Tag: feminism

The book, Game Change, has rightly been the talk of Washington, DC, and the pundit class.  Like many have, I have read the published excerpts, a few of which shock me, but most of which confirm the rumors long existent about the real nature of the notable players in the groundbreaking 2008 Presidential election.  What the book does for me is question the number of times I have given the benefit of the doubt to politicians based on their passionate entreaties that they have been so unfairly smeared by the media.  In some instances, I have completely doubled back and reversed course altogether from my initial reservations regarding certain candidates (namely Hillary Clinton) by second-guessing myself.  In doing so, I assumed that perhaps my own first impressions were wrong or were motivated by some heretofore unrealized internalized sexism on my part.

I wonder about the timing of releasing such salacious, and ultimately damning revelations now.  Clearly, John Edwards’ reputation and political fortunes were rendered null and void long before the book’s release, though one does get the added bonus of being supremely grateful he didn’t even come remotely close to securing the nomination.  The small, but substantial band of true believers who bought into what we know now was coordinated, though barely contained myth might be the real losers in all of this.  These people felt demoralized and rudderless when Edwards crashed to earth.  If even half of what is printed is true regarding Elizabeth Edwards, she is unlikely to be able to reserve space on daytime television couches ever again.  At any rate, few will be pressing the Pope to canonize her for suffering nobly with quiet resolve from breast cancer while her husband was carrying on an affair with another woman.  The Edwards’, like so many political marriages, apparently are made for each other, somewhere on cloud-cuckoo-land.      

What might be the intent of releasing this book now?  To encourage the Democratic party to rid itself of dead weight to maintain ample majorities in both the House and Senate with the upcoming Mid-Congressional elections?  To make President Obama look good by comparison?  To dance one final dirge on the grave of the supposedly invincible Clinton machine?  To keep the Republican party weak and divided leading into 2012?  As a cautionary tale towards all Americans that one should never believe the man (or woman) behind the curtain?  Or is it purely as a means to stir up controversy and sell books by the cartload?  Only the authors themselves know for sure.    

Everyone’s been talking about the Harry Reid comment, as well they should, but when I read it, all I see is an out-of-touch politician stuck in a way of thinking forty to forty-five years out of date.  Who says “Negro” anymore, aside from hip hop superstars, except maybe in an ironic context?  Though the remark is embarrassing enough on its face, it also points out just why Senator Reid was in a vulnerable state before this bombshell exploded.  Behind the times and certainly behind the eight ball, the ultimate impact of this ill-chosen remark will not arrive for another ten months, but if this is the beginning of the end, history will record the precise reason why.  One would hope this would also be a bucket of cold water to the face of the Democratic party, who has consistently clung to wet noodles like Reid and eschewed inspirational and potentially transformative leadership out of a stubborn refusal to delegate power to those with better ideas and better strategies.

If the portrayal in Game Change rings true, then we were fortunate to neither have nominated, nor elected now-Secretary Hillary Clinton.  She comes across as a supremely impotent and callous leader:  petty, cold, vindictive, and totally unprepared after the surprise loss in the Iowa caucus.  The irony among many is that, if this story is true, Hillary Clinton is the absolutely last person I would ever want picking up the red phone at 3 am.  Furthermore, the results of Bill’s apparent unwillingness to stop philandering might not have been leaked to the public, but the fear that it would proved to be a major distraction, among many many others in the Clinton War Room.  There were many of us out in the blogosphere who were accused of being clandestine Republican, or at least disloyal traitors to the party for voicing these same reservations, and I hope that now perhaps we can be vindicated as placing mostly ethical conduct (if not a winning team) before party line.

I don’t blame those who wanted to see Hillary Clinton as the first female President in the hopes of putting a symbolic end to the oft-reviled glass ceiling.  Even going in, she was clearly not a flawless candidate, but many who participated in the front lines of the women’s equality movement were willing to overlook them in order to make a clear and unequivocal statement.  As for me, I can’t count the number of times I’ve voted for a candidate who neither inspires me, nor fills me with anything more than a rather perfunctory obligation to cast a ballot (see: Kerry, John).  In the minds of some, no red flag or combination of red flags could have swayed them from taking Hillary Clinton to new living quarters at 1600 Pennsylvania Avenue.  But, in saying this, it is very dangerous to superimpose any dream on one single individual, particularly when the cause itself can at times be distorted into purely self-serving ends, rather than with the intent to positively influence as many people as possible and in so doing improve life for everyone.  

Regarding the Hillary supporters, I do understand their motivation.  When she was criticized from whichever corner was actively firing at her, they felt criticized, too.  All of the times where women in position of power were discounted or called “bitch” when they tried to intrude upon what had long been spaces reserved purely for men translated to a supreme justification for their unyielding favor with Team Clinton.  Still, what one must do, however, is qualify the criticisms and the negative comments in their proper context.  “Bitch” can be meant in an equally petty, snidely condescending fashion regarding any woman who broaches Patriarchal protocol and demands to be both highly visible and highly outspoken.  “Bitch”, it must be added, can also be an epithet for someone whose mean-spirited behavior and ill-tempered personal conduct renders them most unpleasant and not especially ingratiating.  So there is a difference, though sometimes it can be obscured or manipulated when it is politically expedient to do so.  

This degree of self-identification at the expense of viewing the Senator’s New Clothes is what drove the hard-core Hillary loyalists, some of which became PUMAs come convention time.  It is also why the mainstream Feminist organizations like NOW backed Hillary Clinton to further their own cause, though in truth they are beholden to aging leadership, obsolete strategies, and tone-deaf attempts to stay relevant and pertinent to a new generation of younger feminists as well as those interested in the cause.  Thus, it shouldn’t be surprising why these organizations allied themselves with a candidate who shared all these same regrettable tendencies.  Hillary Clinton might as well have been a PUMA herself, since by the end, it was only those of her own age range, skin color, level of education, and background who clung tenaciously to a fading hope.  Again, true change will always be threatening to the status quo, but passing the torch isn’t an inspirational invocation, it is an admonition in this context.  It is well past time for a new generation of Americans to move forward the cause.          

