feminist blogs

The Palin groupies are on my last good nerve. However, in reading their effusive praise of Governor Sarah Palin, I am at last able to articulate my problem with her.

I was once in the same position as Sarah Palin. I went into my high-school-aged daughter’s room very late one night, to sneak some clean laundry into a drawer. And alas, she was gone, the window open, the curtain flapping in the night air. ALIEN ABDUCTION!?! Well, sorta.

It was, I knew, the Video Store Guy. I felt the blood rushing to my head. I was livid. As I wrote in the piece linked above, if I’d known about water-boarding then, I might have given it a try.

But quickly….another emotion flooded in. OMG. No. Please, no.

We must act. NOW.

Of course, no gynecologists were available at 3am in the morning here in the Carolinas, but I left a hysterical phone-message anyway: WE NEED AN APPOINTMENT! (Like, last week.)

As a Catholic, I don’t mind admitting to you: I am uncomfortable with abortion. I would never have one. (I would also never make it illegal, FTR.) Therefore, the idea that I may have to make this decision for my minor child, sent me into a panic. I honestly didn’t know if I could. The very idea made me dizzy, seriously. NOT GOING THERE.

Also, the idea that a BABY (Video Store Guy’s BABY!!!!) might materialize on my doorstep, quite literally? NOT GOING THERE EITHER.

It should be noted that here in the south, my daughter was a seasoned veteran of abstinence-based education and workshops. They offer these everywhere; she attended several of these programs at her friends’ churches, as well as one at our own. They aren’t all bad; they are usually fun for the kids, featuring food, music and what-all. They try to emphasize positive family-communication through role-playing. They just didn’t address the actual existence of Video Store Guy and his winsome good looks.

Clearly, that was gonna be MY job.

And so, I acted. After the Rx was given, I could actually breathe again. And as I mentioned in this space last week, I AM now a grandmother, but on my daughter’s terms, and (WHEW!) Video Store Guy is long out of the picture.

~*~

This is why I am suspicious of the Sarah Palins of the world. We were in the same place, and she looked the other way. She allowed her daughter’s biology to dictate her life. As a candidate, of course, any discussion of putting the baby up for adoption (a reasonable and intelligent choice, but one I knew my daughter would never choose, since she is incapable of giving even KITTENS away) has been scuttled. How much of a CHOICE is young Bristol being given? Was it her choice to broadcast her personal business all over the country, climbing on a stage PREGNANT and YOUNG, her sexual history up for discussion before she even realizes that this will follow her throughout her life? (Especially with an identifiable first name like BRISTOL: “Oh yeah, the kid from Alaska that got knocked up!” is not something you want to hear when you are in your 30s and trying to get a decent job.)

It is considered unfeminist to call Sarah Palin a lousy mother, yet she is the type of ‘pro-family’ and anti-feminist Republican woman who called ME a lousy mother when I dialed up the gynecologist. I received a phone call from one of the mothers of the aforementioned church-going teens, my daughter’s friend. (Or, was.) The call went like so:

“Don’t you think that’s [birth control Rx] giving her permission to have sex?”

“Well,” I replied, “She didn’t ask my permission to climb out the window, so I don’t think my permission matters much, at this point.”

Of course, you all know the outcome of this conversation: this woman’s daughter was no longer permitted to hang out with mine. And I’m sure Sarah Palin would have reacted similarly.

Interestingly, during the New Hampshire GOP presidential debate, back in 2000, there was this exchange between candidates Alan Keyes and John McCain:

KEYES [to McCain]: What you would say if your daughter was ever in a position where she might need an abortion? You answered [earlier today] that the choice would be up to her and then that you’d have a family conference. That displayed a profound lack of understanding of the basic issue of principle involved in abortion. After all, if your daughter said she was contemplating killing her grandmother for the inheritance, you wouldn’t say, “Let’s have a family conference.” You’d look at her and say “Just Say No,“ because that is morally wrong. It is God’s choice that that child is in the womb. And for us to usurp that choice in contradiction of our declaration of principles is just as wrong.

