hearing others' experiences with queer and religious identities- mix them, balance them, keep them separate?
Why do you think it's so important to keep your queerdom or your feminism, without losing your religion?
In my Women's Studies classes, we have a lot of discussion about where feminist spirituality truly exists. I'm lucky to have had the chance to take a class this semester entitled "Women in Religion," which discusses not only women's roles in major denominations, both Western and Eastern, but also the Women's Spirituslity movement, and how women have adapted their traditions to become more inclusive. This class created a sort of safe space in a Gender Studies program for those who value religion and want to be able to speak freely about it in an academic context. Religion, often seen as a patriarchal tool, is a common ground for heated debate, and those who do value it are often left feeling repercussions. How do we, as religious feminists, live both of these identities to the fullest? Can you maintain religious traditions, especially staunchly "patriarchal" ones, like Judeo-Christian denominations, but still assert our feminist beliefs and values?
We change the traditions. I can be a practicing Jew and still be a strong transfeminist activist. A common example is the revised seder plate, where women will now place an orange to accompany the rest of the symbolic items. The orange stands as a reminder of women's, and now LGBTQ individuals', exclusion from the stories and practices Judais, has taught us all our lives. Susannah Heschel addresses this idea as well.
I've seen a lot of conflict over these two identities surface recently. People have often expressed feeling at odds within one of these communities or the other (feminism vs. religion), and the difficulty of living on the boundaries of both. It is seemingly an issue that many feminists don't deal with, especially those who identify as atheist, agnostic, or are otherwise disengaged from a religious community.
It takes a lot of effort to combine these two worlds - one where we constantly critique religion as a patriarchal and devaluing institution, and one where our religions are huge factors in defining ourselves and our groups. We can't do it as individuals, alone; we have to rely not only on ourselves, but on both our feminist and religious communities. It becomes the role of each community to step up and welcome individuals who have previously forced themselves to shut parts off in certain realms of being; it's our responsibility as neighbors, friends and sisters to encourage each other to exist as wholes - and in doing so, reach our full potential in every area of living and being.
3.27.2013
This week:
I spent yesterday evening downtown with a few other very cold GetEqual members, supporting marriage equality outside of the courthouse.
While I am thrilled to see all of the support on my Facebook, there are a few things I didn't necessarily agree with. This was the product.
While I am thrilled to see all of the support on my Facebook, there are a few things I didn't necessarily agree with. This was the product.
Diversity Conference 2013
The University of Cincinnati hosted a Diversity Conference today, and the entire event was amazing. My only regrets are that it only lasted one day, and my inability to clone myself (and being able to attend more than one discussion in each block).
The ones that I did go to included "Practicing Feminist Leadership," which essentially (to me, at least) discussed to common disconnect we see between feminism and leadership. I have often seen feminists as leaders, but realized today that this was primarily relegated to their own community. How often do we see leaders integrating a feminist lens with other leadership strategies or programs in a non-feminist-centric situation? This discussion was led by two facilitators of the previously mentioned WILL program, and they did a wonderful job introducing the concept of activist leadership in an academy atmosphere.
The second one was led by the Racial Awareness Program (RAPP) facilitator, and "Somewhere To Go: A Journey Toward Inclusive Bathrooms" addressed something that has been a very personal matter for me. As a transgender individual on a college campus in a fairly conservative city, it can be difficult explaining the complexity of bathroom politics to cisgender friends. Rebecca did an excellent job of approaching this topic, and breaking it down to understandable terms and situations. Few people understand the true hardship of navigating gendered restrooms when they haven't been challenged by a question as "basic" as gender. This isn't a fault of such individuals, but rather a fault of society at large, and a calculated risk when we decide that everything in human nature is a binary opposition of one form or another.
Both of these discussions posed questions about the harm of such binary oppositions: one about the oppositional nature of leader and follower - how these do not necessarily have to portray the power distribution we typically identify them with, and how being an active follower, rather than a passive one, can allocate just as much power as a leadership position. By deciding what we follow, we become leaders, even if just of the self. "Somewhere to Go" addressed the harmful and exclusive - sometimes even inappropriate- nature of gendered restrooms that remain within the gender binary. The speaker gave examples of how the RAPP program works around such issues, creating gender-neutral restrooms for its programs, as well as "intermittently-gendered" restrooms, with adjustable signs.
They both gave the audience a lot to think about in terms of "who" we are, and what that identity gives, and takes away, from each individual.
I also made it to "Body Love and Positivity: Revolutionary Ways of Critiquing and Re-learning Ourselves" and "Queering the Queer: A Critical Analysis of Homonormativity through Performance/Performativity." These two held their own importance. Body Love reminded me that we don't have to be "women" to appreciate the idea of self-love. As a transgender individual, I often feel uncomfortable with most aspects of my sexed body. This talk, however, reminded me that it is crucial to be gentle and loving towards ourselves, as much as we would be towards our partner or friends. It is hard to remember that we deserve this love, especially when our bodies feel like a cage, a trap set for us, a way of confining our identities to a universe and realm the majority will understand. I grew up learning (very effectively) to hate my body, and did everything I could to change it. I would starve and mutilate myself, exercised excessively (say that three times fast...), and constantly worried about how I looked. The worst part of this was that it wasn't because I didn't think I was pretty enough. In fact, all of this was a direct result of feeling "too pretty." This is a radical and absurd concept to a lot of people, especially because I look typical. But the abuse I put myself through stemmed directly from me not seeing myself as "handsome" enough. I lost weight in an effort not only to maintain some control and to balance myself for eventing - in equestrian disciplines, smaller is often better - but because I hoped maybe it would make my ass smaller, or make my breasts disappear. It took me a long time to become comfortable with a body that, when rendered defenseless (read, naked), was unambiguously female. I tried to combat the lack of effect by wearing looser clothes and adopting more masculine behavior, which I still portray today. My gender dysphoria led to an entire host of other problems, psychological and physical. These problems, in turn, created their own negative consequences. Because of all of the complications I faced, I slacked off in my schooling and am still picking up the pieces, three years later. I had to leave my dream job because I was no longer physically strong enough to do it properly. I was no longer able to ride horses or show competitively, because not only was I not strong enough or fully physically developed, but because I wasn't able to hold on to a job long enough to support my endeavors - the result of catastrophic emotional damage I had done to myself. It has taken me years to understand how all of this has been intertwined, and when I finally acknowledge it, in rare moments such as this, it takes a lot of effort for me to not hate myself. I fell into a trap that society set for me. If I'm not good enough at being a woman, maybe I have to be a man. And if I'm not good at that, either, there's really something very wrong with me. I saw myself as broken, damaged goods, irreparable - for a very long time. I let this affect my relationships and every other area of my life, and I also let that damage teach me a lot about myself and the world I live in.
I have learned that sometimes what you need is a bridge. An in-between. A gray space. For a few people out there, this gray space is the only "safe" space to exist. For these individuals, like myself, trying to divide in black and white can be deadly.
Even in the feminist and LGBTQ communities, these "borderland" identities can be risky. I acknowledge my initial fear about identifying as trans* was centered around whether or not my feminist friends would think I was betraying them. I didn't know how they would react, or how I could explain that I wasn't a transgender man, but rather someone who didn't fit into either of the binary genders so commonly given to us. I wasn't so easily simplified by a check in a box, by an M or an F. I am very fortunate to be involved in such a great campus community, that sees me beyond this, and that allows me to exist in that gray space while embracing both extremes when I feel it is appropriate to do so.
Long story short, I'm glad I was able to participate in today's events. They were not only eye-opening, but they served as a valid reminder of important lessons I have learned, and that I am still learning.
The ones that I did go to included "Practicing Feminist Leadership," which essentially (to me, at least) discussed to common disconnect we see between feminism and leadership. I have often seen feminists as leaders, but realized today that this was primarily relegated to their own community. How often do we see leaders integrating a feminist lens with other leadership strategies or programs in a non-feminist-centric situation? This discussion was led by two facilitators of the previously mentioned WILL program, and they did a wonderful job introducing the concept of activist leadership in an academy atmosphere.
