Racism Rears

I had a very interesting situation happen to me today. I just recently started playing an online game, and as I tend to do I was browsing the forums trying to discover tips and get to know the people there. There was a particular thread where folks could post item “wishlists” for the game. One poster was posting their list over and over again, about twice per page. This was annoying some people who made pissy comments. Then someone notified the members that the “spammer” didn’t speak very good English, in fact Spanish was his first language, and then asked if anyone knew Spanish so the etiquette rules could be explained. One gentlemen, we’ll call him GG, said: ……………..donto posto every pago…..???

See what he did there? Funny, right?

No, not at all. There were several people who laughed. I posted that I thought the comment was racist. The backlash was not pretty.

GG: ha ha…..ok….im jewish with a big nose ok????
Me: Then you should know better.
Becks: hey yoou are beautiful…………..nose sizes and culture dont even come into it…..anyway the man in your picture doesnt have a big nose!!!!!!!!!!!
Mary: I’m sure it was meant as a little joke..no racists here…. :thumbs:
GG: we are all good ppl here….just kidding…..calm down…..and i do know better….. *boggled face*
Kerry [in response to Mary]: Exactly! :thumbs:
Me [in response to Mary]: I understand it was meant as a joke. And I’m not saying that GG is a racist. I’m just pointing out that while the intention may have been innocent, it is still racist and perhaps more thought should be given before saying such things in the future.
Mary [in response to Me]: but if we can’t joke with each other here it’s no fun..we’ve “known” each other so long!!..how can anyone here be racist..we gift each other equally no matter where they’re from or who they are!!!
Me: I would say making a joke at the expense of another is no fun, especially when it insults an entire culture.
Scuba [in response to Me]: You guys, let’s just drop this ok? No one was trying to offend anyone, it was just a little play on words, I do it all the time too, and I have lived everywhere, seen tons of cultures, and love them all!! Let’s keep this thread nice and friendly please?
Becks [in response to Me]: the remark wasnt meant to be racist, or a joke on others behalf…….i think you are over analysing the situation,pople on here help others, we all know each other well, no harm was meant….
Mary [in response to Me]: no one was insulted but you..
GG [in response to Me]: ok now im upset…..u dont know me…and u dont know how many items i gave to arebs jews…spanish and americans….so just keep ur ideas for yourself…cause ur trying to look smart…but your not…………..
Mary [in response to Scuba]: exactly…someone needs to make a scene!
Pink [in response to GG]: IGNORE them adn they’ll go away hopefully
Becks [to someone who asked what was going on]: no love, some sad individual that is trying to make something out of nothing to make themselves feel better…………which to me is shallow!!! how are you?
Mary [to the same person as Becks] not at all hun..just someone wanting to cause drama for no reason!! how are you sweety??
GG: thank you the one who ruined my mood……………….im out

Queue bunch of folks begging GG not to go, remarking that ME didn’t know what they were talking about, etc., etc., etc., “You know it wasn’t racist”, ad nauseam.

This whole situation was really unsettling to me. I admit it, I cried. The kneejerk reactions, the patting each other on the back for not being racist while simultaneously insulting me and making passive-aggressive remarks just knocked me right in the stomach. A white male makes a racist comment, gets called out on it, and then is flocked to and fawned over by white females until it’s “all better” and he’s reassured he’s not really a racist. These are likely some of the same women who swear up and down they’re not racist, they’re colorblind, they never say a negative word about anyone. It just angers me, and frustrates me, and hurts me. Especially as a white woman. Can you imagine the backlash if I would have been a Latino person, or some other minority trying to speak out for themselves?

And people say that racism no longer exists. I left the thread without any more comments, unable to stand up and make more of a confrontation. I feel ashamed about that, I wish I would have been stronger in the moment. However, a friend of mine, trying to console me, said:

In other words, this guy (and this community), knows that what he said is racist. But, he didn’t really mean it in a racist or negative way. He was reaching for the cheap laugh. Sometimes…as a crusader, you have to take your lumps. You have to let the vitriol and irrational self-righteousness wash over you. You know, when you stir up someone, they feel like they got spanked, or slapped or something. Smacked down. That’s what he feels now. My suggestion is to drop it. You don’t want to turn into a drama loci. You just want the racism to stop. For people to be aware of the connection between their actions and the state of the modern world. I think you’ve probably done that. This guy won’t, probably, reach for the same cheap laugh again. He’ll be afraid, next time he’s tempted, that someone will call him on it and embarrass him in public like you did. I call that a victory. However, now, you have to let the children call you names, after you put them in the corner. That’s how it works. “Mom” gives the kid a timeout, the kid tells mom that he hates her and she’s ugly and stupid. However, the kid learns his lesson and doesn’t get put into the corner for the same thing again, because he knows if he does it again, he’ll be back in the corner. Effective parenting through superior firepower.

What do you all think?

ETA: As Meowser and Meghan pointed out to me, this isn’t necessarily racism since a native Spanish speaker could be any race. Thank you for that correction ladies. Yes, even I am not perfect and need to adjust my thinking. However, that does not mean that I believe the comments made were discriminatory, just that I put the wrong label on it.