Returning briefly to then-Candidate Clinton, though there was certainly an undercurrent of sexism inherent in media portrayals and public opinion of Hillary Clinton, as revealed in the book, the candidate certainly didn’t help her case by her private behavior.  Furthermore, she was brought down and utterly discounted by one of the most bizarre bedfellow arrangements I’ve ever seen in the form of the Anybody but Hillary bandwagon, the nascent Obama campaign, and the weakened, but still effective Republican party media blitzkrieg.  For once, all three were on the same page, with the same target in their sights, and all were dishing out a version of the presumptive front-runner that the passage of time has proven to be closer to fact than to fiction.  When you actually are that which your opposition claims that you are, then it is time to consider punting.    

Books like these reveal a fundamental truth about Americans, and perhaps all humans.  We are all eager voyeurs, gleefully peering behind the curtain to observe a glimpse of something we should not be able to spy, but also praying that the camera eye will never be turned upon us at any time, for any reason.  One might call it hypocrisy or the by product of a repressive society, but at any rate, it is the fundamental tension that leads us to create carefully crafted public images which are often nothing like our private, unguarded selves.  This is true on Facebook and it is true out in the work world.  I’d rather pursue this angle rather than resorting to a bunch of faux moralizing about how this book is scandalous and tawdry to no good end.  Scandalous and tawdry has become a cottage industry of sorts and it will always have an eager market.  There was a market for it a thousands years ago and there will be a market for it a century hence, I have no doubt.    

One would hope, then, that recognizing the painful dysfunction inherent in our political stars would cause our views to soften or at least evolve.  Being given a clear example of how propriety has a way of distorting the real from the imagined one would think would be liberating.  Imagine if there would be no need to outsource our own shortcomings to a war room within our own heads or, if we had the money, five or six well-paid keepers.  Still, to normalize this sort of behavior is neither my intent, nor my goal.  I’d rather focus on how initial altruism often takes a back seat to ultimate ambition, both in the minds of candidates and those actively involved in the game itself.  This is the lasting lesson I glean from all of this.

We can continue to build a cynical notion that politicians and politics are a game of smoke and mirrors.  Books like these do nothing to dispel such beliefs and everything to root them in place.  A study of hubris on the scale of this one should give us all reason to wonder if, were we in the same position, we would do any better.  It takes a tremendous amount of self-discipline not to give in to the applause, to the star-struck supporters, to the constant attention, and to the flirtations and propositions of those attracted to power, eloquence, and inspiration.  Fame is ephemeral, certainly, but it is also often instantaneous or immediate.  One day we are unknown, the next everyone knows our name.  We might handle it better if we’d had time to prepare ourselves for the good times and also the slings and arrows that are part of a packaged deal.  Though we may tell ourselves and others that being important is a state of being we would not wish for ourselves, there is a partially hidden part of us who craves it and would not turn it down if it were offered.  The rewards are too tempting for most to resist, or at least for very long.  When new fame comes attached to power, one can understand why any system views it uneasily, though the reality is that only by embracing a fresh set of legs and a new energy can we ever move farther down the road towards progress.

Full disclosure: I am listening to overtly mellow music as I write this. I work with a woman who claims that she would be homicidal without yoga. Why should I disagree?

Although there is a faux trend in popular culture to suddenly acknowledge the market value of women over 40 as consumers only because of course that is the one things we are running out of in corporate managed capitalism: anybody with money. So we are suddenly faced with “positive” images after years of being ignored or just scorned. As it happens the current cutesy image of the over 40 woman is that of an individual with endless resources. The recent past of Sex in the City the sudden discovery of Meryl Streep as an actress who is not only not dead and dried up but still kicking it and shouldn’t we be happy girls? We have arrived. Haven’t we?

Have we? Try being over 40 and daring to have a fucking wrinkle and be derided as old while mocked if it is evident one has dallied with too much plastic surgery. And don’t wear an ill fitting fucking pant suit lest one be the example of the sexless vagina less power witch. On the other hand don’t try and appear too sexy. That would undermine one’s intellectual credibility. Which isn’t necessarily such a good thing to have either unless the boys approve and it can be used for corporate good and has anybody noticed that men are losing their jobs quicker than women? I can hardly wait for some irrelevant right wing middle aged commentator to drag out statistics about how men have been unjust victims in this recession and the solution is for the girls to go back into the kitchen. You know like the Reagan years when retro was cool and the very roots of your jobs disappearing to other places started.  Oh and note to men you have been fucked and you have been unjustly rearranged and you should be pissed just don’t buy into that blame the chicks ideology.

If you dye your hair you are denying reality ( thanks it has worked for me so far ) and if you don’t and let your natural wisdom show through a la grey hair you are likely to be replaced by the  cuter younger version of yourself in the office. You know the younger cuter version of yourself: the neo bandwagon crowd, the young women who think feminism is silly and they graduated with a 4.0 thank you very much. Dude. Have lunch with me in a few years. Like when you find out your maternity leave is two weeks long and you have to answer your email the whole time. America is so family oriented. Maybe it would be better if we all lived in housing complexes owned by whatever company we work for so the commute would be nice and short. Oh. Didn’t we call those company towns in the day? Nice idea we should try again since nobody can pay their mortgages even though the crisis is supposed to be not getting worse.

And if you’re fat you’re just another stupid cow American woman who can’t please her man and that is why American men are going and getting themselves nice foreign wives if you’re thin you must have an eating disorder. Good luck if you happen to be a woman of any shade or color and you don’t dress the way the Gap or J. Crew thinks you should. Somebody might fear your “ethnicity’ or complain you look too “ethnic’. I don’t know what too ethnic actually is but I know certain hairstyles are frowned upon at my work place. One thing that gets me is the very people who complain about blatant expressions of ethnicity never really show which interest in the various nationalities and cultural variations that swirl around. Never mind that Americans can barely speak one language reasonably well. Shout out to Canada the bilingual country where nobody actually really learned another language. But they talked about it.

