Continuing the Feminist Rant

Since Leigh already began the feminist posts, I decided to just continue on with the same subject. Let’s be honest, there’s a lot to cover. A lot. At this rate, we may never veer away from feminism.

Maybe I should start off with defining what feminism is. There are still people today who have the misconception that feminism includes getting rid of males as a whole and ALLPOWER to women.  And yes, people still believe that. In eighth grade, I had an adult comment to me:  “Feminism? Are you sure that you know the true meaning behind it?” And then went on a little ‘explanation’ that feminism meant over powering males of society and having it women’s way. And guess what? At that time, I believed him. (And to this day it still pisses me off that I fell into that trap.)

That is not the definition of feminism. Feminism means to fight for the rights and equality of females, and those who identify with the female gender. No, it does not mean we want to round up all men and chop off their balls. Of course, extreme feminists might want that, but the average feminist today wants equality of the sexes– which is as pretty damn important as balls. (Well, that is debatable since you only need balls to procreate…)

Now, let me go on. I’m gonna tell you guys a little story that I experience at least almost every day at work:

I work at a farm stand that sells flowers and produce. Currently, there are a whopping six of us that work at this farm stand. On a weekend, there are four of us – the owner, me, my sister, and another girl. The owner is an elderly woman who really just works the register and isn’t there on the weekdays; I’m 17; my sister is 15, and the other girl is in her mid-20s. On any day, we have to help customers by getting planters or bags of mulch and bringing these items to their car. That or we’re restocking and rearranging produce.

Wet bags of mulch (or dirt) isn’t light. Boxes of peppers and bushels of corn (which carry 52 ears of corn) are heavier than you think. Guess who carries this stuff all of the time? Us girls.

Now, when any of the guy workers show up (which they do, multiple times a day because they bring us stuff from the farm), they do not let us carry these things. Let me repeat: do not let us carry these things. Reason being?

“It’s too heavy.”
“You’ll hurt yourself.”
“You shouldn’t be carrying that.”
Bullshitbullshitbullshit.

I’m not complaining that these things are heavy; working there, you get used to it. When I first started working there (a good three years ago), I had trouble lifting stuff. Now I can do it no problem because I built up muscle. I became stronger by moving things myself, when the guys weren’t around.

Even if a guy happened to work with me, I still wouldn’t let him do it. As Leigh said in the previous post, yes, technically girls are physically weaker than guys are. It’s just a fact, and there’s nothing we can really do about it at the moment. But just because something is ‘heavy’ does not mean that I can’t carry it.

The sad part about all of this is that the guys are really sincere. They don’t say these things because they think I can’t carry stuff, they just don’t want me to. They feel better about carrying it themselves. Which honestly, I get, but wouldn’t you want someone else to help to cut your work load in half?

Seriously. What do they think I do when they’re not there? Not lift it? And if it is too heavy, two of us pair up to do the job. We get it done, without the guys help. And let me tell you, we’re damn good at getting the job done.

I’ve even pointed it out to them: “I can carry this; I do it when you aren’t here!” And their best response is: “Well, I’m here now.” Honestly, just stop right there.

I love these guys, but I go through this every day. Because I don’t listen to them when they say “I shouldn’t” because I can.

This isn’t as heavy of a topic as Leigh’s post, but it’s just something I’ve wanted to write about. People need to realize that it isn’t only the big things that people are aware of; it’s the little things that also need to change.

Because if a female believes that she can, I promise you that she will. 

Yours Truly,

                                     Alison “Lost in Believing”

My Feminist Rant

Okay. Let’s talk about rape.

Rape is that thing, sniffling and slobbering under the table, brushing against your leg, that no one ever wants to mention by name. No one wants to be that person that calls it accidentally out from under the table, where everyone can see that hideous smushed face and it’s beady eyes, and have to stare at it awkwardly, not knowing just what to say because really, this is polite company and who the hell brought it to the party to begin with. So you sit there, sipping your tea, constantly afraid that the thing will get tripped up in your skirt or mistake you for that one annoying loud guy at the end of the table that is always slipping it treats and bite your fingers off. I get it.

But I’m also really really tired of being told to fear something that I can’t even look in the eyes without being considered impolite. But you know who can call the thing out, even laugh at it, or make it do tricks? Guys. Guys can do that, and girls can too, sometimes, but they’re supposed to be afraid of it all the same. Girls aren’t entertaining when they do that unless they act afraid of it, too.

