Sweet Madeleine

Sweet Madeleine

... Givin' it away for free

When Is It Going To Be Enough?

   

I love this film already and I’ve only seen a two and a half minute clip of it.

It’s so frustrating to me how inured we are to the girl/boy divide, that simply stating you don’t want your daughter dressed exclusively in pink makes you a radical feminist.

That suggesting boys can be sweet and girls creators paints you as an extremist, labels you.

A few stories then:

1. When the Chris Brown/Rihanna situation exploded and pictures of her battered and swollen face were splashed across magazine covers and website pages, I remember sitting down with a handful of the teens I work with to address any triggers, and also just because I was curious about their take.

Their responses shocked me. The boys remained largely silent, they seemed to recognize the magnitude of Brown’s actions, the horrific nature of the situation. But the girls, the GIRLS were the ones to make jokes, to brush it off, to justify and say things like “Well she must have done something pretty bad to make him that angry.”

I was horrified. “No!” I remember insisting, “Nothing she could have done, - nothing - would warrant that reaction. What Chris Brown did was wrong, the fault lies squarely with him. There is no justification for something like this. Ever.”

They sensed how worked up I was and they nodded, but their eyes betrayed them, they didn’t agree. The fact that Brown still has legions of loyal fans (the majority being female) speaks to the far reach of this disordered thinking.

(Sort-of related tangent: A few weeks ago I was soliciting music suggestions from a different group of teens, I was giving my typical schpiel, ” The songs can’t have excessive swearing, glorification of drugs or alcohol, violence against women etc” and one of the young boys spoke up and said “What about violence against men?” and, YES! Fist-pump.)

2. Christmas. Or perhaps gift-giving in general. I once worked in a store where many people did their Christmas shopping, and I guess I’ve been successfully brainwashed by Sociology and Feminism because I was truly surprised by how many people bought incredibly gendered gifts for their children.

It’s frustrating because this issue goes FAR beyond pink for girls, blue for boys - who cares! The colours themselves are irrelevant, but the way toys are produced, advertised and marketed is negligent.

One woman bought her daughter a Mr. Clean-branded broom and dustpan set. Her son got Lego. Packaging on the former showed a young girl, the latter a boy.

Do you see? Men create, they explore, they build, they achieve. Women clean. Women take care of babies.

These statements aren’t problematic in and of themselves- they’re true, men DO explore and create, women DO raise children.

But it’s the complete and utter lack of balance that disturbs me. These toys are being marketed very specifically towards one gender or the other. You’ll never find a baby doll in the “boys” section of Toys R Us.

There’s an appalling absence of options to allow GIRLS to practice creating, exploring, building, conquering, achieving. Equally disturbing is the lack of options for BOYS to caretake, practise domesticity.

Yes, you can buy boy-specific toys for girls and vice-versa, but I find that by the time a child is three or four they know pink is for girls, blue is for boys. They’ve been socialized enough to know that it’s not “right” for a boy to play with a pink toy. We as adults need to make room for each child to explore interests and capabilities regardless of gendered norms and expectations.

You can’t do it by yourself. A parent can raise their child to be as gender-neutral as they want, but at some point they will come into contact with society and a boy playing with a doll on the playground will be made fun of. A little girl will be encouraged to leave behind the science kit and be ushered over to the barbies.

Hopefully they can be strong enough to buck that pressure, but that’s placing the responsibility of changing an entire society’s social norms on the shoulders of a four year old, when we as adults should be taking on that role ourselves. 

Why is it radical that a boy should want to do laundry or learn how to soothe a child? Why is it radical that a girl might want to see a picture of someone who looks like her on a box of Lego’s?

It’s bullshit. Wooden blocks for all.

3. Feminism itself. I hate calling myself a feminist for a few reasons, a) the ridiculous connotations it carries with it: Unshaven legs, masculinity (so antithetical I can’t even go into it), rage, unreasonable attitudes, man-hating, unattractiveness, it goes on ad nauseum…  and b) it seems redundant.

Who isn’t a feminist?! Is there anyone reading this who would actually argue that women are in some tangible, concrete way, less than men? Less valuable, less worthy, less capable, less important? Is there anyone reading this who would argue that women aren’t equally capable of achieving greatness, being leaders and role models, wielding power responsibly?

(and conversely, would anyone truly argue that men are in some way less able to parent, to maintain a home, to strive to create a loving relationship with those close to them?)

It seems really strange to me that these two ideas exist simultaneously; that being a feminist is somehow unattractive and radical, but also that the actual concept of feminism involves simply reaches for equality in the most basic of human ways.

We are all feminists!

(Want to hold hands?)