With the news that unemployment remains stagnant at 10% and that employers have cut more jobs than expected is a fresh blow to the American psyche.  Based on what I have informally observed, the latest stats are a more-or-less accurate portrayal of what I see on the ground.  I might even be compelled to believe that today’s grim news is in fact a bit sugarcoated, particularly among those under the age of thirty-five.  Friends of mine have undergone the ultimate of indignity and shame of moving back home, temporarily, they always conclude.  Returning to the womb does not exactly do wonders for one’s self-esteem, particularly when independence in the form of separate living arrangement are one of the metrics we consider essential to attaining that sometimes elusive construct denoted as “adulthood”.  

Jobs, jobs, jobs continues to be the story line that trumps all others, an issue unlikely to subside for a long while.  Aside from the political repercussions that have been debated extensively for months and will continue to be debated as we get closer to November, I admit I’m more interested in trends often sparsely covered by the major outlets.  We’ve seen the demise of certain industries and businesses that had been hanging on by a thread even in good times.  We’ve noted the strain upon government agencies and the many socialized component pieces that variously make up a bulk of our infrastructure–those which depend heavily on tax revenue.  What we have not really come to grips with as a people is how we best ought to respond to a period of reduced harvest over a protracted period of time.  I have read many pieces that detail that which is wrong, but few which propose a resolute, firm course of action for the future.  These may be unprecedented times, but it would be nice to see someone’s grand unifying theory.  

Alongside the latest doom-and-gloom headlines, the media tries its best to put a micro human interest aspect in play, but these sorts of character sketches at times resemble caricature sketches more than anything else.  While I appreciate a desire to show the personal impact of any massive crisis like the one in which we are still mired, it has always seemed a bit cloying to highlight the The Typical Hispanic Immigrant Family™, The Typical Single Parent African-American Family™, The Typical Asian-American Family™, and The Typical White Working Class Family™.  To be sure, the mainstream boys and girls tend to leave in-depth analysis to print magazines and NPR, but in a crisis this pervasive, one can’t help but wish they’d incorporate some degree of truly thoughtful analysis.  Instead we get two tiresome talking heads from opposite sides, each granted four minutes airtime each to devote to often-meaningless improvisational variations on a theme.    

The noted historian C. Vann Woodward wrote,

In an illuminating book called People of Plenty, David Potter persuasively advances the thesis that the most distinguishing traits of national character have been fundamentally shaped by the abundance of the American living standard.  He marshals evidence of the effect that plenty has had upon such decisive phases of life as the nursing and training of babies, opportunities for education and jobs, ages of marriage and childbearing.  He shows how abundance has determined characteristic national attitudes between parents and children, husband and wife, superior and subordinate, between one class and another, and how it has molded our mass culture and consumer oriented society.  American national character would indeed appear inconceivable without this unique experience of abundance.

A closely related corollary of the unique American experience of abundance is the equally unique American experience of success.  During the Second World War, Professor Arthur M. Schlesinger made an interesting attempt to define the national character, which he brought to a close with the conclusion that the American character “is bottomed upon the profound conviction that nothing in the world is beyond its power to accomplish.”  In this he gave expression to one of the great American legends, the legend of success and invincibility.

Woodward continues,

If the history of the United States is lacking in some of the elements of variety and contrast demanded of any good story, it is in part because of the very monotonous repetition of success.  Almost every major collective effort, even those thwarted temporarily, succeeded in the end.  American history is a success story.  They have, until very recently, solved every major problem they have confronted–or had it solved for them by a smiling fortune.

While on the stump, Barack Obama skillfully appealed to this particular strain of American mythology as a means of direct emotional appeal.  I do not believe that it was a tactic employed disingenuously, but at any rate it sought to advance the idea that our unique character was so high-minded and noble that, despite the struggle getting there, eventually we embrace social progress.  With this assertion came a very American, very unflinching belief in our perceived superiority and our own perceived invincibility.  But, following this line of logic, if we as a country can elect an African-American and seriously consider electing a woman as President, it would then stand to reason that the solution to revive a sick economy would be easily within our capabilities.  One would believe that with abundance would come a corresponding abundance of proposals, each novel and credible in its own way.  However, it should also be noted that casting a ballot and breaking a sweat are two entirely different matters, a notion not lost on Woodward.  One would hope that when this country elects a female President that we don’t inundate ourselves with self-congratulatory talk that the glass ceiling has finally been shattered forever.  It has proven to be quite resilient to even the largest of cracks.        

When the formerly Grand Old Party states its own interpretation of American success, it clothes its own mythology in terms of resolute military triumphs, battles won, enemies vanquished in heroic terms by complete unknowns and by generals who never lost a fight.  America is a magical place where everything is possible, but only to those who embrace a struggle between God and Satan, Good and Evil, dark and light, impurity and purity.  When the system fails, it writes apology after apology for the failures and corruption of capitalism, pointing to the inevitability of its eventual rebirth.  It is as sure of its own infallibility and superiority just as surely as Marx was in thunderously concluding that the bourgeoisie would someday prove to be its own grave-diggers.  If either were any help now, I’m sure we might be seriously considering them.

What we need, then, is to truly act as though we really are what our mythology triumphantly proclaims.  Setting aside irony and cynicism for a moment, we have the power within our grasp to put into place a new American mythology, one that is comprised of more than just jingoistic platitudes or narcissistic back-patting.  But what it will entail is effort and a willful desire to scrape off the rust, even when doing so is uncomfortable and puts us out of our comfort zones.  Now more than ever, we ought to be the country the rest of the world thinks we are.  Now more than ever we ought to live the notion that we really meant it when it was written that all are created equal, that we were a welcome respite and land of promise to our tired, our poor, our huddled masses yearning to breathe free, and that our exceptionalism is not a club quick to bludgeon or a license for arrogance, but instead the source of healing and solution of a sort that is profoundly lacking today.  

