Aging Out Of Feminism?

Reading about NARAL's president, Nancy Keenan, stepping down , and the growing gap between older and younger feminists, has me thinking: when is it time to step back and make room for younger activists?

Last year when Jessica Valenti announced that she was leaving Feministing, I was surprised to see that some of the readers interpreted it as "Jessica is aging out of feminism." or rather feminist blogging. But it did kind of seem that way. To learn that she's still a few years younger than I am, well, it doesn't motivate me to participate in a community where there's a chance I'm seen as old and irrelevant.

Granted, no one is standing at the gates of feminism with a sign reading "over 35, do not pass," but it increasingly feels that way. Also, I think one has to consider each woman's personal narrative: not everyone magically becomes politically aware at 19 or 25 or some other predetermined after high school and before that first "real" job where one is likely to experience "real" discrimination. (Not that any kind of discrimination is less real.) Some women discover feminist writing in their forties, or grew up in the decades before online activism and never had an outlet for it. Where do those women go when online feminism appears to be the domain of twenty-somethings?

Shakesville's Personhood Amendment for Women

In response to the deluge of anti-abortion rhetoric, and general exclusion of women in talks about their own health and bodies, the bloggers at Shakesville are proposing a "personhood amendment for women," and they just launched it at change.org : 

"A person identifying as a woman and/or having a uterus shall retain all of the full, basic, and fundamental rights of a US citizen as guaranteed by the Declaration of Independence—life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness. Congress and the States shall make no law that infringes upon a person's life, including but not limited to access to life-saving or life-improving healthcare, and/or medicines and procedures deemed necessary or beneficial by a medical professional and/or by the person having the uterus, procurement of which shall not by denied in and of itself by the presence of a uterus. Congress and the States shall make no law that infringes upon a person's liberty, including but not limited to autonomy over hir own body and the ability to make decisions regarding hir own healthcare. Congress and the States shall make no law that interferes with a person's pursuit of happiness, including but not limited to access to a full spectrum of reproductive options, freedom from forcible reproduction, and the ability to make decisions regarding family planning and family resources."

Sign the petition here .

Shelving: The Revolution Starts at Home

Ms. Magazine

The Revolution Starts at Home, edited by Ching-In Chen, Jai Dulani and Leah Lakshmi Piepzna-Samarasinha,  takes a much-needed and unexplored look at domestic violence that exists within activist communities. The resources included are invaluable as is the detailed information on transformative justice and accountability that doesn't require a christian framework.

The latter is extremely important: I'm not a christian, but stories of redemption are so tightly woven into US culture they're inescapable , even within progressive communities that have "done the work." It's also pretty timely given the rash of posts on accountability. In the preface, Andrea Smith writes:

What we see in this book is the work of many groups doing precisely that. they do not seek a band-aid, quick fix approach to ending gender violence. Instead they seek to end structures of violence. Their models are experimentations in trying to do more than just crisis intervention, and are easily structured around creating the society we would like to live in.

Reading through the first-person accounts interspersed with practical advice, I can't help but wonder how transformative justice could work in society at large, outside activist circles where distrust of traditional systems of justice is understood and frequently dissected.

Being an ethical fan and consumer

Rachael from The Social Justice League posted a fantastic guide called How to Be a Fan of Problematic Things.

This is pretty timely since I've been trying to marry all my various fandoms with my politics, and not entirely succeeding. The most important thing to take away from this is that you can be a conscientious consumer without actually give up the things you otherwise love:

After all, most texts have some problematic elements in them, because they’re produced by humans, who are well-known to be imperfect. But it can be surprisingly difficult to own up to the problematic things in the media you like, particularly when you feel strongly about it, as many fans do. We need to find a way to enjoy the media we like without hurting other people and marginalised groups. So with that in mind, here are my suggestions for things we should try our darnedest to do as self-confessed fans of problematic stuff.

Acknowledgment is key. It's pretty obvious I devote most of my energy to music, but if I removed every artist that has ever made a questionable statement, in song or elsewhere, from my iPod I've had not much left. I'm also a casual watcher of Glee, a show whose failures often outnumber its successes.  I still enjoy those things, but with a more critical eye. One thing I have noticed is the more I pay attention to what's being sold here, the more I am likely to seek out alternatives.

"We're a Culture, Not a Costume"

Ohio University's Stars, a student organization dedicated to raising awareness about racism and social justice, has a new campaign called "We're a culture, not a costume. "

I've been seeing their posters pop up on my Tumblr the past few weeks, and thought it deserved a post of its own. They'll be passed around Ohio's Athens campus and other schools are taking notice.

Colorlines  has written a pretty meaty post of its own about the campaign, and why it's not okay to dress up as a geisha or gangster:

Controversy surrounding racially offensive Halloween costumes and theme parties have become a routine part of the holiday on college campuses. Last fall, one Northwestern University dean went so far as to send an advance email to the whole student body, urging them to think carefully before getting decked out. "Halloween is unfortunately a time when the normal thoughtfulness and sensitivity of most NU students can be forgotten and some poor decisions are made," wrote Burgwell Howard. In 2009, Northwestern had drawn unwanted national attention when party pics of two varsity athletes dressed in graphic black face made social media rounds.