Everything About Me Is Wrong

I don’t talk much about my depression in day-to-day life. I don’t talk about it here, and I don’t talk about it in RL. Sometimes on my LiveJournal, though I’ve tappered off over the years. If there is one thing I have learned in this life, is that people don’t want to hear about the sad. Most of the times when I do talk about it, I either get no response at all or a dismissive “things will get better” or “keep your chin up”. I know people think they are helping, however they are not. Anyway, my therapist thinks I really need to learn how to disclose to people and talk about things. Thus, I am going to try to do so. I’ll start in the written format, since I’m most comfortable there, and hopefully it’ll build into face-to-face stuff. I hope my disclosure helps people. I hope somewhere out there people can relate. And if not, well, it’s my blog so it doesn’t really fucking matter ayway (only it does, though I try to tell myself it doesn’t).

Today I would like to disclose that I feel like everything about me is wrong. Even the things I like about myself are wrong. I feel a constant separation from the world at large. I know, I know, everyone feels isolated and alone but we’re really not and if we could just talk and love one another then everything would be okay. I call bullshit on that one. As a 26-years-old (Is that the right way to write that? I can never figure it out.) woman who doesn’t drink, doesn’t have sex, doesn’t adhere to gender roles, is married to man who doesn’t adhere to gender roles, comes from poverty, and is an anarchist and humanist, I call bullshit. Do you have any idea how hard it is to meet someone? To make friends? I know, I know, everyone has problems meeting people, yet on the fundamental levels (at least, the levels we’re taught are fundamental) I don’t fit in. I don’t go out with people for drinks, I don’t hang out in bars like most people my age, I don’t like alcohol. I think it’s poison. I can’t hook up with my girlfriends to share tales about meeting men or having sex. I don’t think anyone’s life should revolve around matching up, and I really think there is more to life than having sex. That is not to say I think people are wasting their time, I have no judgment on how someone else lives their life, I just can’t relate and share and form friendships over it because it is foreign to me.

I find it near impossible to have friends which are married. It seems the only thing these people are concerned with are having kids, getting 9 to 5 jobs, buying houses, and trying to make a nuclear family. I’m not interested in that. I know every married person in the world isn’t doing this, just every married person I’ve met. Ha! Anyway, I don’t prescribe to any of that stuff. I’m not interested in having children, a day job, a house or living in a “typical” family environment.

Anyway, I won’t address every detail. That’s just the tip of the iceberg. I do want to point out that ontop of this stuff, there is a level of intolerance in our Society. Everyone seems to hate someone for something. Discrimination is build into our every day language to the point where most people don’t realize it anymore. However, I do. I recognize it all the time and when I point it out, I feel as though the response is that I’m just being crazy PC. My husband thinks he is being all good male because he says he doesn’t like it when a woman wears make-up. Well, dear husband (and I tell him this too), it’s really not any of your business what a woman does with her body. Of course he concedes and acknowledges this, however if it would have been any other person things likely wouldn’t have gone so smoothly. Especially one who isn’t open minded. I know that I don’t /have/ to say things to people when they’re being discriminatory. Yet, I feel it is my duty as a human being who cares for other human beings to stand up against what isn’t right. I’m not an activist per se, I just believe for “evil” to win all it takes is for good people to stand around and do nothing.

So yes, my strong convictions cause me to be apart from the pact. I know there are many bloggers out there who talk about this same thing. How they are accosted for being too PC. It’s a hard knock life. Let me go even further. I have these “fundamental” things that keep me separate, I have these convictions that keep me isolated, and I have this profound sadness that makes it near unbearable to be in the world. I watch this discrimination that is built into our world, the way people scapegoat one another and hate and destroy and tear apart, and it literally breaks my heart. I feel the weight of it in my body. Every time. I just want to tell people if they stop, if they just stop pointing fingers and accept everyone’s autonomy and allowed people to make mistakes and be wrong than so much sadness could be erased. I’m not saying it would end all discrimination, that would be silly. I do think it would make the world a happier, more loving place though. And yet I cannot say these things, because I come off like a preaching, self-righteous, jerk.

So the world hates me. The world hates me because I am fat. The world hates me because I am Jewish. The world hates me because I do not want to be a mother, because I will not assume my role as “the wife”, because I refuse to bond over hating my body and diet-talk. The world hates me because I believe people should be able to kill themselves if they want and because I think patriarchy kills souls. The world hates me for so many things, and yet this wouldn’t be so traumatic if I could love myself. The world hates me for being a victim and for not picking myself up by my bootstraps as fast as they deem appropriate. Yet, I feel like I can’t and still live in the world. I feel in order to appreciate who I am, I would have to become a hermit and move away from all the hate people sling at one another. Because when anything semi-liquid is slung, there is back splash and spray and it gets on me and makes me hate myself. I hate that I can’t connect with people, or that I have to choose between connecting with them and being who I am.

So I am left with the same question that has been plaguing me for years, what is left, what do I do? If I can’t even find love for myself, or the goodness in the world and people, what the hell is left?