I’m going to do something very different today.  I’m going to talk about a matter has been on my heart and on my mind for a good long while.  Now seems like as good a time as any to address it.  To put it bluntly, observing the constant back-biting, smears, below-the-belt attacks, and other supremely childish means of conducting supposedly civil discourse that I find in every avenue I observe has been really getting to me.  This criticism is meant towards both no one in particular and everyone in particular.  While a gaze towards the past will reveal that these sorts of juvenile tactics have been with us since the beginning of time, this doesn’t mean that they are justified or somehow not counter-productive in the end.  We all revel in the thrill of victory, but sometimes our successes prove Pyrrhic and nearly bankrupt us, even though we may be the first to limp across the finish line.

For example, the theologian Reinhold Niebuhr, writing of the need for coercion in the cause of justice, warned that: “Moral reason must learn how to make a coercion its ally without running the risk of a Pyrrhic victory in which the ally exploits and negates the triumph.

The above quote has application to many avenues, politics being only one of them.  But I would prefer to broaden the context to as large an audience as possible, singling out no one, but extending the ability for personal reflection to any and all that might be capable of hearing it.  To provide a personal example from my own life, I contribute to Feminist discussions and take an active part in the cerebral discourse raging inside them.  Yet, interestingly enough what all of this soul-searching and cerebrating produces often is not my still-growing understanding of femininity, some supposedly foreign concept based on my being born and socialized as a man, but rather a calling to question my own conception of masculinity and how it relates back to how I perceive the construct within the framework of my whole identity.  

The idea that perhaps the solution to sexism, misogyny, and gender inequality lies within a re-examination of male behavior and restrictive societal definitions of masculinity has been an informal thesis of mine that is beholden to a million related postulates.  Moreover, that the true resolution can be reached by a collective effort between men and women working shoulder to shoulder is my ultimate goal and my fervent prayer.  When men see that which is feminine within them and do not recoil from it and when women see that which is masculine within them and do not feel shame, then I know we will be finally close to true equality.  In the meantime, I have never really had any heart for the fighting and I look forward to the day we lay our burdens down by the riverside.    

The poem which follows below has been on the back burner of my mind for a while.  It speaks to our bloodthirsty impulses and questions whether the expectations of winning we hold are really worthwhile and tenable.  In a darkly humorous manner, the piece reveals what happens when our egos encourage us to rush blindly into one fight after another, recognizing only in hindsight that we are forever damaged and notably impaired by each and every one.  Reconciling our primordial impulses with the wisdom of reason is a major challenge within every person and sometimes, as the poem notes, it is a realization only granted circumspectly.  But when I see so many people who have made it their personal quest to pick rhetorical fights or who seem to think that their occupation or chosen purpose in life gives them a right to act like a Type A bully, then it compels me to speak out and to push back, but notably not with fists raised in opposition.  This includes the thousands of legends in their own mind who possess the cockiness, the arrogance, and the attitude, but have nothing in the way of insight or intellect to back up their lofty claims or poker faces.

“The Winner” by Shel Silverstein

The hulk of a man with a beer in his hand looked like a drunk old fool,

And I knew that if I hit him right, I could knock him off that stool.

But everybody said, “Watch out — that’s Tiger Man McCool.

He’s had a whole lot of fights, and he always come out the winner.

Yeah, he’s a winner.”

But I’d had myself about five too many, and I walked up tall and proud,

I faced his back and I faced the fact that he’d never stooped or bowed.

I said, “Tiger Man, you’re a pussycat,” and a hush fell on the crowd,

I said, “Let’s you and me go outside and see who’s the winner”…

Well, he gripped the bar with one big hairy hand and he braced against the

wall,

He slowly looked up from his beer — my God, that man was tall.

He said, “Boy, I see you’re a scrapper, so just before you fall,

I’m gonna tell you just a little what a means to be a winner.”

He said, “You see these bright white smilin’ teeth, you know they ain’t my own.

Mine rolled away like Chiclets down a street in San Antone.

But I left that person cursin’, nursin’ seven broken bones.

And he only broke three of mine, and that make me a winner.”

He said, “Behind this grin, I got a steel pin that holds my jaw in place.

A trophy of my most successful motorcycle race.

And every mornin’ when I wake and touch this scar across my face,

It reminds me of all I got by bein’ a winner.

Now my broken back was the dyin’ act of handsome Harry Clay

That sticky Cincinnati night I stole his wife away.

But that woman, she gets uglier and meaner every day.

But I got her, boy, and that’s what makes me a winner.

You gotta speak loud when you challenge me, son, ’cause it’s hard for me

to hear

With this twisted neck and these migraine pains and this cauliflower ear.

‘N’ if it weren’t for this glass eye of mine, I’d shed a happy tear

To think of all you’ll get by bein’ a winner.

I got arthritic elbows, boy, I got dislocated knees,

From pickin’ fights with thunderstorms and chargin’ into trees.

And my nose been broke so often I might lose it if I sneeze.

And, son, you say you still wanna be a winner?

My spine is short three vertebrae and my hip is screwed together.

My ankles warn me every time there’ll be a change in weather.

Guess I kicked too many asses, and when the kicks all get together,

They sure can slow you down when you’re a winner.

My knuckles are so swollen I can hardly make a fist.

Who would have thought old Charlie had a blade taped to his wrist?

And my blind eye’s where he cut me, and my good eye’s where he missed.

Yeah, you lose a couple of things when you’re a winner.

My head is just a bunch of clumps and lumps and bumps and scars

From chargin’ broken bottles and buttin’ crowded bars.

And this hernia — well, it only proves a man can’t lift a car.

But you’re expected to do it all when you’re a winner.

Got a steel plate inside my skull, underneath this store-bought hair.

My pelvis is aluminum from takin’ ladies’ dares.

And if you had a magnet, son, you could lift me off my chair.

I’m a man of steel, but I’m rustin’ — what a winner.

I got a perforated ulcer, I got strictures and incisions.

My prostate’s barely holdin’ up from those all-night collisions.

And I’ll have to fight two of you because of my double vision.

