Hurting ourselves in the name of fairness

Slight of hand: Intersectional feminism

 

I’m a woman, a first generation American, a person of mixed race.

 

I am ticked at how women hurt our own cause.

 

Intersectional feminism is basically a good thing; it means that we need to acknowledge women, but also women of color, women with disabilities, women who have challenges other than being a woman.

 

But.

 

Have you noticed other movements don’t do this?

 

Black lives matter tends to focus on black men. You tend not to see, on a black lives matter FB thread, people furious for not saying black people with disabilities matter, or black women matter. It is OK to say black lives matter. It is at once meant to refer to all people who are black, and justifying only depicting black men in news stories.

 

SLATE had an article about the Google antidiversity manifesto. It said in part that while the language of the manifesto was largely from men’s rights groups (MRAs) some of the philosophy was from an “even worse” standpoint, which was White Supremacists.

 

I don’t know why the author said this, but it illustrates perfectly that men, no matter what color, win the advantage war, the media war, the publicity war.

Without any explanation or documentation, the author of the SLATE article just assumed the reader would agree: racism is worse than sexism.

 

Oh. IS it?

 

In a world where a common MSN headline is “women using this instead of pepper spray!” is understood to show that women can always expect to be in danger, the notion of white supremacists somehow being “worse” than men’s rights groups is insane.

 

Women undermine ourselves by pretending somehow that we don’t have it as bad as black men, when black men had their right to vote guaranteed first, had a president that looked like them first, have cars and tools designed to fit people of their build, the list goes on and on.

 

The list goes on for so long that I quantified it. I am still working on making the chart attractive. In a point by point system, the marginalizations any woman faces are so great that a black, gay man with a mobility disability still has it better.

For one thing, he isn’t expected to carry around pepper spray.

 

But on a feminist thread, there will always be a bunch of people not only pointing out, but very hostile about, women not acknowledging women of color, or with other challenges.

 

I might add that I have reason to know what I am talking about. If a person is stupid enough to make a racist joke in my presence and I say, “Hey, I’m not all white, you know,” apologies flow fast. Any time I call out sexism, I know the response will be to tell me I’m a whiny bitch, taking things too seriously, or can’t take a joke.

 

Intersectional feminism should be encouraged and nurtured, without our bringing other women down when we fail. I don’t know yet how to do this, but am working on it.

The shit we endure for being women is bad enough without our hurting ourselves.

It ain’t necessarily

 

Remember Billy Beer? No? How about Roger Clinton’s band?

 

Future generations may believe that Jimmy Carter had a Brewery, and that Bill Clinton had a hit called, “Nothing Good Comes Easy.” Eh, maybe that’s not the best example.

 

I am heartsick at the current trend to paint Sally Hemings as the mistress of Thomas Jefferson—and for a lot of reasons. None of which has a lot to do with TJ.

 

People who hear me say, “No, that wasn’t proven,” may think I am defending TJ when that is not at all my goal.

But boy oh boy, am I bothered by the ignorance of facts. By the elevation of circumstantial evidence.

 

The first part of my distress is the misunderstanding of the word “mistress.” I don’t care whether TJ fathered every one of her children—and he certainly did not. The fact is that Hemings was a slave. She was unable to consent to a relationship with a white man. She was a slave. To elevate her being raped to a “relationship” makes me utterly sick.

 

Another problem is that of misunderstanding of what DNA can prove. DNA has proven that at least one of Hemings’ children was fathered by a Jefferson.

This information was gathered using DNA obtained from descendents of Thomas Jefferson’s uncle, Field Jefferson. It is a willful refusal to face facts when the DNA used in the sample was not even from Thomas. What people are refusing to face is that there is an awful lot of Jefferson DNA out there.

 

Let me repeat: Even the DNA used to prove Jefferson family involvement was not from Thomas Jefferson. To state that any Jefferson DNA in current Hemings descendents must be from Thomas is not only laughable, it shows a sad misunderstanding of science.

 

There were, as it happens, a great many Jeffersons arund when Sally Hemings was reproducing. There were also oral histories from that time saying that “Marse Randolph” frequented slave quarters.

 

Marse Randolph was not present during that famous stay in Paris. In fact, the only Jefferson in Paris at the time the famous movie depicts a “relationship” between Thomas and Sally was, you guessed, Thomas.

