The space between The Dream and the dread

What a complicated, paradoxical week lies ahead, bracketed by two weirdly incongruous events, leading next weekend to a celebration of resistance and hope by hundreds of thousands of women (and some men) in locations all across the nation and beyond—a global event that includes around 400 marches in 40 countries at last count.  

The opening bracket is Monday’s national holiday honoring Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr., the Civil Rights icon who is regarded as such a moral leader (despite certain moral lapses) that his image, name, and rhetoric have been appropriated by all manner of groups and causes. And the closing one comes on Friday, when the 45^th president of the United States will be inaugurated, a man who is regarded by many as a rescuer from the swamp, but by few as a moral leader. The contrast was highlighted over the weekend, of course, when the president-elect verbally bashed another Civil Rights activist, Rep. John Lewis, accusing him of “all talk, no action”—as if the scar on Lewis’ head came from couch surfing. It’s telling that Lewis wasn’t baited into a response. That, I suggest, is moral clarity.

Not the person who will be inaugurated this week

This morning, Monday, I heard my partner singing: “Ain’t gonna let nobody turn me around … I’m gonna keep on walkin’, keep on talkin’…,” words from a traditional protest song, “Ain’t Gonna Let Nobody Turn Me Around.” I’ve sung it at a lot of events and actions, but this morning, it had an especially poignant feel because I’m feeling so disoriented by the contrast between Monday and Friday. I celebrated King’s work today—and, as important, his iconic moral stature— at a rally and march, as I would if we weren’t in such a mess. Standing in the cold before we took off on our route through downtown Boulder, we sang that very song.

It felt particularly good to be in a crowd singing protest songs. But it felt different from usual, as I looked down the week to Friday. On the one hand, these songs are perfect for this week, this off-kilter time—songs of resilience, the commitment to ‘keep on walkin’, keep on talkin’. But, damn! I hate that they feel so right precisely because of what will transpire at week’s end.

Still, I remind myself that there’s light at the end of the week-long tunnel: the Women’s March(es) on Saturday, designed to put the new president on notice on Day 1. This may be the ray of hope that unites Monday to Friday.

Not long ago, a New York Times column by Susan Chira worried about the costs to feminism of Hillary Clinton’s loss:

This was supposed to be the year of triumph for American women. … Instead, for those at the forefront of the women’s movement, there is despair, division and defiance. Hillary Clinton’s loss was feminism’s, too. … A man whose behavior toward women is a throwback to pre-feminist days is now setting the tone for the country. … Many who care about the place of women in American society are gripped by fears that men will now feel they have a free pass to demean women at home or in the workplace, that women’s health, economic security and reproductive rights will be dealt severe blows.

In what seems like a psychologically apt image, she described the Women’s March(es) as “an apt metaphor for the moment: movement as primal scream.”

The core point of Chira’s column, as I read it, is that feminism is at an existential turning point. It clearly isn’t, and can’t be, what it was in the 1970s. Since then, we’ve had decades of growing awareness of the complex intersectionality beneath the term “women.” There’s no going back from those painfully-learned insights. But we have little idea what tomorrow’s feminism (or whatever we’ll call it) might become—or, perhaps more to the point, we have countless ideas (for discussions of this question, read this and this). The question is how, and whether, these ideas will come together.

So tonight I’m thinking, this situation is just a microcosm of the the working edge of the movement: the marches offer an opportunity to stitch together the two sides of this strange seam in history. The task is simply to simultaneously resist the backward turn to the (distorted) view of the nation as a monolithic utopia before diversity and globalism made it so dang complicated—i.e., resist Friday—and embrace King’s “Dream” of what this nation (and the “women’s movement”) can become when we welcome both of these realities in our vision—i.e., embrace Monday.

No small task, but what better venue for beginning it than in the midst of thousands of fired-up women, many of us wearing defiant pink “pussy hats”? 

© Janis Bohan, 2010-2017. Use of this content is welcome with attribution and a link to the post. 

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The flap over Caitlyn

In the past several days since Caitlyn Jenner was featured on the cover and in the pages of Vanity Fair magazine, I’ve read several articles that have claimed a feminist stance in critiquing her “coming out / coming in” process. These pieces are thought provoking, for sure. And they raise points that are core to feminism, past and present, as I understand it (granting that there are as many forms of feminism as there are people claiming the name). On the other hand, they also raise points that are at the very heart of what it means to “transition” from a male to a female identity—or, as some would describe it, to affirm one’s lifelong identity as woman. And also at the heart of what it means to take a trans-positive stance vis-à-vis questions of gender identity and gender expression (i.e., who one is as male or female, and how people choose to present themselves).

