don’t watch eraserhead while pregnant

448px-Eraserhead_posterIt’s been a fews weeks since my last post, and that’s because work got busy while I also happened to be nearly immobile on the couch trying to get through the exhaustion and nausea of the first trimester of pregnancy. I’m happy to say that today marks twelve weeks. If you were reading this blog a year ago when I wrote about what led to my long-term writer’s block, you’ll know how much that milestone means.

We’re still adjusting to this new reality, which is thrilling and terrifying. Now that I no longer feel like an alien is sucking the life force out of me (thought IT IS), I’m happy to get back to feeling the wind in my hair as I run or bike, the soil on my fingers as I pull up dying tomato plants (not really because I have to wear gloves to avoid toxoplasmosis, but you know what I mean), and the spark of a new creative idea.

Many years ago, when a good friend had her first child, she said that pregnancy made her extra creative. She wrote and wrote and wrote.Until recently, I cursed her blissful experience because I was so tired that even my brain didn’t want to function, but now I’m starting to get it.

I’ve noticed that I started thinking about my grandparents a lot, which I suppose makes sense because I’m adding to a new generation in the family. My dad’s parents, both deceased, kept showing up in my dreams. Apparently, dreaming of people dying and people already dead is a thing that can happen in pregnancy. (Other things no one told you: stuffy nose, leg cramps, blurred vision that, oh, no problem, will clear up two months after the baby is born! I haven’t had the last yet, just got freaked out when I read about it the other day.)

Dreams get weird in pregnancy, and I’m a little nervous because I already have weird dreams. But apparently dreams about birthing animals instead of humans and bizarre things happening to the baby are totally normal. The other night I dreamt that my husband had drunkenly stashed the baby in a drawer, and we opened every drawer frantically searching for it, only to discover the baby in a pile of drawers we were throwing out. Whatever that means.

Anyway, death dreams. They make sense because death symbolizes major life changes, rebirth, etc. In one dream, my deceased grandmother was taking me through her old house and showing me all this antique furniture that had been passed down through her family. She said, “Here this is for you,” and pointed to a crib.

So my grandparents have been on my mind, and all sorts of memories have been leaking into my daydreams. I found myself writing poems about them, conjuring up the feeling of my grandmother’s smooth cheek against mine and my grandfather’s generous smile and the comforting smell of their house. I discovered a poem I wrote in grad school about a visit to my great-grandmother, the last time I saw her, when the refrigerator door kept bouncing off of her as she dug around inside for the jam cake she had made. I spent some time with the poem and made it better, and it felt like, in some magical way, I was connecting her to this little peanut (that’s what it looked like on the ultrasound) that has some of her in its blood and skin and bones but will never her know her except through words and pictures.

I’ve already had to pass up two amazing work trips (to Turkey and South Africa. Really? They couldn’t have asked me before this?), but I feel like I’m on an adventure that doesn’t end when the plane lands. Every day I learn new things about my body and this creature it’s growing, and my mind is like a cauldron brewing with ideas and dreams. A dream is an idea, no? An idea, a dream.

Take this: there is a heart beating in my body that doesn’t belong to me! And suddenly I’m thinking of Edgar Allen Poe and floorboards and all the places hearts could be secretly thump-thumping.

I know that women have been having babies forever, but it’s like I’m the only person who has ever been pregnant. The other day I was reading a book about it and said out loud to no one, “This thing is going to pee inside me?! Wait, how many pounds am I going to gain?”

I mean, how can these things not get your wheels turning? No wonder when I went to look at monsters on Wikipedia to find a costume idea for my parents’ monster-themed Halloween party, I was bombarded with a disturbing list of birth defects that long ago inspired the idea behind a lot of monsters and demons. (Seriously, Wikipedia, thanks for ruining my day. I just needed something more creative than a vampire.)

But my point is that pregnancy is a weird and wild time, so there’s bound to be a lot of weird and wild notions that come out of it.

