Tag Archive for: activism

When it’s a Waste of Time (and Energy) to Comment

I have been on a bit of an activist rampage lately in my own head.  Last week, Eve’s social studies teacher assigned them the 14-page “Letter from a Birmingham Jail” written by Martin Luther King, Jr. and she encouraged parents to read it as well so they could discuss it with their children.  Despite the fact that I figured the chances of Eve wanting to hang out and have a philosophical discussion with me about her homework were about 1/infinity, I printed out all 14 pages and sat down with a highlighter.

By the time I was done reading, I had three pages of notes and I felt like the top of my head was afire.  I could nearly hear the synapses in my brain shooting across from one cell to the next, making connections between what King was writing about and so many other unjust laws that exist today.  Regardless of Eve’s decision to talk with me about it or not, I vowed to put my thoughts into a coherent essay soon and try to submit it for publication somewhere.

Fresh from the revelations of this amazing piece of writing by MLK, Jr. I went to the premiere of the documentary Girl Rising with a friend.  Eve and Lola are going to see it next week with their classmates and I was curious to see whether it would prove relevant to them.  I was impressed.  The film tells the stories of nine girls around the world who face incredible difficulties accessing education but persevere and manage to find a way to make it happen.  Woven between the narratives of their lives are astonishing statistics about the way education impacts the lives of women and girls (and thus, the entire human race and perhaps the planet) and I walked out of that theater on fire again, wanting to find a way to keep the momentum of this amazing story going.

This morning after dropping the girls at school, I sat and meditated the best I could with all the noise inside my own brain, forced myself to take the dog on a long walk to compose a writing plan for the day, and finally sat down to start working.

The first thing I did was check my Facebook feed which is, unsurprisingly, filled with information from organizations like Everyday Feminism, The International Planned Parenthood Foundation, A Mighty Girl, etc.  Miss Representation had a link to an article in Time Magazine where Sheryl Sandberg was defending Melissa Mayer’s new maternity leave policies and the discontinuation of telecommuting at Yahoo.  The quote they shared was this,

“The more women stick up for one another, the better. Sadly this doesn’t always happen. And it seems to happen even less when women voice a position that involves a gender related issue. The attacks on Marissa for her maternity leave plans came almost entirely from other women. This has certainly been my experience too. Everyone loves a fight–and they really love a cat fight.” Sheryl Sandberg

I clicked through the link to the story, read it, and went back to read the comments on the Facebook page.  After the third comment, I realized I could feel subtle changes in my body – quickening pulse, tightening muscles in my shoulders and hands, shallower breaths – and I moved my hands to the keyboard of my laptop in preparation for response.

And then I sat back.  I took a deep breath and wondered how it would feel to simply be an observer in this case.  I wondered what would happen if I made a conscious choice not to add my comments to a dialogue with people I didn’t know.  Having commented on issues similar to this in this way before, I know that what I end up with is unsatisfying.  Rarely does anyone respond directly to my opinion (and if they do, I only know because I take the time to go back and check the FB page every once in a while), and I have no way of knowing how many people have actually read my comment.  I know that when I see a polarizing conversation on Facebook that has hundreds (or even dozens) of comments, I tend to skim through a few and then get bored unless the commenters are people I know personally.  I have already made up my mind on most of the issues and it does me no good to read what everyone else thinks, especially if it is only inflaming my need to respond.

This one time I experimented with reading each and every comment, noting the opinions of the responders and taking a moment to think about them all.  Without the intent to add my own two cents.  It was strangely freeing.  It was a much-needed reminder that I don’t have to react to every conversation that occurs around me, even if it is within the context of something that I truly care about.  My voice was not likely to make a damn bit of difference and to get sucked in to that issue would only have taken time away from other things I find more compelling and important.  It is so easy to think that just because I can comment easily, I ought to, that this is somehow a test of wills and adding my voice might tip the balance.  When I sat back and thought about what it would look like for me to type up a comment and hit enter, it felt more like throwing a pebble into a black hole than adding a brick to a much-needed wall.  I wonder how much time I have devoted to engaging in social media wars of words that are ultimately inconsequential. I suspect a lot.  Perhaps I can turn my attention to communities with whom I can have actual conversations that exchange ideas and may lead to something real as opposed to driving traffic to a particular site or filling some web advertiser’s pocket.

Miss Representation and the Beauty of the Internet

Newest Miss Representation Trailer (2011 Sundance Film Festival Official Selection) from Miss Representation on Vimeo.

A few weeks ago I saw that the OWN (Oprah Winfrey Network) was offering an encore presentation of the documentary “Miss Representation” and I set my DVR. I finally found a couple of hours the other day to watch the show and my emotions alternated between disgust, rage and sharp sadness. The film breaks down the role of modern media in perpetuating negative stereotypes of women and girls in a clear, concise way that is an absolute call-to-action.

