So tck tck tck had a “blog action day” like weeks ago, which I was planning to write this for, but oh well. I hope it’s the same in the United States, but Scandinavia is a-buzzin’ in preparation for COP15 - the UN Climate Conference in Copenhagen, which will hopefully bring us a new climate change agreement. With the varying viewpoints of the EU, US/Umbrella group, and G77 and China, it’s hard to say what the agreement will be and whether there will be an agreement at all, leading some to question whether no agreement is better than a bad agreement. But obviously, we must remain hopeful that we can make the necessary changes to slow down climate change before the damage is irreversible. For me, motivating myself about this issue is not about the scary numbers, but contextualizing it as one of “Climate Justice” and particularly for me, justice for women.
Johannesburg, South Africa.
Photos from the International Day of Climate Action, sponsored by 350.org
So why is climate change a feminist issue?
read more…
Daniel Engber at Slate has another in a long line of very good analyses of the idiocy of paying people to be thinner. Specifically, he tackles a proposal by the CEO of Safeway (a grocery store chain) to offer incentives, in the form of lower insurance premiums, for losing weight.
Not showing increased health by any rubric. Just losing weight. Engbar gets through almost all the good reasons (with links!) about why this is stupid. Healthy and skinny aren’t synonymous, there are economic and genetic barriers to weight change, “diets” rarely have long-term effects, yo-yo dieting is unhealthy, and so on.
One point that he’s missing, which is critical in my mind, is that there are already a huge fucking number of “incentives” to be thin(ner) (that is, punishments for being fat) and they do not work. In the lovely Kate Harding’s words, “If shame made people thin, there wouldn’t be a fat person in this country, trust me.”
Do I “diet” (i.e. seriously restrict my eating and make moral judgments on my food choices) more when I’m feeling less good about myself? Abso-fucking-lutely. Is that a self-respectful, sustainable way of maintaining my health? Shit no.
I’m pretty sure my body size isn’t the result of a pro-con list I make each morning that just doesn’t have enough entries on the FATZ ARE WRONG side. It really, really isn’t an issue of incentives or punishments. Policies like Safeway’s are morally-based, not health-based. It isn’t about making people healthy, it’s about stigmatizing fat.
My parents’ company (which is an insurance company, actually) has a great program that gives some wonderful incentives for actual health-ifying behavior, like having routine physicals and health screenings, and eating (and sharing with coworkers!) fresh fruit and vegetables. I know that “It’s for my health!” is often used as a proxy for “It’s for my weight loss!” but programs like these, which do not assume intrinsic health value in weight loss, help to provide a reminder that weight is just a number, not the be-all-end-all of what determines our health.
I’m a crier. I’m pretty okay with that. I cry when I’m sad, I cry when I’m angry, I cry when I’m embarrassed, and I cry when I’m excited. I cry during movies basically all the time. I cry at weddings. Sometimes I just cry for no reason. It makes me feel better.
So, this post, and the ensuing comment thread (at my posting) hit home pretty hard. From Courtney at Feministing:
I remember one class, in particular, in which a classmate and I got into a fiery argument about the politics of language, ebonics, poverty, and education. I teared up in spite of myself and felt frustrated for the rest of the day that I’d let my emotions show.
Today I have more empathy for that 19-year-old version of me. I think that emotions, as Roxie argued, are a critical part of how I process the world, understand ideas and issues, and formulate my own arguments. In this still male-dominated realm of intellectual debate (just look at the op-ed pages of any major newspaper), the standard is still clear: emotions, and most certainly crying, don’t have a place.
I’m taking a class right now about educational equality (in a variety of forms). This week, we’ve been discussing gender equality in the classroom. This is something I’m pretty passionate about. It’s something I take really seriously. It’s something I take really personally.
A couple of weeks ago when we were talking about race equality, one of my classmates did something I found quite revolutionary, and quite brave: she raised her hand and flat out told us that, being the only person of color in the room during that discussion, she was really uncomfortable.
Even though I was far from the only woman in the classroom this week (most of the students in the class are female), it didn’t stop me from feeling uncomfortable. Even though I was far from the only feminist in the classroom, it didn’t stop me from feeling uncomfortable. Because here’s what it’s about: when you’re talking about women, you are talking about me. Even if you’re talking about women in high school in “sex-segregated” classrooms, you are talking about me. And when I am talking about women in high school in “sex-segregated” classrooms, I’m talking about me, too.