A few nights ago we watched David Lynch’s Eraserhead, whose meaning people are constantly debating, and my partner said, “I watched this so many times as a kid. But watching it now, I’m realizing it’s about parenthood.”

Those of you who’ve seen the movie surely know what he means. If you’ve never seen it, well, don’t watch Eraserhead while pregnant. I was worried about the crazy dreams it would give me, but somehow my slumber remained free of skinned dinosaur babies. The lesson, Lynch might say, is to just stop being fearful, right? The difference between wonder and worry.

Here’s to letting go of fear, even in dreams.

A lot of the stuff I think about, however, is really normal and pleasant. Like how much I miss my deceased grandparents and wish I could know them now, adult to adult, and see the joy in their faces at the news of this pregnancy. How people who barely know us react so delightfully when they find out we’re having a baby. How wonderful the world can be when you’re pregnant with a child you want and nothing has gone wrong so far and you read that it already wriggles around in response to your hand on your belly and all your tears are happy tears and outside the weather is glorious and everything you love about fall is on its way and feels like it was made especially for you.

 

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feminist film: “i don’t remember ever feeling this awake”

Said Thelma to Louise in a film that still stands as the seminal feminist big-screen journey. Because movies featuring or made by women still get far less investment than they should.

USC’s Media, Diversity, & Social Change Initiative released a study on more than 25,000 speaking characters in 600 of the highest-grossing films of the past seven years, and, unsurprisingly, the results for women are dismal. While women made some headway in comedies with a whopping third of characters, they  represented less than a quarter of action-adventure roles. The number of women directors dropped, and women characters were sexualized three times as often as men. (There are even financial reasons why this should be otherwise.)

Add to that, the vast number of movies that perpetuate gender norms and contribute to rape culture, and we’ve got a pretty sorry picture.

But there are films out there that challenge traditional ideas of women, give women voices and agency, and explore women’s experiences. We can argue all day about what definition to use to categorize a movie as feminist and you’ll be disappointed if you’re favorites were left off of this list, but I’m really digging Flavorwire’s “50 Essential Feminist Films” and am ashamed to say that I’ve only seen fourteen of them. Now you know what’s on my Netflix queue.

To give you an idea of what’s on the list, here’s what I’ve seen: Meshes of the Afternoon, All About My Mother, Daisies (a feminist, anti-capitalist frolic; you too will long to stomp around in cake at a wealthy shindig), Orlando (my introduction to the incomparable Tilda Swinton), Alien, Wendy and Lucy, Female Trouble, Morvern Callar, I Shot Andy Warhol, Ladies and Gentlemen the Fabulous Stains (a young, punk Diane Lane!), Nine to Five, Clueless (yes!), A View to a Kill (an unexpected pick, but Barbara Broccoli produced and Grace Jones kicked ass), and The Punk Singer (which I wrote about recently).

This is truly an excellent list: science fiction, transgender stories, female magistrates in Cameroon, women in Tehran, Cuban revolutionaries, Maggie Cheung, Catherine Deneuve, Pam Grier and bell hooks in the same film, Margarite Duras, Margarethe von Trotta, Jane Campion, Agnès Varda. Cassavetes, our best frenemy, makes an appearance. And Julie Dash’s Daughters of the Dust, which I’ve wanted to watch ever since I read about it in college.

There are also great suggestions in the comment section. So is your favorite missing? What else would you recommend?

As for the future of film, and feminist film especially, check out these fine organizations and projects: Black Feminist Film School, Athena Film Festival, Women in Film, Women Make Movies, Reel Grrls, PODER!, and, of course, from Thelma herself, the Geena Davis Institute on Gender in Media.

 


mumbai metalheads: anti-violence as a concept album

Take Back the Night march led by Concordia University in Montreal. Photo by Thien V.

Take Back the Night march led by Concordia University in Montreal. Photo by Thien V.

It was just last summer that Justin Timberlake released his song “Take Back the Night,” and we were like, oh, cool, a song supporting the Take Back the Night movement that’s been huge on college campuses and beyond since the early 70s!