I found myself cringing from time to time as I agreed with some of the people interviewed for this documentary (among them Katie Couric and Lisa Ling and others who are not household names but are doing really important work). Not because I didn’t want to agree with them, but because I have always identified myself as a bleeding-heart liberal – one who believes in freedom of speech and expression. The atrociously misogynistic Go Daddy advertisements come to mind. I can’t stand them and the way that women are portrayed, but I have always respected their right to exist. I can’t say I still feel that way after watching this film.
As they began to detail the ways in which female leaders are judged in the media (Hilary Clinton was not “assertive” or “certain of her convictions,” she was a “harpy” and a “bitch;” Sarah Palin was not judged on her knowledge of issues – or relative lack thereof – but on the way her skirt highlighted her ass and whether or not she had gotten breast implants) I began to laud the physical anonymity of the Internet for helping women’s voices and opinions be heard without this kind of scrutiny. Organizations like Moms Rising and Emily’s List can amass the voices of many women and present convincing arguments – or at the very least, convincing power – without having to dodge the conversations about whether their leader is a dyke or a man-hater. Let’s be honest, anytime a strong female role model has come out to challenge the status quo, regardless of her message, she is instantly judged by her physical attributes. If she doesn’t look like one of the original Charlie’s Angels, she is instantly pronounced a lesbian and that somehow is supposed to mean that when she opens her mouth, we hear the voice of the parents on every Charlie Brown special, “Wah wah, wah wah, wah wah.” If she does look like a pinup, she is carefully examined for any trace of plastic surgery or asked about her exercise regime or diet, as if those things trump the message she is trying to convey. The internet eases some of the pressure in that way. The more women can clearly articulate their positions in writing and band together as groups to support a common cause, the less power the media has to derail their momentum by commenting on her boobs or her fashion sense.
While I still feel that it is important for us to address the way women and girls are treated in the media, I am relieved that there seems to be one place where our words speak louder than our looks. Now, go out there and use it to the best of your ability, folks!
And if you haven’t yet seen “Miss Representation,” please go see it. Whether you’re single or married, have daughters or sons, are female or male, it is an eye-opening documentary that features the voices of men and women alike. Go here to find a showing in your neighborhood.

I Feel Some Action A’Comin…


I do love NPR. In the multitude of moments when I am alone in the car, bustling between basketball practice and the grocery store or coming home from dropping a child off at school, my first act, before even putting the car into gear and pulling away from the curb, is to switch the radio from “Kid-Approved Pop Station” to my local NPR station. It is then that I can truly settle in to my seat, breathe deeply, and shift from chauffeur-mom to intelligent adult. Ahhh.

Occasionally what I hear is disturbing. Most often it is enlightening, educational and informative, but from time to time I am reminded of some of the most difficult details of life in other areas of the world. Last Thursday it was a report on the prevalence of wartime rape in parts of Africa. There are many women whose husbands have gone off to fight civil or tribal wars and are living by themselves, wholly undefended, when rival soldiers invade their villages and brutally rape them, knowing that this is a punishment more profound than death or disfigurement. For the women who have yet to be married, this effectively seals their fate, rendering them unfit for a mate for life. For those who are married, their husbands will be compelled to find another, more suitable mate upon their return home. For the women themselves, they are held in a uniquely painful place of shame for the remainder of their lives. Culturally, a woman who has been sexually violated is forever marked as filthy, used, disgusting. In many cases, these women are forced to leave their villages for fear of bringing shame on other members of their community.
Despite the knowledge that these women are entirely helpless against weapon-wielding rapists, driven by mob mentality and the knowledge that this is one situation they can find themselves in control of, it is the women that are held accountable for the despicable treatment they receive. Not ever having experienced a culture such as this, it is still not much of a reach for my imagination, knowing that so few rape victims in our “civilized” country are loathe to come forward because of shame. For those women who have been ostracized from their own families and communities and gone on to become voices of strength and power and knowledge and empowerment for other women who are suffering similar fates, I am even more impressed. Their strength and resilience and willingness to overcome the barriers in front of them is inspiring and gives me hope and somewhat of a personal mandate to help. I don’t know how yet, but I know myself well enough to recognize the seed of passion for this particular issue that has wedged itself deep inside me and will soon call for action.
*photo from financialpost.com

Tough Conversations

The trio of girls huddled together at the kitchen table giggle nervously.

“It’s not bad,” Lola insists quietly.


“I don’t even think it’s true,” her friend and classmate pipes up. “I think that she probably just made it up.”

Eve’s eyebrows raise in a combination of skepticism and discomfort. As the eldest, she doesn’t want to betray her interest too much by adding her opinion, but she clearly has one.

“What’s up, guys?” I ask, not wanting to overstep my bounds, but curious as to what has them acting like international spies.

