House on Fire

Recently, someone I respect stated that the things “Millennials” (shudder, I hate that term) focus on for social activism for small, unimportant things. Examples I saw across his feed included misogynistic comments, cultural appropriation in Halloween costumes, and transgender bathroom access.

I hope very much he will not mind me quoting him:

“Some problems are objectively more important than others.” His example of a far more important problem was this article: Isis ‘Executes’ 232 Near Mosul.

So I started thinking – why are those issues important to me? In the face of Isis uprooting civilians and using them as human shields, why do I still feel strongly about something like cultural appropriation or offhand misogynistic comments?

For the purposes of this post, I will address misogynistic comments. Not because the two other issues are less important, but because it is the one I have the most personal experience with, and therefore feel I can give the most context for.

Consider a neighborhood of houses, all within the same neighborhood association. I am going through my home and some frayed electrical wires. I call the neighborhood association and say let them know – I noticed some frayed wiring, and actually I saw a rat the other day. Maybe we need to worry about this.

The answer is “Don’t bother us right now – Nancy’s house in on fire!!!” They call the fire department, the fire department comes and deals with it. I call in to mention it again, but they say “How can you bother us like this – we’re still dealing with the fallout of Nancy’s house fire. What a selfish person you are, where are your priorities?”

Time goes on, and now I can hear rats in the walls. My lights are dimming and brightening every once in awhile, and I can sometimes hear sizzling and popping noises. I try again to raise attention, and now Steve’s house in on fire. Same routine – how self-absorbed I am with a petty rat problem, can’t I see that other people have bigger issues?

Eventually my house will catch fire too, because the rats are chewing on the electrical wires. By then, though, the house is on fire. Damage has been done.

Misogynistic comments are rats. They chew away at the idea that women are people. They gnaw on the idea of consent. When you take the idea of slut shaming to its extreme, you get a society where women are forced to cover every part of their body, whether they want to or not. When you take the idea that women belong at home to its extreme, you find a society where women must be escorted by men whenever they leave their house.

And when you take a misogynistic comment, like perhaps this one, “I just kiss. I don’t even wait. And when you’re a star, they let you do it. You can do anything…Grab them by the pussy. You can do anything.” The extreme of that comment (which, by itself is suggesting assault) is rape.

It’s easy to think that it’s stupid to care about one comment, one remark. But for me, this isn’t the first dimming of the lights. This isn’t the first rat I’ve seen. And every once in awhile you see a scorch mark on the wall, next to the electrical socket. This poor young girl set herself on fire to stop Isis fighters from raping her. The culture within Isis is a house on fire, and the people in that house need to be saved. But it starts with their culture – their wiring. As a group, they do not value consent.

Let’s not kid ourselves that our culture couldn’t catch flame as well. All it takes is a lot of rats, and some bad electrical wiring. And frankly, let’s not pretend that parts of our home aren’t already seeing smoke. How many women had to report that Bill Cosby had raped them before they were believed? Even now, as women allege assault and harassment, they are accused of seeking their “ten minutes of fame.”

So yes, even in the face of Isis uprooting civilians and human shields, I will continue to protest misogynistic remarks. I will object to cultural appropriation that diminishes the value and marginalizes other cultures. I will point out racist microaggressions that stereotype groups of people, because those stereotypes affect how they are treated by our government, and by our police force.

Where did it start for the Kurds? How do people come to see other groups as enemies, not people? With small remarks, the setting of a tone, the implication that one group is our evil, or not to be trusted, or not to be valued. It ends with violence. We have an opportunity, in our country, to lay down rat poison, replace our electrical wiring, and build a safe home so that we will never need to call the fire department. And, by the way, here is a nonprofit that does great work in this area.

Also, VOTE.  Please.

A Year of Foolishness

This is the year in which I will be foolish.

Steve Jobs, possibly the most famous Silicon Valley misanthropic genius, implored us all to “Stay hungry, stay foolish.” I have never been one to delight in misanthropy or hunger (pie, anyone?) so I have never really looked to the technological giants of my hometown to guide my way. But when I heard that quote, I felt it with the pang of regret that you sometimes experience when someone tells you to do something you know you want to do, but are not doing.

In other words, I am hungry (for more things than pie, though seriously, does anyone have some pie?), but I have never been willing to be foolish.