There were no particularly jarring incidents for me. No one felt compelled to make the argument that maybe women should just suck it up and learn some science. One of my male classmates did pull the ol’ “Well, I’ve seen some numbers, and I’m just not convinced” trick, but I know from his prior contributions to that class that he’s coming at this with the right intentions, and I can deal with that.
There was nothing horrible that went on in this classroom. But there could have been. There has been, for many more of us than just me.
Because when you’re talking about women, you’re talking about me. When it’s Ladies’ Day on the syllabus, and all the men sit back in their chairs and keep their heads down. When I draw attention to a gender problem in a text and become the next contestant on Stump the Feminist! When two lines out of five thousand mention a non-male and no one seems bothered in the least. You’re talking about me.
I’m an intelligent woman, fairly well-versed in a number of subjects. I can argue, I can be aggressive, I can debate. I can take being told that I’m wrong. I cannot take being told that I’m nothing.
When we set up this rational-emotional opposition, we forget that sometimes, the subject is emotion. Sometimes, the argument is “When you did X, it made me feel hurt/silenced/erased/less-than.” There is nothing intrinsically irrational about emotions. Dispassion is not necessarily rational. If I cry (or want to), it isn’t because I’ve shut off the part of my brain that allows me to think reasonably about the issue at hand. It’s because I’m sad, hurt, angry, embarrassed, targeted. It’s because it’s me, and I can’t be indifferent.
Devaluing an emotive response boxes up and ships away the part of me that’s central to a discussion that’s about women, or a discussion that ignores women. That I can’t do.
Feministing’s got a new study from the UK that shows that–drum roll please!–girls who receive the Gardasil vaccine against HPV say it makes them think more about risks in sexual behavior.
Here’s the piece of the study quoted by Feministing:
One in five of the 12 and 13-year-olds polled by the University of Manchester team thought the vaccine was embarrassing because it is for a sexually-transmitted infection – human papillomavirus, or HPV.How about that? Actually offering young people the opportunity to feel responsible for their sex lives, and to take responsibility for their sex lives makes them, well, more responsible! Isn’t it a horribly pessimistic worldview that assumes that individuals are so totally uninterested in their own health that teaching them about it will cause them to make risky, unhealthful decisions?But, 79% of the girls said having the vaccination reminded them of the possible risks of sexual contact and 93% said it showed they were serious about their own health.
Just more evidence that everyone is best served when they have access to accurate information and are empowered to use it to keep themselves safe and happy.
In September, the Senate Finance Committee voted to spend $50 million on a curriculum that we know doesn’t work, that leaves our students unprepared to make healthful decisions about their own bodies, and that is ineffective at preventing sexually transmitted infections, unwanted pregnancy, and sexual violence. $50 million for abstinence-only education. Not okay, Orrin Hatch.
And not okay, U.S. Senate.
Advocates for Youth, in conjunction with a bunch of other awesome groups, are reminding us to call our senators and make it absolutely clear that we demand accurate, inclusive, comprehensive, responsible information for our young people (and not-so-young people!) about sex, relationships, anatomy, and health.
Advocates’ email is below the fold.
OH! And if you’ve never called a Member of Congress before, as someone who has done so approximately eleventybizillion times, I promise: it’s not scary AT ALL! Basically, you call, talk to (probably) an intern, say your bit, they’ll get some information from you, and then you hang up. Easy peasy. I’ve never been challenged or questioned, or experienced any rudeness. This is important! YOU CAN DO IT!
read more…
Norway is incredibly proud of its gender equality, and in many ways it has the right to be. As I’ve detailed somewhat before, about 40% of the parliament is female, women earn about 90 cents on the krone, and have more higher education. These impressive statistics (find more here) are the result of affirmative action and other strong measures taken by the government to ensure gender equality. Talking with women my age at my internship, they too are proud of this equality and generally feel they have equal opportunities to men. But there is one issue that you still can’t escape in this pretty gender equal utopia, and that is sexual harassment and the threat of sexual violence.