Caught, they whirl to face me, on the other side of the kitchen and blurt, “Nothing!” Giggles erupt from behind their sweet, soft hands and their heads come even closer together as if pulled by an invisible drawstring. Just as I’m about to shrug it off, they decide to tell me.

Haltingly and from a distance of at least six feet away, Lola begins talking without meeting my eyes. It seems that there is a book on the shelf in her classroom that has prompted the girls to discuss and wonder and whisper. It is a book of stories authored by teenage girls that is meant to inform and inspire other girls, but at least one of the stories has them disturbed. Not necessarily unhappy, but certainly upset in the sense of the word that calls to mind a stick stirring up sediment in a clear pool of water.

Lola speaks slowly, starting from the beginning of the story and it soon becomes clear to me that the essay depicts one girl’s experience of being sexually molested by her babysitter over a period of several years. Lola is too embarrassed to tell me in the same terms used in the book, so she tries to write it down. Before she can finish, I turn to Eve and ask her if what she knows about it. Standing next to me, she talks with a flat tone, looking into my eyes.

I am aghast. The phrase, “it’s not bad“ continues to run through my brain. How can she think that isn’t bad? How did this book get into a classroom for first, second, and third graders? How many of these girls have read this book and how long have they been discussing it without any adult mediation?

We stand in the kitchen and talk about what each of these girls, seven, eight and ten years old, would have done in this situation. Lola and Eve are confident that they would physically fight back, kicking and hitting and the look of disgust on their faces convinces me they would. Lola’s friend maintains that the story is probably not true.

They are all three shocked to hear me say that such things happen a lot more often than they know. Lola asks me whether I know anyone who was treated that way and I assure her I do, but that I won’t name names because I don’t think that is fair. She accepts this explanation, but wants to know more. I don’t want to rattle off the statistics, that at least one of every four females in the world experiences sexual abuse of some sort in her life, and those are only the ones who are reporting it. Others like this young girl who were too frightened or confused go unaccounted for. I simply say that it is important for us to find ways to talk about these issues without embarrassment and share our experiences with adults we trust so that the people who are attacking women and girls can be held responsible for it.
I am so happy that these three girls were courageous enough to share this with me. While I am not thrilled about the way it was brought up to them, I know that the book will be removed from their classroom and the teachers will handle it thoughtfully. It turns out that the book was donated by a parent this summer and was not thoroughly vetted before it was put out on the shelf. (Upon doing some research, it seems that there are many such books, aimed at girls, kids, grieving families, pet owners, retirees, etc. and I discovered that they are full of difficult stories. Unfortunately, without reading the entire book, it would be hard to know whether or not it is age-appropriate.) I appreciate the intention of the book, but I can’t imagine letting my seven or eight year-old (or even nine or ten-year old for that matter) read such stories without an adult present who could help them interpret and fully understand many of the concepts.
The fact that a mainstream, American publication like this contains multiple essays about sexual abuse (it does, I found the book and read it) makes me wonder how much we as a society have accepted the fact that our girls will be raped and molested. So much so that we can talk about it years after the fact and encourage girls to “tell” on their abusers. I think that doing so is important, but maybe it means that we need to have a much more aggressive campaign to prevent sexual abuse in the first place. Perhaps we need to teach girls and women to be open about the fact that their bodies belong to them and send the message that this kind of act will not be tolerated. We will not be objectified, groped, talked about lewdly or disrespectfully, or put in situations that are dangerous. Our civic leaders need to be completely upfront about the fact that the rules have changed and women will not be victimized any longer, and if they are, we will not waste time hiding or feeling ashamed. We will not, in any circumstance, decide that “she deserved it” or “she wanted it.”

A Day Late,

but hopefully not a dollar short…

On a typical day at my house growing up in the 1970s I’m certain we used gallons and gallons of water we didn’t need to use. All five of us showering, flushing high flow toilets, watering a pristine lawn (one of my father’s obsessions), washing the family cars every Saturday morning, boiling eggs and pouring the cooking water down the drain…I could go on but already I’m getting a stomach ache thinking about it.

Even though I’m older and wiser now, I’m certain there are things I could still be doing to reduce my water consumption even more, but I am eternally grateful that I know what I know. That I don’t take this precious resource for granted. I have been lucky to travel to other countries and realize first hand how my experience of having water whenever I want it is an anomaly. A luxury. Decadent.
Kathryn Grace reminded me that it is going to take the efforts of those of us who do have access to this precious resource in order to bring it to everyone. I know that the founders of our country didn’t specifically note water as a basic human right (truth, justice, pursuit of happiness…), but I’m certain it’s on Maslow’s Hierarchy of Needs and I’m not sure how to pursue happiness without being free of disease. Please visit Kathryn’s blog and see how you can help. Even though yesterday was technically Blog Action Day for this issue, I’m pretty sure that they won’t mind if you sign the petition a day late. Or start your own efforts, however modest, a day late.

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