Racial Identity

As many people are aware, February is Black History Month. Now, I’m not down for a specific month or day which celebrates a particular minority. To me, that’s like saying the minority shouldn’t be recognized the rest of the time. It’s a sign that we still have so much work to do and that so many people are unaware of the implications of race in our society. My husband just told me that he didn’t even know racism and slavery existed before he moved to America. He was born and raised in Ukraine, coming over to the States at age 14, and never even saw a person of color before. He also likes to harp on me about how it’s more about culture, than about race, as that’s what he was taught, but we’re getting there. He’s starting to see more and more. Anyway.

For Black History Month our local university, Portland State, held a big event. There was a speaker and Soul food and some local artists. It was pretty amazing. Well, the artists were. It was during this event, or rather the three or four times I welled up with tears, that I realized I identify most with the Black culture. Don’t misunderstand me. I am not Black, that I know, and I will never understand what it is to be Black. However, we do share a lot of the same issues. Perhaps it is because I grew up in the South, and while us Southerners have a reputation for not being the most racially accepting people we still were at the forefront of Slavery. I’m not bragging about that. My point is that something good did stem from the horrific act of Slavery. The South is very well populated with Black culture. I speak of Atlanta specifically, which is where I was born, though Georgia is not the only Southern state by far to have a large Black population. This means all my life I was in the Black community. Black people were my neighbors, my friends, my lovers, my companions. And while my family is racist, despite their insistence otherwise, I never was. Instead, I saw a culture which was like home to me. The same way I feel about finding Judaism and asexuality, as though it is where I belong.

This realization is terrifying to me on so many levels. I know when people look at me they see a White woman. Though this is not how I see myself, I am not blind or stupid. And thus I wonder if this culture that I find at home in will find a home with me. Will people accept me? Will I be allowed to make friends, participate, commiserate, love? I think this is something I was trying to express in my Feminism, Privilege, Race and Other Stuff post. I have come to understand that “White People” who don’t just allow racist jokes, or racist policies, or racist whatever to pass us by without comment or assistance to change are generally not the “White People” being spoken about. I think that is what Black writers mean when they say “White People” shouldn’t feel ashamed or as though they’ve sinned. However, it becomes really hard to remind one’s self that they are not being included in a general subset like “White People” when one knows that they are seen as a “White Person”. When I read line after line about what “White People” do that is racist, or unhelpful or prejudicial, it becomes really frustrating. I am flippantly and sarcastically told that I deserve a cookie if I mention that I am not one of those “White People”.

And I understand, I do. I represent a race that has dominated, oppressed, tortured, ridiculed, shamed, murdered, raped, and so many other offenses I can’t even count, the Black race and many other races. I understand that there is a lot of emotion and tension built up on the subject. I understand that I can’t see every racial oppression and that things that affect Black people won’t affect me. However, I want to be able to stand with the people I love and feel the most connected with and fight the battles that need to be fought. When I put my fist in the air as a symbol of revolution and empowerment, I hope that the people of color around me will know I mean it with all my heart. I hope I will be able to show that I’m not just another privileged White Person trying to save the brown women from the brown men. I’m not a missionary trying to convert.

Does that make sense to anyone else? I know I will always be seen as White, because that is what my skin color says, even if my heart and soul speak differently. Is there a place in the world for someone like me?

Conform to beauty standards, or…

Someone on one of my blogs recommended Manolo for the Big Girl because it was funny. I decided to add it to my feed in order to evaluate for myself. Then one day I came across a post where Plumcake asks what big girls who don’t dress “chicly” are afraid of. This upset me. It is yet another person calling out those who “don’t fit” and trying to make them feel ashamed and broken. It’s another hierarchy being created. Oh yes, we here at Manolo for the Big Girl are fat, but we’re “fashionably” fat because we do our hair and wear cool clothes and buy high heeled brand named shoes. Just like the healthy fattie discussion. Anyone who doesn’t adhere to this is obviously just coping out. There is no excuse not to dress up and look good! What is wrong with /you/?

Needless to say, I removed the feed and was going to leave it alone, especially after reading the comments which all rang in about how horrible it is not to dress nice and look one’s best. I wanted to leave it alone, but the post kept rising up in my thoughts and causing me to get upset and even more offended. So I returned, and saw that Plumcake had received an outraged response to the post and then asked her readers what they thought. Again, more comments about how shameful and inferior women who didn’t follow fashion were. There was even a comment associating how a woman dresses to her house not being clean enough to accept guests. I mean really folks, have we regressed to the 1900s here? I know the role of women has changed, and the work isn’t done, but we have made a lot of progress and this just breaks my heart.

I admit I posted a comment, which was likely too emotional and not logically sound. I hate letting my emotions get away from me, yet I couldn’t leave it alone. I encourage you ladies to voice your opinion of the situation, either here or there. I do not want to encourage any flamewars or nastiness, so please don’t go there to do that, just honest, open communication about this subject.