McCAIN: I am proud of my pro-life record in public life, and I will continue to maintain it. I will not draw my children into this discussion. As a leader of a pro-life party with a pro-life position, I will persuade young Americans [to] understand the importance of the preservation of the rights of the unborn.

And now, McCain chooses someone who DOES draw their children into this discussion, who is supposed to be an example for all of us. Senator John McCain has uttered the nauseatingly contrived phrase: AND WHAT A LOVELY FAMILY! AND WHAT A LOVELY FAMILY! at least 50 times now. (I just saw another stump speech with Palin today, in which he repeated this.) What are we to take away from that? That teenage pregnancy is good? That forcing girls to get married is good?

Sarah Palin’s motherhood is being presented as a pro-life example. And as such, that POLITICAL example is open to analysis and criticism, since they are the ones making it political.

Not us.

(Crossposted at Daisy’s Dead Air)

Fascinating article in the Sunday Atlanta Journal-Constitution, about police officer Darlene Harris, and the discovery (at age 35) that she is an intersexed person:

She now knows why her voice is so deep, why she’s always been attracted to women, why she can grow a full beard.

Harris is intersex — someone whose internal or external sexual anatomy or chromosomes don’t fit the typical definitions of female or male at birth or puberty, according to Sharon Preves, a sociology professor and intersex researcher from St. Paul, Minn.

Genetic testing recently revealed that Harris carries the XY chromosomes of a male while having external sexual anatomy that appears to be a blend of a man’s and woman’s.

“It was like, ‘OK, I’m not crazy,’ ” said Harris, 35, who was identified as a female at birth and has lived her adult life as a lesbian, feeling like a man in a woman’s body.

“It was like a burden had been lifted. All of these things came together full circle at that moment. I now understood the reason why I am the way I am.”

As a result, the five-year Atlanta police veteran has come out of the closet again, this time as intersex, first to her family and friends and then publicly at an intersex workshop in Atlanta in May. She says her openness serves a dual purpose: helping heal wounds caused by a “life of confusion” and helping others who are going through similar experiences.

An estimated 1 in 2,000 people are considered intersex, and numerous medical conditions cause it, said Preves, who wrote the book, “Intersex and Identity: the Contested Self,” in 2003.

Although I am pleased that Harris–the Atlanta Police Department’s liaison to the gay, lesbian, bisexual and transgender communities–is so open, I was somewhat uncomfortable with the article’s assertion that the XY chromosome determines lesbianism or even facial hair. (I come from a rather hairy family, where facial hair on women was natural.)

Then again, it is hard to argue with Harris’ experience:

Now that Harris has been identified as intersex, she said she wants to be a public face for those just like her. Of course, she wishes that she’d found out sooner.

“It’s embarrassing, because I’m 35 and I’m just finding out about things that I should have known years ago,” said Harris, who has shoulder-length dreadlocks, dresses like a man and is often mistaken for a man.

…

Her early life included watching her father and other men beat her mother, she said, and getting batted around between foster and group homes.

“I was really angry,” Harris said. “I was extremely angry on the inside.”

She kept her hair cut short and preferred climbing trees over playing with dolls.

“I always called her ‘Boy,’” recalled one of Harris’ siblings, Tanisha Brew-Adams, who lives in Lithonia with her husband and children. “She looked like a boy, talked like a boy, fought like a boy.”

Harris went through puberty while she was in a group home in New York’s child welfare system. She noticed she had a stronger body odor and more body hair than other girls.

It would be years later — when she became sexually active with women as an adult — before she learned she was anatomically different. Every partner she’s ever had has commented on how she looks different. But Harris never listened, likely as a defense mechanism, she said.

“I used to shrug it off as, ‘That’s just me,’ ” she said.

…

That visit led Harris to an endocrinologist, who ran a chromosome test in February that offered medical proof to support how she feels: like a man in a woman’s body.

The news made Harris weep.