You’re lookin’ sick, son — that ain’t right for a winner.

Winnin’ that last stock-car race cost me my favorite toes.

Winnin’ that factory foreman’s job, it browned and broke my nose.

And these hemorrhoids come from winnin’ all them goddamn rodeos.

Sometimes it’s a pain in the butt to be a winner.

In the war, I got the Purple Heart, that’s why my nerves are gone.

And I ruined my liver in drinkin’ contests, which I always won.

And I should be retired now, rockin’ on my lawn,

But you losers keep comin’ on — makin’ me a winner.

When I walk, you can hear my pelvis rattle, creak and crack

From my great Olympic Hump-Off with that nymphomaniac,

After which I spent the next six weeks in traction on my back,

While she walked off smilin’ — leavin’ me the winner.

Now, as I kick in your family jewels, you’ll notice my left leg drags,

And this jacket’s kinda padded up where my right shoulder sags,

And there’s a special part of me I keep in this paper bag,

And I’ll show it to you — if you want to see all of the winner.

So I never play the violin and I seldom dance or ski.

They say there never was a hero brave and strong as me.

But when you’re this year’s hero, son, you’re next year’s used-to-be.

And that’s the facts of life — when you’re a winner.

Now, you remind me a lot of my younger days with your knuckles clenchin’ white.

But, boy, I’m gonna sit right here and sip this beer all night.

And if there’s somethin’ you gotta prove by winnin’ some silly fight,

Well, OK, I quit, I lose, son, you’re the winner.”

So I stumbled from that barroom not so tall and not so proud,

And behind me I could hear the hoots of laughter from the crowd.

But my eyes still see and my nose still works and my teeth are

still in my mouth.

And y’know…I guess that makes me…a winner.

The poet Catherine Davis wrote a well-known work entitled “After A Time”, upon which I have based the title of this post.  “The Winner” reveals to us that taken to excess even our triumphs can prove disastrous if we, for the love of blood, plunder, and material gain institutionalize them rather than use them only when all other avenues of resolution have been exhausted.  It challenges the contemporary notion and conduct of unflinchingly tough machismo as advanced by a million cowboy Westerns and John Wayne potboilers.  Davis’ poem below addresses the matter from the losing end, reducing self-serving spin and rationalization to mere wind while noting, quite beautifully, that while winning is ultimately transitory, so too is losing and with it the motivating power of defeat.  I find it fascinating to observe that both of these poems dovetail neatly and how a uniquely masculine perspective nicely counter-balances a uniquely feminine one.          

After a time, all losses are the same.

One more thing lost is one thing less to lose;

And we go stripped at last the way we came.

Though we shall probe, time and again, our shame,

Who lack the wit to keep or to refuse,

After a time, all losses are the same.

No wit, no luck can beat a losing game;

Good fortune is a reassuring ruse:

And we all go stripped the way we came.

Rage as we will for what we think to claim,

Nothing so much as this bare thought subdues:

After a time, all losses are the same.

The sense of treachery-the want, the blame-

Goes in the end, whether or not we choose,  (Emphasis mine)

And we go stripped at last the way we came.

So we, who would go raging, will go tame

When what we have can no longer use:

After a time, all losses are the same;

And we go stripped at last the way we came.

With President Obama being a major disappointment in some corners, it was perhaps inevitable that Hillary Clinton loyalists would exercise their right to second-guess the inevitable nominee.  Anne Kornblut’s column in The Washington Post entitled, “When young women don’t vote for women” is but the latest effort to chastise young feminists and young women in general for not being more supportive of the first female candidate to make a serious run for the White House.  The column, regrettably, also invokes the counter-productive liberal guilt complex construct of the Oppression Olympics to make its point, which is something I thought we had recognized does nothing to unite and everything to divide.  Pitting women against African-Americans in some kind of twisted priority system has been the demise of many worthy organizations and the beginning of arguments that inevitably lead to raised blood pressure.

A recently released survey stated what many of us had long suspected, namely that the sexting hysteria is vastly exaggerated.  Sexting is merely the latest in a series of overwrought histrionics to consume and articulate the fears of parents.  Before that it was rainbow parties.  Before that it was sex bracelets.  Nothing inflames passions more than the mortal fear that children are being led astray by a culture of evil that is growing more corrupt by the microsecond.  This degree of hysteria never stops at those we deem most vulnerable, which is a big part of the problem.  In a massive rush to judgment, we impose our will without understanding the context.

To provide a bit of needed contrast, here are a couple examples of past moral panics, which at least to these eyes seem as though they could easily make their way onto today’s cable news cycle.

In Victorian Britain, campaigning journalist William Thomas Stead, (editor of the Pall Mall Gazette) procured a 13 year-old girl for £5, an amount then equal to a labourer’s monthly wage (see the Eliza Armstrong case). Panic over the “traffic in women” rose to a peak in England in the 1880s. At the time, white slavery was a natural target for defenders of public morality and crusading journalists. The ensuing outcry led to the passage of antislavery legislation in Parliament.

However, it has been reported that the most extreme claims “were almost certainly exaggerated”. Investigations of alleged abductions in Victorian England often found that the purported “victims” had participated voluntarily. Still, the “climate of prudery” prevalent in the late Victorian era made for easy scandalization of almost anything sexual, and various prohibitions were enacted. (emphasis mine) Parliament passed the 1885 Criminal Law Amendment Act, raising the age of consent from thirteen to sixteen in that year.

This is, of course, not to say that the fervor over the sex trafficking which continues today has no basis in reality or fact, but rather that once something this patently inflammatory comes to light, for every genuine instance worthy of outrage, someone jumps on board the train to make a profit or to grab the attention of a ravenous public.  (See Woods, Tiger, et al.)  Nor is this meant to somehow negate the hard work or passion of activists in our age who do us all a great service by voicing and reporting upon the human trafficking of women that occurs on a far too frequent basis.  What I am saying is that the real instances of oppression are damaging enough and shocking enough without the need of clearly fabricated cases that effectively bring the matter to a raging boil.  When even one eventually disproved example enters the picture, many people have a tendency to lose interest or to discount the entire movement as a whole.  All of that hard work for nothing.  This may not be fair, but it is the reality any group clamoring for reform must entertain.  