Since I can remember, self-expression has always seemed like the ultimate self-indulgence. I remember as a child being chided for “wanting attention”, for “taking myself too seriously”. Now, as I grow older, I find myself yearning to express myself – through aerial and non-aerial dance or through written words. As I try, the admonishments of my past ring in my ears. My prose is too stilted, my movement too dramatic, and my passion too damn foolhardy. How will I pay the bills, when I’m only focused on myself?

Who am I letting down, when I choose to spend my time on self-expression? Yesterday, my inconceivably talented aerial coach told me that one of her other students had cited me as her circus inspiration. As soon as I heard it, I went through my usual expressions of grateful self-deprecation on the outside. On the inside, I took that information, put it in a teeny tiny box, and put it in a corner of my mind to look at later.

It is to state the truth, and also sound incredibly arrogant, when I say that there have been a few very intelligent, amazing women in my life who looked up to me as a career woman. They saw my drive, my ambition, and say that it freed them to embrace and pursue their own. In the last year, when I finally acknowledged the possibility that I am not a “career woman” after all – that I might not be suited to becoming an executive and wearing immaculately tailored suits and relegating my expressions of emotions to drunken post-work confessions and midday visits to the bathroom stall to cry – I thought of those women first. Would my abandonment of this path shake their faith? Would they be disappointed in me? Was I letting them down?

When I went back and opened that little box in the corner of my brain, I realized how important it is to me to try to inspire people. And I realized that my career is not the only place where I can aspire to be inspiring.

This year I will be foolish, because I need to be. At every phase I will likely laugh at myself, because that is what the admonishments of my past helped me to do. And I will reclaim my self-expression, and try as hard as I can to not feel guilty about it. But I’m still not sold on being hungry – I think I’d rather have a nice slice of pie.

Kilgrave is Real

I had never heard of Jessica Jones as a character until the recent Netflix series. I didn’t watch more than 3 episodes of Daredevil. I even stopped watching Agents of Shield, despite its connection to the Whedon family. Superhero TV, to me, has somewhat played itself out. How many more stories are there to really tell (that wouldn’t be better told in a movie)?

It turns out there are still stories to tell – women’s stories. What struck me over and over watching the show was how real it felt to me. The obsessive behavior, the sense of entitlement, the possessiveness of the villain was so incredibly authentic to me, and I suspect any woman who has grown tired of the male gaze.

Every man who ever felt I owed him sex because he paid for a date. Every man who ever thought that he “deserved” an explanation for why I didn’t want to go out with him, or talk to him. Every married man who has wanted to use me as an escape hatch from a life he felt was too restrictive. Every man on the street who feels entitled to my attention, like a constant annoying “Do you have a moment for my penis?”. It was all there, in one British, immature, whiny little shit that a badass brunette got to hit in the face. To say it was cathartic would be, frankly, an understatement.

Jessica got to tell the personification of rape culture exactly how it felt, and exactly how okay it wasn’t. Sometimes she went too far in trying to punish him. I could understand that too.

SPOILERS BELOW

At one point, Kilgrave tells Jessica that she really does want him, that he intentionally let his mind control wear off to see if she would “choose” him. He remembers a beautiful rooftop scene where she smiles and kisses him, by her own will. She remembers trying to summon the nerve to jump off the building to escape him.

As the scene played out, I flashed back to situations that I no doubt remember quite differently than the men involved. The man who cornered me in his apartment and tried to block the doorway when I wanted to leave – does he remember a pleasant evening of watching movies? When he later tried to push his way through my door and into my apartment, does he remember a rude woman who was too busy to talk, or a scared college student wondering if she was about to have to defend herself?

Then there’s Simpson, a man who needs only simple manipulation (and some superstrength pills) to achieve his ends. I am also all too familiar with his tactics. The “I need to apologize” with no regard to whether the other person wants, or needs to hear it. The offer to help that turns into a demand to control. The anger when his apologies, help, or input is refused. These are sometimes worse than the Kilgraves, because often you care for them. You wanted their help, at one point. You are owed their apology, and therefore feel obligated to listen.

I saw a post on Facebook where a man complained that there were no men on Jessica Jones that felt like whole characters – just villains or eye candy. Then he said “Oh. I guess that’s how that feels.” I laughed, because he was making a good point about portrayals about women in media.