Oops, no. Just a song about sex. Consensual, one hopes, but there are a few questionable lyrics, as it was the summer of rapey songs with catchy melodies.

JT said he’d never heard of the movement or organization until after the song came out, but he went on to approve of their work: “As I’ve learned more about The Take Back The Night Foundation, I’m moved by its efforts to stop violence against women, create safe communities and encourage respectful relationships for women — Something we all should rally around. It is my hope that this coincidence will bring more awareness to this cause.”

You know what would have been nice? More than a couple of sentences. Donating some of the proceeds. Partnering with them to make a serious statement against rape. Actually rallying around the cause.

We desperately need more men and boys working against sexual assault and other forms of violence against cis and trans women and girls. We need visible men like JT do visible work. We need men in music to encourage other men in music to write lyrics and make videos that condemn rather than condone violence against women.

Here’s a great example. One of India’s most revered metal bands, Sceptre, just came out with an album that focuses on the struggles of women in Indian society, including the problem of rape. The all-male band is celebrating their fifteenth anniversary with this concept album, Age of Calamityand donating all proceeds to an orphanage for girls in Mumbai. That is how you pay more than lip service to a cause.

Drummer Aniket Waghmode said, “After my daughter’s birth, I could actually foresee how difficult it will be for a girl to move around freely, given the situation we are in as a nation.” In fact, men often become more concerned about gender inequality when they have daughters. But loads of musicians are still doing the same misogynistic stuff they enjoyed before they had daughters. Do they not realize that someday their daughters will be the very women they are dehumanizing?

But asking men to think about their wives and daughters, asking boys to think about their mothers and sisters: this is part of the problem. It seems fine, but this idea keeps women and girls as Other, not male, second-class. It keeps men and boys focused on how gender inequality affects men and boys–how it pains them to see their loved ones go through this; how they go without because their mother is paid less than her male counterpart; how they feel like failures because they couldn’t protect their daughters from rape–rather than how gender inequality affects actual women and girls.

What’s better is to encourage men and boys to think about themselves as women and girls, to imagine what it might be like if they themselves had to endure sexual harassment and threats of rape every time they left the house. If they had to take precautions every time they went out at night.  This is empathy, and it reminds us that women and girls are humans with the same rights as men but very different experiences. With a little empathy, Take Back the Night goes from being a nice slogan “we should all rally around” to a much-anticipated reality we’re working toward.

Still, whatever Sceptre’s influence, they appear to be fully committed (though I’ve not analyzed their lyrics. Any discerning metalheads up for that?). I’d love to see more music flipping the script (score?) on gender and writing women as people with agency instead of mere objects. I’d love to see popular male musicians questioning sexist behavior that they always accepted as normal or harmless. Bystander intervention through music. I’m ready for that concept album.

For ideas on how men and boys can get involved in ending violence against women and girls, check out Men Can Stop Rape and White Ribbon.

 


who’s the perfect feminist?

I try to keep up with feminist discussions online, whether through articles, opinion pieces, blogs, or social media, though I am less inclined to follow Twitter debates. A few weeks ago, someone pointed me to Dare to Use the F-Word, a podcast from Barnard College. I listened to an episode that featured Debora Spar, Barnard College president and author of Wonder Women: Sex, Power, and the Quest for Perfection, and Jamia A. Wilson, feminist media activist, organizer, and storyteller, discussing young women and perfection.

Spar penned a follow-up on young women and feminism–some college women embrace it while others are reluctant or dismissive and fail to see that their opportunities are feminism’s legacy–and it got me thinking about feminism and perfection. Specifically, if today’s women are driven to perfection, how does this simultaneously motivating and debilitating concept affect their feminism? To answer this question, I’d like to look at digital interaction because I think gadgets make it easier for us to believe in perfection, fake perfection, and maybe even convince ourselves that our carefully curated avatars accurately reflect us.