This has been a hard blog to write (and its length reflects that difficulty). I’ve hesitated to wade into this morass, both because whatever I say is bound to tick off a few people (and I prefer to make conversation, not war) and because I have no better perspective on the controversy than a lot of other folks who have already weighed in. But a couple of folks have suggested that I write about it. And part of me has been hankering to do just that because it taps into this amazing chaos created by the intersection of gender (complicated enough in its own right) and feminism (ditto). I’ve spent a lot of time with these issues over the years, and the topic has huge meaning for me—hence, this blog.

Fair warning: I don’t have answers, only musings. The key to grappling with these issues and their occasional conflicts, it seems to me, is to settle into living with uncertainty and ambiguity. So be prepared. Here goes.

Part 1. The main feature.

Caitlyn Jenner’s self-presentation in Vanity Fair was, on many levels, stunning. What an extraordinary journey she has had, and what a remarkable moment this was in the burgeoning transgender movement! Besides, no one knew quite what to expect as Bruce bowed out and Caitlyn strode in, and her entry was dramatic. Much of the reaction to the photo spread dealt with how striking her appearance was—made up and gowned, and from what I’ve read (because I haven’t seen the whole issue), photographed in luxurious settings and lovely poses. Initial responses spoke to her beauty and her courage, and social media were all atwitter (so to speak) with the story of another important person publicly claiming a trans identity, adding to the recent swell of such folks.

Part 2. The flap: some “feminist” critiques.

Within a day or two, the critiques began. Among them were pieces challenging the massive praise for Ms. Jenner, her choice of the means by which she would come out, and her description of what it means to be a trans woman. Some of these articles / columns / blogs were largely anti-trans commentaries, and I won’t be commenting on those. Among the others were several whose writers described their stance as “feminist”—a vague enough claim to cover a lot of intellectual territory. These seemed to encompass two major arguments, and I’ll start by describing those, far too briefly. Stick with me for this. You may or may not agree with these points, but I’ll come back for a second look from a more trans-affirmative perspective—with which you also might or might not agree. And then another round attempting to wrap it all up.

The first critique is based on the feminist notion that women have routinely been valued only for their appearance and that they are expected—indeed, carefully and steadily taught—to be attractive rather than active. The argument is that Caitlyn Jenner’s version of becoming a woman reinforces these narrow stereotypes through a photographic essay that presents her as ultra-“feminine,” posed, busty, made up, and air-brushed. This critique was clearly stated in a New York Times column by Rhonda Garelick. The column is titled “The Price of Caitlyn Jenner’s Heroism”—already hinting at the problem—and the third paragraph summarizes her key point: “Caitlyn Jenner’s transition is more than a private matter. It is a commercial spectacle on an enormous scale, revealing some disturbing truths about what we value and admire in women.” Garelick goes on to describe Jenner’s clothing, her hair, her makeup, and her poses as classic expressions of a view of women that values them only insofar as they are beautiful, passive, and on display. She continues: “This seems less the liberation of a true self than a reminder of the straitjacket requirements of acceptable, desirable womanhood.” The closing paragraph underscores the point. Garelick writes, “While the fanfare around the emergence of Caitlyn may advance our acceptance of transgender individuals, it does so, in this case, at a price: the perpetuation, even celebration, of narrow and dehumanizing strictures of womanhood sustained by the fashion and entertainment industries. True liberation of gender’s vast spectrum should ask more of us than that we simply exchange one uncomfortable, oppressive identity for another.”

The second argument is based on the feminist notion that one’s identity as a woman is shaped not by biology, as Jenner has suggested in references to her “female brain,” but by gender-related experiences that begin in the cradle (or before) and end in the grave. The crucial point here is that gender is made, not born. It is not a matter of innate “tendencies” or “brain differences,” but a product of years and years of living within the constraints set for women by society. Thus, the experience of someone who transitions to womanhood in adulthood simply is not, cannot be the same as the experience of being a woman for life.

This position was at the heart of another NYT column by Elinor Burkett titled “What Makes a Woman?” Aghast at the brain argument, Burkett writes, “Suddenly, I find that many of the people I think of as being on my side—people who proudly call themselves progressive and fervently support the human need for self-determination—are buying into the notion that minor differences in male and female brains lead to major forks in the road and that some sort of gendered destiny is encoded in us. [That sort of argument] was used to repress women for centuries. But the desire to support people like Ms. Jenner and their journey toward their truest selves has strangely and unwittingly brought it back.”

