I am an ardent and daily reader of second and third wave feminist blogs such as Feministe, Feministing, and Pandagon. These blogs are written by women who are 30 or sub-30 years old. I love these blogs. They give me hope. But I will make the most subversive statement ever; as a feminist, I’m not altogether with them.
I’m different. I’m a fifty year old feminist. I can honestly say that I encountered and embraced feminism at the tender age of 11…that would be 1968 to the rest of you. For many of you, that was before you were even born.
I have found myself on the outskirts of feminism these days. It has nothing to do with my attitudes or my motivations. It is mostly because of my age. I am probably in the category of “first wave” feminism. And I am considered a dinosaur.
I heartily embrace what the next generations have. But sometimes I wonder if I have been tossed to the side. Do you really recognize what went before you? The next generation after me seems to take it for granted (thank God!) that there are choices that can be made. But those choices didn’t come without a price…for both men and women.
I’m so damn grateful that women no longer feel the need to get married and have kids in order to be a part of acceptable society. I revel in the fact that so many young women automatically assume that career choices for them are damn near unlimited. But I would like to remind them, it wasn’t always that way…and it wasn’t all that long ago that it wasn’t that way.
A mere generation ago, it was a battle every inch of the way to say that a woman didn’t want kids and didn’t want to get married. I was pilloried every step of the way. I was accused of being “lesbian”, “cold”, “unfeminine” and…what was supposed to be the ultimate insult…"too ugly for any man to want me”.
I have fought the anti-abortionists. I have fought for equal pay. I have fought for the right to make decisions about my life and dreams. I have fought and fought hard.
So why do I get the feeling that I am not only being dismissed by society in general, but dismissed by my own feminist sisters?
I think I have a different perspective on things. I can no longer get worked up over sexist comments, sexist portrayals of women in the media, etc. Hell, I can’t even get worked up over pornography! I simply don’t have the energy anymore to take on those things anymore. I don’t give a damn if some idiotic middle-aged male lawyer ignores me during an appointment whereby all the legal documents are in my name and not in my husband’s name. I have learned how to ignore being called “my dear” by some stupid 28 year-old man. I’ve even managed to make my way past the condescending male AND female attitude of “you deserve a token display of respect because you’re old enough to by my mother”. They still don’t occupy the status of “what really counts”. My eyes keep turning to what I lovingly refer to as “the big shit”. I have a hard time holding back the tears and the rage when I read that Afghani women are committing suicide in record numbers…African girls are still being subjected to cruel and dangerous clitorectomies…girls are still being horribly under-educated throughout the world..and little girls in my own protected world are being told that their bodies are their only value.
I see red over the fact that I am still afraid to walk the streets of my small town after dark. I want to haul out the Uzi sub-machine guns when I’m told that some prehistoric Member of Parliament wants to introduce a bill that will take me back 30 years and tell me that all my efforts were for nothing.
I vacillate between rage and despair. When I want to throw in the towel and call it quits, it is the same time I want to scream at the top of my lungs. In just the past few weeks I have watched my most hated governing party try to pass legislation (film tax credit controversy) that deeply offends my sense of tolerance and..to my complete horror, the introduction of a bill that wants to slowly, and subversely tell me that my body is simply a vessel for male sperm. I’m fifty years old. I, through voluntary medical intervention, have made myself incapable of motherhood. What does this world leave me? If I am not a baby-making machine, if I am too old to be a trophy woman for some insecure man, if I am not intelligent and capable enough to be respected in my work field, what am I?
I am angry. I will not be ignored. I will not shut up. I have spent 35 years begging, fighting, and demanding the basics in my life. And I will be damned if I will get too tired and worn out to do it anymore. I wish that 35 years had been enough. But, clearly, it isn’t. If I have to scream at the top of my lungs until I’m ninety, I will do it. But I will never get over the bitter disappointment that 2/3 of my life has been spent in near futility.
Send me your petitions. Give me the addresses of the Members of Parliament. Let me know when the protest walks are scheduled. I’m sick and tired of it. But I’ll be damned if I’m calling it quits now.
But please, great Spaghetti Monster, let me rest. Soon.
No comments:
Post a Comment