The second one was led by the Racial Awareness Program (RAPP) facilitator, and "Somewhere To Go: A Journey Toward Inclusive Bathrooms" addressed something that has been a very personal matter for me. As a transgender individual on a college campus in a fairly conservative city, it can be difficult explaining the complexity of bathroom politics to cisgender friends. Rebecca did an excellent job of approaching this topic, and breaking it down to understandable terms and situations. Few people understand the true hardship of navigating gendered restrooms when they haven't been challenged by a question as "basic" as gender. This isn't a fault of such individuals, but rather a fault of society at large, and a calculated risk when we decide that everything in human nature is a binary opposition of one form or another.
Both of these discussions posed questions about the harm of such binary oppositions: one about the oppositional nature of leader and follower - how these do not necessarily have to portray the power distribution we typically identify them with, and how being an active follower, rather than a passive one, can allocate just as much power as a leadership position. By deciding what we follow, we become leaders, even if just of the self. "Somewhere to Go" addressed the harmful and exclusive - sometimes even inappropriate- nature of gendered restrooms that remain within the gender binary. The speaker gave examples of how the RAPP program works around such issues, creating gender-neutral restrooms for its programs, as well as "intermittently-gendered" restrooms, with adjustable signs.
They both gave the audience a lot to think about in terms of "who" we are, and what that identity gives, and takes away, from each individual.
I also made it to "Body Love and Positivity: Revolutionary Ways of Critiquing and Re-learning Ourselves" and "Queering the Queer: A Critical Analysis of Homonormativity through Performance/Performativity." These two held their own importance. Body Love reminded me that we don't have to be "women" to appreciate the idea of self-love. As a transgender individual, I often feel uncomfortable with most aspects of my sexed body. This talk, however, reminded me that it is crucial to be gentle and loving towards ourselves, as much as we would be towards our partner or friends. It is hard to remember that we deserve this love, especially when our bodies feel like a cage, a trap set for us, a way of confining our identities to a universe and realm the majority will understand. I grew up learning (very effectively) to hate my body, and did everything I could to change it. I would starve and mutilate myself, exercised excessively (say that three times fast...), and constantly worried about how I looked. The worst part of this was that it wasn't because I didn't think I was pretty enough. In fact, all of this was a direct result of feeling "too pretty." This is a radical and absurd concept to a lot of people, especially because I look typical. But the abuse I put myself through stemmed directly from me not seeing myself as "handsome" enough. I lost weight in an effort not only to maintain some control and to balance myself for eventing - in equestrian disciplines, smaller is often better - but because I hoped maybe it would make my ass smaller, or make my breasts disappear. It took me a long time to become comfortable with a body that, when rendered defenseless (read, naked), was unambiguously female. I tried to combat the lack of effect by wearing looser clothes and adopting more masculine behavior, which I still portray today. My gender dysphoria led to an entire host of other problems, psychological and physical. These problems, in turn, created their own negative consequences. Because of all of the complications I faced, I slacked off in my schooling and am still picking up the pieces, three years later. I had to leave my dream job because I was no longer physically strong enough to do it properly. I was no longer able to ride horses or show competitively, because not only was I not strong enough or fully physically developed, but because I wasn't able to hold on to a job long enough to support my endeavors - the result of catastrophic emotional damage I had done to myself. It has taken me years to understand how all of this has been intertwined, and when I finally acknowledge it, in rare moments such as this, it takes a lot of effort for me to not hate myself. I fell into a trap that society set for me. If I'm not good enough at being a woman, maybe I have to be a man. And if I'm not good at that, either, there's really something very wrong with me. I saw myself as broken, damaged goods, irreparable - for a very long time. I let this affect my relationships and every other area of my life, and I also let that damage teach me a lot about myself and the world I live in.
I have learned that sometimes what you need is a bridge. An in-between. A gray space. For a few people out there, this gray space is the only "safe" space to exist. For these individuals, like myself, trying to divide in black and white can be deadly.
Even in the feminist and LGBTQ communities, these "borderland" identities can be risky. I acknowledge my initial fear about identifying as trans* was centered around whether or not my feminist friends would think I was betraying them. I didn't know how they would react, or how I could explain that I wasn't a transgender man, but rather someone who didn't fit into either of the binary genders so commonly given to us. I wasn't so easily simplified by a check in a box, by an M or an F. I am very fortunate to be involved in such a great campus community, that sees me beyond this, and that allows me to exist in that gray space while embracing both extremes when I feel it is appropriate to do so.
Long story short, I'm glad I was able to participate in today's events. They were not only eye-opening, but they served as a valid reminder of important lessons I have learned, and that I am still learning.
3.19.2013
Random stray links.
Briefing
This is absolutely perfect. And also preparing me for getting in way over my head.
I know it's been a bit since my last update - to my credit, though, there's been an open draft sitting here for a week and a half. Spring break is this week, and without campus time, I'm sans internet for most of it. So...here are some updates.
A verdict was reached in the Steubenville case. This article is particularly interesting. At some point this week, I also saw another interesting analysis of the comparison between Americans' reactions to the gang rape in India, and to this. If I can track that down again, I'll link it in.
Senators Portman and Clinton both came out for marriage equality. The question a lot of people are asking is, what took Hillary so long?
A couple of weeks ago, we had a screening for The Invisible War. Kori Cioca, Jeremiah Arbogast, and Gary Noling were all panelists, and Terri Spahr Nelson acted as moderator. It was an amazing discussion and I know we all appreciated them being present and coming to talk with us. In honor of them, this fantastic clip where Senator Gillibrand rips the military a new one.
Personal updates:
I have recently been accepted to the Women In Leadership and Learning (WILL) Program at the University of Cincinnati beginning in Fall 2013. This is an undergraduate program, with both curricular and extra-curricular components, focusing on feminism and activism in a university environment, the culmination of which is a team action-research project.
I sent in my proposal for the Undergraduate Summer Research Fellowship, as well. I'm a bit nervous, because I'm still in the process of pulling my GPA back up after a couple of slumpy quarters in the beginning, but I think after so many revisions and help with edits from amazing people, my proposal might be strong enough to help.
I have also applied to the Racial Awareness Program at UC, and am currently trying to decide between a week-long intensive program or a year-long one.
I am also looking for a part-time position in something more relatable to my studies. This would preferably be a paid position, but I understand that's difficult, especially with non-profits currently. Ideally, it would be with a women's center, a crisis shelter, or an LGBTQ-affiliated organization, working three to four days a week. If you know of anything locally, or even semi-local, please let me know via email ( medina1erica@gmail.com ).
I am also looking for guest posters for Shiksa Chic, or topic suggestions. If you are interested in doing a post, or have something you'd like to see up here, you can also send those to my email. I'll respond as quickly as I can.
3.06.2013
Coming Out.
I was raised to become a heterosexual woman, by a Messianic Jewish mother.
If you told me ten years ago that I would eventually be someone who opposed, resisted, and staged a life in absolute conflict to every one of those three aspects of identity - heterosexual, woman, and "Christian,"- I might have believed you. Because even then, I knew I was different. I knew there wasn't something quite "normal" about me, not compared to other children in my synagogue, or those I went to school with. I never felt wrong, just different. That is something I've been trying to explain for a very long time.
I struggle a lot with my identity; that is to say, sometimes it's hard to be seen as inherently "wrong," because of who I love or how I dress. I don't struggle with it in the sense that I doubt it, because I don't; I know every aspect of myself to be absolutely, divinely true.
I've been an "out" lesbian for a long time; as long as I can remember. I never was actively closeted, but if it didn't come up in conversation, I didn't force the issue. People found out sooner or later, and once I left high school, it wasn't a big deal. I've had my share of homophobic attitudes and harassment, but I've never felt the need to conceal that part of myself.
Recently, I've started identifying as "genderqueer." Gender-fluid, however you call it - something not quite male or female, but rather neither or in between the two. While this has presented its own set of difficulties to me, and I'm still learning how to navigate a gendered world while trying to remain ungendered - at least in my own head - this coming out has been relatively easy as well.