Even the most reluctant to admit TJ involvement would have to bow down when faced with Jefferson DNA in a Hemings descendent from that time period. But no.

 

The Woodson line (the Hemings family line from that time period has that surname) has been found to be no Jefferson of any kind.

That proves two things: TJ did not father Thomas Woodson. And someone else, some non Jefferson, DID.

 

If Jefferson DNA had been found in descendents from a time when only Thomas was around, that would prove pretty well that TJ had been the one.   Lack of Jefferson DNA when Hemings had a baby, when there is Jefferson DNA in at least one other Hemings line, proves that Hemings’ children had more than one father. And since she was not known to be in a marriage, this means that she was the rape victim of more than one man.

 

Can you see why it is so sad to come up with an imaginary “relationship” for a victim of more than one rape? Holy god, how can people DO this to her?

 

The Jefferson-in-Paris line not being Jefferson does not mean, of course, that TJ, conclusively, had no involvement in Hemings children.   But nothing so far has proven that of all the Jeffersons, he was the one. And DNA has also proved that of the fathers of Hemings children, he was certainly not the one from Paris.

 

Using Sally Hemings’ multiple rapes to make it look as though she had more agency than she had makes me utterly disgusted.  I’m not too surprised that if there is a Jefferson talk, they want to make it about Thomas, though. In my own family the legend was that we were descended from Maria Theresa of Austria.  Further scrutiny seems to say that we were descended from some minor brother of hers who raped a maid.  Way less painful to say we were related to the important one.  Who’d want to be descended from Billy Carter? I’d hitch my star  to Jimmy, if I had the chance.

 

http://www.pbs.org/wgbh/pages/frontline/shows/jefferson/true/primer.html

I GOT LIPS

One tough thing about being an agnostic is I don’t have enough swear words.

 

No god means no way to damn people.

 

Jessica Valenti pointed out, as well, in her book Full Frontal Feminism that most swear words are really a way to insult women. You insult a woman by pointing out that she is one, “You BITCH!” and insult a man by saying there is something woman ish about him, “You pussy!”   Also, male sexuality is good, “He’s got balls!”and female sexuality is bad, “You slut.” You can just as easily say a man is gutsy by saying something is a “dick move” as say it is jerky.

 

So, for years, I have had my mild swear phrase, the equiv of “He’s got balls,” to reclaim female sexuality.

 

As Betty White pointed out, balls are pathetic, anyway.

Me, I got LIPS.

 

I am one LIPPY lady. I got the lips to stand up to you, not take any of your bullshit.

 

Before I go into a tough situation, I ask myself if I got the lips to get through it.

 

Generally, I do. I’d consider it a favor if you’d acknowledge your strength by saying you, too, got lips.  Just throw me the credit now and then.

 

I GOT LIPS.

Horror Story

I am a librarian, which basically means I think for a living, which is a wonderful, wonderful job.

 

So, because of what I do, people are sometimes surprised to learn what I read in my spare time: celebrity biographies. LOVE ‘em.

They’re like fairy tales for grown ups. I love Hollywood romances, I love rags to riches stories, I love when the bad guy gets what is coming to him, like whoever said Lucille Ball couldn’t act.

 

Sometimes I like the sad stories, which put my sorrows in perspective. If you ever want to feel REALLY lucky, read about Gene Tierney.

 

Well, in this week’s celebrity headlines (not a book, I confess, but still) was Jim Carrey, in the most horrible story that ever lacked bloodshed.

 

His ex-girlfriend, who was married when he was with her, committed suicide, and Carrey nobly was a pall bearer at her funeral.

Her husband revealed that he believed Carrey supplied the drugs that she used to kill herself. Yikes, that is bad. And very very sad. And possibly illegal.

But after that, a hand written letter was published, with follow up tweets, that showed Carrey had (likely) given the woman STDs. I don’t mean AN STD, but plural.

OK, these things happen.

 

What made it the most horrifying story I have read in a long, long time was Carrey’s response to her saying he had infected her, which was, “Eh, you might have gotten it from someone before me.”

 

No, no. That is not the correct response.

The response is, “Holy SHIT! You have an STD? What is it? Will you be OK? I didn’t think I had anything, I had better get tested. WILL YOU BE OK?”

 

So he knowingly infected her. And according to texts that are none of my business, it is with two kinds of Herpes—no cure. Her heart breaking letter says she is damaged forever, and that rings true to me.