The more time I spend online, the more frustrated I get with the tone of our conversations. By “our,” I don’t simply mean feminists. I mean everyone. Anyone exposed to US media for two minutes will witness the divisiveness that drives many stories. Even on very reputable and beloved sites, some of the pieces seem designed to trigger furious argument, perhaps for the sake of driving more people to the site. And then there are comment sections, which I inevitably read even though I know I shouldn’t. I go in looking for thoughtful dialogue, which can occasionally be found, but I usually come out feeling the urge to throw my laptop across the room and never touch it again.

I’ve come to believe that sitting behind a computer screen is akin to sitting behind the wheel of a car. We get road rage. We get far angrier at people when there is a physical divider. Someone cuts me off; I yell from the safety of my car, windows closed so they cannot even hear me, heart racing, desire for vengeance taking control. That’s pretty similar to how I feel when I read something online that pisses me off. In person, when someone is rude to me, I feel upset, hurt, angry, confused–a much wider range of emotions. I scan their face and body language for cues that they didn’t realize what they were doing, didn’t mean it, or feel remorse. If I have the guts to take action, I do so in a calm, rational way. If I don’t have the guts, I momentarily feel stupid for not doing anything and then I tell myself not to let it bother me. I think of the Dalai Lama and let it go. (Sometimes that actually works.)

Online we have knock-down, drag-out fights, and I’m not sure they’re very useful. When I participate in one, I don’t feel any better at the end. I think real dialogue, hard dialogue, is best achieved in person. And this is why I don’t really follow Twitter debates. I think it’s silly try to have a meaningful, life-changing exchange through a platform that only allows you so many characters at a time, though I do understand that it’s a place where anyone can have a voice, which is particularly important for people who have been marginalized. But we have this idea now that we have to convince using sound bites or minimalist infographics. Is this a response to our presumably shrinking attention spans, or is it the reason we think our attention cannot be held for very long?

So what does this have to do with feminism? I see feminists waging these battles against each other. I see feminist pieces that seem to be more about driving traffic than taking a thoughtful look at an issue. There’s a lot of misogynistic drivel out there. Why bother responding to all of it? If some sexist loser who is not viewed as an authority writes a blog post that irritates me, why would I waste my breath (or swollen typing fingers and carpal tunnel wrists) on him? There are a lot of mouth-breathers out there that we would do better to ignore. In fact, when we respond, we’re probably given them exactly what they want: the satisfaction of knowing they’ve gotten to us and loads of page hits.

But what does this have to do with perfection? In many of these battles, the outright point is to define what feminism should be. It’s one person or group saying to another: you aren’t feminist enough, you aren’t really a feminist, you aren’t the right kind of feminist, your feminism is not perfect like mine is. (Additionally, our cultural conversation about motherhood boils down to: who is the best mother?) And it is exhausting. I say this as someone who believes wholeheartedly in intersectional feminism; gender must be viewed through the the lenses of race/ethnicity, sexuality, ability, income, and other cultural categories that define our experiences. But if someone else’s feminism isn’t intersectional enough for me, I don’t see how it helps to lash out at them or make them feel like an idiot.

By saying this, I don’t want to undermine the concerns some women of color have about some white feminists; rather, I want to be sure that those concerns get somewhere. When I talk about teaching moments below, I do not believe that women of color have any sort of duty to teach white women about race and ethnicity. As a white woman, I have a duty to educate other white folks on these issues.

Rather than help this person see the error of their ways, an attack or backlash usually puts them in a defensive mode. We end up with some white feminists scrambling to prove that they aren’t racist, for example, when they (and I) should be rooting around their own lives for racism they’ve left unchecked. It also leads people to just leave the fray altogether. I can see that a lot of young woman would be reluctant to call themselves feminists  and become a part of this movement when we make it clear that if they aren’t perfect, they will be eaten alive or at least considered a failure. And with conflicting opinions about what makes a perfect feminist, what young woman could have confidence that she’s doing it right? Is Beyonce really a feminist? Is Miley Cyrus really a feminist? Is Lena Dunham really a feminist? Can a man be a feminist? Can a black woman identify as black first and woman second and still be a feminist? Can a trans woman be a feminist? Was it unfeminist of Tina Fey and Amy Poehler to criticize Taylor Swift? ZOMG, can they still be feminists?