The tricky part is, oddly, coming out as a Reform Jew. On one hand, the Reform movement of Judaism is large enough that I have never felt homeless within it. With congregations like Sha'ar Zahav, organizations like Keshet, there's virtually no room for exclusion of LGBTQ Jews. On the other hand, coming into such an inclusive, progressive movement, from such an exclusive, traditionalist one - my past comes with a kind of stigma attached. Most secular or cultural Jews, or any Jew, really - they tend to view Messianic Jews as something a little less than. They're viewed as Christian traitors by most Jews, and most Christians see them as something not quite Christian, because oh my, they're Jews. It's a weird border world to be trapped in. So when I attend a Reform synagogue for the first time, or begin interacting with Reform Jews more than ever before, the first question I usually get, and the most daunting one to answer, is "what kind of Jew are you?" (Or something to that effect.) Reform Jews don't have a problem with my sexuality, or my gender identity; and once they adapt to my previous Jewish home, they don't have a problem with that, either. They're extremely warm and welcoming. But coming out as a Reform Jew to my Messianic ex-home is an entirely different story. While they take huge issue with my sexuality and gender identity, they're very good at keeping quiet about it. Maybe they don't want to "encourage" me by acknowledging it - I don't know. But the second I bring up attending a Reform service and how cool it was to hear the matriarchs' names mentioned in the blessings, I am met with snorts of derision and contention. The moment I mention how excited I am about an inclusive prayerbook and a worldwide conference of LGBTQ Jews, those Jews around me who embrace Jesus as the Messiah shut down. They embrace all forms of Judaism but refuse to acknowledge any other as the correct one. They beg for the salvation of their Jewish brothers and sisters, praying they find the "truth" of Jesus as the Messiah, cry for my return to the fold.
So that's my issue with Messianic Judaism. The implication that I am, and should be, a sheep. This is the same source of conflict I find myself having with most religious practices, actually. The idea that I am in need of guidance and am inherently some sort of hoofed prey animal. Everything I have been through demands that I become the exact opposite - that I find a way to become a leader to not only myself, but those around me. As someone marginalized by this society we live in, it is my responsibility, and yours, to create a space for change and variation and diversity. It's my way to fulfill tikkun olam (a Hebrew phrase that essentially means "the repairing of the world"). If I find my power and strength in being something and someone that is so different, then so be it. At least there is still a safe space for that difference to exist and to grow, without having to give up my heritage or my traditions.
As a Reform Jew, I can still embrace Jewish traditions and simultaneously maintain feminist politics and ideology. I can still exist in a thoroughly patriarchal institution as a queer-identified member, and it only gives me an opportunity to create change from the inside - something not many get the chance to do. It means I don't have to give up the rituals that give my life meaning - not my Hebrew blessings over my food, the study of the Torah, or my meditations and Goddess worship. I can create a safe space between the two and each side is contented with that negotiation.
I am safe to present as either male or female, queer or not, Jewish or Gentile, or whatever else I feel at that moment because I am learning to successfully navigate multiple and conflicting worlds.
So while coming out as a Reform Jew is definitely one of the harder things I have had to do, coming out as a queer Reform Jew has made it infinitely easier.
This was extremely tangential and all over the board, but I've been working on collecting thoughts for a more important, even lengthier one later on this week. Thanks for hanging out.
2.28.2013
Feminism and Liberation for Everyone
To the extent that women are enslaved, so too men are enslaved. The oppression of one individual or one group is the oppression of all individuals and all groups. Solidarity marks the sexes. In sexism we all die, both victim and victor. In liberation we all live equally as human beings.-Phyllis Trible, "Depatriarchalizing in Biblical Interpretation," p. 35
Feminism is, more often than not, seen as a "women's movement." Comprised of oppressed women, looking for a way out of a patriarchal society, sexist traditions, misogynistic norms, it is often assumed that only women carry the feminist flag.
Although this article has more to do with feminism and the eradication of patriarchy in a specifically religious context, that quote struck me. Hard.
A community, no matter what divisions, or the members of it, is still a community. While feminists may exist within their own sub-community, it's important to acknowledge that we aren't detached from the greater, still patriarchal, community. In fact, if we were, it wouldn't still be an issue; there wouldn't still be a need for feminism. Those who strive for liberation from patriarchy could simply move into a "safe space," of their own volition. There would be no difficulty in doing so, because separate societies would maintain separate worlds (in an ideal setting). However, people sometimes forget that we are still surrounded by others.
What this quote does, is to give context to the idea that if one member of a society is oppressed, victimized, stigmatized, or in any way discriminated against, so is every other member of that society. It puts an emphasis on the importance of groupwork and collaboration; something that the women's movement and its lack of solidarity with those "outsiders" is often found in want of. In an oppressive society, members are relegated to one of two roles: the oppressed, or the oppressor. In a patriarchal society, men are seen as dominant, superior, oppressive; women are seen as submissive, inferior, and oppressed. There isn't a whole lot of grey space for those who fall in between. So what happens to men who refuse to play the role of oppressor? While they can't avoid male privilege, even if they may want to, they make a conscious effort to minimize the damage they do towards their female colleagues. What about women who treat even other women as their inferiors? I.e., cisgender, heteronormative women who treat transgender women or otherwise queer women as something inherently less because they don't represent the picturesque ideal of femininity. Is it possible to be both the oppressor and the oppressed? White women are often seen in this role; oppressed by white men, but oppressive to women of color.
That was tangential. My point is, as long as there are still roles of oppressed and oppressor, victim and victor, Trible is correct. The society, at large, remains within confines and is limited by such roles. Without the eradication of these concepts, no individual, let alone community, will be free from such division and imprisonment. Sometimes we forget that "working together" extends to those beyond simply the "women's movement," but we have to remember to eliminate patriarchy as a social institution, we have to get all of society involved.
Let this serve as a reminder to myself and hopefully to any of you who might have forgotten the real definitions of inclusivity and collaboration.
2.27.2013
Freedom of Speech
Side note. Tomorrow!
On that note. I had the lovely opportunity of discussing street harassment in my WCP class this morning. A lot of good things were said, and a few amazingly disturbing things were. One of the ones that literally made my jaw drop, was a peer defending street harassment as "freedom of speech." This isn't meant as an attack on that person, but rather my need to acknowledge the fact that so many people today have no real understanding of the Bill of Rights, and their intensive purpose of protecting all citizens. I understand that things like this are actually relatively common in Intro classes - that's part of why they're offered. To educate. It just makes me sad to think that so many men and women don't understand the actual limitations and boundaries of these laws. Yes, freedom of speech and expression exists; but only to the extent that your "speech" isn't detrimental or violating to another's civil and human rights.
To defend street harassment as an extension of free speech is, in a sentence, to diminish the victims of such harassment to something sub-human. The perpetrators of street harassment, and other forms, forego their rights to such protections as "free speech" once they infringe upon the rights of others to comfort and safety in a public space.
The idea behind street harassment is that the street is a public area, and as such, as a "male" area - one in which masculinity and males are in charge. Not public in the sense of "it should be safe," but public in the sense that it is free from the safety that comes with a neutral space. Neutral and public are not synonymous. Historically, women's places and roles are privatized, meant to be in the home; and men's roles are publicized, in government or economic sectors. By relegating discussion to a public atmosphere, there is sometimes an inherent assumption that it's "man's terrain." Also relevant.
2.25.2013
VAWA Links
An article on the Violence Against Women Reauthorization Act being held up.
Another one on domestic violence.
World Health Organization on women's violence.
A Feminist Wire article on domestic violence.
2.21.2013
I still want neutrality.
Three days ago I was unidentifiable as male or female. I leaned way further towards the masculine side of my identity; baggy pants, a loose-fitting sweater and a collared shirt. No gendered jewelry - no jewelry at all asides from my ring. There was no makeup, my hair wasn't "done," and there was nothing noticeably feminine about my appearance. No one held doors for me or addressed me as "ma'am." I got confused looks from people trying to categorize me as they passed me. I received verbal identification at the hands of other people.
Today I'm wearing a short skirt, a low-cut shirt, tights. A complimenting bra. My hair isn't done but it's a bit less disheveled. I am, unmistakably, a woman. People are holding doors for me. I'm getting female pronouns like no other. I even feel a bit like a woman.
