A response to a friend's request to comment on a Radical Feminist & the Women's Liberation Front

My dear friend,

After a bit of delay, I again revisited the link you shared with me. 

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ceRPvJVlL1g

After viewing it several times & jotting down notes & thinking, I visited http://womensliberationfront.org/.  Kara Dansky, interviewed in the link above, is on the Board of Directors.

The site intrigued me for a lot of reasons – impressive goals on the part of females - & gave me pause to rethink some things.  More on that later.

First, in response to your request to share my reaction & feedback, & in the interests of transparency, I need to disclose that the issue of biological sex & gender identity was & remains a major part of how I read, how I approach political issues, & how I interpret & navigate with Others in this ever evolving world.

In 1996, I requested to attend a graduate seminar in Modern Literary Theory as an undergraduate.  And was allowed to do it as a Special Project class for my major.  My paper in that seminar was entitled, “Feminism and Foucault:  Pinning & Unpinning Women to Their Sex.

Using the philosophy & writings of the French philosopher Michel Foucault, I set out to find a way to bridge the gap & subsequent divisive discourse between Feminists who insist that gender is defined in terms of biological determination & those who insist that gender is determined by culturally imposed construction.

And to find a way how I, who believe gender is a combination of both biology & culture & time & self-realization & more, fit into the debate.

Dansky, as a representative of WoLF (Womens Liberation Front), argued in the Tucker Carlson interview on Fox News that the group’s objection to using Title IX as justification for a federal decision to allow biologically determined boys & girls & men & women to defy the culturally constructed ideas of male & female & identify with a gender not in sync with their genetic makeup, demeaned women & girls.

Or so it seems to me.  Dansky spoke articulately about several concerns she shares with WoLF members.  For her, including transgenders in the choice to define oneself & write the text of one’s own life, somehow is a threat to biological girls & women.  

Not once did she mention a similar threat to biological boys & men. 

As the mother of two sons, that omission bothered me.

Dansky also voiced the assertion that the Federal mandate under Title IX was a threat to the civil rights protection of girls & women.  No mention of the civil rights protection of biological boys & men or transgender boys & girls or transgender women & men.

That bothered me.  Again.

Over the past decades, when the term “transgender” was first used, women & girls were not the only ones, as Dansky suggested in the Fox News interview, asking What is gender identity?

Her discussion of that question was, once again, limited to females.  This is simply untrue.  Especially now, when both young people & adults born both female & male struggle to find an answer to what defines their gender identification.

As do philosophers, theorists, writers, artists, musicians, doctors & lawyers -  males & females in all walks of life & in all positions.

On WoLF’s website, it defines its “Task  Forces.”  One of the four is:

GENDER ABOLITION

·         Seeks to abolish the gender-caste system.

·         Educates about the harms of gender and its centrality to male domination.

·         Vigorously defends women-only spaces.

·         Defends sex-segregation of domestic violence shelters, bathrooms, locker rooms, and sports teams.

·         Supports detransitioners in their struggle to be healed and heard.

If, by “Gender Abolition,” WoLF means abolishing artificial roles assigned to both males & females, I am on board.

While I understand the theory & reality of a “gender-caste system,” I would argue that “gender” itself is not central to male domination.  Rather, it is the interpretation of gender, the language & images used to describe & impose attributes to males & females that contributes & helps fuel patriarchy.

And while I understand the Task Force initiative’s to “vigorously defend women-only spaces,” I think it is a justification for the organization’s exclusion of anything Other than biologically female.

About the final Task Force initiative – to support “detransitioners” in their struggle – because I understand the complexities of the issue of gender, I understand that there are those who struggle & experiment & decided that they are not, after all, transgender.

However, the wording suggests that transitioning is like a condition or a disease & must be healed.  That wording & suggestion is the fault of the writers of the initiative & perhaps, of my reading of the words & my interpretation. 

Dansky spoke about how women can no longer talk of body parts or pregnant women (citing “pregnant people” as the preferred term -  a term I have never encountered).  About the refusal to ignore biological reality.

I would,  not so humbly,  suggest that Dansky revisit her position. To revisit her refusal to acknowledge how the expectations of what defines male or female are determined by more than anatomical equipment or even DNA.

How would Dansky & WoLF deal with a young teenage girl whose birth certificate defines her as a female, who possesses all the necessary female equipment, but whose DNA does not have the second X chromosome that genetically defines her sex as female?  She is one out of every 2,500 live births of female babies who have Turner’s Syndrome.