“It has lifted the burden off me and also released a lot of the anger,” Harris said. “I was angry and I couldn’t understand why.”

Harris said she thought about having a sex change to male, but decided against it.

“For what?” she asked. “God doesn’t make mistakes. I’m just uniquely different.”

She has quickly found peace being somewhere in the middle.

She is, however, changing her name from Darlene to something as ambiguous as her body: Danni Lee.

“Danni is an intersex name,” Harris said. “It can go either way — male or female.”

These days, Harris is not as quick to snap at people, and she’s more in tune with herself and her feelings.

Back to the old argument Second-Wave feminists wrestled with, that sometimes prompted purges and other ideological slugfests (and I was there, so I know): How much of gender is biologically determined?

And is that too politically-incorrect to talk about? What do you think?

[Harris] admits that she still has work to do and wants to stay on the right path, so she’s seeing a psychologist and anger counselor.

“I thought I was free when I came out as gay,” Harris said.

“That’s nothing compared to this. It’s freedom, total freedom. It’s like I can fly.”

And I’m sure we all agree: We want Danni Lee to fly.

~*~

Cross-posted at Daisy’s Dead Air.

(Yes, that title should bring in the hits!)

I’ve just returned from Dragon*Con in Atlanta, and wondering if fangirls are the future of feminism.

I have rarely seen such a jubilant and varied group of women; all sizes, body types, colors and ages were well-represented. Apparently (and unfortunately), the private parties are still pretty exclusive. But publicly, huge numbers of women seemed very proud of their bodies and their selves, having a great time together.

The experience usually defies description, so… a picture is worth a thousand words. Enjoy!

After demonstrating against the Republican National Convention in Detroit (1980), I also joined the Yippies in demonstrating against the Democratic National Convention in New York City the following month. It was very different. In Detroit, our every move was clocked. As I said in my piece on that convention, unmarked cars containing unmarked law enforcement followed us everywhere. Not only were we harassed, there were carefully-targeted arrests of leaders. But in New York? Nobody cared. Nobody thought we were worth following. The multiple demonstrations got all swallowed up by the general cacophony of the city. At peak hours, there might be several protests going on simultaneously, separated by saw-horses in strange configurations arranged to allow continuous traffic-flow outside Madison Square Garden. I recall Irish Nationalists demonstrating alongside PONY (Prostitutes of New York), replaced later by some unnamed Cold War hawks demanding the head of Jimmy Carter.

We didn’t necessarily have a grudge against Carter, as we did against Ronald Reagan. But the Yippie tradition (since the banner year of 1968) was to demonstrate against both parties.

The big event was the anti-nuclear die-in, blocking the delegates’ entrance, which was even covered in Newsweek. This was the only time I remember New Yorkers just off the subways, actually stopping and looking confused for a few minutes. I remember a couple of them blinking for a second: WHAT ARE THESE PEOPLE DOING, LAYING IN THE STREET? Some of activists sported radiation-burn makeup, which did give one pause, as they moaned, gurgled, groaned and got into the whole street-theater of the event. (One activist spoke from the podium: “If you people at the curb aren’t into dying, you know, laying on the ground and everything, you could just stumble around and throw up, if you’d like.”)

I don’t remember any other event bringing New York to anything remotely like a standstill. I made note of the fact that if you think your convention will be trouble, take it to New York. The DNC, still smarting from major riots in 1968 and 1972, took their party to New York in both 1976 and 1980, and managed to neutralize the rowdy opposition of street-demonstrations, quite admirably. As I passed out leaflets during the die-in (I wasn’t going to LAY ON THE NASTY CONCRETE), several New Yorkers asked me what was going on. Oh yeah, the convention. Shrug. New Yorkers aren’t impressed by much.

That night, we stayed at the Chelsea, with countless radicals crammed into a room and sleeping all over the floor. The first room we entered had the words NANCY SPUNGEN SLEPT HERE scrawled on the back of the door in red paint. Ha ha. “I’m not sleeping in this room!” one guy hyperventilated, “Is this the SAME ROOM??!” and he sufficiently spooked us into going to another room. (We never did find out if it was the same room.)