With a simple outfit change and the wind switching directions, I can create and change how people perceive and treat me. I like the flexibility, but sometimes, it isn't comfortable.
Even when I get dressed to go out, I have to take into account where I'm going and who I'm going with. The location and environment I'll be in determines how safe I feel in either gender. When I go to urban areas at night with friends, it's a huge battle - I feel more comfortable as a masculine being, because I know the dangers women are presented with in these areas. But I also think, what if I run into someone who isn't as comfortable with my nonconformity as those I'm with? Will I be harassed more for being a woman or for choosing not to appreciate that?
What it comes down to is that I am always both. Whatever personality I choose to present as at a given time, the other half is still inescapably alive. Even on days like today, when I feel as though it's appropriate to present as more feminine, I find parts of myself still feeling horrifically uncomfortable in feminine clothing; I keep readjusting to try to make myself less obvious, less exposed.
I enjoy the privacy that comes with presenting as masculine, but I equally enjoy the privilege that comes with aligning my gender representation and my biological sex. That's a privilege that only cisgender people know, and it's still one I'm learning to accommodate. With this privilege comes a sense of guilt, a sense of obligation. I feel a little bit like Peter Parker. When I choose to present as feminine, I feel a responsibility to educate people that yes, I'm a woman today. But regardless of how I look or act, I still prefer gender-neutral pronouns, and I still have obvious male tendencies. It doesn't just confuse them, it confuses me too. How can I expect to be cisgender on one day and semi-transgender the next, and maintain that I still have a right to live between these worlds? It doesn't seem fair to those around me. The duality in my own body and mind are a great source of conflict, and I'm still working out how to live out both ends of it, without repressing one or the other.
In learning to embrace both sides of my identity, I've learned a lot about respect - self-respect and respect towards others. I'm beginning to see evidence of ambiguity more and more often, everywhere I look. In a way, not being certain of who, or what, I am, is making me more certain of who I want to be and what I want to find in the world around me. Seeing people's varied reactions towards my various selves is an educational sociological experience, and it's always different.
To realize, every day, that the world and everything in it remains in a constant state of change (a bit of an oxymoron), is to realize that there's a new kind of freedom out there. To be unsure in a sure world is to receive a little gift every single morning.
2.19.2013
Could Androgyny Eradicate Sexism?
I realize that for this to even be an inkling of a plan, every human individual would have to commit to androgyny, or some form of it.
The other night I went out with a friend and her family for her birthday dinner. As we sat at the table, the waiter referred to me as "bud." I'm still unclear about whether he just thought I was a male, or a young boy (the more likely possibility). It was an enlightening experience when I realized that I wasn't offended in the least, and actually, it was my first "passing" for something other than my biological sex since I've come out as gender-fluid/queer, whatever you want to call it. If I can pass for a man, or even a boy, I think I'm okay with that. Unfortunately, things escalated in a negative way from there. One of my friend's family members commented on my androgyny, and claimed that at first, he "didn't know whether it was a boy or a girl." This is something I get a lot from small children, and I'm fine with that. If I can give children a reason to question their perception of gender at such a young age, I'm doing something no one ever did for me. I don't see that as a corruption of innocence, I see it more as a chance to grow, for them and myself.
But this was a full-grown man. And not just once. He referred to me as "it" probably five times in the first twenty minutes of this dinner.
While I have no problem with being called a woman, girl, man or boy, I most certainly do have a problem with being called it. It, to me, implies a lack of humanity. Or maybe sterilization - I usually think of how people refer to my dogs once they find out they're neutered and spayed. "It" is used to objectify, to denote "thingness;" I am not a thing, and as a Jewish, Latina, lesbian, woman, gender-fluid, student, retail worker - I am objectified enough on the daily to not care for being called "it." This very objectification is what often leads to violence - violence against women, violence against the disabled, violence against trans* and queer individuals, violence against those members of ethnic minorities. By making them seem less than human, we are saying it's okay to treat them as less than human, even though it isn't. The funny thing is, as an it, I still was treated better and seen more as "one of the guys" than had I been a she when I first arrived. I was involved in conversation, I wasn't carded for my drink, and I was shown "respect" by the waitstaff and even those I was in attendance with. I was invited to talk about football and relationships and alcohol. But what if I didn't want this? I didn't go into this new phase of my identity in order to steal male privilege, and I often feel uncomfortable if and when I receive it. But how can we rest on the boundary between male and female, between oppressor and oppressed, without stealing privilege or betraying our feminine roots, without being referred to as a thing?
I find it hard to bring any of this up in a normal conversation - normal being someone heteronormative, identifying within binary gender identities, someone who fulfills a hegemonic ideal - even when things like "it" do come up. For instance, I couldn't bring myself to ask this man to use gender-neutral pronouns, because would he even understand it or abide by it? At what level does it become necessary to demand a name, a personhood, a right to existing as someone more than it? What do I do if it isn't safe? What if I ask this person to use gender-neutral pronouns, and in his confusion and misunderstanding, he perceives me as that "thing" he unknowingly dubbed me as, and becomes scared of all that I represent?
I'm not at all saying that as one person, I have this profound effect on those around me. But the chances do concern me.
Could a universal state of androgyny solve this? In this sense, I don't mean androgyny as a complete eradication of gender necessarily, but rather embracing both masculine and feminine qualities and living in a dual body. What if we didn't have to choose between boy or girl, and what if the biological sex we are prescribed at birth had nothing to do with who we were? If there were no masculine "men" and "feminine" women, would sexism as we know it, cease to exist? What would the new order look like? We typically see things like this in futuristic literature, and it tends to lead to one of two extremes - dystopian chaos, or utopian bliss. Are these really the only options? In a world without solidified gender roles, do we really have to either collapse upon ourselves or head directly into a kind of paradise? Is there another option?
I find I am happiest when I am perceived to be someone in between the worlds of male and female. To know something about both oppressor and oppressed is to know something about the dynamics of the universe itself. I wear a yin-yang ring on my left ring finger, and I have every day for five years. It reminds me that there is always a duality in everything I do - even within myself. I am good and bad, male and female, holy and a sinner, wise and foolish, big and small. It also reminds me that I am a part of something much larger than myself. While I exist inside myself, and in my community, I also exist within a large student body, a city, a state, a country and a world. I am only as much of an individual as I allow myself to be, but even in this large groups, I am still singular and powerful in that individualism, as powerful as I am in a collective body.
There is a separate sort of privilege that comes with androgyny and fluidity, a special kind of knowing. If we could magically apply the concept of androgyny (and not just gender- or sex-specific, but even race-androgyny) to everyone, what would be left to fight over? We commonly identify our enemies by their differences, whether in appearances or behavior. If we saw no differences, and there was no way to define what is "normal" in either of these respects, what would the world be like? What would it look like? Would it be a mass of faceless people, or a crowd of individuals living fully as themselves, without the restrictions placed on them by their gender?
2.16.2013
Shabbat Shalom
I'll do a lengthier post later, once I have a topic solidified in my mind.
Just a quick briefing though. I am about to go to a synagogue for an actual service, for the first time in what must be about six years. This will be the first time I've interacted with these people for more than ten minutes in that long. The last time most of them will remember seeing me is my bat mitzvah.
This renewed interest in tradition and participation in the community is influenced by a lot of things. I want to lay a good groundwork so that I'm able to approach these people when I need their opinions in my research project, if I get the grant. All of this engaging in other communities is making me miss my original one. Sometimes we just need a little tradition in our lives. I'm interested to hear what they have to say in regards to the position of women, now that I'll actually be listening.
While I am excited, I do wish that my first time back was at another one, not a Messianic synagogue. But the beginning is usually a good place to start.
2.15.2013
VAWA
Tonight's post is going to be centered around violence against women. In light of the significance of this week - between all of the controversy and debate going on over VAWA (Violence Against Women Act), v-day, and One Billion Rising, as well as personal significance - it seems appropriate.
Relevant links:
VAWA and Native American women.
VAWA home.
Huffington Post articles on VAWA.
Argument against VAWA.
After a week without consistent access to the internet, I owe a few posts. However, I am going to try to appease the masses by achieving one very important, very succinct one.