 

And Carrey bore her coffin at her funeral.

Fitting.

Why am I mad at him? I don’t know him.

What led to his sense of self-absorption that this story ever happened?  Is it white male privilege–the idea that he can do whatever he wants to a woman, because he is the guy? Is it being rich, and surrounded by sycophants?  Was it that he was much older, and likely more dominant as a result? He was divorced from two women his own age; did he only want a woman he could control?

Why do I care?

I guess part of it is validation. I always got a creepy feeling from him, wouldn’t want him socializing with my family, never knew why. (PS, BOOOO on your acting, Carrey; with a truly great actor I pay enough attention to the character that I don’t waste my brain cells speculation what you are like in real life.)

 

I see a story like Carrey’s horrific treatment of his ex and can say to myself, “Ah! I CAN trust my instincts! Next time I get a creepazoid vibe from someone, I’ll believe in myself.”

Or I might say, “WOW. I guess I have been comparatively lucky.”

Why she didn’t speak up

 

I’ve never been raped, but . . .

You know how everything goes by so fast on your Twitter and FB feed? I saw this wonderful piece of writing, I think called, “I’ve never been raped, but . . .”  which was a woman talking about the ridiculous and sad things she does every day, that no man ever has to—not only to NOT BE ASSAULTED, but to not be blamed for it just in case she is.

 

I am not even going to attempt to find it and repost it because it was too depressing. And I didn’t realize a lot of the stuff that I—even I—do to cooperate with a culture that will absolutely fault me if I am ever sexually assaulted.

 

But here’s my contribution to the Why Didn’t She Speak Up Sooner? Culture:

 

Some years ago, I already had a Bachelor’s Degree, a house in my name, a car payment. I was an Adult. I worked at a place where older teenagers would work side by side with adults.   I was just leaving a relationship.

And, at work, an 18 year old grabbed my ass.

 

Of course I was startled. I was a GROWN UP. He was a teenager. What the hell? And, he reminded me very much of Eugene from Grease. He was not a Don Juan wannabe or a cool kid. He was just this nerdy lil thing. He grinned after doing it, a knowing, “Whatterya gonna do?” look.

 

I realized pretty quickly that it was unlikely my supervisor would do anything. In fact, as an adult who just left her partner, pretty likely my complaint would be seen as wishful thinking—she can’t keep a man, so she has fantasies for this harmless teen. So for a few days I just avoided the guy.

 

The part I am most ashamed of is when I decided to do . . . something.

It was not for myself. I came to the realization at some point that Eugene was using his nerdiness, in all likelihood, to do the same thing to other people. So not for myself, but for the sake of potential others, I brought it up.

Which is bullshit. Waiting to protect others but not myself is nonsense. If every assaulted woman could assert “I count!” we would have fewer serial assaulters.

 

But, surely the Union would have some policy about this. I didn’t want Eugene to go to jail, or even to lose his job, but a formal note in his file would have been great.

 

It took me days to work up the courage to speak to a supervisor. And the supervisor said, “I am sure you are mistaken. Eugene would never do that.”

 

I am not kidding.

 

I was a respected, educated, home owning adult. I was not believed. At my work place.

 

What would I do then? Go to the police, when my very workplace was against me?

And what do women do who are not “respectable?” Or whose assaulters, rather than being nerdy teens, are rich and famous and powerful?

 

The system protected a nerdy teen against a respectable adult. How in the world can any woman stand up to any man?

 

 

Eugene has gone on, so I hear, to be happily married with three daughters. If it ever happens that he makes the news as a serial rapist, what in the world will I do?

 

If I say, “OMG, YES! He assaulted me, too,” either I will have to re live not being believed, or I will be condemned for not bringing it up at the time.

 

“All that is necessary for evil to flourish is for good people to do nothing.” Bull. All that is necessary for evil to flourish is for the good people to be powerless.

 

(PS I handled Eugene, ultimately, by telling him that if he ever touched me again I would break his nose. But I am willing to bet there are dozens of women who didn’t think of that answer. After all, I didn’t, myself, for weeks. And I was willing to do it, which I don’t think others would have been. )

 

(PPS I apologize to anyone named Eugene or anyone who loves someone named Eugene. I promise the next time I use the name it will be for a good person.)