It was hot, stuffy and uncomfortable. I didn’t enjoy it. I questioned if any of this was doing any good. In Detroit, the constant harassment by law enforcement made us feel like we were engaging in some important revolutionary act. New York? Forget it. We were just part of the circus.

Signe Waller, widow of Jim Waller of the Greensboro 5, managed to get inside the convention during Carter’s acceptance speech and explode a firecracker, getting herself hustled off the convention floor forthwith. There were periodic busts outside for disorderly conduct and resisting arrest… and that was it. I did not attend another national political convention’s counter-demonstration after that.

I have seen precious little coverage of any demonstrations in Denver. Are activists saving their ire for John McCain and the Republican National Convention in Minneapolis? One can only hope. Or are demonstrations simply not the happening thing these days? Why do you think that is? Certainly, we didn’t have blogs and the internets to broadcast our POVs in those days. Climbing up on the proverbial soapbox, starting a picket line or writing commentary in an alternative newspapers were our only outlets.

Demonstrations were focal points then, and now they seem almost like mere formalities.

Cross-posted at Daisy’s Dead Air.

Latoya has inspired me to write about the feminism of Classic Country music.

Although country music is considered a conservative genre, there have always been women who challenged the status quo. The first on my list would be the amazing Wanda Jackson, properly known as the Queen of Rockabilly.

Wanda Jackson - Hard-headed Woman

~*~

If you saw the film Coal-Miner’s Daughter, you know this song is the truth, and 13-year-old Loretta Webb started having babies almost immediately after her marriage to Doolittle Lynn (known as Mooney, for running moonshine). He cheated on her fairly openly, even once while she gave birth to one of their six children (four of these born before she was 18 years old). Loretta and Mooney fought in full view of everyone, usually with fists: “He never hit me one time that I didn’t hit him back twice,” Loretta was frequently quoted as saying.

This song, recorded as late as 1975, was nonetheless banned on country radio stations. The lyrics, by TD Bayless, are too good not to reproduce here:

You wined me and dined me
When I was your girl
Promised if I’d be your wife
You’d show me the world
But all I’ve seen of this old world
Is a bed and a doctor bill
I’m tearin down your brooder house
Cause now I’ve got the pill

All these years I’ve stayed at home
While you had all your fun
And every year thats gone by
Another baby’s come
There’s a gonna be some changes made
Right here on nursery hill
You’ve set this chicken your last time
Cause now I’ve got the pill

This old maternity dress I’ve got
Is goin in the garbage
The clothes I’m wearin from now on
Won’t take up so much yardage

Miniskirts, hot pants and a few little fancy frills
Yeah I’m makin up for all those years
Since I’ve got the pill

I’m tired of all your crowin
How you and your hens play
While holdin a couple in my arms
Another’s on the way
This chicken’s done tore up her nest
And I’m ready to make a deal
And ya can’t afford to turn it down
Cause you know I’ve got the pill

This incubator is overused
Because you’ve kept it filled
The feelin good comes easy now
Since I’ve got the pill

It’s gettin dark, it’s roostin time
Tonight’s too good to be real
Oh but daddy don’t you worry none
Cause mama’s got the pill

Oh daddy don’t you worry none
Cause mama’s got the pill

Loretta Lynn - The Pill

~*~

More true stories… the incendiary marriage of the late Tammy Wynette and George Jones was also quite legendary in country music. Although known for singing (and co-authoring) Stand by your Man, at one point, Tammy had enough standing by George. (In fact, she had five husbands in all.)

In this song, she warns him she is gonna go out and party just like the women he seems to prefer. (And she backed it up, too, publicly beginning a relationship with 70s icon Burt Reynolds.)