I do not hate men. As a feminist, I am often seen as a raging, man-hating, no-shaving, vegan lesbian woman. Only half of those are true (sometimes-raging, most of the time too-lazy-to-shave, always a lesbian). I do not hate men, and I tried to be vegan once (amidst my on-and-off five-year stretch of vegetarianism), but I failed. Horribly. The least true of all of these is that I hate men. Most of my closest friends are males; I generally get along with them better than females. They suit my personality and style more. For whatever reason, I like men. Just not sexually. The fact that I like men so much just makes this so much harder.
It is a downright, abhorrent shame that there are some kinds of men (or people in general) out there who commit such ludicrous acts of violence against innocent women. These kinds of people give the great kinds a horrible name, and create a collectively-feared stereotype. These groups make a girl nervous to walk in a parking garage alone after dusk, make it dangerous to walk a few blocks home. They make it necessary to lock doors, carry mace, talk on your phone while you walk alone, double check to make sure your outfit isn't too "provocative," and whatever else you can think of that you do, without even realizing, to protect yourself from violence.
These kinds of people turn the people we love into monsters, unable to control themselves simply because they're male. While we know that's not true, and it seems stupid to even mention it...there are men out there who make it seem plausible. There are people who take an independent woman's strong sexuality as a casualty; see it as something to be taken advantage of - if a woman is proud of her body and open with her sexuality, she is easy, not confident. Why?
Is it because we are still, in some perverted way, seen as property? Maybe something needed to be conquered? Are we the last frontier in the patriarchal voyage of exploration and degradation? Whatever it is, it's irrelevant. It shouldn't be an issue. Not today, in the 21st century. Not when women's rights are table-talk, women's studies programs are growing exponentially, we have women running for political offices left and right (and being so close to succeeding). Society today shouldn't be so barbaric that we can't get into our own homes safely without being terrified the entire way there.
We shouldn't feel as though we have to blame ourselves; we don't. There's nobody here to blame but those who commit these atrocious acts towards women and children - whether physical, sexual, emotional, or verbal violence...it needs to end. We need to stop being told by media and popular culture that whatever happens to us, as women, we are asking for it. We aren't. The girl down the street doesn't deserve to be raped for wearing a skirt that's a bit above her knees. The one who sits next to you in class doesn't deserve to be called a slut or a whore, because she kissed a boy at a party last weekend. The one who turned Johnny down when he asked her out isn't necessarily a dyke, and she doesn't deserve to be called one just for that. (As a side note, we're reclaiming words like "dyke," and "slut." You can't hurt us by using names we proudly give ourselves.)
If you haven't, please, please, please read up on VAWA and the other important issues surrounding it. If you're a woman, or you happen to love one (or many), if you have a mother, a sister, or whomever...you owe it to them and yourself to at least be informed and aware.
Now is the time to end it. I realize world peace is the most ideal goal ever, and unattainable because everyone would have to work together - but that's how this is going to work, too. One person can be a catalyst for an entire movement, but it takes an entire movement to save that one person sometimes.
2.11.2013
Genderqueer
This list was linked by POMOCO, the University of Cincinnati's feminist blog, run by a graduate student (and one of my teachers) in the WGSS (Women's, Gender, and Sexuality Studies) program.
I haven't gotten to take a good look at it but what I did see looked awesome :)
Feminist Analysis of Reparative Therapies
This posting is actually based on an assignment for my Introductory Women's Studies course. The goal is to analyze the cause and affect of reparative (conversion) therapies from a feminist viewpoint.
Why is a feminist analysis of such "therapeutic" practice even necessary? Reparative therapies are usually approached from an "anti-homophobic" viewpoint, but it is much more than that. These therapies claim and attempt to end homosexual, deviant behavior. They claim being able to "convert" homosexuals to heterosexuals. Most individuals who undergo this treatment are either coerced by family members (typically as minors), or are trying to reconcile their feelings and sexual desires with their religious convictions.
A feminist analysis can approach these therapies as a method of continuing and perpetuating the hierarchy. Lesbians are often seen as a threat to patriarchy, by rendering male and female relationships as dominant and submissive (respectively), as obsolete. Women (and similarly-identified "submissive" groups) are seen as making men obsolete, unnecessary, and as a threat to the patriarchy by doing such things. Gay men can similarly be seen as a threat, in relegating themselves to "inferior," submissive positions (read, effeminate), by willingly putting themselves in positions below their divine right as males. Constituents of patriarchal institutions and male privilege often can't understand why a man would willingly become submissive to someone of the same innate social status as himself.
These therapies are typically (although not exclusively) promoted by white, religious heterosexuals, flouting homosexuality as an "intrinsic moral sin," or a mental illness, rather than just another facet of common human existence (Bellis, Hufford).
California has recently become the first state to place a ban on conversion therapy for minors; those opposed to this ban argue that it places prohibitions on the rights of parents, and minors who want to willingly try these therapies. The important thing to acknowledge here, though, is that most often, minors who undergo conversion therapies are doing so against their will.
A 2009 American Medical association study on SOCE (sexual-orientation-change efforts) saw that "...[d]istress and depression were exacerbated" by some individuals undergoing conversion therapy. People that enter these therapies are seen as a deviation from the patriarchal norm, and as a threat to the "system," so they are often deemed as mentally ill or otherwise unfit or deficient.
Programs such as this are divisive and tearing to the families and communities that experience and are affected by them. They have detrimental effects on participants and loved ones involved; the results can be just as bad as maintaining a homosexual lifestyle in otherwise conservative environments and communities.
On a more global scale, by embracing things such as "reparative" therapies (which indicates that homosexuality is something that warrants repairing) and other deviations from social norms (here defined as white, patriarchal, dominant-religious, heterosexual, etc.) we are sending a message to every nation and person that to be something "Other" than the patriarchal ideal, is wholly wrong and unacceptable. By oppressing members of our own community we are perpetuating imperialism, Whiteness, patriarchy, and other American societal norms, and forcing them on others, inside and outside of our communities.
2.09.2013
Catholic Motivations
In this blog post, a friend of a friend defends his beliefs and sets himself in the line of fire. Go Mike Moroski!
EDIT: Since this post, Moroski has been terminated from his position. There are petitions circulating in support of him and his rights. If you feel so inclined, please add your signature and stand up for Moroski's rights, like he did for yours.
