Feminism in process … still

My blog muse has been on leave lately. Vanished. Gone missing. And this despite the large pile on my desk marked “blog ideas.” For some reason, I just haven’t felt like writing about anything. Hence, the long (for me) drought in what should be springtime stream of blog entries. In the last few days, though, an idea has begun to germinate, something I need to think more about. It all has to do with the state of feminism these days—in the world and in me. The ah ha moment, the final nudge for me to write about it, came when I made a totally sexist assumption this morning. Here’s the backstory:

First, I’ve been thinking lately a fair amount about the impact of feminism on the world. I thought about it recently when I cruised past Target’s toy department en route to the doormats and was struck by the frank stereotyping—the colors, the toy selections, the virtual absence of any non-gendered toys. And then I thought about it as I read Sonia Sotomayor’s autobiography (more on that another time), which talks at length about her dual battle with racism and sexism and the historical shifts she’s seen in both. And I thought about it again when I read about Obama’s recent “slip” in describing California’s attorney general in terms of her appearance. On the flip side, I thought about it as I read recently about the growth of women’s opportunities in sports—for the first time ever, every country in the Olympics had a women’s team. And I thought about it as I read about Sotomayor’s joining two other women on the Supreme Court—up to three from zero in the '70s. And I think about it every time I see another story about Hillary Rodham Clinton.

Then, a second tweak came at a party we went to last weekend. This comes against the background of the not-uncommon complaint from old-time feminists that “young women these days” don’t appreciate all we did for them, don’t realize how well off they are compared to the barriers earlier generations faced. True, perhaps, but you could argue that this is good news. Feminists worked so hard precisely so that women wouldn’t have to worry about the barriers we faced. So at this party last weekend, this topic came up. The “young women don’t appreciate…” line was raised, and someone—an old-time feminist herself—pointed out how wonderful this is. It got me thinking about this other aspect of feminism—the who claims it, who benefits, who pays aspect.

A third piece came from a recent conversation with my partner. She’s been invited to speak on a panel on “Feminism Today,” and we were talking about that. As I’ve reflected more on that panel topic, I’ve started wondering, why now? What’s leading a major professional organization—not a women’s organization—to highlight “feminism today,” today? What does “feminism” mean to folks these days? What does “sexism” mean these days? How does the challenge to sexism mesh with, say, the push for same-sex marriage (remember the feminist critiques of marriage as an inherently sexist institution)? And how does it mesh with dismantling the gender binary—academic lingo for questioning what “male” and “female,” masculine” and “feminine” really mean anyway? How does it mesh with our barely emerging attention to transgender and intersex issues?

Then, the fourth piece: I’m giving myself the gift of a week off work to attend the Conference on World Affairs, where one of the sessions I plan to attend is called “The Women’s Movement Stalled.” What does that mean? Stalled how? And when? And in who’s mind? Who are these panelists and what will they say? Will they clarify or muddy these questions? Will they be old ‘70s feminists, “young women today” who don’t appreciate, both, neither? How do they know what happened (or what’s happening) to the women’s movement? And why don’t I?

And then, for the final piece, the real corker: not to be outdone by our President, I made a monumental slip myself this morning. A sexist assumption of monstrous proportions, enough to have me voted instantly off the feminist island. It was so regressive, so egregious that it would even get me voted off the ‘70s feminist island … never mind the contemporary island where folks are attuned to implicit attitudes, modern sexism, and subtle bias. Oh, no. This was flat-out blatant. Here’s what happened:

I am considering (actually, I’m pretty much planning on) going to a weeklong Smithsonian-sponsored old-fashioned-style Chautauqua “athenaeum” this summer. A week studying astronomy—I have to assume this is the layperson’s version of astronomy, or I’ll die—with an astrophysicist who is an astronomer at NASA’s Goddard Space Flight Center. How does this sound: “Immersed in the inquisitive nature of Chautauqua, you’ll learn how scientists are discovering new planets and considering the feasibility of other planets with life. Explore the Milky Way galaxy and discover how mysterious clouds of dust and gas are giving birth to thousands of stars.” I was so excited, I sent the link to my partner and said something bland like, “I really, really want to go to this!” She came into my study to learn more, and I started telling her about it—including about its being taught by this star astrophysicist. “He’s at Goddard,” I enthused, skimming the description in the text. “Wait,” she said, “Michelle Thaller ... Don’t you think that could be a woman?” Nailed.

I sort of love these moments because they remind me how much there still is to learn—always. They’re humbling, in a good way, because they remind me to be less critical of other folks’ slips. And they remind me how super well we all learned these lessons. Forty years of feminist consciousness-raising and countless lectures and talks on the evils of sexism haven’t erased it from this old head.

This little incident is a great example of the implicit attitudes I’ve mentioned before—but in those earlier posts, I was grousing about people’s implicit attitudes toward me as an old women. This time the shoe is on the other foot: I’m the one revealing my implicit assumptions. Surely, my well-learned stereotypes told me, a great Smithsonian-selected, Chautauqua-sponsored, NASA-employed astrophysicist is a man. The worst part is that it wasn’t even a question I asked … because I knew. I knew so deeply that I read right past her name. “Michelle,” I mumbled to my partner, “could be a man’s name.” Right.

So, I ask myself, is feminism dead? Well, I hope not, because the work sure isn’t done yet. And I don’t just mean the “Lean In” work to help women get a larger share of the power pie. I don’t even mean work against the lingering biases that continue to limit girls and women and hem in boys and men—although I know those need work, too. I mean the homework, the inside work. My own work.

And aren’t I lucky: this morning, I got a private tutorial in sexism 101. Next week, wisdom from the Conference on World Affairs. In June, the Goddard astrophysicist. And who knows what lies beyond. My lessons stretch out before me.