Being Fat in College: Finding Proper Seating

I’ve been wanting to return to school for ages, and it is with a bit of shame I admit one of the major obstacles holding me back has been finding suitable seating. Since I am nearly 400lbs, the tiny seats most institutes provide, whether it be amphitheater type seating or individual desks, just don’t cut it. I do not fit. If I try, I find myself spilling over the sides, unable to take notes and with half my body in pain. It is not a pleasant experience, and even now I get a little misty-eyed thinking about it. When I flunked out of college the first time, a little part of me was happy that I wouldn’t have to subject myself to such conditions again. There would be no more flashbacks to high school and being called “fatswell”. There would be no more dropping of the pencil and being unable to retrieve it, without standing up and moving desks around and causing all kinds of distraction while the professor was talking. Most importantly, there would be no more pain and inability to concentrate on what is being taught simply because I could not focus, my mind was filled with self-hatred, disappointment, and anger. How can a fat person succeed when they can’t even find a seat?

It was several years after I flunked out that I found myself in the FA community, learning new things and hating myself less. It was one particular posts by Aunt Fattie at Shapely Prose that the idea dawned on me to even request adequate seating. It was a big deal. I’ve saved that post, reread it several times, talked about it with my husband, reread it several more times and began working up my courage. One day, I would go back to school, and I would ask for proper seating. To some, it may not have been life changing but it was to me. Again, with the misty-eyed (I tend to be quite the cry baby folks).

So this term I enrolled at Portland Community College, on the Sylvania Campus. I was wrought with fear and concern; would the professor laugh at me? Would the College tell me to get over it? Would I be put into the spotlight, where students could laugh at me behind my back or to my face? Would the administration promise one thing and then keep putting me off? Certainly I wouldn’t be the first to ask for proper seating. Certainly they would have to adhere to a reasonable request, because it is a reasonable request, but how much turmoil was I going to have to stir up? Would I even be strong enough to stand up to it or would I simply drop the class and try to finish my education online only? Needless to say I had built the situation up in my head. The first day of class I did a quick survey of the room, and without hesitation walked up to my professor, “I can’t fit into these chairs, do you have any suggestions?” Let me explain that my lack of hesitation was due less to the fact I had convinced myself things would be okay and this was the right thing to do, and everything to do with the fact that I didn’t think. Otherwise I would have given myself another anxiety attack before class and would have never made it in.

The response was positive. The professor looked confused at first, though I do not think it was because a fat person was daring to ask for accommodation (she’s just not like that), but quickly took in the situation and offered other solutions. Turns out, there was a table in the back of the room with chairs for disabled students. There were only two seats available but it would do. I was a little embarrassed for not seeing it at first, but thankful it was there. I took my seat, filled with pride, and awaited for the class to fill up. I saw several women of size come in, and each of them shoved themselves into these tiny desks, despite the fact a seat next to me was open. My pride was dwindling with every new fat girl who did this. They would look at me, at the empty seat, and still choose the desks.

I thought maybe it was just me, not wanting to be close to a stranger. Next class, I thought, they’ll see how warm and friendly I am and will feel more comfortable taking the bigger seat. Yet, the next class was very similar. No one sat next to me. There were plenty of fat girls in the surrounding areas, and over the four hours we were together in class many of them commented about being uncomfortable, about their legs falling asleep, about having to sit in these tiny vessels, and yet not one made a move. I’ve even offered to some of them, when they would whisper about their discomfort to me as though we are in some secret sorority, that they should try out the chairs and the table. It’s very comfortable, I feel so much better not having to fight with the desks. I exchanged complaints with them concerning the desks and remarked, “Yeah, that’s why I’m glad I got this seat. You should come sit with me.” They just smile shyly and shake their head. I’m amazed by this.

There are 20 women in my class, I would say half of them are fat. Yet I am the only one who will sit in the seat.

Celebrate America’s Next Top Model’s Acceptance

I am not ashamed to say I watch ANTM and I enjoy it. It’s one of my dirty little pleasures, as is most reality television. I’m not blind to the stereotypes it perpetuates, and I’m not blind to the ego of the panel, and I’m not blind to the other negatives. It, like everything, is not perfect. However, I do feel that it takes on a lot of issues, and offers a lot of good things.

For instance, on the latest cycle (11) there was a transgender contestant, Isis. Isis had amazing talent and was actually recruited by Tyra. I think this is an amazing thing. While I know the fashion world tends to be more accepting of a variety of people, we have to keep in mind that this show is nationally broadcasted. It is a show which has touched nearly every country, including several international spinoffs. That means millions upon millions of people see Isis, a beautiful transgender woman, in the mainstream where normally transgenders are stashed away in the dark. Isis could have went really far in the competition, though I think she psyched herself out which caused her early dismissal. I also think it allowed people’s concerns and fears to be publicly broadcast, and perhaps even encouraged discussion about the subject.

Let me tell you, some of the contestant’s responses were cruel, and disgusting and shallow. I’m sure the producers cut out the more jabbing of comments, because it is a show afterall, but the fact it showed any negative responses at all is a positive thing, IMO. I think this demonstrates just how ugly these thoughts and words can be. I think it shows how closed-minded people are, and I think when the girls later view their performances they’re going to be embarrassed. While I don’t want anyone to be shamed for what they think and feel, I believe that shining a spotlight on someone can sometimes provide a little insight. Though I wish theirs was a little less public, it is what it is.