Not only that, laws that are enacted to pacify massive societal outcry often find themselves being used for nefarious purposes that their original intent never implied, nor intended.  

In our country, a similar panic broke out around the same time as that of the UK.

A subsequent scare occurred in the United States in the early twentieth century, peaking in 1910, when Chicago’s U.S. attorney announced (without giving details) that an international crime ring was abducting young girls in Europe, importing them, and forcing them to work in Chicago brothels. These claims, and the panic they inflamed, led to the passage of the United States White-Slave Traffic Act of 1910. It also banned the interstate transport of females for immoral purposes. Its primary intent was to address prostitution and immorality. The act is better known as the Mann Act, after James Robert Mann, an American lawmaker.

The Mann Act was frequently used as a blanket piece of legislation to deliberately ensnare those who happened to defy existing social mores or who spoke out publicly against the status quo.  Though usually used to prosecute men involved with loose women or who pursued relationships with underage girls, prosecutors rarely stopped there.  Jack Johnson, the World Heavyweight Champion of his age and first Black sports superhero, was unfairly prosecuted under the Mann Act because of his fondness for white women, particularly prostitutes.  Though Johnson’s dalliances were consensual and not adulterous, he never made any attempt to conceal them, which many a conservative figure found odorous and deplorable.  As an aside,

In September, 2008, sixty-two years after Johnson’s death, the United States Congress passed a resolution to recommend that the President grant a pardon for his 1913 conviction, in acknowledgment of its racist overtones, and in order to exonerate Johnson and recognize his contribution to boxing. In April 2009, Senator John McCain of Arizona joined Representative Peter T. King of New York in a call for a posthumous pardon for the boxing legend by President Barack Obama.

Charlie Chaplin’s unashamed leftist views led him to be indicted under the auspices of the Mann Act, damaging his reputation and leading him to leave the United States to live in exile in Switzerland for the rest of his life.  The Mann Act seems to be an equal opportunity offender of sorts, since even women found themselves on the wrong side of the law, as Canadian author Elizabeth Smart found out in the 1940’s.  One would have thought by now that we would have learned that legislating morality is both a very bad idea and quite impossible.  Still, some persist in pushing it, even though the end result almost always backfires.        

Going back to the idea of protecting children and teenagers by way of communal panicked cry, gallons of ink, and legion of self-proclaimed experts in the field, I think at times many of us believe that while we might not be able to control our own impulses or desires or even control the forces which push us in directions we do not wish to go, we can at least assert our force of will upon our children or, for that matter, someone else’s children.  However, that is a very dangerous and deeply unfair assertion upon which to base any act, because it completely removes free will from the equation.  The Mann Act might have been crafted to protect women at face value, but it ended up being applied in the same ways and to the same extent that keep women from having control over their own bodies or from being able to make their own decisions for themselves.  This condescendingly Paternalist point of view persists into our day and the sexting nontroversy is part and parcel of it.  If only we could, in all seriousness, claim that we know better.

Simply because adolescents aren’t legal adults yet doesn’t mean that they can’t make informed, healthy choices for themselves.  Teens are probably much more inclined to use their sexuality in responsible ways then we give them credit for, but instead we are consumed with the ones who don’t.  This would be like believing all citizens of a country are exactly like its law-breakers.  Furthermore, it’s a myth that adults are somehow supremely evolved enough that they don’t end up exhibiting childish behavior on a frequent basis.  We like to believe otherwise, of course, but all one needs to do is read the first ten comments on any web forum and that assertion flies right out the window.  No troll I have ever met could ever be confused as mature and rational.  Many of them are likely older than I am, and I’m merely pushing 30.  The superficial facade we display to the world outside of the internet apparently stops the instant we log on and start typing madly away.          

A quote from the movie American Beauty has stuck with me over the years.  In it, Lester Burnham, Kevin Spacey’s character, describes the struggles of his rebellious daughter, Jane.

Janie’s a pretty typical teenager. Angry, insecure, confused. I wish I could tell her that’s all going to pass, but I don’t want to lie to her.

True.  But it doesn’t mean we have to linger in a state of arrested development, either.  Immediately after I reflect upon this quote, a very familiar refrain comes to mind, one that has grown truer and truer with every passing year.

When I was a child, I spoke like a child, thought like a child, and reasoned like a child. When I became an adult, I no longer used childish ways.  Now we see but a poor reflection as in a mirror; then we shall see face to face. Now I know in part; then I shall know fully, even as I am fully known.

Trust, love, respect, hope, faith, empathy, and compassion.  These are adult traits and these are virtues which promise not just the assumption of the mantle of adulthood, but bring us into greater community with our fellow person.  Once having adopted these things, there is no need for moral panic.  Upon living them, there is understanding in the place of fear, love in the place of hate, shared purpose in the place of division, trust in the place of suspicion, and compassion in the place of anger.  I would hope that we would wish to negate the charges of hypocrisy slung back and forth like some unceasing war with no end game ever even proposed.  The boldest example we give to our children and to other peoples’ children is our own conduct and our own behavior.  We lead by example in ways we cannot even begin to fathom.

This post is written in response to a very well-crafted argument against the resumption of military conscription.  What I will say is that I have engaged in hypothetical discussions at times about what the resumption of a draft would produce in reality, versus what goals and reforms we might assume would transpire as a result.   I’m not entirely sure that I agree that those who advocate the return of conscription are making specious or at best hypocritical arguments.  Though I am opposed to war in all forms, one cannot disagree that war shapes so much of our consciousness and influences who we are as both Americans and humans to a degree that we are sometimes unaware of its complete impact.  War and warfare is that pervasive and it is that enmeshed in who we are as a people that merely criticizing it from the outside may not simply be sufficient.