All women have these experiences, and some days I can laugh them off and some days they make me so mad I could explode. And even though it really won’t surprise you anymore, here’s the quick story of one night in Copenhagen, when a friend and I just wanted to go out and dance. Now, Copenhagen is a pretty safe town (besides the gang wars) so my friend and I felt pretty comfortable walking the streets on our own, even while wearing clothes to go out in and drinking out of cans of Carlsberg. But of course, for many men we encountered, this was an invitation for them to talk to us, which I don’t necessarily mind. If I’m at a club, and someone asks me to dance, I’ll say yes or no (ok, mostly no) and if they respect my decision I can still feel comfortable. But when I’m on the street and someone says hi to me, I never really want to talk to them and I generally try not to respond or respond politely but clearly that I don’t want to talk. More so, I definitely didnt want to talk to the man who said hi to me and then continued to follow us for over four blocks. Or the man who was all dressed up who followed us out of the club and down the street, finally asking us, hilariously if we were psychokillers. I have to admit, I was proud of myself for responding, “well, we’re not the one’s wearing a wig and following people we don’t know home, are we?”, which I was rewarded for by another few blocks of lurking about 50 feet behind us. These are clearly inappropriate and threatening behaviors, but these interactions influence all my interactions with unknown men. As Phaedra Starling describes, based on these experiences all men become “Schrödinger’s Rapist”. I really encourage you to read her article, if you haven’t yet, which is addressed to men, detailing why women are so on guard when meeting someone new, and what men can do to be respectful of this need for self-protection.
In class this week we have been discussing Michel Foucault, and his concepts of sexuality that only has meaning within a social context and biopower , the means by which the state gains power over the body by regulating it and disciplining it. I was thinking about his defintion of power in relation to the threat of sexual violence, because we all know that rape is about power, not sex. This power is exercise over women at all times, not just at the point of rape. The constant threat of sexual violence leads women to constantly have to regulate and discipline their own behaviors. We chose wear to walk, what to wear and who to talk to based on this threat. The other night, we switched streets when we realized that ours was at the center of the redlight district and that we were surrounded by groups of men, with few women in sight – clearly, not a safe place to walk. This self-regulation is a form of male oppression and men are constantly exercising this power over women, even if they don’t mean to, because they are all “Schrödinger’s Rapist¨”. Women participate in this system of regulation to, in the ways we socially sanction women who deviate from proper female sexuality. Terms like “slut” and “whore” are used to degrade women who don’t protect themselves, sex workers are considered victims regardless of their situation and agency and clothing and drinking choices are all questioned in rape cases.
I would call this a panoptic system of power, but does not simply involve this disciplining and regulation. Because the threat of sexual violence is real, and sexual violence is not a “punishment” but rather torture. While Foucault historically places his theories in a way that implies today that we are beyond this public and physically violent forms of regulation by the state, we are not. The system of regulation in which women (and those considered sexually deviant) reside in is enforced by physical, sexual, violence against the women’s body. Realizing that this system of power and regulation in place, does not necessarily give me the means to combat it. Sometimes I wish that I could rebel against the system by drinking as much as I want, wearing whatever I want, talking to whoever I want and walking wherever I want. Of course, I should be able to do all these things without being punished, but in this system of power, the regulation can be more than just social sanction, but in fact physical violence. And I can’t be sure which one I’ll get.
ETA: This was originally on my Livejournal, and at Jill’s suggestion, I am bringing it here. It is a bit raw and unedited, so take that into account when responding.
This is a fabulous guest post on a great blog about what it’s like to be trans and Christian.
http://www.womanist-musings.com/2009/10/let-talk-about-trans-faith.html
It hits a lot of the same points that I felt when I was still trying to reconcile being queer and Episcopalian. I don’t really try anymore, since I tend to think of myself as Agnostic. But regardless, I definitely watched my church begin to split on the issues of ordaining LGBT people, and many members of my church protested Gene Robinson’s ordination in 2003. Being queer and religious is pretty difficult, just like being queer and from the South. There was a time when I used all three of those descriptors for myself, and it’s pretty tough. I constantly feel like I have to apologize for the people and culture that I often identify with. Being a Texan, formerly a point of pride, is ridiculed and subjects me to pity, as if homophobia, racism, and religious prejudice don’t exist in the more “enlightened” or “civilized” North. Let me make this clear:
I LOVE a lot of parts of Southern culture. I love the food, the hospitality, the accent, the cowboy boots and hats, the incredibly strong tradition of high school involvement (we have some of the strongest music programs in the country, not to mention sports and academic honor societies) and the appreciation for people who work on farms, etc. There’s something pretty refreshing about a place where being cooped up in an office and never interacting with animals or nature isn’t the paradigm of success and happiness. In addition, say what you will about racism in the South, Texas is an incredibly diverse place, particularly in the cities. In Houston, there are street signs in Vietnamese, there are thriving Russian markets and newspapers, an impressive Chinatown, a neighborhood that used to be a “gay ghetto” that has now become the beating heart of youth and alternative culture in the city, and, of course, large numbers of African-American and Hispanic or Latino people, among other examples of the diversity of background and experience represented in this one city alone.