But the truth is, there were realistic men on Jessica Jones. Kilgrave, Simpson, those men were not caricatures to me. They were real villains I have met in my life. The ones I knew didn’t need mind control, because they have the ever-present pressure of society telling women to be quiet, polite, accommodating. Don’t be a bitch. Don’t lump us all together. #notallmen, after all.

At the end of the show, I thought about all this and smiled. Because the older I get, the less I give a crap about being quiet, polite, and accommodating. Jessica’s superpower wasn’t really super strength – it was that Kilgrave’s mind control didn’t work on her. We ladies, like Jessica, will eventually be immune to the mind control. Then shit will get real.

On Todd Akin, Rape and Abortion

It is day 2 of this scandal and I am already tired of Todd Akin’s stupid, hateful face. Where do I begin? The use of the term “legitimate rape” which Akin later clarified to be “forcible” rape? (Wow, thanks for clarifying. For a moment I was worried that you were a total douchebag who thinks that date rape is fake!). The nauseatingly ignorant lack of understanding about women’s bodies and how they work? How about the scores of GOP legislators coming out to denounce him, even though they already attempted to “redefine” the word rape last May?!

So, ya know. Enjoy the morning sickness, the inevitable stall in your career growth and the agonizing delivery process. It’s all worth it, because someone else thinks you should do it!

You know, the men I talk to never seem to enjoy this analogy.

An edgier comedian than I would make a joke about this baby resembling a rapist. I just can’t do it. Sorry.

On Batman and Morality

That’s right Nolan. If this movie sucks, I will find a small child and have her cry in a heart-wrenching manner right in front of you.

Break for man candy! Annnnnd we’re back.

Also, a little collateral damage, particularly in the form of property, is not a big deal to him. Did you know that Nolan actually flipped a goddamn semi to film that shot? Because he did. Hot damn, I love that movie.

Oh no! Not FrankenBatman!

Here, have an action shot. Much like Christopher Nolan, I enjoy a spot of violence with my philosophical musings.

On the Importance of Mothers, and Mine in Particular

Everyone has a mother, and I’m sure that yours is wonderful, but unless you are my brother, I regret to inform you that mine is the wonderful-est, at least in my book. I’ll understand if you disagree, but hear me out. It seems like every couple of years I write about how and why my mother has made my life better. So I think she knows these are just the most recent reasons that I think she is amazing, and all the others still hold true.

My mother isn’t perfect. She can’t dance (sorry Mom, it’s true), she has a bizarre love of brussel sprouts, and I’m pretty sure I heard her say a swear word once (much to the delight of everyone around her).

But my mom has made sure, every step of the way, that I had the best choices in the world, and the tools with which to make those choices. And even more importantly, she’s never made my choices for me. Every time I have deferred to her judgment, rather than mine, it has been because I sincerely believed that mine was impaired, or unable to be trusted.

When you think about that, is there anything else in the world that I could ask for, than to have every possible door opened to me, and then told to choose? My sense of morality and decency is not exactly the same as hers, but it is motivated by hers. That’s because she inspired me to be moral and good, but never tried to force her definition of that upon me. She lets me see the world for myself, and decide who I want to be within it.

The best teachers in the world are the ones who make you sad when you disappoint them, happy when they are proud of you, and always, always give you an example to follow. There is no better example of a powerful, smart, thoughtful, moral, independent, gracious, generous person that I could look to. In her proudest moments, my mother is still humble, and grateful. She taught me that it’s okay to use the advantages you are given, but to also understand that not everyone has them.

She taught me that it’s okay to be a strong woman, even when it makes others nervous. She taught me how to make others feel more comfortable when they get nervous. She taught me when to be practical, and when to stand up for what I believe in. She taught me not to be afraid to change my mind. She taught me to value my gifts, and compensate for my weaknesses. She taught me to be brave, and adventurous. She taught me to ask for help when I need it, and not to accept my own excuses. And she taught me to accept other people for who they are, because she accepts me, the headstrong, willful, emotional, sometimes-impetuous, sometimes-overcautious, and always stubborn daughter that I am.

This is Mother’s Day, and I don’t have any flowers, or chocolates, or even hugs for my mother. I moved far away from her, following the dreams and the principles and the ideas that she taught me. But I hope that she hears me every day when I tell her that I love her, and I appreciate her, and that I’m the luckiest daughter in the world to have her.