Dropping the analogy, I’m sick and tired of my brother being allowed to do things I’m not. It’s because I’m a girl, I know it, and I’ve been trained to be afraid of that rape-thing. My brother and I are twins, and let’s face it, girls are more mature at this age, and yet I’m not allowed to go out alone. Yet when my brother wants to it’s alright. Because he’s a big strong man, now. And while he doesn’t have enough common sense to take his phone out of his jeans before washing them, I’m the one condemned to sit trembling at home while he goes off into the world.

Upon asking to go somewhere, I will be subject to a barrage of questions. So will my brother, but the protocol similarities end there. He can go off with his friends, or to the mall alone, or to say, Gettysburg for a weekend with a couple he’s friends with. I am not allowed. The reasoning: I might get “hurt”.

When my mother says I might get “hurt”, she means raped. She does, you might think I’m assuming something wrongly, but it’s true; she’s explained it to me, and will again if ever pressed. She just doesn’t like to say the word. You know that saying that fear of the name increases the fear of the thing itself? (Thanks, Dumbledore) well that’s what rape is with my mom. And I won’t kid you, she’s taught me well. I can’t walk fifteen feet from the door of my art teacher’s place to my car without clutching my bag or thinking someone’s behind me.

And it sucks. It sucks being constantly afraid. But since I’m a weak girl it’s my burden to bear.

Let’s look at the logic behind this.

Yes, girls are naturally weaker than guys in many respects. (This isn’t true in a fight between two trained fighters, but in a jump-out-of-the-shadows-rapey-rapey situation this holds true most of the time anyway)

Yes, the large majority of rapists are men, most attacking women.

Yes, I am a weak teenage girl with long hair and a slight disdain for the painted on skinny jeans fad.

Yes, 44% of rape victims are under age 18.

However:

More than 50% of all sexual assaults reported by victims occurred within one mile of their home, 1/12 in a parking garage, 4/10 in the home, and 2/10 at a friend, neighbor, or relative’s house.

In fact, 73% of rapists (from this site’s numbers, link below) were not strangers.

38% of rapes are committed by a friend or acquaintance.

The rest of that 73% is made up of intimate partners or family members.

Also, my brother (unfortunately) isn’t immune; one out of every ten rape victims in 2003 was male.

43% of rapes occur between 6PM and midnight, 24% between midnight and 6AM, and 33% in between 6AM and 6PM. So statistically I’m more likely to be raped before nightfall, since I go to school and go to bed well before midnight (I’m not a night owl).

Really, if we look at these statistics I’m most likely going to experience sexual assault at the hands of one of my friends or ex-boyfriends or a creepy uncle, in the daylight hours after school, in our around my home. My brother has one tenth of a chance of that happening to him as well. And yet these are the places and people I’m kept around to keep me safe.

Instead of taking this as a chance to become more frightened by life, why don’t we stop wasting time with that and stop teaching our daughters to be illogically terrified whenever they step out of the house. How about we teach them to be aware of their surroundings, and sign them up for karate classes when they ask instead of pushing them towards dance and getting the brother into karate which he never cared that much about anyway. How about we even let them go out more into the real world so that they develop self-reliance and don’t stress needlessly about being around strangers and new places and experiences?

I’m not saying there aren’t rapists and monsters out there to be wary of, but I’m really tired of being taught to fear everything and anything with a penis, and I don’t think it’s very fair that my life is being kept around these principles.

Motto of the story: can we just all stop raping each other so I can go out with my friends and roleplay in the woods?

Thanks,

That would be lovelly,

~Leigh

P.S. I apologize for “Rape” in the first scenario having any resemblance to certain smush-faced dogs, I’m sure your little lapdog is lovely, and that was entirely unintentional.

All statistics from http://www.rainn.org/

Sick of the Race

My friend Rachel had some interesting observations on competition in our society so I got her to let me post them. Presenting our first guest post: Rachel Silverman.

Pure competition. That is my life, and it is probably yours too.

Think about it.

You learn how to run, then you race.

(I feel like I just ripped off a Jerry Spinelli quote there. Yup, I probably did.)

When was the last time you played a game with your friends without keeping score, at least subconsciously?

And caring about looks, is really just so that your exterior can be compared with someone else's. That is what the "standards of beauty" really are, after all. Your appearance against someone else's looks. Changing who you are to stay in the running.

I have been against this since I was a toddler. I remember standing in front of our house door, arms spread out stubbornly to block my mom from leaving to get her hair dyed. I screamed, cried, threw a fit. My dad had to pick me up and carry me to my room, plopping me onto my bed and scolding me for not letting my mom do what she wanted.

I don't have a problem with people dying their hair funky colors. That's individuality.

What I do have a problem with is dying your hair its natural color to hide that it is turning grey, which is absolutely ridiculous to me because EVERYONE's hair turns grey.