4. Men and women are not the same, in fact we tend to be (generally speaking) very very different. Throw a stone and you’ll find a study proving gaping differences in men and women’s  memory, spatial skills, the way we learn, athletic strengths, instinct, interpersonal skills etc etc etc. but this is precisely WHY balance is needed.

We need to balance the general strengths of one gender with the weaknesses of the other. Anyone who has ever had a healthy long-term relationship (opposite-sex or same-sex) knows what this is like.

Men are not the problem, women are not the solution.

Balance.

Sisterhood

                     

                                  Young Woman Listening To God by Brent Schreiber

Tonight at work the air crackled and pulsed, we all had our ears tuned to some strange undercurrent that went beyond speech or sound. We were on edge, defensive, picking up on each others tension and helplessly multiplying it like an echo gone wrong, repeating again and again what was better left unsaid. 

It was palpable. Our newest youth worker lowered her voice to a whisper when everyone had left the room,  “Are you feeling like it’s really…intense in here right now?”

I wonder sometimes if, beyond the mens-magazine jokes about women having their own language, we do somehow trade more often in subtle changes in the air or emotional frequencies, rather than words themselves.

What are we reacting to when surface interactions run smoothly but there exists an unspeakable air of treachery, of opinions being audibly formed while you speak?

Is this innate? Is it imagined?

I wonder sometimes, about women. About the bonds between us that are formed and resisted and angrily destroyed. How emotions seem to be felt more intensely - or perhaps, arguably, just more readily acknowledged.

I used to say that you could tell if a man had sisters. These are men that grew up privy to the secret lives of women, they feel comfortable treading upon that hallowed ground- willing to buy tampons, happy to wait in the lingerie section. They seem somehow aware of the invisible currents that run between and around the women in their lives. They knew when to walk lightly, when to push.

There’s a strange energy when all of my sisters and I are together, all five of us. Beyond the chaos and the anarchy there exists an audible noise, a powerful howl, a strength that goes beyond names or numbers.

For the men, the closest I can get to articulating it is with a Transformers analogy. Imagine that point when, faced with a formidable opponent, all of the individual transformers combine to make that one, giant Transformer (Optimus Prime? Decepticon? Is this painful for you? Adam’s not home to ask, I’m coming up empty here, but you know what I mean, right? The big one, the Mega-Transformer)

Each piece clicks into place, interlocking into an arrangement that’s simultaneously awkward and natural. This is the 5 sisters together, we fall easily back into the roles we’ve been playing since birth, shrugging them on as easily as childhood nicknames: Toad, Lucifer, Sunshine, Fatty and Poopie.

No matter how much we deviate from those old roles in our lives, being together somehow sucks us back, playing our old parts, spitting our old lines, old rhymes. Despite any vows to the opposite, I always end up trying to wrest control, police things, Lizzie makes peace, Claire stirs the pot, Hilary leaves a wake of chaos behind her and Mawney desperately careens between being caught up in the whirlwind and trying to resist it, escape it.

It’s at once unsettling and deeply comfortable. It’s unsettling to see yourself revert so quickly, completely. It’s deeply comfortable to know, at this one place and in this one time, exactly what is required of you. To know precisely what part you are expected to play in service to the greater whole.  

I think for a long time my brother felt left out of this circle. Shipped off to boarding school he missed many of the running around years, years where my sisters were growing up. We were close, me and him, tearing around our neighbourhood on bikes two sizes too small, stealing rhubarb and walking busy Calgary streets like catwalks, dressed in our finest. But for a while I think he felt separate from this entity, one Transformer fighting a losing battle against the monolith Mega-Transformer (It’s got to have a name, right? Anyone? Beuler?) and being subsumed by it, devoured, lost in the noise.

It’s been interesting to see him rise up in the past few years. I see it visually; him straightening his back, squaring his shoulders and taking on his position as the eldest, firmly removing it from his bossy younger sister’s white-knuckled grasp (I imagine myself a squalling despot unwilling to relinquish power, no matter how small). I think his wife made him comfortable within the fold of bewildering women, and we’re glad he’s back. He’s needed, missed.

So here we are.  And here, hopefully, we will soon all be. Crammed into my tiny house, plus seven people, minus a dining room- a cacophony of gifts and shouting and lounging, legs entangled and intertwined, old confidences and rivalries rising and falling. The building of empires, ground into dust.

Mega-Transformer rises again!

Is it…that time?

I just set women back 50 years by tearing up in a business meeting.

My apologies, Ms. Steinem.

Neither saints nor whores, only women

(since this is being reblogged so often, I tracked down the original post to give proper credit. Original image found at http://nisantasniputas.blogspot.com )

Neither saints nor whores, only women

(since this is being reblogged so often, I tracked down the original post to give proper credit. Original image found at http://nisantasniputas.blogspot.com )

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