I know Isis had some problems with being uncomfortable on set concerning wearing a swimsuit because she is pre-surgery, and I wish someone would have told her that the staff has her back. I think if something were exposed that shouldn’t be, the photographer would have ripped a new asshole in the person who dared any negative response. Then I think Tyra would follow suit. As self-centric as Tyra is, I believe she is a good person and wouldn’t have any of that bullshit. That doesn’t speak to the rest of the show’s crew, especially Sutan (one of the hair/make-up people) who has appeared on the show in drag. I wish there would have been more people who stepped up to Isis and was like “don’t sweat it, I’ve got your back” and maybe she wouldn’t have sweated the small stuff.

Of course, I completely understand where her fears and anxiety come from. She is a victim of terrorism and has to deal with the thought, every day, that it might be her last because of some silly ass fool who can’t handle who she is. So many of the contestants made statements about how in control and self-confident Isis is, how she doesn’t let shit get her down. I had to smirk when they said this, and comment to my husband, “Yeah, if they had to come to peace with the fact they could die, just by living, they would be more confident in who they are too”.

I know the show is about modeling, and the acceptance issue isn’t even close to being at the top of the agenda, but I do wish more of the downtime could have been focused on this elephant in the room. I feel as though since Tyra never brought it up with the girls, everyone was just pretending it didn’t exist on the outside. Yet, I am thankful that the invisibility was lessened, because even one inch is positive movement.

(Paying homage to my idea of Reward instead of Punishment. I would like to also cheer ANTM for the plus-size winner last year.)

Introduction to Asexuality

I have been meaning, for quite a while now, to post something concerning asexuality. It is something I’ve only been introduced to for a few years, and just recently started to relate to. Now that I use it as a way to describe myself, and have recently begun entering into the world again, I find that most people have no idea what it means. Most confuse it with celibacy, which is simply abstaining from sex. I assure you it is not just that. It is also not my choosing to avoid the sexual aspect of the world we live in, nor am I suffering some mental distress from past indiscretions. Sex does not scare me, I am not worried about no one wanting to have sex with me, nor am I using it to exert power over people. Asexuality is simply a word to describe someone who does not experience sexual attraction.

I have never been a sexual person, except for a brief period when I was 14 and my hormones were raging. Even then it was with one guy, and when I look back I think I was using sex like most every teenage girl does, to gain intimacy because I was simply /desperate/ for it. I am not asexual because I lack experience. I have played sex games with my cousins when I was younger (and being so confused about my sexuality then that I often spoke about having a sex change operation), and with girlfriends (which lead me to ask if maybe I was a lesbian). I fell in love with boys and wanting to hold hands and kiss, and I have fallen in love with women and wanting to spend my life just being with them. I have had phone sex and intercourse, watched porn and real life sex acts. I did my time having cyber sex and experimenting with the kinkier variations of hetero and homosexual sex. I was quite good at all these things, not to brag or toot my own horn, but the truth is the truth. I credit my natural tendency to listen and respond to people, my incessant curiosity which allowed me to speak about sex and learn everything I could, and my desire to except everyone’s kinks and desires without passing judgment. I always had the feeling that it is what it is.

Despite all this experimenting, I still was just not interested. I never masturbated in my youth (my first time was when I was 19) and had never had an orgasm. It was not for lack of people trying, it was just something my body was not responding to. I thought there was something wrong with me. I was too emotionally frigid (and was called that by some people before), or hadn’t found what would really bring me out. I spent several years thinking I was a submissive that needed to be dominated and told what to do, because otherwise I would do nothing sexual. I would fake my way through the motions, respond to my Dom in the way he wanted and wait for something in me to stir. It never came.

Now, I didn’t start this post to outline my sexual past, though I feel some detail is needed to see where I’m coming from. I know it doesn’t sound simple to the sexual people of the world, but to me it is. I do not experience sexual attraction.

There are a lot of people like me, and just like any group there are some major and minor differences betwen us. There is a subgroup most of us line up in which distinguishes whether or not we seek out romantic relationships (not sexual, romantic). I am romantic, if anyone cares. There are some people though, who are perfectly happy without a mate. No it is not the single women like Sex and the City portray who have just given up on the dating scene, they just don’t care anything about pairing (or grouping as you will) up. Those of us who are romantic have the same romantic preferences as the sexuals of the world. Some of us like the same gender, some like the opposite, some don’t care either way. There are asexuals who are transgender, and others who feel they have no gender at all. We are just as diverse and chaotic as the rest of the world, we just don’t experience sexual attraction.

There are some of us who are grossed out by sex, others who find it a perfectly acceptable activity. There are some of us who are sexually assaulted because we don’t understand the sexual world, and there are those of us who fight against sexual abuse and stand up for our more naive counterparts, as well as the million of other sexual abuse sufferers. There are some of us who do not understand when someone remarks about a “hot” celebrity or stranger on the street, and others of us who have learned to navigate and communicate with the sexual world.