Tammy Wynette - Your Good Girl’s gonna go bad

~*~

And the best for last! My mother sang this song in her band, and I can remember her rehearsing it when I was three or four years old; it was originally recorded in 1952 and has been recorded countless times since. The line, “It’s a shame that all the blame is on us women” impacted me even as a child; it was the song that gave me my earliest heads-up. I listened carefully to the lessons given in the song, which also has the distinction of being the first Billboard #1 country song by a woman.

Kitty Wells recorded this song as an “answer song” to Hank Thompson’s “The Wild Side of Life”–wherein Hank preaches self-righteously to the woman who left him:

I didn’t know God made honky tonk angels
I might have known you’d never make a wife
You gave up the only one that ever loved you
And went back to the wild side of life

The glamour of the gay night life has lured you
To the places where the wine and liquor flow
Where you wait to be anybody’s baby
And forget the truest love you’ll ever know

Nashville-native Kitty Wells wasn’t having any. These lyrics (by JD Miller) constitute her pointed reply to Hank. Most country-music historians agree that it was probably the first time a large number of women bought a record that their husbands didn’t like, establishing a fan-base that they didn’t even realize existed.

As I sit here tonight the jukebox playin
The tune about the wild side of life
As I listen to the words you are sayin
It brings memories when I was a trusting wife

It wasn’t God who made Honky Tonk angels
As you said in the words of your song
Too many times married men think they’re still single
That has caused many a good girl to go wrong

It’s a shame that all the blame is on us women
It’s not true that only you men feel the same
From the start most every heart that’s ever broken
Was because there always was a man to blame

It wasn’t God who made Honky Tonk angels
As you said in the words of your song
Too many times married men think they’re still single
That has caused many a good girl to go wrong

Kitty Wells - It Wasn’t God Who Made Honky-Tonk Angels

I hope yall enjoy these. They all mean a lot to me! (Cross posted at Daisy’s Dead Air.)

OMG, you are thinking, did she really start off blogging with a photo of her GRANDCHILD??? (Yes!)

Greetings all, another guest blogger checking in! I’m Daisy, and I blog at the suitably named Daisy’s Dead Air. I don’t mind telling you all, I’m a nervous wreck. I am used to a rather small readership, and a BIG BLOG like this one gives me a substantial case of the nerves. But I figure it’s time grandma had a say, and I will be blogging about age and age-related issues.

I will be 51 in a couple of weeks…and as the expression goes, inside every old person is a young person wondering what the hell happened. My periodic fury over the treatment of old-lady bloggers is likely what inspired Jill to ask me here, so I could rant at length. I’ll try not to disappoint.

In short, the treatment of old women in Blogdonia* is a scandal and mirrors the dismissal of old women in the culture at large. Very few old women are included in the “Big Blogs”–with the exception of Arianna Huffington, who owns hers outright. Older men are more often in established writing careers and have easily segued into blogging. Older women with time on their hands after retirement or raising children, are great candidates to start blogging. Many of us wrote regular book-length letters (in longhand no less), back in the day. Although we were once quite accustomed to writing and journaling, it seems that many of us get near a computer and totally freeze up. This seems like the staked-out territory of the young, and WHAT the devil are we doing here? (Men, it seems, never ask themselves that question, even when they should.) Lots of old-women blogs are started and then never kept up. Others are afraid to stray off a topic of expertise… thus, you have countless cooking and gardening blogs, but not the great variety of content from the average older man’s blog, which will typically include his political opinions, movie reviews, stories from his life, etc.

Why should old women blog?

As I wrote in my “Thank a Second-Wave (OLD) Feminist” post, lots of us were instrumental in very basic reforms that many of you now take for granted. Our stories are part of the feminist legacy, and deserve to be told.

And then there is the matter of history, and who writes it.

