(I'm uploading my Women's Studies homework, which is, of course addressed to the professor who'll be grading it, because of personal reasons...)
Consciousness Raising: A Radical Weapon by Kathie Sarachild:
Summary: In this article a group of women gathered together in order to simply talk about their stories and see whether these things happened to women in general or just themselves. What they discovered is that, sadly the negative things including being insecure about their bodies, feeling compelled to play dumb around boys, were universal for women. They went on to begin asking questions, such as who benefits from women feeling insecure and playing dumb. They decided to use their own personal life as research to become intellectually armed against the oppression of patriarchy, since knowing and recognizing our own, and each other’s struggles and fighting against that oppression, is the sort of activism that helps change the world for the better little by little.
Response: I began writing about this article, on Tuesday with my response focussing on the mere validation that the idea of personal storytelling as activism brought me in regards to combatting the selfishness I feel when I kvetch about difficulties in my life, but since then something unexpected yet related to this happened to me. I write poetry as a way to have emotional catharsis and in hopes of understanding things that plague my mind with uneasy questions, and subsequently I’ve written a multitude of poetry about my experiences last semester. Last semester I went to Columbia College Chicago for writing with a minor in acting, yet things changed entirely when I wound up having a bigoted acting teacher. She said and did a multitude of things I found tremendously homophobic, misogynistic, transphobic, racist, slut-shaming and body negative, though I was in the minority in terms of taking issue. I was the one of two openly queer kids in the class, and since the other individual said he wasn’t offended since he was used to it (which made me incredibly sad) everyone in authority I told about her bigotry towards queer people brushed me off as being overly sensitive, and likely just making things up. I began to doubt my own feelings, since I had major depression at the time and figured perhaps I was as crazy as those I told were making me out to be. Since this was, and still is, a really confusing thing to me, that I can be made to feel so broken by someone who held the same role as the person who made me feel the best (see next response) and to have my emotions pegged as invalid by people I once trusted, I wound up writing lots of poetry about the situation. Recently, since I posted my poems on my blog, someone who’s currently an acting student as Columbia sent me a message asking if my poetry about the bigoted teacher was referring to [jerk Teacher's name], which it was, and if so, I’m not the only one who feels/felt oppressed by her, since a multitude of her friends all feel the same. She said they were so hurt that they’ve banded together to inform authorities and hopefully get her fired, or at least told off for her remarks and actions. At first I was relieved that I wasn’t alone in feeling hurt, but immediately after that honeymoon stage, I realized how awful it is that it isn’t just me- that other people feel as degraded as I once did. I commended them for being braver than I and asked the person who messaged me to let them know that I support them entirely, and if there’s anything I can do to help their effort, I’ll do it. What this proves to me is that storytelling as activism isn’t just a bunch of pretty words and rose-tinted goggle beliefs. If I hadn’t written about my struggles then they wouldn’t have been read by like-minded individuals, and I wouldn’t have realized that I truly am not alone in these feelings.
style no. 1 by Sonia Sanchez:
Summary: This poem is about a woman who invokes the strength of a family friend named Mama Dixon in order to call out a sexual harasser who flashed her. She cusses at him and yells at him in a way Mama Dixon would. Subsequently she used one of her heroes as inspiration to take action and not be silent when someone harasses her.
Response: When I first read this poem, I thought it was an interesting poem, but I didn’t think much of it, aside from the fact that the speaker was definitely far braver than I would’ve been, but then, with the combination of re-reading it and having our discussion in class, I realized the core of what I should get out of this. I almost teared up in class since I realized all at once who my Mama Dixon had to be: my former teacher, Ms.Hart. Ms.Hart was my acting/singing teacher and my hero who taught me to value myself and gain the confidence I needed to thrive as a Musical Theatre major in high school. Sadly, over the last year, I’ve reverted to the self I was before I knew her- the sort of demure, un-assuming, catholic girl who barely said ten words per day, and when she did, those words were all, “sorry”. I can’t help but be perturbed with myself for allowing the difficulties I faced to scare me back into my shell. Subsequently, especially since Ms.Hart isn’t in my day-to-day life any more, I think I have to conjure her as my Mama Dixon so I can become the self I want to be, and stop being as fearful as the sorry self I’ve reverted to.
Combined Response: I know this is unorthodox, but I wanted to do a combined response with the first and second articles since my reactions to both are linked to one another: I think I need to conjure Ms.Hart’s strength in my mind as I continue to push back against my bigoted former teacher. I may have to return to Chicago to testify, and I cannot allow my fear to overcome me, especially since I doubt her actions would have hurt me as much if I hadn’t realized how striking the contrast is of an acting teacher who truly wants you to thrive exactly as you are, as opposed to only wanting the pretty, white, straight, gender-conforming individuals to achieve great things. Ms.Hart would be as heartbroken as I if she knew someone with the same authority as her was causing people who simply want to make art as best as they can, to feel like art no longer accepts them. There’s a lyric from an Amanda Palmer song that I clung to at the time that said, “And I am tired of explaining / And of seeing so much hating / In the very same safe havens / Where I used to just see helping.” I can use the fact that my hero would be so appalled and wouldn’t stand for what she and I both find as our safe-space turned into something that’s furthest thing from safe to help give me courage to keep fighting, even though I was scared enough to run away. I can fight from afar from continuing on with storytelling as my way of activism. I’ve been wanting to write a feminist memoir (for lack of a better word) about the entirety of last semester since even having attended stereotypically bigoted catholic school, I’ve never known anywhere where bigotry was so thick in the atmosphere as Columbia. Know with recent developments, I think my first goal should be writing about my bigoted teacher, since in that way, I am not the only one, subsequently I’m not stifled by perceived selfishness in my kvetching.
This class also gave me courage, and I am truly thankful! I may venerate Ms.Hart, but I have an arsenal of feminist role models who give me strength, and you (Sharon) are among them, and I’m grateful for this class. I really love Women’s Studies and I hope to take your Women and Empowerment class in the Spring, but at the very least, I want to join the Feminists Organizing for Change club on campus. My friends have been joking lately that I’ve turned into a roaring whining Feminist, and as strange as that may seem, I wear that alleged insult as a badge of honor. If I had been a roaring whining feminist last semester, I may have help make positive changes happen, but my opportunity hasn’t ended, and this class motivates me to never stop fighting for feminism, even if that simply means posting my silly little poems online. Thank you very much, Sharon, you’ve helped me greatly!