And while I don’t mean to draw a separate line, because there is so much about the sexual and asexual cultures that are the same, we are also very, very different. I find myself apart of another group which is the redheaded stepchild of the world. Some asexuals have experienced exclusion from sexuality support groups in their area, considering asexuality not a “real sexual orientation”. We do have an orientation even if it is disbelieved just yet.

So that is what asexuality is, and I hope that helps clarify things for people. I also suggest checking out the AVEN website for more information.

Alternet Articles on Feminist Issues

I thought this was a really informative and well written article on Alternet about misogyny in the military. I think this is a topic that is completely under-publicized and needs to be brought into the light.

There is also an article on feminism and sex workers that is very well done.

The feminist movement has several issues it focuses on as a whole which revolve around equality in at work and home, and autonomy. Yet severe issues like being able to serve one’s country with honor and living one’s life by making money from sex is glossed over and swept under the rug. I think it’s time these issues were exposed and remedied.

The Significances of Hair

I have had long hair all my life. Usually it is shoulder-length, but has never been shorter than the chin, at least not until 2005. That is when I decided to shave my head. I did this for a lot of reasons. My Great Aunt was dying of cancer, and had lost all of her hair because of Chemotherapy. I’m not very good at socialization, but I wanted to connect with her in a way that let her know everything I was feeling and maybe let her know that even though I didn’t come around as much as everyone else, or sit by her bedside to hold her hand the last week before she died, that I loved her and she was a profound part of my life. It was also during a time when I wanted to question gender roles and female stereotypes. My husband and I challenge gender roles in nearly ever aspect of our relationship, and yet I find myself constantly questioning my femininity because I don’t cook or clean or do other “womanly work”, nor do I typically look like a woman “should”. I have never been a fan of make-up or nail polish, I don’t care about fashion or cute shoes or trendy purses; I couldn’t care less about starting a family or getting my hair done. I had felt like my second X chromosome was asleep. A hair cut, at first glance, doesn’t seem like much of a statement, but it was monumental. Not only I was challenging people’s interpretations of what a woman with a shaved head is (a butch lesbian? a transgender? a freak? a goth?), but also my own.

Hair has always been a major talking point through history. In the 18th century women either had long curly hair, where they wore a hat, or extreme wigs or hair which were piled high upon the head. In the 19th century, women who were out in society wore their long hair up as was proper, though country women (seen as less refined) wore it down, the length was still in question. In the 1960s, women had long, free flowing hair in rebellion of the culturally acceptable style. As far as I can tell, the only time women were ever encouraged to have short hair was during the 1920s – 1940s when flappers and Big Band Music was in style, although any shorter than chin/mid-cheek sparked questions and concerns. As a reality TV watcher, shows like American’s Next Top Model, and Paris Hilton’s BFF show girls breaking down into hysterics if anyone dares suggest they cut their hair short, dye it a new color, or do anything outside of the girl’s comfort zone. Many times I’ve heard the young women proclaim, “I don’t want it to change who I am!” What an absurd idea really.

As far as the feminist movement has come, there is so many little things which seem to be overlooked. Rosie the Riveter, an icon for the women during WWII who had to go to work, is shown with her beautiful clear skin and perfectly done up hair despite the hard days spent in the factories, and Wo! Magazine’s call to femininity with a thin, naked woman who has flowing hair and holding up the world. It seems the farther we fight society for our freedom, the more we lock ourselves into certain boxes.

Shaving my head provided the confidence for me to try several other variations including shaving my eyebrows and rocking a Mohawk. That’s not to say that this transition was easy and went along smoothly. My husband wasn’t 100% on board at the beginning, and we struggled and discussed and debated. While I was outwardly convincing him, I was internally trying to find my own strength and acceptance. I had to know that no matter how much I didn’t look like what society deemed a woman, that I still was. It seemed like as soon as I was comfortable with the idea, my husband followed suit (or perhaps he realized it was something I was going to do either way, so he better hop on board or risk the consequences). Now, my current hairstyle has settled somewhere in the middle and my days of asking “Is this womanly enough?” have dwindled.

Cheers for Candis Cayne and Transgenders

I watch Chelsea Lately. I know, activists everywhere groan with that admission. Chelsea, like Margaret Cho, are often times filled with “isms”. They’ve been made famous for shocking people, saying unladylike things, and being rude. I think that’s what appeals to me, because they break the mold of what a “woman” should be, and have made their way in the world without the need of a man. In a way that is feminism, but in another… well yeah. So, the other night I was watching and Chelsea and she had Candis Cayne as a guest. Candis is a very beautiful transgender woman. Chelsea doesn’t normally have many mainstream guests, so I was pleasantly surprised when they talked about Candis’ appearance on the ABC primetime drama Dirty Sexy Money. Not only does Miss Cayne appear on ABC as an actress, but as a transgender in a torrid affair with Billy Baldwin’s character.