To counter this misconstrual, in her view, of what shapes women’s identity, Burkett cites a neuroscientist who explains that the differences between male and female brains are caused not by innate differences but by the “drip, drip, drip” of experience, of the gendered environment. At least from an outside perspective, the drip, drip, drip of Bruce Jenner’s earlier life included decades of the sort of privileged experience that comes to men without their noticing. So however Caitlyn dresses and moves and speaks, whatever roles she assumes, she will never know what it means to have been a girl/woman from birth, to have lived in that one-down position for all those decades. (Burkett disregards the fact that men are also harmed by sexism, but that’s another blog.) In fact, Burkett suggests that trans women’s insistence on being regarded as “real” women threatens the very meaning of “woman.” (This aspect of Burkett’s column has itself received a fair amount of commentary—like this Huffington Post article).

Some of what fuels the position that Burkett represents—with its obvious edge of outrage—is the sense that a challenge to gender binaries was the explicit aim of the feminist movement decades ago, long before trans issues had received notable visibility. That early feminist work, she argues, is why we now see so much less gender discrimination than we saw back then, when the feminist movement was the only gender-binary-smashing game in town. We should be together in this, feminists and the trans movement, she seems to say. But instead, trans activists have missed the boat, retreated to the biological determinism, and abandoned the position that previously brought such dramatic (if still incomplete) change.

Part 3. Some trans-positive responses

OK, those are the two prominent feminist positions I spotted. Now, let me suggest another, more trans-positive perspective. First, let me acknowledge that, not having experienced a disjunction between my physical self (or my assigned gender) and my gender identity, I can speak only from things I’ve read and conversations I’ve had with trans folks. With that fiat, my hope is to present a counterpoint to Garelick’s and Burkett’s arguments from the position of an ally to trans folks and a lesbian who has shared some similar experiences of prejudice, discrimination, and opportunity deriving from non-mainstream identity.

First, let’s consider Caitlyn Jenner’s hyper-feminine (in the traditional sense) self-presentation. I have two thoughts. First, whose business is it how she dresses, uses make up, presents herself in her behavior, poses, mannerisms? Plenty of women who aren’t trans identified are extremely focused on appearing “feminine,” spending fortunes and hours (to paraphrase T. S. Elliott) preparing a face to meet the faces that they meet. The (other) Kardashians come to mind. Now, we may not prefer their choices, might even think them problematic. But other folks might think the same of our manner of self-presentation, and whose business is that?

Second, and on a very different plane, despite the critics' insistence that the Vanity Fair piece portrays a woman preoccupied with abiding by the limiting rules for women’s appearance and behavior, it seems obvious that Jenner's choice to transition was indeed a very self-defining and self-affirming act. It was far from passive. Her choice of physical accoutrements—clothing, hair, make up, mannerisms—could be seen as defiant rather than submissive. This presentation is the epitome of the self-presentation that was denied her when she was living as Bruce. She claims her gender identity with an exclamation point, affirmatively and unapologetically.

As for the challenge to Jenner’s biological claims, we simply don’t know enough about the brain to claim either that trans people’s brains, women’s brains, or men’s brains are unique in some way or that they are not. Personally, I resist a purely biological explanation for virtually any complex experience, but we simply can’t answer this question at this point. Besides, why does it matter?

To the argument that Jenner (and other trans women) fail to recognize the experiences of oppression they’ve escaped by virtue of their late entry into their identity as women, I have two reactions. First, trans women (and other trans people) have, in fact, experienced their own version of oppression, suppression, repression over the years of coming to this point in their lives. And I’m guessing they weren’t immune to sexism. Their awareness of themselves as women could easily have made them acutely sensitive to the sexism they witnessed, knowing it could be directed at them. The bias they’ve faced isn’t the same as the version of oppression that girls and women experience, but who’s to say that it’s less painful—or less valuable. It’s true that trans women have not lived their entire lives as the direct objects of explicit and implicit sexism—indeed, they may have enjoyed male privilege for some part of their lives. And it’s true that they therefore reach adult womanhood with a different perspective on life. So what? Those of us who grew up as women, dealing with sexism for decades, also reached adulthood with unique perspectives. While we can argue that the shared experience of lifelong sexism creates a bond among non-trans women, it needn’t drive a wedge between us and trans women. On the contrary, it could sensitize us all to the consequences of oppression of any sort.

Second, what are we doing here, deciding who is a “real” woman? What are the criteria? Will there by tests? What sort of self-presentation will legitimize my identity as a woman? How long must I have lived as a female for it to “count”? If I’ve been targeted by severe sexism for a while, does that make up for my earlier years? Or is it all about being female at birth? If so, how will we respond to people with intersex conditions? Who among them will count as women? If the feminist movement has taught us anything it’s the danger and the cost of shoving people into narrow identity categories. Do we really want to start our own round of that sort of treatment of others?