If I were twenty, I’m not sure I’d be able to find room in there. Thankfully, I haven’t been twenty in a long time. Sometimes I want to stop worrying about every possible inequality and just watch TV, and even when Olivia Pope‘s badassery takes a back seat to her love for President Grant, I’m still digging every minute of Scandal and matching her red wine intake glass for glass (okay, not really because I have to actually get out of bed the next day). But I don’t worry about my feminist credentials even though there are feminists who dislike Scandal because of the love story. Sometimes I think and even say things that aren’t very feminist because I’ve lived my whole life in a patriarchal culture and those biases are deeply imbedded, but then I recognize them and do a little thinking about how that idea didn’t get exorcised before or how that phrase (e.g., “He’s all boy”) slid effortlessly from my mouth even though I don’t like what it means. 

What purpose do these online attacks serve but to tear down people who are doing good work, even if they sometimes make mistakes? I wish that instead of calling someone out, we’d look at the incident as a teaching moment. We’d share resources and connect them to people in their community who can work with them. I think we would get a lot further that way. Behind the relative safety of our laptops, we are all (not just feminists) quick to attack, but holding someone accountable does not have to include attacking and shaming.

Increasingly, the reaction I have to this divisiveness and bitterness and spectacle is to stop blogging, shut down my social media accounts, and read only print because I don’t want to contribute to that atmosphere. All I’m left with is negativity, and then I go about my day with discomfort, pessimism, and anger lodged in my chest.

Let me be clear: hate and co-opting should be called out. Rallying women around the feminist pole when you are making policy decisions like defunding Planned Parenthood is co-opting feminism for anti-woman purposes, which should absolutely be called out.

But if you believe in and work toward gender equality, but you’ve made mistakes or had moments where you didn’t fully understand your own privilege or had trouble shaking a patriarchal idea that was so normalized you didn’t realize there was an alternative, you don’t have to lay down your feminist burden and run away. Give a genuine apology and say you want to learn. Then be sure you do learn. It’s on the rest of us to be mature enough to accept your mistake as part of the learning process and support the changes you want to make. There is no perfect feminist. This is no excuse, however, to stop learning and striving.

Part of what youth is about is making mistakes and learning from them. If we demand perfection from our fellow feminists, we are pushing a lot of young people away before they have had the chance to make a difference. If we don’t believe in binary thinking, why do we view feminism in black and white? We know better. We know that, just like everything else, there are multiple forms of feminism. Why isn’t that okay? If we could drop this charade of perfection in every aspect of our lives (a more feminist venture, surely), we’d be a lot happier and we’d get more accomplished. We can have high expectations of each other, but disappointment is no excuse for abuse.

I think our devotion to image fuels the lie of perfection in all facets of life. I think it’s easy to pretend online that we’re perfect in some way because that’s precisely what we perform. We are always choosing what we reveal. I want there to be room for real dialogue in digital culture, but is that possible? Or are we just shouting at each other through closed windows? 


for further exploration: music, art, film, and creative solutions

The latest on Pussy Riot: Formerly imprisoned members Nadezhda Tolokonnikova and Maria Alyokhina are coming to New York to talk about political prisoners for an Amnesty International event. Despite Putin’s attempts to silence them, Tolokonnikova and Alekhina remain unwavering in their commitment to social change. Journalist Masha Gessen’s recently published book Words Will Break Cement: The Passion of Pussy Riot is at the top of my must-read list.

More riot grrrls: Dazed has an excellent A-Z guide to the women who stomped through the 90s, from Allison Wolfe to zines. Love it. (That’s an expression of my love and a demand for yours.)