I was impressed with ABC, because historically these types of roles were not played by actual transgenders. In fact, transgender characters as a whole were unheard of. So for a national television network to embrace such a character, and an actress, shows that society is definitely making a step forward. This is not to say there is no prejudices left, or that everything is hunky dory. I don’t have blinders on, but when someone does something good they deserve a cookie.

So congratulations to ABC, for doing the right thing, and for Candis Cayne for breaking the mold both on television, in beauty pageants, and in life.

Reward Instead of Punishment

I have never really understood why our society teaches to punish bad behaviors, but not reward for the good. If someone does what they are supposed to, then they are ignored. There have been countless stories about children in this dynamic. The one child who makes good grades, stays out of trouble and lives life doing the right thing is overlooked while the child who doesn’t do quite as well in school, gets into trouble and makes mistakes has attention poured on them. Granted, this attention is usually negative but any attention is better than no attention. At least, that’s what most child psychologists will explain to exasperated parents. And as so many things in life, that which we learn as children carries over into our adult life.

In an ideal world, perhaps those who did the right thing wouldn’t need praise because there wouldn’t be so many negative aspects. However, let’s be realistic. The world isn’t ideal and the people who do the right thing are lessening all the time. I believe in rewarding people for doing what they’re supposed to do. I’m not sure where the idea that doing right means not receiving love and appreciation, but I would wager a guess it can be traces through religion (specifically Christianity), but that may just be my bias. Specifically…

I believe when a man does not beat his wife, he should be praised and appreciated. I’m sure everyone can agree that men have always been the dominant figure. They are taught to only show “strong” emotions, and never weakness like sadness, mercy, or sympathy. Men are taught that they must defend their home, their families, and their country. Men are taught that to be men they must take part in “man” activities which are often violent, such as contact sports and hunting. Men are encouraged to undervalue women, to not maintain committed long-term relationships, and to gratify their animalistic desires to procreate, dominate, and destroy. Thus, when a man realizes that what society teaches them is wrong, that they don’t have to resort to violence, or be “tough” or dominate, they deserve to be praised.

When parents don’t beat their children, they deserve to be recognized and appreciated. So many things go into this. Violence often comes from people who lack the ability to express themselves with words, and our society has a history of oppressing every emotion, especially those deemed “sinful”. People still have not learned to communicate, or how to not control. Parents are taught to see their children as property that they have to control and mold, like some sort of pet. Women were also forced into the role of motherhood, unable to use birth control to stop unwanted pregnancies or have abortions when mistakes happen. They were forced into marriage and taught that they weren’t people, but living incubators whose sole purpose was to create life and obey their husbands. Men were forced into the role of fathers and husbands, before they even reached maturity. See above point concerning men and violence. Another factor is parents were taught to discipline their children with violence, do we forget the phrase “spare the rod, spoil the child”? Therefore, when parents learn that they cannot control every aspect of their child and cannot beat these children into submission, they should be praised. When parents learn that the way they were raised, and the discipline they received was not the most healthy way, they should be praised. When they realize their parents were human, and made mistakes, and they should learn from these mistakes and try to find a better way to raise their children, they should be praised. When parents realize they need to use their words to express disappointment, pain, fear, uncertainty instead of violence, they should be praised. When women know they don’t have to be mothers, and instead are able to make an educated choice from desire and love, they should be praised. When people stop looking at having children as an unfortunate event, something that ruins their life, and ends all their dreams, they should be praised.

I could go on for pages. I could list the reasons why someone who owns their privilege should be praised, or a teenager who doesn’t succumb to peer pressure to have sex or do harmful drugs, or when people aren’t homophobic or racist or sexist should be praised. We all know the stereotypes. We have to look at the state of the world, and see that obviously “punish the sin” only mentality is not working. People are tired of feeling ashamed when they make a mistake and being ignored when they try to be good people. Folks are sick of being grouped in with the negative, and being called out and insulted when they try to stand up and disassociate themselves.

It has always been my policy in life to ignore those who do the horrible things, because no attention is worse than calling them out, and to lavish praise, appreciation and acceptance on those who do the right thing.

Feminism, Priviledge, Race, and Other Stuff

I am Jewish. My people were ostracized, murdered, raped, beaten, enslaved, starved, branded, insulted, and completely out of control. My people still are murdered, raped, beaten, branded, insulted, discriminated against and they still have little control. In America, we are still without the ability to worship as we wish and not be made to feel ashamed. Jewish slangs still run wild, statements of a false messiah still shoved in our faces with “In G-d We Trust” on the currency we’re forced to use, a court system which requires us to swear on The New Testament to show our truthfulness, and the inability to wear our religious symbol, the Star of David, without being called heretics or witches. It is not okay to be Jewish in this society.

I am Native American. My people were enslaved, beaten, raped, murdered, starved, insulted, ostracized. They were forced off their lands and made to conform to the ideology of the settlers. They were stripped of their religion, clothing, education, social structure, and in essence, everything and forced to conform to ideals which they didn’t believe in. In America, we still are without these basic rights packaged into the “American Dream”. We live on reservations, and are “given” land out of the goodness of the government in which we can “be free” as we were all those years before the settlers came.