Part 4: Is there a “right” answer?

By now, you (like I) may be sufficiently flummoxed by these arguments and counter arguments to be wondering what the “right” answer is. I don’t know. But I’ll share a few of my personal thoughts about it.

First, the matter of Jenner’s (and perhaps other trans people’s) buying into, even exaggerating long-standing gender stereotypes. I think both sides have a point here, and I suspect their intersection offers a deeper message for us. To be honest, the question of whether trans folks might reinforce gender stereotypes (or, if you’re into such debates, may reinforce the gender binary itself) has been a matter of some concern to me. I cut my feminist teeth on the notion that “feminine” was too close to “oppressed” for comfort. Back in the day, shaking off rigid expectations around dress, make up, behaviors, occupational choices, etc. was the heady heart of feminism. We especially worried, as Garelick does, that the traditional image of women, found in the media and in our lives, would unduly influence young girls, presenting as “ideal” a very constricted view of who/how they could be as women. It should not come as big news that this constricted image has not disappeared. Just visit the toy section of your local department store to see the range of choices girls now have: which pink-garbed “princess” doll would you like? I realize that the “pay-off” of this particular form of self-presentation is huge, so the odds are stacked in favor of girls’ opting for an image similar to the one we see in Jenner’s Vanity Fair article. But to lay that at her feet—or the feet of trans women in general, a tiny fraction of women who present themselves in this way—is to ignore the multitude of other images of this ilk that we encounter every day. If the portrayal of women we see in this magazine is something that we need to work on, then let’s work on that instead of criticizing Caitlyn Jenner’s invocation of that widely displayed image.

This leaves two items: the question of whether trans women can rightfully claim identity as “real” women—presumably thereby threatening the integrity of “woman” as an identity category—and frustration at the apparent disregard for early feminist work that challenged binary gender categories decades ago. On a personal level, I admit to having had reactions similar to the authors' in both of these areas over the years. With respect to the first point, my issue was not whether trans women “counted” as women, but whether women who identified as lesbian by choice counted as “real” lesbians. It was only when I began to think of identity not as an essential, predetermined quality but as a product of life experiences, cultural understandings, and lots of contextual factors that I got over it. My conclusion: your claim to a “lesbian” identity is defined by your experience, not mine. I feel the same way about trans women’s identity as women.

And with respect to the second point, I’ve also had moments of distress at a sense that the trans movement doesn’t recognize the legacy of 1970s feminism, which was grounded in precisely the notion that binary gender categories were stultifying and should be challenged at every turn. I have similar moments when I hear young feminists talk about sexism as if it were just discovered. Don’t they know we already figured that out? Don’t they realize how far we’ve come as a result of our work way back then? But some years ago, someone suggested to me that it would make more sense to celebrate the fact that these ideas persist as important cultural themes. Sure it would be nice if we were finished with sexism—and racism, heterosexism, cisgenderism, classism, ageism, ableism, and the rest. But the crucial thing is that we’re still having these conversations, or else none of it could possibly change. I feel the same way about the challenges to gender brought by the trans movement. Sure, I’d like them to acknowledge how 1970s feminism—and later, the LGB movement—helped pave the way for their work. But in my less selfish moments, I’m just glad that we’re still moving, now with them. 

Part 5: The bottom line

IMHO, both the praise for and the critiques of Caitlyn Jenner’s process bear bits of insight and bits of myopia. Both seem right to me, and both seem wrong. Which actually makes total sense. Especially in the middle of such a major cultural shift, how could we not be uncertain and ambivalent.

The trans movement brings us an opportunity—even a responsibility—to examine long-held beliefs about the nature of gender. This is no small undertaking, given that as a culture, we feel so certain that gender is dichotomous and fixed. But the openings for challenging this view abound. In our midst are young folks who defy this notion—youth who identify as queer or as gender queer, those who reject all identity categories as too confining. Sure, some of this is the nature of youth—but that doesn’t make the challenge to our thinking any less valuable. Looking beyond our own society, cross-cultural research has long pointed to the potential for a much more nuanced understanding of gender, and we can surely learn from this work. Our dichotomous view really isn’t the only “reality” out there. Just think of the expansive space we could clear for individual expression if we could let go of our expectations about what “gender” should mean. If we could realize what Garelick called the “true liberation of gender’s vast spectrum.”