In Case of a Shitstorm, Grab an Umbrella

Every time there's some sort of blow-up at any of the blogs I regularly read, I'm there. Not as a participant, but as a rapt audience member. I vacillate between thinking this is somehow disingenuous of me, and I should participate, and silently standing by with a mixture of awe and revulsion. Mostly, though, I try to learn.

I'm not a big fan of call-out culture, not because I think it's unnecessarily "mean," or unwarranted. On the contrary, I think it's very necessary, but when calling out becomes piling up, as so often happens in the social justice blogosphere, it rarely leads to a change in behavior. Also, I think a little bit of self-protection is okay. I think it's easy to forget that while a lot of us have carved out our little niches online, but most of us don't have the backup provided by a large audience. I'm less likely to call out someone who for the most part is really trying, and does understand that her place in the world is, to a large degree, predetermined by race, class, sexual orientation or other circumstances out of her control, than I am the more overt forms of bigotry perpetrated by mainstream bloggers whose influence is wide-reaching.

I've thought about this a lot lately, especially now as I've made the feminist blogosphere kind of a "read-only" zone for now. I don't really feel empowered by it anymore, and frankly, one shitstorm after another is just exhausting. I have my own ground rules for staying rational when things online get heated. Granted, a lot of bloggers have made lists like these, and by no means do I consider my rules "universal," but this is what keeps my head on straight:

1. Know you'll make mistakes. No one is without privilege somewhere. Challenging various privileges isn't easy work, it's not fun, and you will fuck up.

2. That being said, apologize when you do fuck up. Don't fight it. The thing about privilege is it's invisible. If someone calls you on yours, apologize and learn from it. Also, apologizing doesn't guarantee that all will be right with the world.

3.  Sometimes the best thing -- nay, the only thing -- to do is walk away from the computer for a while.

4. Remember that everyone comes with their own, individual set of experiences. They may be vastly different from yours. Know that not everyone in your community isn't "you."

Online Activism is real activism

I’m tired of seeing online activism trivialized or thought of as “not real activism.” Raising awareness and visibility is "real activism" and the internet is exceptionally well suited for it. What about those for whom it’s not possible to leave their homes and go out and do the “real” work? Should they be excluded from activist work altogether because they can’t be one in the way that’s prescribed?

These are questions I've been asking myself a lot lately, as the schism between "real" (read: concrete, hands-on, in the public) activist work, and "not real" (online, call-out culture -- which I'll get to later) widens as more people are starting feminist/anti-racist blogs, or becoming part of the existing SJ blogging community. Can I just say one thing? It's insulting to say that online activism isn't real. It might not have the immediacy and urgency of being part of a large-scale public protest, but it's no less real. The recent #mooreandme campaign is a good example of a successful online protest that still managed to be pinned as "slacker activism":

#Mooreandme is not a slacker protest. It’s a different form of civil disobedience. We’re not flouting the law — there’s no specific unjust law, in this case, to flout. We’re not marching, because marching is meaningless here; our issue is not with the writ-large, protest-sign, bumper-sticker policies of progressivism, but with the misogyny that comes out when so-called progressives wink and nudge at each other in private, which Keith Olbermann and Michael Moore demonstrated and legitimized in public. We object to the conversation, and we object with conversation. We disobey the rules that say women should not engage powerful men. We disobey the rules that say women and allies should not demand accountability from powerful men for the harm they do. We disobey the rules that say women must not band together, that we must make ourselves small and solitary and vulnerable. We disobey the rules that say a threatened woman must back down. (Jess from Hate Harding.info)

That's not to say online activism is perfect, or should take the place of real world activism; if fact there are a lot of flaws. A few weeks ago, Jill's Feministe post on call-out culture hit a nerve with the SJ blogosphere. My only issue with call-outs is that they rarely lead to real accountability. This, I think, is symptomatic of a largely privileged commentariat at different stages of awareness. Unfortunately, I have no idea how we're supposed to get around this, except to reinforce this: listen. And listen some more. (The flip side of that is, I guess, not trusting your own voice. I rarely comment unless I'm 110% sure of what I'm saying, and even then, sometimes I don't.) Also what's helped me is accepting that I'm going to get some things wrong. By virtue of being a relatively thin, cis white girl, society has granted me a fair amount of privilege. (Not all: I'm still a woman in a society that still devalues women, I grew up in a multi-cultural household with one half of my family not native English speakers, and I have almost nothing in the way of economic power.) I'm still learning how these advantages and disadvantages inform the way I think.

These are only small steps, but still a big part of the "work" of online activism. It's also a lot of 101-stuff, but I'm okay with a little 101 as long as it leads to more awareness. But I guess what I'm trying to say is these are some of the things the online world does well, and if it leads to bigger, more concrete activism, even better.