Yes. There’s a lot of ugly in the South, but that ugly isn’t exclusive. It takes up residence anywhere and everywhere it can find it, and I’m sick of being greeted with mockery or pity when I say I’m from Texas. Yeah, I had to say the Texas pledge of allegiance every day in high school. So what? I have an ingrown loyalty to the state I’m from. Is that really a problem? I consciously recognize a lot of the problems: pollution, gross divides between high level achievers in schools and those who are not, homophobia, racism, and an uneasy history of race relations that stems from the Civil War and beyond, xenophobia that stems from high levels of legal and illegal immigration, and the list goes on and on.
But these are everywhere, and until we recognize that we “liberals” and “progressives” can’t act out our own insecurities about our own ugliness by using the South as a whipping boy, we are stuck in the same mold, refusing to deal with these same problems and allowing them to fester in our own movements and communities. The classic example of this is how the African American community was heavily blamed for the passing of Proposition 8 in California. Many white LGBT community members took the first chance to blame African Americans for this, exposing their own internalized racism. They probably thought they weren’t prejudiced either, since they were part of a marginalized group as well. My point is not to pick apart this particular instance, but to recognize that it represented that queers are not as free-thinking and “liberal” as we claim to be, at least, in some instances. Another example is of the many, many misogynist remarks I have heard made by gay men toward and about women, not to mention the trans-misogynist comments and behaviors I hear and see from everyone (including myself – I’m still learning how to function as a trans ally), and the ableism that runs rampant everywhere. I’m getting away from the point a bit, which is that we try to point the fingers at those people we see as less “enlightened” or “civilized” due to their region, mode of dress, or experience, while neglecting our own journey and the issues we still face in our supposedly tolerant, accepting, open communities.
And now to the faith component of my little rant.
There are a lot of things I LOVE about the Christian faith. I love that there is a book that can be interpreted so many different ways – and that if you prefer certain translations, you can find them. I love that it is divided into 2 testaments, with incredibly different messages for its adherents. I love that in the Old Testament, it recognizes and documents the seeds of Judaism, Christianity, and Islam. I love that the New Testament includes words from the supposed savior himself, and that they are the most radical words. Love everyone? Heal everyone? Do not put money about faith and love? Use your talents for the betterment of yourself and your community? These are all pretty great messages, I would argue. Personal pacifism and forgiveness? All of these things are awesome things to spread around. I also love that people looking for meaning in their lives have the opportunity to find it in constructive ways, through service, personal faith, fellowship, and scholarly study of an important historical text. I love that people find empowerment in the book and their faith to pursue their dreams and accomplish their goals.
Now for the bad:
I hate the way the Old Testament is used for violence, discrimination, and hatred, often without regard for the message of acceptance put forth in the New Testament, which, since it is the new promise given to the believer by God, and is specifically meant to replace the old one, should really be the more valid one. I hate that people get so caught up in whether they want communion every week, or whether they believe in confession or whether they think women should be ordained, etc, that they have to argue, fight, and split into different sects. I hate that people feel obligated to participate. Religion is a personal experience that is highly private and changeable. No one should be viewed as having fewer morals or less intellect because of their belief or disbelief. I hate that as I do more research about the formation of the Bible, I reveal more and more instances of patriarchy and the power establishment inserting their own values into what is supposed to be a sacred text. I hate that people who are “fundamentalists” often have read very little of the book they claim to believe literally. I hate that in the Old Testament, God appears to be angry, vengeful, and sometimes hypocritical. Lastly, I hate that there are so many contradictions, and instead of taking verses in context for the specific historical time (for example, I believe the ban on pork was instated because pork was hard to keep safe for consumption during ancient times), people take them literally, ignoring the idea that faith and belief can be an ever-changing entity, and when we buy into ancient doctrine as the absolute authority, we prevent our faith from moving forward with the times and allowing God to change, or instate new rules for new issues.