I am Fat. My people are insulted, beaten, raped, ostracized, and publicly ridiculed. We are lab rats where scientists strive to medically “fix” us, and shame into hating our very existence. We mutilate, torture, starve, neglect, and otherwise abuse ourselves, even when our captures stop, because we are told that we are wrong. We go out into the world every day and know people cross the street to avoid being around us, that women rush home to vomit what they’ve eaten because the idea of being us is terrifying, and that we are considered diseased.

I am a Woman. My people are insulted, beaten, raped, ostracized, regulated, enslaved, branded, starved, and have little to no autonomy. We have been subjected to this for ages. We have no say so over what goes into our body, nor what comes out. We are schooled to believe we cannot exist without a male counterpart, and that if we dare try to go against this education then we deserve whatever happens to us. We are ignored by the medical community, and any illness that just happens to pop up is considered due to hysteria, lack of childbirth, lack of marriage, lack of make-up, lack of hairspray, lack of femininity.

I am a Human Without Sexual Orientation. I am not attracted to a specific gender or sexual reproductive organs, I fall in love based on the soul attached to the body. My people are ignored at whatever lengths are necessary. If, by chance, we force attention upon ourselves then we are beaten, raped, murdered, insulted, and pushed back into the shadows with every fiber that people can muster. We cannot share intimate gestures with our partners, unless our couplehood can be seen as heterosexual in nature. Our lovers cannot match their bodies to their souls without being questioned, regulated, violated, governed and “allowed”. We cannot be who we are without being put under a microscope, studied, prodded, and analyzed.

I am Poor. I live below the poverty line. My mother and father do, my grandparents do, and my entire family line does. My people are ridiculed and punished. We are unable to find the stability to know when our next meal will come, if we will have water to bathe our children before school or to groom before finding a job. We are unable to get help without being made to feel as though we are lazy, worthless, and a drain on society. We are accused of using our children to weasel money out of “good citizens” when we simply cannot afford birth control or do not believe in it. We are uneducated and cannot keep up with the rising demand of degrees in the job market, and therefore are left without adequate pay to support ourselves and our families. We sometimes have no homes and are forced to rely on the kindness of strangers, when those strangers are taught to hate and fear us. We are pitied instead of helped, and ignored instead of understood.

I am also White. This racial identity cancels out the other elements of who I am. I am simply White. At least, that is a lot of what I am hearing from folks. Despite the fact I come from a long line of persecution, suffering, and minorities, I am still White. I am told that I should seek absolution every day for the things my ignorant, hateful, and wrong ancestors did and the things people of my race still do. I am told to be ashamed of my race, because we are granted privilege and freedoms. I am told I will never understand what it is like to be judged based on the color of my skin, and I will never know hardship or misfortune. I am told that everyone is colored by their individual privileges but mine is the worst of all, simply because I was born the way I was.

I am not denying that my race has privilege. America was built on the White ideal. I am not denying that I will never understand what it’s like to be a WOC (Woman of Color). I am not denying that some fucked up shit happened due to some fucked up white people, and I’m not denying that our world is still fucked up.

I am denying being ashamed. I will not be ashamed of my race. I will not spend every day making absolution for the things my forefathers and current fathers (and mothers, and brothers, and sisters and folks I would never want to be related to me in any way) do. I will not feel less simply because someone who has similar characteristics to me does things I do not agree with. I will stand with my fist raised to fight against any wrongdoings I see. I will stand with my White sisters as they fight to put down the apron, be equally compensated for their work, live a life where they are free to be unmarried and/or without child. I will stand with my Black sisters as they fight to live in a neighborhood without violence, to rally against the beauty ideals set down by their oppressors (as if white women have a hard time conforming then black woman aren’t even given a chance), to become educated and accepted in the professional world, and to gain every right that a White person has. I will stand with my Latin sisters and Chinese sisters and Russian sisters. I will stand with my Men who fight to be able to show emotion other than anger and power, who want to wear dresses or “feminine” colors, or want to raise children.

I will stand and I will fight.

So please, stop telling me I should be ashamed of who I am. Stop telling me I do not want “you” in my fight and that I do not include you in what I’m fighting for. Please stop making accusations about who I am and what I am about without knowing me. Please stop grouping me into a stereotype. I understand when you say “white” you really mean “Middle Class White” or even “Middle Class White Man”. I understand you are angry and frustrated. I understand that you are wronged and feel left out. Instead of lashing out at me, insulting, persecuting, please embrace me and let me embrace you. Please join hands with me and fight with me against my oppression and allow me to fight with you against yours. Please remind me of my ignorance when it happens to flare, and let me remind you that suffering is not exclusive to race, religion, gender, or ability.

I will fight with you, I will fight for you. I will listen to your hurt and shame and fury. I will be there for you and I will do whatever I can to become educated, to self-realize, and to alter my thinking process, actions, or misstep if needed. I promise to celebrate you, if we can celebrate our differences.

Just please, stop hurling accusations at me for things I do not do, for things I cannot control, and for people I do not associate with. Please stop believing we are all the same, and that our intention is to misuse, misunderstand and ignore you.