In another online forum, I suggested that perhaps if women were included in the draft that their presence might successfully overturn gender-based inequalities and begin to reform Patriarchal excesses.   A previous generation of Feminists believed that the way to be recognized as the equals of men was to de facto refine the idea of masculinity by building it into its own image and idealized notion.   Feminists of today have taken special care to embrace their femininity and sex while simultaneously redefining both in an effort to also reshape repressive ideas of masculinity and manhood.   Gender as a social construct has become especially problematic to many, since transgender and intersex rights have turned conventional gender norms and gender arguments completely upside down.   If applied to current draft regulations, it could easily raise a huge to-do.  

The truth of the matter is that if a draft were resumed today, only men would be drafted.   My argument, which again was set forth purely as food for thought, was that if women wished for full equality with men then they ought to seriously consider lobbying to be included as part of the process.   My rationale for this was that women have for far too long been seen purely as keepers of the hearth and home and that their presumed status solely as nurturing figures and caregivers is restrictive and based on assumption, rather than reality.   Another huge can of worms that goes along with this is that if Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell were ever to be revoked and if LGBTs were allowed to serve openly in the armed forces, the draft laws as written would apply to gay men, but not to lesbians.   One gets in thornier territory than that when the question of trans men, trans women, and intersex individuals enters the picture.   When we are only now beginning to confront the fact that what constitutes “male” and what constitutes “female” is far more fluid than any of us could have ever before believed, then we see what happens when the gender binary falls unforgivably short.    

I seek not to seem ignorant or unaware of draft board realities.   My own father did not serve in Vietnam because of his high draft number.   By sheer luck, the highest number called for his group was 125 and, since the system focused on date of birth to determine draft status, his announced number 215 worked out in his favor.   Still, Dad was labeled 1-A (available for military service) and taking no chances he continued to pursue a college degree and served for a time as a state trooper, since both of these options made it unlikely that he would be forced to serve in combat.   I do recognize that if those times were our own, then as now, those unable to afford college or so poor that they could not use the privilege of middle class or upper class affluence to their benefit, advantages that most of us take for granted—they would be the first to go.   My grandfather used his business connections with the people at the local county draft board to ensure that his sons did not go to Southeast Asia.   In business, in politics, and in all of capitalism, ultimately it comes down to precisely who you know.    

Assuming the draft was (God forbid) ever resumed, perhaps a brand new group of underprivileged souls would be sent off to fight and die.   It’s not as though gay men live and are born only in affluent cities, states, or regions.   Nor is homosexuality a phenomenon relegated purely to Whites.   Perhaps the recent transitioned trans man, fresh from top surgery finds zirself for the first time as a prime target to be forced to fight for a country that still hasn’t quite acknowledged the unique struggles of transgenders.   One would hope that if this situation were ever to come to pass that it would not force trans men to be disinclined to undergo the process of claiming a gender of which they were not assigned at birth while desperately seeking to feel authentic to who they are inside.   One would also hope that resentment would not build within the gay community due to the unfortunate fact that gay men could be sent off to die but gay women could not.

One now understands why Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell, for all its flaws, is still in force.   But I do understand my history, as well, and I know that the Twenty-Sixth Amendment raised the uniform voting age in this country from 21 to 18.   A compelling argument raised by young Vietnam War Protesters, which stated that young men who were being drafted and sent to die in the jungles were without the right to vote in or vote out the legislators who were in charge of making that awful decision—this push led to resolute action.   Quite unlike the legislative logjam we are now facing today in other reform measures, the process of enactment and ratification was not a particularly contentious one and it didn’t take long for the amendment to take effect.   When I consider today how many eighteen to twenty year olds only vote when the name Obama is on the ballot, it really makes me sad.   Yet, at least that right exists, and at least combined effort towards good produced satisfactory results.   We might learn from that when it comes down to pushing our own unique ends and aims.   If we are going to increase the scope and span of conscription, an act so unfair and so completely unjustified as to border on complete evil, perhaps we might be forced to learn some lessons and to confront the hypocrisies that don’t merely influence some, but influence all.        

With the slow demise of old media has also come the demise of niche media like websites which cater specifically to women’s studies and women’s interests.   Prompted by the demise of Double X, an offshoot of Slate, itself an off-shoot of the financial troubled Washington Post, one can tell  how both female-centric media and academic fields are usually the first to go in times of economic crisis, budget cutbacks, or higher education famine.  While part of me laments that such sites end up being placed first on the chopping board when revenues plummet, another part of me wonders if we are finally ready to rid ourselves of the need for specific media designed for identity group solidarity.   In another time where persecution was harsh and undeniably swift to those outside of the mainstream who dared tread into uncharted territory, I think we may be ready to draw up tentative plans for full unity.  

Last week I visited Philadelphia and the historic Arch Street Meeting House, a Quaker house of worship that prides itself as being the largest gathering in the world and the oldest still in use in the United States.   The main part of the building was separated into a larger worship space and a smaller one directly adjacent to it.   A faith committed resolutely to equality among all its members deliberately made accommodations to female attenders by giving them the option of using a women-only space during worship services.  There, ladies who would have otherwise felt constrained to speak from within their hearts and their convictions because of the close proximity of their husbands or out of fear of broaching social protocol could have a safe space of their own.  Within it they were allowed to verbalize that which they had every right to be express but too often kept inside themselves.   It need be noted, of course, that this arrangement no longer exists and that now the voices of women have been welcomed into larger fellowship.  I rejoice that progress has been made and hope it continues.

Amy Walter’s column “It’s Still 1960 in Washington” rings true in many ways.   Designed to point out the stain of sexism and condescending attitudes Washington still holds within its its corridors of power, the piece also speaks to that which we have gained and have yet to gain regarding equality between the sexes. Certain assumptions have proved difficult to completely eradicate from our system and while the boldest and most visible offenders may have been banished from public sight into private secret, subtle suggestion and dog whistle have sprung up to replace them.  To be sure, we do not live in a post-sexist society (yet), though if one only considered the victories won and not the upcoming contests, it might be easy to be lulled to complacency.   At times we resemble the boxer, who having won a few key contests, rests back on his haunches, fails to stay in shape for his next match, and ends up losing it based on poor conditioning.      