That is something which I still have failed to understand:

Why girls have to endure the pain of waxing and plucking when NO ONE has perfectly shaped eyebrows. (I plucked my eyebrows yesterday and I almost cried. Not because of the pain, well that too, but also because of me doing something that I did not believe in at all. But I still did it anyway. I don't want you thinking that I'm some crazy bra-burning feminist, because I'm not. It's more than that.)

And then the traits that some people have- large breasts, long eyelashes, huge butts- have to then be mimicked and imitated.

Back to that whole thing of competition again.

But it isn't just that.

Anything in life:

Being funny is really just being funnier than others.

Being smart is being smarter than others.

Being nice is being nicer than others.

Sorry. Back to my point.

I am just really really tired with the pressures of society.

I figure: I am going to go from working my butt off in school for no reason, to working my butt off in college for no reason, to working at a job I will barely even care about just to earn that pay check? Nuh uh.

I registered on collegeprowler today, despite only being a sophomore in high school and having absolutely no desire to start planning which colleges I will be applying to. Each page of a prospective college was filled with questions of anxious students who are desperate to get in, begging to know what is that they can do to get noticed.

You need the 4.0, you need the leadership positions, you need the large array of clubs and the community service and the great teacher recommendations- this is all common knowledge. You need these things but more, you still need to stand out- to beat them. To be part of that select few to get in.

But frankly, the whole process just made me sick.

And it will continue!

It will continue from the limited admissions to being top of the graduating class to the hiring positions to the companies battling each other for the best deal.

And. It. Never. Stops.

Best wishes!

Rachel Silverman

Thoughts on Being Miserable.

Your last post got me thinking; white isn't just for cleanliness. I think that the reason it does mean cleanliness actually has a religious connotation. Whiteness is historically something only the rich (or very commonly European overlords) could maintain; most prominently in skin color. Paleness was associated with not having to work in the fields, and became desirable. When religions, especially Christianity, realized this, they attributed the paleness to things present in the "kingdom of god" and therefore Jesus and God became pale men, and light and pastel colors became prominent imagery throughout the bible to signify purity of body and spirit. Angels have white wings, the white dove; things that are inviolable and unchangeable in their holiness. That's why white=good. Because of those damn European empire-driven Christians.

Anyway, I've been giving a lot of thought lately to misery. Not necessarily because I'm miserable-haha- but because of learning things about art and what I've seen in the news in the past months. It seems to me that in many cases, misery breeds creativity.

If you look at many of the great artists-Vincent Van Gogh, Edgar Allan Poe, Andy Warhol, they've all had rough lives. Isn't the "tortured artist" one of the most known tropes of life? If you even take into consideration that the Renaissance came to be after centuries of human misery and struggle through the Dark Ages and Black Death, you'll know that this theory has some credibility. But why is that? Why does being miserable 
make us somehow better at expressing it?

One could say that being kept down will increase our will and power to escape it. This makes sense; being creative and telling stories in whichever way creates an opportunity for escapism. I know when I'm upset drawing lets me forget about everything for a little while. Expressing yourself can make you feel better. Being creative can also lead to opportunities to get away from a miserable situation for good, if it leads to a job or a new social situation that makes your happier.

J. K. Rowling started writing the Harry Potter series around the time of her mother's death. She wrote through depression and turned her personal struggle into something that benefited her in the long run. The series centers around overcoming horrible situations in life and has inspired many others to overcome their own troubles. This is a good example of how misery breeds amazing creativity. While the story idea was already in her head, her hard experiences further shaped the tale into the success it is today.

Van Gogh famously struggled with poverty and mental illness, and is now one of the most famous artists in history, his work both unique with his personal style and a great embodiment of the Impressionist movement. It was his struggle throughout his life that kept him painting and inspired many of his works, including undoubtedly those he completed during his time in institutions, which are all very beautiful.

How is it that misery can bring such inspiration and success to some, and yet destroy others? How do we have the Marilyn Mason’s and Eminem’s, who have turned their troubled childhoods into careers and art, and yet see the Adam Lanza’s? How do we know the Poe’s who struggled their entire lives and created beautiful things, and also have Jack the Ripper and Hitler dancing their ways through our history books? Is it the type of misery? To quote the show "Sherlock", "Bitterness is a paralytic." Is that what it comes down to-how we perceive and internalize our misery? Is it the amount of horrible-ness these people go through? Is there only so much people can take? This is impossible to answer, as it's probably susceptible to a person's personality. Maybe that's what makes the difference; the soil into which the misery is planted. And yet there are more artists than serial killers, more impassioned activists than abusive spouses.

Or are there? Which side of it lends insight into our natural human disposition and tendencies?

As always,
~Leigh Shine