And this brings me back to feminism, which also needs some attention. Recent events—well before the Caitlyn Jenner story—have highlighted a simmering conflict between certain feminist groups and trans women. I’m thinking of stories about the end of the Michigan Women’s Music Festival, an old-time feminist celebration that has long wrestled with this issue, and stories about women’s colleges and their deliberations over whether to admit trans women, among others. Perhaps paradoxically, as Burkett herself pointed out, feminism long ago rejected the rigid expectations for women and men based on biological sex. It’s not hard to spot the connection between that early feminist insistence that one’s biological being not define one’s life experience and trans people’s commitment to living a (gendered) life that feels authentic to them. It’s precisely this connection that led some of us years ago to argue that the strongest ally of the trans movement should be the feminist movement, and vice versa.

There’s work ahead for those of us who care about these issues. It’s always easier to slip back into the comfort of the known, but somehow, I don’t think this thriving movement is going to let that happen.

Hang on, folks. We’re not finished with this conversation. Not by long shot.

© Janis Bohan, 2010-2015. Use of this content is welcome with attribution and a link to the post. 

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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.

Ruth Bader Ginsburg: (sort of) up close and (surprisingly) personal

There she sat, tiny, even frail looking, pale, her graying hair pulled back in a tight bun. And wearing lace gloves? (It turns out she wears them often.) I watched her walk in, stooped, moving slowly. I half expected a small voice to match her stature. But when Ruth Bader Ginsburg speaks, you know instantly that you are in the presence of a powerful personality and a brilliant mind. And there I was, in the first row behind the reserved seats (thanks to the gift of retirement: time to wait in the sun to ensure a place near the front of the line) in a room filled to overflowing.

The view from the cheap seats

For those who missed this great moment … Ruth Bader Ginsburg, Associate Justice of the US Supreme Court, was at CU yesterday. She had requested a “fireside chat” instead of doing a lecture, and her interviewer (the law school dean) was skilled enough to pretty much stay out of her way. Just being in her presence felt like touching history. This is a woman to whom we owe uncounted steps in the movement for equal rights—especially for women, but also for others. The second woman on the US Supreme Court, and now the grandmamma of a trio of women on the Court. Asked how many would be “enough,” she smiled, “nine.”

Ruth Bader Ginsburg ... small only in stature

There’s so much to say … you’ll have to trust me that this is the edited version, long though it may be.

Listening to Ginsburg was both educational and inspirational. She told great stories, beginning with tales of her own career and the place of women in the law. When she first entered Harvard Law School in the 1950s, her class of 500 included nine women. Of course they were under great pressure. They all felt as if their performance reflected not only on their own abilities, but on all women. (Later, in the 1970s when there were more women in law, a faculty friend told her that he had liked those “good old days” better. If the class dragged, he could always call on a woman, certain that she would be extremely well prepared … she had to be! Now, he said, there are so many women, they are as likely to be ill prepared as the men!) At the time when she graduated, many firms explicitly refused to hire women. Ginsburg got her first job only because her mentor threatened to never send another student if the prospective employer failed to give her a chance.

Asked about women on the Supreme Court, Ginsburg talked about a stunningly short trajectory. Sandra Day O’Conner was appointed in 1982 as the first woman on the Court (over 200 years after the nation’s founding). She was the lone woman for over a decade until Ginsburg joined her in 1993. Knowing that folks would be confused because the Court had only ever had one woman, friends gave them both t-shirts. Ginsburg’s said “I'm Ruth, not Sandra” and O’Conner’s said, “I'm Sandra, not Ruth.” Ginsburg was still being addressed by some attorneys as “Justice O’Conner” many years later.

When O’Conner retired, Ginsburg was the sole woman. Asked how this felt, she said “lonely.” But more important, she said, was that it gave the wrong message: one small woman and eight large men. It made her seem out of place, like she didn’t belong. That has improved greatly with the recent addition of two more women. Because of her seniority, Ginsburg sits near the center of the bench, and the two junior women sit at either end. Now, she said, it looks like women belong there. Now the message says, of course the Court includes both women and men.

The dean’s questions elicited some great personal stories, too. (I confess to loving these stories … but I also found myself wondering whether he would ask a male Supreme Court justice about his wife and kids.) Ginsburg talked about her very supportive husband, Marty, who did all the cooking because, she said, she’s a terrible cook. “And owing to a lack of interest,” Marty is reported to have commented, “she is unlikely to improve.” So he became a stellar chef—in fact, the Court’s bookstore carries a volume of his recipes. And then there was the time when she insisted that her son’s school alternate which parent they called when her “lively” child acted up. As instructed, they called Marty one day, and he dutifully reported to the principal’s office. When he asked what the boy had done, they told him, “He stole the elevator.” “Well,” replied Marty, “how far could he take it?” Disarmed by his sense of humor (or perhaps hesitant to risk another visit by dad), they never called again.