Happy Mother’s Day, everyone.

On the New Form of Racism

To quote a song from Avenue Q: “Everyone’s a little bit racist.” That’s why videos like this are funny, in a kinda cringeworthy way.

But as I’ve talked to people over the years, and as we head into the upcoming election, I’ve noticed that there’s a little confusion about the word “racist” that I am probably contributing to when I point out that Republican nominees seem to equate blackness with poorness. Upon further investigation, I noticed that conversations seem to become angry and irrational as soon as anyone uses the word “racist.”

Back in the day (and by the day, I mean before I was born, or at least before I can remember), racism was more culturally acceptable (or so I hear). For proof of this, I can merely go speak with elderly people in the midwest.

"Here dear, have a cookie. Now, did I ever tell you the story of how we had to move to a new home because this awful black family moved into our old neighborhood? It was the worst."

However, we have now reached the point in American culture (thank goodness), where being blatantly racist is generally considered unacceptable. The side effect of that seems to be that calling someone (or something they have said) racist is such a horrible insult that it immediately shuts down all conversation. I don’t mean to point out the obvious here, but that is not productive.

For example, I was having a conversation in a bar the other day with two cops. I was recounting the story of how I suspected two guys intended to rob me by snatching my purse, but I noticed them before they had a chance. When I said that I obviously had no proof that they were going to try to steal my purse, since they hadn’t actually gone through with it, one of the officers said “Were they black?”

I said, “No, they were both white.” And both men then said: “Then they weren’t trying to rob you.”

This was how I felt. Except I was actually shocked, not just faking it to seem relatable.

If you don’t think that was racist, I invite you to explain why in the comments. But if I had said (as I so desperately wanted to) “Wow, that was racist,” I do not doubt that those guys would have been pissed off and defensive. Then I would have had to sit through a lecture about crime statistics – as if that justifies judging someone by the color of his/her skin.Which is why I settled for calling them old and implying that they were repulsive later in the conversation.

It was kinda satisfying, but not at all productive.

The problem with racist statements or comments is that everyone believes they have a reason for making them. We have all, at one point or another, said “I don’t want to sound racist but…” For the record, whenever you start a sentence with that, just stop the sentence right there. Nothing good will come of finishing that sentence. But no one wants to believe that saying that stuff makes you racist.

But science says that almost everyone has discriminatory attitudes, even though we may not realize it. That matters because it’s still discrimination, and the only way to combat it is to recognize it and consciously remind yourself not to act on it. How are we supposed to do that if we can’t even point it out?

I think the real problem is that once upon a time, being “racist” meant that you actually believed that people of another color were inferior, and therefore not worthy of equal treatment. Now we use the same word to describe discriminatory statements or actions by people who actually do believe in equality, but have made an error in their choices. I suspect that makes people feel like they are being confused with willfully hateful douchebags. And honestly, I wouldn’t like that either.

There really is an important difference between these two groups. The latter group is (hopefully) willing to expand their understanding of the issue in order to avoid inequality and discrimination. The former group is pretty much going to need a “Come to Jesus” moment before they can be considered useful members of society. I wouldn’t mind reserving “racist” for those people. It’s a large enough insult now that I think it’s worthy of being reserved for true asshats. The question is – what’s a new word we could use? I have an idea or two, but honestly, this is a hard one.

You know, I thought this reply would stop being funny at some point. But it never did.

Based on the common usage of “homophobic” I thought about “negrophobic”. The pro is that it properly represents what I think might be at the heart of a lot of unconscious discrimination today – fear. The con is that it’s specific to black people, and discrimination applies to people of a lot of different colors and backgrounds. I also think that sometimes, it’s truly an ignorance of why something is offensive that motivates people’s actions…but I’m not sure if there’s a word that properly describes that.

I’m open to suggestions – but I’m not open to just letting things slide because they might be difficult to talk about. Unfortunately, racism, negrophobia, and ignorance are still alive and well. And the only way it’s going to get better is if we stop being defensive, and start thinking seriously about how to make things better.

PS. Sorry this is more preachy than funny. Please accept this adorable photo nonsequitur as my apology

Once again, the internet saves the day.