Gloria Steniem wrote,

“Those of us who were taught the cheerful American notion that progress is linear and hierarchical may have had to learn with pain…that no worthwhile battle can be fought and won only once….the issues still repeat themselves in different ways and in constantly shifting arenas.”

This is, at its core, the fly in the ointment of many a Progressive and many an activist.   No single election, no single candidate, no single protest, no single idea, no single victory of any size is enough.   Whether you agree or disagree with the mission, The Crusades, after all, progressed easily enough at the beginning.   Spurred to action by the passionate appeals of a zealous Pope, highly trained and heavily skilled armies easily defeated Muslim forces.   After having secured the Holy Land and established outposts, Christian crusaders began to slowly but steadily trickle back home with time.   This left the soldiers who did remain in the coveted territories and manning the castle outposts vulnerable to Muslim attack.   In time, the crusader states won went back into the hands of the “infidels” and the process had no choice but to start all over again.   End of Crusade One.   Next, Crusade Two.          

Rust is the enemy of reform and as much as it would be tempting to swap war stories, no worthwhile conflict leaves any room for nostalgia.   The problem facing Feminism right now (or for that matter, any reform movement) is that many of the major forces at play haven’t recognized the generational shift and new challenges that are merely part of the progression of time.   Instead, they want to fight the newest enemy with obsolete strategies and obsolete weaponry.   Those who do recognize the problem, frequently young Feminists and young activists, end up being tokenized, patronized, or discounted.   These offenses have led to third-wavers forming their own organizations and groups, though in truth it would be far better if everyone was on the same page and not working at cross-purposes with each other.   In order to make change, one must be willing to make change within oneself, and those who encourage self-reflection, sad to say, often run the risk of taking a long walk off of a short plank.    

For years, the goal of feminism was to get reproductive rights out of the realm of “women’s issues” and into the category of “family issues.” And many have wondered if EMILY’s List, an organization dedicated solely to electing pro-choice Democratic women, has outlived its usefulness. After all, in an era that saw a woman come so close to being elected president, a women’s-only group can sound as outdated as the three-martini lunch. Yet it was striking that on an issue as central to the Democratic party ideology as this one, it was up to women to define and defend it.

Upon first reading this passage, I was afraid Walter was going to resort to the same argument which states that feminism and women’s-only groups are superfluous and outdated.   The need for them does persist, but aforementioned outdated thinking and antiquated strategy comprises the mission statements of far too many of them.   That which begins with good intentions drifts dangerous towards self-parody if group introspection is not prized and actively incorporated.  Many women’s rights groups could and probably have been fodder for The Onion and for good reason.   The second-wave feminism of the sixties and seventies advances the concerns of a relatively privileged group of now aging white middle class women and frequently doesn’t take into account currents trends and cultural evolution.   Furthermore, getting more than just reproductive rights transformed into the realm of family issues is what Feminism has attempted and frequently failed to do.   Even invoking the phrase “family issues” instantly conjures up maternal images of rocking babies to sleep and feeding small children.    

What needs to happen, unless it is forever perceived in the cultural imagination as a niche group with a relatively limited scope, is for Feminism’s goals to advance human rights.   To be sure, there are many activists, myself being only one, who are attempting to bring this to pass.   What we continue to struggle with, however, are cultural attitudes that lock men out of the process altogether by assuming that they will be meant to feel unwelcome in feminist circles or that taking an interest in the concerns of women is masculine and thus effeminate.   Along with this is a gross stereotype that portrays Feminism as shrill, exclusive, lacking an understanding of irony, and having no grasp of nuance or subtlety.   Though most Feminist thought does have a woman-centered emphasis for good reason, I as a man have been amazed at how much of conventional masculine gender roles and concerns I can observe even in the most strictly female construct.   It is that point in particular that makes me realize that our supposed separation from each other is a skillfully crafted illusion.  We must not be careful to not break the bonds of fidelity and common purpose that link us together, provided we are willing to constantly seek them and repair them.  Wear and tear is simply part of the game.

We in Western society frequently latch hold of the concerns of the Third World in a laudable desire to reform, enlighten, and correct the injustices which exists in countries who do not enjoy our same basic freedoms.  Though this impulse is meant to bring light to the darkness, we must also be careful not to let our own biases and own paternalistic impulses overshadow the good work we seek to accomplish.  When the reform we seek thinly veils our own individual internal struggles, then we are not truly working for unselfish means.  However, rather than beating ourselves up when we fall short, we would be wise to forgive our shortcomings and strive to listen more and hector less.  It is only with listening and absorbing the complete picture that truly effective change ever comes to be.  If short-cuts guaranteed successful outcomes, we’d have colonized Mars by now, viewed a time where same-sex marriage was illegal as unspeakably barbaric and nonsensical, and learned to take for granted a single payer health care system.

The controversy over women who demand the right to wear the Niqab or the burqu despite laws banning it altogether has become a highly politicized issue in Western Europe and even in our own country.  Feminist activists, particularly female feminist activists, have grabbed hold of the head scarf and veil issue as a clear-cut visual example that shows conclusive evidence of brutal Patriarchal oppression.  When sexism and anti-feminist offenses are so often disguised and ingrained within a society, the head scarf has become an endearing image to invoke due to its unquestioned visibility.  If one takes into account a purely Western point of view, nothing could be a more suitable example of the malicious intent of men harshly imposing their will upon women.  In comparing their perceived interpretation of the custom to their own lives and their own hard-fought struggles as women, they have incorporated the practice into a Raison d’etre of a particular school of thought.  This endearing symbol pushes social justice and personalizes the lack of human rights rightly due to oppressed women through the world.  The cause has been so heavily politicized and eagerly embraced that few have felt any need to examine the subtleties that sometimes contradict and frequently complicate any resounding rallying point or slam dunk.  The reality, as it so often is, is full of subtle nuances that make any black and white reading much more complicated or even impossible.