Talking law (this was, after all, a law school event), she recounted a litany of cases in great detail, rattling off names of parties and precedents as if any normal human could follow her (probably some folks could; personally, I just sat in awe). She especially focused on cases related to women’s rights and gender parity, a specialty of hers. (BTW, she began to use the word “gender” instead of “sex” some time ago, when a secretary pointed out that “sex” seemed to jump off the page when it came up so often. “Gender,” this secretary suggested, would be less likely to get folks all riled up.)

As she talked about the evolution of civil rights law, Ginsburg mentioned a striking fact that I don’t believe I ever knew: Nowhere in the US Constitution or the Bill of Rights—i.e., the “founding documents”—is the word “equal” ever mentioned. “Why?” Ginsburg asked rhetorically. “Because of the odious practice of slavery.” Only after the Civil War ended was it possible to amend the constitution to guarantee equal protection under the law for all people (Amendment 14). And thus began the long struggle for equality, to which Ginsburg has made enormous contributions. During discussion of this topic, a high school student asked about the future of LGBT rights. Smiling, she said she couldn’t answer because the challenge to the federal Defense of Marriage Act is likely to come before the Court this coming session. Her casual announcement that the court is likely to hear this case this year was newsworthy to many folks—enough so that it was reported by Slate (who got it from AP).

Ginsburg’s reputation on the Court is well known: she is the most predictable member of the “liberal” segment of the Court—not surprising, given her long association with the ACLU and with human rights causes. But she resists that sort of easy classification. The US Supreme Court, she asserts, is the most remarkable institution on earth. For it to work, it is absolutely essential that its members be thoughtful in their deliberations, respectful of one another, and always collegial, despite their differences in opinion and judgment. Otherwise, this incredible institution would crumble.

As evidence of her allegiance to this position, she sprinkles her comments with casual references to other members of the court, folks you’d think she’s keep at a distance. Word is that she regularly plays cards with Justice Scalia, who is to the “conservative” side of the court what Ginsburg is to the “liberal” side. And she is quick to point out that despite appearances to the contrary, the justices actually agree on most cases. We, the everyday public, only see the high-profile cases, she says, those that are politically loaded. But behind all those cases are many, many more where the Court is called upon to issue opinions in less contentious domains. On these, they are often in agreement. Ginsburg’s illustration: The two people which whom she most often disagrees are Justice Scalia and Justice Thomas (no surprise there!). In the session that ended this past spring, she agreed with each of them more than 60% of the time.

Probably my favorite comments came toward the end (I know what you’re thinking: you mean there’s more?), as Ginsburg shared some thoughts about truly weighty matters. A question from the audience invited her to comment on what she sees as the most important legal challenge facing the nation in the near future. Her answer was quick and began with a simple statement, which I’ll paraphrase: Balancing personal freedom with the need for security. She paused (her manner of speaking includes a lot of pauses, typically followed by pithy elaboration on whatever she just said). Of course, she said, security is very important in a world now threatened by terrorism. But we must be careful, because personal freedoms can easily be sacrificed in the search for safety. Here, she cited a narrow miss in the contest between security and rights: the Court’s unanimous ruling that the laws of the US do apply in Guantanamo Bay. But, she reminded the assembled (and hopefully attentive) masses, other rights and liberties remain at risk. This is the greatest legal challenge in the near future of the nation!

The final question was predictable, coming as it did from the dean of the law school: What is the most important thing that the law school should be teaching its students today? I loved Ginsburg's answer: It’s not all about making a buck. When you become an attorney, you have a license and you have valuable skills. But you also have an obligation to use those to serve others. If your goal in practicing law is simply to make money, then you are not behaving in a professional manner.

ACLU, civil rights, women’s rights, human rights advocate to the core: The most important thing for attorneys to know is that they are obligated to use their skills to serve others. 

I love it.

Thoughts from the think tank

Over the past few weeks, I’ve found myself immersed in a virtual progressive think tank. Well, not exactly. In a think tank, you’re supposed to contribute something novel to the tank. Mostly, I’ve just been soaking up other people’s ideas and letting them swirl around in my brain. I guess that makes me a think tank lurker. This may seem like a bit of a rant. But there you have it: my lurking mind in overdrive.

Most recently, I spent several days at the national conference of the Society for the Study of Social Problems, which, happily, met in Denver this year. My partner and I refer this group as “the radical sociologists.” My kind of people! I attended a bunch of sessions that renewed my hope that progressivism lives on in up-and-coming scholars and that academics can also be activists (and be proud of it … at least in this circle of like-minded academics). Among other topics, I dipped into discussions of the meaning of the concept of “social problems,” the subtle meanings conveyed by chat room conversations among butch- and femme-identified queer folks, the meaning of community recovery following a deadly mudslide in the Philippines, and changing meanings of “acceptance” of LGBTQ folks in religious settings (the last was our own work, presented by a couple of students we’ve been working with). A meaning-full several days, for sure.