2.07.2013
"Library" Listings
The following are books I have in my possession and am happy to share with those in the local area (which I define as reasonable driving distance), upon the promise of a safe return:
Queer Jews - edited by David Shneer and Caryn Aviv
The Inclusive Hebrew Scriptures (Vol. III: The Writings) - Priests for Equality
Manliness - Harvey C. Mansfield
Women At the Well - Feminist Perspectives on Spiritual Direction - Kathleen Fischer
Womanguides - Readings Toward a Feminist Theology - Rosemary Radford Ruether
The Human Quest for G-d - An Overview of World Religions - Joseph Stoutzenberger
Man / Woman - The One Is the Other - Elisabeth Badinter
Women, Birth and Death in Jewish Law and Practice - Rochelle L. Millen
Doria Shafik - Egyptian Feminist - A Woman Apart - Cynthia Nelson (this copy is a little rough)
Women In Egyptian Public Life - Earl L. Sullivan
On Being A Jewish Feminist - A Reader - Edited by Susannah Heschel
Androgynous Judaism - Jacob Neusner
Ethnic and Cultural Diversity Among Lesbians and Gay Men - Vol. 3 Psychological Perspectives on Lesbian and Gay Issues - Edited by Beverly Greene
The Goddess Within - A Guide to the Eternal Myths that Shape Women's Lives -Jennifer Barker Woolger and Roger J Woolger
Sex, Sin and Zen - Brad Warner
Gaia and G-d - An Ecofeminist Theology of Earth Healing- Rosemary Radford Ruether
Sex in History - Reay Tannahill
The Less Noble Sex - Scientific, Religious and Philosophical Conceptions of Woman's Nature - Nancy Tuana
The Caged Virgin - An Emancipation Proclamation for Women and Islam - Ayaan Hirsi Ali
Orion's Legacy - Charles Bergman
Knowing and Reasoning in College - Gender-related Patterns in Students' Intellectual Development - Maria B Baxter Magolda
Science, Scripture, and Homosexuality - Bellis and Hufford
Women of the Forest - Yolanda Murphy and Robert F. Murphy
A Guide to New Religious Movements - Enroth
In the Wake of the Goddesses - Women, Culture, and the Biblical Transformation of Pagan Myth - Tikva Frymer-Kensky
Exploring the Feminine Face of G-d - Meehan
The Five Books of Miriam - Frankel
A Feminist Philosophy of Religion - Anderson
Eve and Adam - Kvam, Schearing, and Ziegler
Sex and the Eighteenth Century Man - Foster
The Jewish Prison - Jean Daniel
The Hidden Spirituality of Men - Matthew Fox
Freeing Theology - LaCugna
Weaving the Visions - Plaskow, Christ
Searching the Scriptures - Schussler Fiorenza
The Woman's Bible - Elizabeth Cady Stanton
Priestess, Mother, Sacred Sister - Susan Starr Sered
Celebrating the New Moon - Berrin
The Israelite Woman - Brenner
Girls' Education in the 21st Century - Gender Equality, Empowerment, and Economic Growth - Tembon and Fort
Transforming A Rape Culture - Buchwald, Fletcher, Roth
Ethnicity and Race - Stephen Cornell, Douglass Hartmann
Reconstructing Gender - Disch
Civilization Without Sexes - Mary Louise Roberts
Feminism, Inc. - Emilie Zaslow
Herland- Charlotte Perkins Gilman (utopian novella)
I Begin My Life All Over - Faderman
Race, Class and Gender - Andersen, Hill, Collins
Language and Gender - Talbot
Read My Lips - Sexual Subversion and the End of Gender - Riki Anne Wilchins
In Search of Our Mothers' Gardens - Alice Walker
A Vindication of the Rights of Woman - Mary Wollstonecraft
Professing Feminism - Patai and Koertge
Gender and Social Movements - Kuumba
Communion - bell hooks
Marriage and Inequality in Classless Societies - Jane Fishburne Collier
When Everything Changed - Gail Collins
The Boundaries of Her Body - Rowland
The New Anti-Semitism - Chesler
Women Who Run With the Wolves - Clarissa Pinkola Estes
Queer Theory and the Jewish Question - Boyarin, Itzkovitz, Pellegrini
Balancing On the Mechitza - Noach Dzmura
Coming of Cosmic Christ - Matthew Fox
Maiden, Mother, Crone - Conway
Buddhist Women On the Edge - Marianne Dresser
Meditation - OSHO
Gender and Judaism - Rudavsky
Breaking the Spell - Daniel C. Dennett
The Hebrew Goddess - Patai
Victory to the Mother - Erndl
Like Bread On the Seder Plate - Alpert
Deborah, Golda and Me - Letty Cotty Pogrebin
Standing Again At Sinai - Judith Plaskow
Study of Talmud - Rabinowitz
How Jews Became White Folks - Brodkin
Jews and Gender - XVI, Oxford
Transgendering Faith - Tigert and Tirabassi
Signposts On the Way of Torah - Neusner
Tradition In A Rootless World - Davidman
Jewish Dimensions of Social Justice - Vorspan, Saperstein
Identity Papers - Meyers
Defecting In Place - Winter, Lummis, Stokes
Toward a Recognition of Androgyny - Zeilbrun
Women, Birth and Death in Jewish Law and Practice - Miller
Discipleship of Equals - Elisabeth Schüssler Fiorenza
Celebrating the New Moon - Berrin
Torah Queeries - Drinkwater, Lesser, Shneer
Siddur Sha'ar Zahav
Kabbalah for Students
Genesis of Justice - Dershowitz
Jewish Magic and Superstition - Trachtenberg
Everything Is God - The Radical Path of Nondual Judaism - Jay Michaelson
When God Was A Woman - Merlin Stone
As you can probably tell, most of them have to do with spirituality and theology (particularly feminist theology).
Business Pains
"College Hunks Hauling Junk. Let Tomorrow's Leaders Haul Your Junk Today."
Let's just think about this for a moment.
First off, the company's very title, while catchy in its rhyming, automatically excludes females. I can only imagine the hell you would go through as a female, trying to apply for a position in this company, even if you are able-bodied and capable.
Second, the title sexualizes and masculinizes (male) college students even if they don't ask for it or want it.
Third, by implying that the business is made up entirely of males and deeming them as "tomorrow's leaders," the business owner is excluding women from leadership positions not only in the past, not only in the present, but also in the future.
While I'm sure they offer affordable cleanup (mostly because they're exploiting broke college students as cheap labor), they're dehumanizing not only their employees but their customers as well. I can't imagine that bodes well for them if someone catches on.
Catchy or not, it's ignorant, sexist and misogynistic.
"White" Religion and Absent Voices
In an attempt to distract myself from my Critical Theory reading, (which obviously worked since I'm here typing) I began browsing on the Feminist Wire in the religion articles. While I love this publication and admire all of those who are a part of it, I found my skim to be a little disappointing. The articles do a good great job of including women from all most religious traditions, and I saw a ton of great headlines that reached internationally and cross-culturally, there was something missing.
I began this skim in an attempt to find articles relevant to Judaism and feminism, but I was left empty-handed. All of these articles discuss Islam, Hinduism, Catholicism (the only "white" religion that I saw being discussed), the role of African-American women in religion, and other facets of these.
Where are the Jews?
In fact, if you type "Judaism" into the search engine, only one article comes up. It's this one.
Is it just that there are no Jewish feminists working on the Feminist Wire team, or is that, as Jews, as "white," we think there is no place for us within feminism? Have we begun to realize that by dominating other ethnic and cultural minorities, we have come to participate as oppressors when for so long, we were a huge portion of those oppressed?
I don't say this to stigmatize this publication, because as I said before, I love it. I check the website daily and all of their articles are amazing, all of those affiliated are doing things to change the world radically. I don't say this as an attempt to set Jews aside as exclusive, or put them (us) on a pedestal. I simply feel that this absence from contemporary feminist discourse, especially on a site as popular and trafficked as the Feminist Wire, is potentially damning to Jewish women. Maybe it is that those who don't identify as Jews don't realize that there is still very much an issue of sexism within Jewish denominations, or maybe it's that those who do identify as Jews don't see it as a problem because it is in the name of tradition. If not, then I can only assume that we are scared to speak up because we might be seen as "petty oppressors." Perhaps there is a fear that by being culturally "white," a backlash for demanding gender equality will be felt from those who see us as just an accessory to their own oppression.
Is there not enough cross-cultural or interfaith dialogue going on between feminists for them to see that the very thing we are fighting still exists within a "traditional" institution such as Judaism, even we are "white"? When I identify Jews as being "white," I keep it in quotations because I don't think it is correct. I may have fair skin but I don't identify with the white privilege that brings. I grew up in a working-class home, and I have been discriminated against as the only Jew in a series "non-denominational" (read: Christian) private schools. I have been discriminated against within Judaism for being a woman, and for being a lesbian. I am fully aware that it's the 21st century and it doesn't seem like this should be an issue, but when it is seen as the responsibility of all Jews to commit unconditionally to a male G/g-d, male superiors (Rabbis, elders, other religious leaders), and for Jewish women to remain in the home and not take part in public religious traditions in the synagogue, I can't help but say, "hi, we're Jewish, we're women, and we're still suffering. Please include us and pay attention to us just as we have to you." I do not intend to diminish the necessity for feminist advocation of other religions or cultures, I simply mean to re-introduce the need for Jewish feminism to a culture and generation that seem to have all but forgotten it.
I am not saying this as a member of the "chosen people," but as an individual who still very much faces oppression at the hands of "white, male privilege" and the traditions that embrace that superiority.
I am very fortunate to have the privilege of knowing two amazing Jewish feminist instructors in my studies who are out there advocating and teaching and approaching the topic, even among all of their other areas of study. These two women have very much been an inspiration to me, in integrating their traditional upbringing with the curriculum and cross-cultural subject matter they study.