Art I’m into right now: Lindsay Bottos offers a clever, artistic response to gendered online harassment. ONOMOllywood, an exhibition from photographers Antoine Tempé and Omar Victor Diop, features iconic film shots re-imagined in Dakar and Abidjan. (It’s sort of an ad campaign for a hotel chain.) The photographs Ibi Ibrahim will soon be showing in the Art14 London Art Fair are a sex-positive response to conservative Islam.

From 6 minutes to 24 hours: Tired of being expected to play a terrorist, Iranian-American actor Jemilah King made a short displaying Hollywood’s narrow view and her much broader abilities. If you’ve got more time, the Global Lives Project curates a collection of films that “faithfully capture 24 continuous hours in the life of individuals from around the world.” It’s a work in progress devoted to cultivating empathy, and there’s a two-week unit for educators to use.

Creativity in places you aren’t looking for it but should be: Women’s World Summit Foundation is seeking nominations for the 2014 Prize for Women’s Creativity in Rural Life, emphasizing sustainable development, household food security, and peace. 


reshaping online space, recognizing online women

Anita Sarkeesian, from Anita Sarkeesian

Anita Sarkeesian, from Anita Sarkeesian

Today’s Take Back the Tech! action is about reshaping public space online. We want to recognize that much of this space is created and managed by women and there are many women who work hard to make digital spaces more welcoming for women. To that end, we’re asking people to highlight an inspiring woman in the tech or online realm.

I’ve chosen Anita Sarkeesian, a media critic whose blog Feminist Frequency deconstructs tropes associated with women in pop culture. I love how accessible her work is. There’s so much high-concept feminist analysis out there that’s valuable, but I really appreciate feminists who address what people are consuming daily and do so in a way that anyone can understand. Sarkeesian writes about movies, television, music, comics, and video games, with topics ranging from damsels in distress to non-violent iPhone games.

Sarkeesian faced serious harassment when she launched a Kickstarter campaign to fund a Feminist Frequency video project. In addition to threats, insults and photoshopped images, someone created a video game that allowed players to beat her. But she was not deterred. She stood up for her right to exist and speak up in online spaces and is even more influential now. In fact, she ended up with nearly 7,000 Kickstarter backers and $158,917 to create her Tropes vs. Women web series.

Is there a woman in the tech/online world who inspires you? Spread the word. Mention her in the comments section and link to her work in your social media. Add or update her Wikipedia page (sorely needed since women are not equally represented on Wikipedia). Rewrite women into the digital story!

technoratitags:takebackthetech


for further exploration: los muxes, street harassment, and frieze

Jesusa by Nicola Ókin Frioli

Jesusa by Nicola Ókin Frioli

It’s that time where we take a look at a few things we should learn more about, so let’s have at it.

I am obsessed with this collection of photographs from Nicola Ókin Frioli. Los muxes, gay men in the Mexican town of Juchitán, are beloved by the community. Families consider them a blessing, a good luck charm. They drink, work, and legislate in traditional Oaxacan dress: flower-embroidered blouses, brightly colored skirts, and scarves wound through long hair. Yet another reason I should figure out how to retire to Oaxaca.

When the subject of street harassment comes up, people usually argue about how best to deal with it. I’ve tried ignoring it, yelling back, giving the finger, and looking straight at them to ask why they think it’s okay to talk to women that way. David Cross has a hilarious joke about what these men might be thinking when they holler at us, but what I really want to direct you to are two women’s artistic responses to street harassment. In City of Brotherly Love, Hannah Price photographed Philadelphia men just after they harassed her. She captures an interesting moment; some guys look uncomfortable with the lens on them, while others don’t seem to care. Likewise, Tatyana Fazlalizadeh captioned her drawings of women with the things she wanted to tell harassers and then hung the posters around Brooklyn. They sparked a community conversation as people scribbled their thoughts in the blank spots.

Finally, Frieze Week–with two major art fairs and countless gallery openings–just happened in London, and it highlighted more African artists than the city had ever seen. Included as a Frieze Master was feminist artist Nil Yalter. Yalter’s photographs, drawings, paintings, and installations typically focus on aspects of the lives of women and immigrants.