The conference found me already in a reflective mood about things sociological, since I had spent considerable time over recent weeks hanging out with such topics here in Boulder. The focus of this year’s “One Book, One Boulder” program is Chief Niwot, also known as Chief Left Hand. The book, Chief Left Hand, is a biography of this Arapaho peace chief and the story of white people’s theft of Indian land in Colorado. In recent weeks, I attended two events in the “One Book, One Boulder” program series, and also visited the Boulder History Museum’s exhibit on the same topic. My first foray into this program a few weeks ago was the multi-media performance, “Rocks, Karma, Arrows.” I left that performance slightly stunned. I’ve known about how badly white “settlers” (a.k.a., invaders) treated the Indians living on the continent as we claimed (a.k.a., stole) more and more land and resources. But the explicit deception and cruelty of that period of history was sort of pinned to a bulletin board in my brain. During this performance, it was pulled down and examined in detail and with an immediacy I’ve rarely experienced.

Then, with that performance as a backdrop, I saw two segments of the film “Race: The Power of an Illusion.” This movie details how “race” became an identity category, which it hadn’t been one before we invented it (“constructed it,” as the scholars say). And then, how the stereotypes and degradations visited on non-white people were systematically shifted from one group to another as we (white folks) decided we wanted the land, the cheap labor, and/or the resources of yet another group. First, we wanted free labor from African slaves, so we created, step by step, a story that made them not just different in skin color but also deficient in mental and moral status. Using the wonders of newly emerging science, we even created (and I do mean created) biological proof of their inferiority. Then, the very same arguments were used to prove that other groups—Indians and women, Eastern European, Italian, Chinese, and Japanese immigrants, among others—were inferior. Funny … these arguments were pulled out just when each of these groups had something whites wanted or risked taking something only white men had.

Maybe the most powerful point in this movie for me was this suggestion: White people could have just acknowledged that we wanted free labor from African slaves and their descendants (or land from the Indians and cheap labor from other groups) and that we had the power to demand it. But we had this problem: the Declaration of Independence says, “all men are created equal.” Now, obviously, this excludes women (one of the battles of the 20^th century), but it should include all these non-white men. So, the trick was to justify their unequal treatment. To do that, we created a story about these groups, one that made them less than fully human. That way, they were not really included in “all men,” so we weren't required to treat them as equals.

It’s an amazing paradox. If we didn’t have this wonderful doctrine, "... all men are created equal," we wouldn’t have had to invent these stories of inferiority to cover up our sins against the founding documents. 

But given our supposed allegiance to this doctrine, we had to somehow paper over two conflicting realities: (1) we believe in equality and (2) our actions are rife with inequality. We pulled this off by simply declaring some people less than fully human.

     

And now, we live with the awful legacy of that process: even when the overt racism/sexism/classism waned (e.g., after slaves were freed, when the Indians were granted sovereignty in their “own” lands, when women got the vote, when labor unions gained equal treatment), those old stories about sub-humanity remained. We could free the slaves, but we still “knew” that they were inherently inferior to white people. We could give women the vote, but we still “knew” that they were inferior to men. The task we’re left with now is to figure out how to erase those old stories when the culture is steeped in them, and we’ve all taken them in with the air we breathe since childhood.

After all this, a visit to the Chief Left Hand exhibit at the Boulder History Museum closed the circle. It reminded me of the deep Colorado connection to this story of race. The the ease with which we've denied the humanity of whole groups of humans—and of their leaders, even those who, like Left Hand, craved, worked for, pleaded for peace. We’re walking on the land we stole from them as if it were our own.

This immersion in the reminder that racism isn’t “long ago and far away” but right here, in my town, in my time—in my self—was unsettling. But it was also energizing, a reminder of my own work yet to be done. Folks who live near Boulder still have a chance to join in this remarkable learning process. The museum exhibit is still open, the book is still available, and more “One Boulder” events are coming up.

Check them out here and jump on in. This think tank can always use more folks who believe in community activism—or simply in personal growth. 

"Girl" talk revisited

I’ve been thinking lately about the language used to refer to women, including young women (which used to include me) and old women (among whom I now number myself). Of course, there’s a back story to this train of thought ...