It is important to note that I am not naïve enough or appalled enough by this absence to not see multiple views. I see very clearly that this is absence is as much a possible result of exclusion on the part of others, exclusion of Jewish feminists, but that it is also possibly the result of a Jewish separatist movement within the larger realm of general feminism. It is possible that Jewish feminists are excluding themselves, either on the basis of being a "chosen" and therefore separate people, or simply because they are attempting to address their own issues separately. I do not mean to place blame on anyone, but rather attempting to establish a framework and theorize about the absence of Jewish feminist voices in the mainstream feminist movement.
This is a short post, but I entreat all of you to embrace your identity, and the privilege and oppression that come with it. I can appreciate that as a Jew, in the modern day, I am culturally white and that is what others think as well, but the fact is, it isn't true. There are still stereotypes and jokes made about my traditions, and when I say that I don't keep kosher, I am met with disdain and called out as a "hypocrite," because I only keep some of my heritage's and religion's laws. If I were to keep all of them, I would be (again) sacrificing a part of my identity, and a huge part at that. It is time for those of us out there who identify as Jewish feminists, or feminist Jews, to step up and reclaim our place in the movement and take up the fight for our rights as disadvantaged "women" in the movement. While Jewish denominations are becoming more inclusive on the basis of gender, the fight is nowhere near done, and as we begin realizing the prominence of queers in the Jewish community and vice versa, this is even more important.
2.06.2013
Some cool stuff. Good reads.
This blog is no longer active, but it still has lots of great posts.
A post on androgyny and Judaic text.
An LGBTQ-inclusive Siddur (prayerbook). This is, coincidentally (wink-wink-hint), what I want as either my next great treat to myself or as a gift for my birthday. A bit pricy but I think just seeing what it says would be worth it. One of the leaders of my Queer Spirituality group has one and loves it.
An awesome article on The Feminist Wire about Able Normative Supremacy.
A conference this summer I want to attend, and I want to encourage you all to consider it as well. I know it's a bit impractical and exclusive (being in Canada and only lasting two days, and emphasizing queer Jews), but I think it'll be really great.
Hyun Kyung Chung's TEDtalk, and a simple meditation at the beginning.
A list of books I am currently reading in preparation for research on how those with non-conforming/non-binary gender identities relate to and are affected by traditional Jewish gender roles:
Queer Jews edited by David Shneer and Caryn Aviv.
Androgynous Judaism by Jacob Neusner.
On Being a Jewish Feminist edited by Susannah Heschel.
Eve and Adam edited by Kristen Kvam, Linda Schearing, and Valarie Ziegler.
Reconciliation of Identities - Mine and Yours
How do you reconcile your identity as a feminist with other identities you claim?
Here's a list of the "categories" I put myself in:
Feminist, student, lesbian, genderqueer, Jewish, atheist, spiritual, religious, learner, worker, other, woman (biological ), activist, and probably a few others that haven't been on my mind as of late.
As you can see, a lot of my "identity" is in conflict with itself. For instance: "Jewish, atheist, spiritual, religious..." What? Erica, you're crazy. You can't be all of those things at once. Crazy, I say!
Yeah, I know. Believe me, I'm having a hard time figuring it out. That's why all of these posts have been crazy identity-centric.
As a feminist, a lesbian, and genderqueer, I have even more trouble. As a feminist, I fight for women's rights, minority rights, LGBTQIabcde rights (sorry, that always gets me..), and well, basically any rights of any kind. Just no lefts. Just kidding. I'm in a bit of a mood; I'm on my fifth cup of coffee and just finished up discussion questions for the class I'm leading tomorrow, so I'm a bit wired and excited. As a lesbian, I love my ladies - those two, lesbian and feminist, are easy to see connections between. If I want to make my partner happy, of course I'm going to fight for her rights. As a member of the queer community, of course I want feminists everywhere to fight alongside me for my rights, heterosexual or not. I'm selfish that way. It's only when I try to integrate "genderqueer" into this spectrum that I start really approaching roadblocks.
Genderqueer is an entirely new identity to me. I've only just begun tasting the word and the feel of it in the last few weeks, thanks to an insanely difficult assignment in my Women in Religion class. I've always felt it, but until recently hadn't felt the need to question, define or label it. I was just beginning to feel comfortable in my own shoes and then, bam, my feet grew two more sizes. My issue arises in this: how, in adopting the identity of genderqueer - and perceivably giving up my connection to womanhood, living as a "woman" (the gender I've been living inside of since the day I could grasp the concept), the complication of being biologically female, and being homosexual (implying that I, as a woman, love other women), and voluntarily becoming not only the other, but the neither/both - can I still be a feminist?
This is the only "conclusion" (I put this term in quotations because it is by no means fixed, final, or in any other sense of the word permanent) I've reached as of yet.
By choosing to embrace both sides of my gender-identity, masculine and feminine, I am giving up neither. I am not opting to embrace only my masculine side so that I can take advantage of male privilege and ignore female oppression at the hands of...well, myself. I am not embracing only my feminine side because that would be to ignore something inside of me. It would mean excluding parts of myself, and it would mean continuing a lie I've been telling myself, and others, since the moment I began identifying as something other than a heterosexual woman.
The simple fact of it is, we all have multiple pieces of identity, and most of the time, they don't fit so perfectly together. Sometimes we need scissors and superglue, but it doesn't mean that we are required to sacrifice any part of ourselves in order to be more comfortable. In fact, it's just the opposite; without learning how to reconcile these differences within ourselves and truly living within, and beyond our full potential, how are we ever supposed to be truly comfortable? If you are leaving a piece of yourself behind, you are also leaving a scar on yourself. This isn't the physical kind of scar, but it also isn't the internal kind. While there is no tangible evidence of this scar, others can still see it. They might not be able to understand or define it, but in giving up a piece of yourself, others can sense that. Others can sense that sacrifice and they can identify with it. This is where your community comes in.
Whether or not coming into an identity that is other/both is a betrayal to feminism, I don't know. I'm still working on that answer. But the comforting thing about it is that, even if it is (which I doubt), there are ample other feminists that have dealt, or are dealing with, the same conflict. In the emphasis the women's movement places on experience and story-telling, we learn that we are not alone, no matter what our situation is. We learn that there are others who have been there before us, are there in the same room at the same time as us (just hidden behind a screen because seeing and knowing would be too easy), and will follow after us, no matter how many warnings we hang on the door. Whether we are all identical or not, we can all relate to each other on some level.
Another conflict of identity I have trouble with - more with explaining it to other people, rather than in my own head - is the concept of being a feminist and a member of the queer community, but maintaining my religious heritage and traditions, and even pursuing religious studies in the Academy. When people ask me what I'm studying in school and I nonchalantly roll off "English literature, Women's, Gender, and Sexuality Studies, Judaic Studies and religious studies," they instantly offer up the most perplexed expressions I have ever seen; some of you are probably doing this right now, don't lie. They often don't understand why I would want to "study the very people that condemn me." It's a lot easier to understand than it seems, I promise.
I grew up in a very religious home (or homes, if you will). I was raised as a Messianic Jew, which, for those of you who don't know, the simplest definition is really a Jew who keeps Jewish law, traditions, observes Jewish holidays, etc., but has the same core beliefs as any Christian (Jesus as the Messiah, a second coming, and all that other good schmutz). My mother and I were never very close, because the Church always came first and on the basis of religion, we had/have a lot of different views. At the hands of my mother and her religion, I suffered. I was raised by other family members, and friends' families, because she wasn't ever around. When I first came out to her, things got even worse. Around this time, I decided to put the kabash on religion and everything it seemed to stand for. I began identifying as an atheist for several reasons, some of which still stand, and some of which I have had to modify as I've matured.
1. I knew it would piss her off if I denied the existence of a G/god. That's a horrible reason, I know, but I was hurt and I wanted to hurt her back.
2. I legitimately didn't believe in the existence of a G/god. I have always believed in something higher than myself, but not an all-knowing, all-controlling deity that plays with us as puppets.
3. The concept of not having free will was too scary for me to handle, and all my life I had been taught that this was the case.