I have now been around long enough to see history twisted, revised and rewritten in my lifetime. In fact, just last night, I heard a TV talking head proclaim that although the Democratic and Republican political conventions had some rowdy demonstrations in the late 60s/early 70s, not much happened after that. Huh? Not true. There were ongoing demonstrations, almost non-stop, throughout the conventions in Kansas City and New York City in 1976, as well as in New York City and Detroit in 1980. I realized, while observing the talking head, that he was too young to have any first-hand knowledge of what he was talking about. This was his Received Wisdom, the ‘official’ version that has Been Decided Upon by the Powers that Be. And as progressives, we should worry. History is written by the victors, and consequently, a lot of ours has been erased.

And of course there is this essential truth: older women, in general, are simply not considered very important. Speaking of the conventions, it is this sentiment that we see amplified in Hillary’s supporters, a general feeling of having been ignored and dissed. I daresay their anger is not simply about Hillary, but she makes a great focal point. This is also the furious collective reaction to a culture that seeks to destroy any evidence of aging with surgery, fanatical exercise and botox; that considers sexuality among old women scandalous and forbidden. (NOTE: I challenge you to name any movies or TV shows in which an older women is shown in an ongoing, overtly sexual relationship.** Meanwhile, old male movie stars rate attractive young co-stars closer to their daughters’ ages.) It is understood that age DOES NOT equal wisdom, and people who rebelliously state this controversial fact (snark) in books, blogs, essays, wherever, are roundly applauded for saying so and putting us in our place. Disrespect for old women is at an all-time high, or is it just disrespect for AGE in general? In the meantime, expect a cantankerous display any time old women are consistently ignored or openly treated like shit.

And what can we do about that?

One thing you can do, if you have a blog, is link old lady bloggers. If you go down your blogroll, and you can’t find anyone old, ask yourself why that is. It is no accident. You must make the effort.

To make it easy, I offer the following insightful, wise women that I personally enjoy reading. Please pick one or more, and add to your blogroll!

I’d also like readers to link their favorite old women bloggers in this thread.

~*~

Elderwomanblog is the wonderful work of Marian Van Eyk McCain… no relation, don’t think!

Maitri is a Buddhist who rescues pugs, neurotic birds and writes about literature and spiritual growth.

Jackie is the author of the invaluable blog titled THE VEGAN DIET.

Granny Geek is possibly the best name of a blog, ever.

Marion’s fabulous blog is HERBAL CONNECTION. (Don’t be scared off, she covers other topics extensively, too!)

I was never quite sure of the age of Phyllis V. Du’Gas, until she turned out to be the only woman-blogger besides me who remembered Isaac Hayes’ HOT BUTTERED SOUL album! (You gave it away, Phyllis!)

Stony Run Farm is Risa’s ode to farming, canning, animals, hiking, and all that good outdoorsy stuff.

Unrepentant Old Hippie, also known as JJ, is a Canadian abortion rights activist with an acid wit, highly recommended.

Raven is a socialist who TAKES NO PRISONERS over on her blog, Fly by Night.

TIME GOES BY is Ronnie Bennett’s multi-issued blog dedicated to aging. She taught me to look up my bank’s rating and other common-sense stuff I didn’t know I should be doing. She also has a special section titled The Elder Storytelling Place.

Cat Chapin-Bishop writes Quaker Pagan Reflections with her partner, Peter Bishop. I am HUGE FAN of this one, spiritual junkie that I am.

Rhea writes THE BOOMER CHRONICLES, and covers important topics such as Annie Lennox’s recent back surgery. (Yes, inquiring minds want to know!)

Shadocat doesn’t update as much as she should (wags finger in her direction) but is the fantastic, warm, wonderful dyke grandma that we all should’ve had.

NOTE: This list would be a lot longer if women listed their ages on their blogs as often as men do. As it is, my preliminary investigations show that we are about one-fourth as likely to list our ages. Why?

~*~

*a word I made up from the Marx Brothers’ fictional country of FREEDONIA in DUCK SOUP. Blogdonia doesn’t factually exist either, but we have to call it something. (Even though Freedonia doesn’t really exist, it goes to war anyway, just like Blogdonia.)

**BATTLESTAR GALACTICA is the exception, and that’s of course because she is also the president and can do what she wants!