Wow, it feels really good to say all this. I know I made some generalizations, but please understand that I don’t believe all queers blamed African Americans for Prop 8 or that all Christian fundamentalists neglect to read the Bible, etc. This is a rant, so not all my thoughts are perfectly coherent.
Dear Wellness Center Nurse:
During my first pelvic exam ever (yes, I know, I am a bit behind), there were a few notable things that happened. First, you asked me what kind of birth control I used, I said none and that it wasn’t an issue since I’m gay. You blushed a little bit and apologized saying “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have assumed,” and then when I said it was ok, kept going with the questionnaire. This was just about the best response possible – acknowledging the mistake, realizing that the assumption could be hurtful, but being able to move on with the rest of the exam. As a note, I wasn’t hurt or offended, actually, especially since you were just trying to figure out my sexual health status.
The main thing that happened was that after getting me in the stirrups, the first thing you said (after explaining everything that you were going to do and what to expect), you said “This looks perfectly normal.” That statement, said in passing, was so nice to hear. I’ve seen a few vaginas, and a few people have seen mine, but to hear from somebody trained to look at them that I was normal was so comforting. I didn’t realize how rarely I’ve talked about what vaginas look like, until you said that and it put me so at ease. I can’t imagine a better way to make me feel safe, and to make me more ok with my own body parts. You didn’t say I was exceptionally beautiful (probably would have been an embellishment), or that this or that looked funny, or that it smelled funny, or any other thing that women tend to be insecure about. You simply told me that I, at least externally, was totally fine and normal. I don’t need to worry about my various parts looking different from everyone else’s, which is really nice to hear. I think of myself as relatively educated about female genitalia, but the validation from a medically-trained stranger was incredibly comforting, and what I remember most vividly about the whole appointment.
Thank you. Pelvic exams aren’t the most fun thing in the world, but that certainly helped.
Sincerely,
Your early morning Monday appointment.
So I’ve been thinking recently about the words that we use to describe the corpulent among us. The term generally accepted as most-politically-correct in mainstream U.S. culture seems to be “overweight,” but I’d like question this moniker. “Overweight” makes it sound as though there is some sort of “weight” that you are supposed to be at, but you have now exceeded your hypothetical weight limits and have crossed the boundary into the OVERweight (oh noes!!!). As a member of the FA movement, I fundamentally disagree with and eschew any term that defines a point at which someone has become unacceptable due to their size, so “overweight” bothers me. I hate the BMI for a lot of reasons, but one of the main ones is that it creates these stupid little boxes labeled “normal” and “overweight” that make implicit judgments about the people crammed into said boxes. Any way you cut it, “overweight” means that there is some category of just “weight” that you should be in (if you weren’t such a damned lazy, ignorant, stupid fatty of course).
On the other hand, I’ve come to really like the simple word FAT to describe large people. Now I know a lot of people see “fat” as a pejorative and shaming word, but I’m reclaiming it. I want to reclaim FAT and make it into a purely descriptive word for someone who has a lot of adipose tissue on their body. For instance, if you have a body composition analysis done, and the result is that you have a high percent of body fat, then you are, literally, fat. Now that fat may or may not having any affect on your overall health (in fact, it probably doesn’t), but at least the term fat accurately characterizes your body. My point is that the term fat is both descriptive and also does not attach any value judgment about size the way that “overweight” (or “underweight” for that matter) does. So, I say we start using plain ol’ FAT again. FAT FAT FAT.
FAT.
Lovely readers, what do you say? What are your favorite words for teh fatties?
As I wrote about a couple of days ago, ESPN Magazine is putting together a Body Issue to celebrate the power, skill, and elegance of the bodies of several athletes. I was holding off total judgment until I could see the images, and here they are! (Thanks to the boyfriend’s attention!)
For me, these images are very empowering, even though almost none of them look anything like me. I appreciate that there is a variety of bodies, men and women, people of different races, many different body types. Even more, though, I appreciate that, while these photos are obviously depicting attractive individuals, they’re not depicting bodies that are there only there to be viewed and objectified. These pictures show people of strength, whose bodies we are meant to appreciate, not just consume.
Take a look. What you do think?