Sometimes I'm sort of stunned by how much the women’s movement of the 1960s and 70s actually succeeded in changing the world. Think about how many more women have visible positions  in the world now compared with 40 or 50 years ago. Think about how girls these days can actually envision having a career—not a job on the side until they get a “Mrs.” degree, but an occupation that they choose and cherish. Think about the opportunities for girls and women in sports compared to 50 years ago when women’s intercollegiate sports (for instance) were unheard of. And think about how many men are actually involved in their children’s lives now—the flip side of feminism: it freed men, too.

Still, over time, we also lost some gains that I believe were really important. Remember gender-free toys? Remember the idea that giving girls only dolls and boys only guns taught children what their roles “should” be—and shaped the world in the process. For a few brief, glorious years, “Free To Be You and Me” was the law of the land. Stores weren't separated into pink and blue sections. You could actually get toys that weren't designated as being for boys or for girls. That’s gone. If you haven’t noticed this, check out the toy department in any mainstream store.

Also lost, I fear, at least in some quarters, is our early progress in getting folks to think of adult females as women instead of as girls. To call us “girls” is infantilizing and demeaning, we argued. It trivializes women and their lives. It precludes any sort of genuine equality, we pointed out, because equality is impossible when one person is regarded as a child (girl) and the other as an adult (man). We invoked parallels: who would consider calling an adult male a “boy” (except in the most egregious of racial slurs)? 

The point was so important! The trivialization of women in language reflected—and it also reinforced—the trivialization of women in the world. About this, we were certain. And plenty of research backed us up.

Persuading folks—women and men—that this was a problem was no easy task. But for a while, it seemed like we had won our point. By the 1980s and 90s, people with any sort of consciousness were careful to say “women.” Pretty soon, organizations, agencies, business, clubs, commercial enterprises, even the media conscientiously used “women” to refer to females over about 18 and “girls” to refer only to small children. (Adolescents were always tricky. Are they still “girls,” or are they “young women”? I always preferred the latter.)

That victory was 30 years ago or so. So I find myself distraught and dismayed to hear that “girl” has made a come-back among college students. These 18 – 22-year-old women are the age many of us were when we discovered feminism, with all its freeing and infuriating power. They are the age many of us were when we started to contemplate this language thing. Yet, these women are not only called “girls” by others—like their male peers—but they also refer to themselves as “girls.” Sure, much of the institutionalized (“politically correct”) language is still in place. Sports teams are women’s teams, not girls’ teams. But these young women will be the institutions in a decade or so. Will they continue to call themselves and their peers “girls.” What effect might that have on their workplaces? On their families? On their voice in governance? On the world?

As if this weren’t enough, I also realize that now, as an old woman, I am again personally confronted with trivializing, infantilizing language. Now it comes in the form of people I do not know and with whom I am not even slightly close addressing me as “honey,” “sweetie,” “my dear.” I’m pretty sure this language is meant to be kind, even to be a compliment. Like before, folks’ conscious intent is not to be rude but to be nice, to make me feel good—tell me I’m young rather than old, appreciated rather than dismissed.

Then why is it so irritating? Why do I feel simultaneously invisibilized and patronized? Why does it feel like a pat on the head … or on the wrinkled hand?

The analytic answer is something like this: These words are terms of endearment, which means their use is limited to certain situations. Other than intimate partners, these terms are used only toward a couple of limited classes of people: children (“Not now, Sweetie. Mommy’s busy”) and old people (“Here’s your receipt, sweetie. Drive carefully now”). Just like with the word “girl” used to refer to women, the message is that old women can be viewed as children, we are legitimate objects of condescension. Once again, we are asked to revert to immaturity, neediness, submissiveness, silence, invisibility. Maybe this is overstated, but that’s how it feels.

My partner does a lot of diversity training, and she talks about the difference between intent and impact. These people mean well, their intent is golden. But the impact is downright ... um ... unpleasant.

We need a new consciousness-raising movement. We need to educate folks about the discomfort they cause when they patronize us, treat us as children in need of a pat on the head—or hand. We’ve talked about making up cards to hand out when this happens. Here are some possibilities, in order of increasing crabbiness:

I’m sure you mean to be friendly when you address me as _________. But please be aware that it doesn’t feel good on the receiving end. It feels like you are treating me as a child. I have a lifetime of experience; I am not a child. I would be grateful if you would keep this in mind.

OR …

Please don’t use terms like ___________ when you address older people. You may mean well, but it’s actually condescending and hurtful. Please address us as you address other adults.

OR …

You just insulted a cranky old feminist. Who do you think I am—your child? I’m not! So please do not address me as __________________. Thank you.

So, say we’re successful in this campaign to get people to take us seriously. What do you suppose today’s college women will do with the change when they get old? Maybe they’d surprise us. I’m guessing that old women can get downright uppity, whatever their generation.