4. I was still trying to define "religion" on my own terms.
5. I didn't want to identify with the very institution that had served as my oppressor for so long. Some feel that men are the oppressors, some that the whites are, or anything else. I felt as though religion, as I had been taught and as I had experienced it, and my excommunication from my religious community, had done more damage to me and my sense of self than neglectful parents, a sheltered childhood, and estrangement from my family and friends in the wake of my coming out had ever done to me. I felt a lot of pain when I cut myself off from everyone in order to figure out who I really was and what that meant as I was embracing my sexuality, but it didn't begin to compare to the pain I felt when I was told that a G/god who was supposed to be my unconditionally-loving Father, even though my biological father wanted nothing to do with me, a G/god who was supposed to be simultaneously forgiving and vengeful, couldn't love me because of who I chose to love. Couldn't forgive me because my feelings were inherently sinful and wrong. For the second time, I had been abandoned by a father; but this time, it was done by one I had been told would never leave me. This time, it was my own mother condemning me in the name of religion. Because of the pain, I stopped going to services and participating in the youth group. I recanted every commitment I made on the day of my bat mitzvah and I swore that I would never again participate in something so deeply hurtful.
So why do I study religion, theology, and the people who partake in it? Because on some level, because of its significance in my past and the formation of who I am today, it is still important. As a member of the queer community, religion is used to put me back in a box, to tell me I am wrong, to tell me I am going to hell, to tell me I don't deserve to be cared about - to hurt me, daily. Whether or not I believe in a G/god, I can still understand why others might (in spite of all the hurt it is capable of), and I can appreciate that. I am not so blinded, jaded, or naïve that I cannot see it for what it is. Religion is often seen as humankind's quest for meaning, and that's something I can relate to. Whether or not I choose to find meaning through this particular institution, I am still searching for it. Whether or not I go to a service weekly, I still hold and place a very high value on my religious heritage. As a Jew, my religious and ethnic heritage is always a part of who I am. The persecution my people have faced for just being who they are holds its own room in my body, heart and mind - there is always a sense of Otherness inside of me, as a Jew. Even without tacking everything else on, I have been persecuted against and I am a part of something larger. Whether I choose to be "religious" or not, spirituality is still very important to me - being at peace with myself and others, feeling a connection to the world around me, at once alone and together, remembering that when I am hurting, breathing, meditating, or whatever else I am doing, there are millions of other people out there doing and feeling the exact same thing, in the exact same way - that's important to me. My mother and I may not see eye to eye on a lot of issues surrounding this topic, but I can still appreciate what she sees when she values it, and I can still respect her sense of identity in her religion. I may think that it was horrible of her to put it on a higher pedestal than her own family, but that is what it's all about. Religion is about sacrifice and commitment and honesty and love. To be able to do that, you really have to give something up. In a way, we did the same thing - we both gave up our family in the name of religion. Just because hers was to protect her religion and mine was to get away from that same religion, it doesn't mean it's any different. I study religion and theology not only because I'm curious, but because of my respect for the rest of humankind. Whether "religious" or not, religion plays a huge part in every culture. As a Jewish and Hispanic woman, I see that in my life every day. By not choosing to participate in this organized group concept of religion, but in a more personal, daily concept of it (which I term "spirituality") I am creating my own space inside of a much larger one. I am taking bits and pieces of my own history and creating something new, something accepting and something safe for myself. In studying feminist theology, I learn where those bits and pieces come from and why they are important to me as an individual, and to my community of oppressed Others. I study it because no matter how much I hate it, doubt it, or distrust it, it still affects me.
I am still struggling with pieces of my identity and jamming them together to make a pretty picture, even after years of thinking I had settled in a comfortable place. Certain pieces are more important at certain times, and eventually I'll figure it all out together, but for now, I can settle for a few pieces here, a few pieces there. Maybe I'll start with the edges and fill in the rest, but I don't know yet.
2.04.2013
Genderqueer Feminista
I don't know if this headline makes sense, but I'm going to try.
It's been a few days since my last post, but between school and work, I'm trying to find a good balance in time management that also lets me sleep, so my apologies. I have a lot going on this week so I might not be posting on the daily, but I'll try to make this one deep enough for lots of post-thought.
Tonight I'm going to touch on the topics of the gender spectrum and separatists within feminism. Maybe not separatists; maybe the tiny little sub-unit of feminism that deals with gender equality for those with "alternative" gender identities. A lot of people imagine feminism is all about equality between men and women, and I guess they'd be right - but what about everyone else? What about those who don't identify as either man or woman, but both, or neither? What about people like me? What about people born with male privilege but willingly give it up because it doesn't feel right to them? Their bodies don't line up with who they feel they are. Doesn't feminism defend them too?
Of course it does. Most of the time we forget that feminism isn't just a "women's movement," even though women are the hugely responsible party for its growth and successes. Men who stand in solidarity, as feminists, supporting those they love and care about; white people defending the rights of ethnic minorities, praying for equality in their own lifetimes, heterosexuals fighting for equality for the LGBTQ community...all over, we are seeing these extreme examples of binary opposition come together and take a stand. What happens when you're trapped in the middle of the binary oppositions?
Let's say this is my "coming out," for now. For as long as I can remember I've known that been sexually attracted, emotionally attracted, always attracted to women. Because of that, it seemed easy and made sense to identify as a lesbian, because hey, I'm a female who likes females and that's all it is. Even with this sense of identity at such a young age, I always felt there had been something missing.
I would (and still do) go through dress-wearing, make-up using stages where I even cross my legs properly, and behave in all of the stereotypically "feminine" ways. Other times, I enjoy my boxer briefs, baggy pants, high-top sneakers and button-downs. I even become more aggressive in my behavior (not threateningly, just a tad more sarcastic, a bit more cold). For the longest time, I was unsure of how I felt or who I was. I was so confident in my same-sex attraction, that I never bothered to think of myself as anything beyond that. Within the last two years I had begun questioning whether or not I felt true to my sex, and whether I was transgender, needed to try out in a drag king competition or whatever else. I've been dealing with a lot of heavy dysphoria since my early teen years, and I'm finally beginning to realize why.
So how does this identity crisis relate to feminism? Just because I choose not to identify as "female" or "male," does not mean I am choosing to distance myself from a fight for what is equal, fair and deserved. As a mostly androgynous being, you can see me as either disadvantaged to view either side of the argument, or in a better position to see both sides. I am not trying to deny the subordinate position given to me at birth when I was called "female," and I'm not trying to "steal" the male privilege by blurring my own gender identity. I am not trying to offend, hurt, castrate, mutilate, murder, or in any other way damage others' perception of gender or of me; I am simply trying to be true to how I feel. For that, I am discriminated against. I am hated, I am judged, I have customers refuse my help, I often feel like I'm in the wrong restroom, getting frustrated at the lack of genderless restrooms. I have trouble shopping for clothes and I have to swap my wardrobe out every so often to better suit who I'm feeling at the time. Sometimes your use of pronouns make me uncomfortable, but other times your hesitation does. I'm not picky, I'm just still trying to figure it all out for myself.
As a biological female with some masculine traits identifying as a lesbian, I hate being told that I have to be "butch" or a womanizer. When I show up wearing make-up I am treated as an entirely different person, even being told I'm "pretty." What if I don't want to be? Somedays I have more time, sometimes I'm more into it (it being the traditional feminine representation), but they are few and far between and for good reason. I would rather be mistaken for a geeky, tiny boy than be objectified as a woman in an urban setting. Every week we get emails from the campus reporting attempted rapes or robberies and if I actually take the time to read them, before sending them straight to the trash, it occurs to me how real the danger really is. The fact that I am still afraid while I walk in the parking garage is a testament to that - I'm not even necessarily afraid that I'll be raped, but more that some "man" will take it upon himself to "convert" me or something in that realm of logic. I am afraid that I will be raped, not as a woman, but as a hate crime victim, which will, in turn, affect every other aspect of myself.
So where is the line between defending feminism and taking up the cross as a woman, and doing such as something more? At what point did I stop fighting for gender equality as female to gender equality as something else? Or was I always working within myself, just not realizing it until I had been encouraged to push even my own limits? How can I reconcile the rights I am fighting for as a woman with the rights I am fighting for as a lesbian, or the ones I fight for as genderqueer? Is there even a way?
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