My young friend, now 14, chose not to allow Turner’s to define or limit her.  She has lived her entire life as a fierce, loving, funny, talented & kind young woman.  She has never doubted that she is a female.

Now that she is in high school & studying DNA, & because she has educated herself about Turner’s Syndrome, she recently asked questions about the implications of missing that X chromosome in defining her sex & gender.

And has been reassured that she is, indeed, a girl.  She chose & claimed that identification as she has done & lived long before her diagnosis. 

  

What would Dansky & WoLF do with other genetic inconsistencies?  With children born with complicated, conflicting body parts?  With children & adults whose original birth certificates defined them as male or female, and undergo sex reassignment surgery?  As both infants & children & adults.

I would also encourage Dansky to open her thought process to the impact of culturally specific expectations & the traits & limits those expectations assign to both males & females, the influence of environment, diverse family history & traditions affect the way we perceive gender identity in ourselves & Others.

Neither Woman nor Man can define identity & claim self-identification based totally on genetics or anatomy.  Humans are more than the sum of our body parts & genetics.  What is written on the text of our bodies & our lives is influenced by so much more – culture, tradition, education, experience, choice & time.

Unfortunately, my visit to the Women’s Liberation Front did nothing to endear me to Dansky’s position or WoLF’s mission.  The page states: 

WoLF is a radical feminist organization. In order to join, you have to agree with basic radical feminist ideas. Please note that we are a women-only organization, intended to serve and include biologically female persons who survived girlhood.

What Kara Dansky & WoLF need to come terms with is the reality that females are not alone on the planet.  We are surrounded, thwarted & supported by both females & males.  And all the different & evolving definitions of gender.  We cannot exist or fight against discrimination, or promote inclusion & understanding or continue as a species without one another.

WoLF membership excludes males & non-biological females. Which begs the question – do they accept biological females who identify as males?

In my own mantra & thought process, I believe in the power of inclusion & its ability to change the world for the better.

Integration without assimilation, union without loss of self, difference without dominance. 

No positive change in the human experience ever emerged from fear of the Other.  Nothing fine or worthy ever came from exclusion & marginalization.  Or from claiming the right to define one’s identity while rejecting the rights of Others to do & make the same claim.

Progress comes only with inclusion – when those who aim toward the same goal look past differences between one another & focus on the common ground needed to achieve the goal.

Women can only change thousands of years of patriarchy & its linear discourse by inclusion of the Other.  Those who do not look like us.  Or always think like us.  Or do not possess a clitoris, vulva or vagina.  Others who are often the perceived enemy of Self.

I have no problem with women only or women centered groups & organizations.  But I do have a problem with limiting the definition of who is or what constitutes “woman.”  It far more complex than biology.

One more thought.

The coverage of Kara Dansky’s position on allowing transgenders to choose which anatomically defined restroom to use – “Feminists & Christians Unite” - implies that Feminists & Christians are mutually exclusive.  

As a self-proclaimed Feminist & as a Christian, I maintain that this implication is fundamentally untrue.  And, in the end, divisive & destructive. 

Pitting Feminists against Women who are Christians.   

My conclusion is this:  I cannot get excited about a self-proclaimed radical Feminist who defines Women as the sum of their body parts & excludes Others.

Finding the NSI Barbie at Aldi's in Meadows Place

Several days after it opened, I explored the much anticipated new Aldi’s in my little city of Meadows Place, Texas.  I thought by avoiding the opening the previous Thursday, the crowds might decrease.  

I am an optimist & a dreamer.

The parking lot, which used to look generous while under construction, was almost full.  I found a space & walked to put my quarter into a slot to get my cart.  I helped a man figure out how to facilitate the return of his quarter & set out on my quest for kiwi at an affordable price.

The Meadows Place Aldi’s did not disappoint.  The aisles are wider than the Aldi’s at the previous location I patronized.  Laid out in a similar pattern, with a few differences.  I did not spot the bread aisle, although I have since learned I walked past it in the quest for kiwi. I did not find a large container of unflavored Greek yogurt with 24 grams of protein.

But I am an optimist & a dreamer.  Although I subsequently found the bread, I still awaiting the large container of plain Greek yogurt.

The kiwi & blueberries were there – at less than half the price of the grocery store a few blocks away.  As was the trio of red, yellow & orange bell peppers & the organic chicken broth.  I had to search for the section containing the canned goods I needed.

But the checkout lines were all manned & in spite of the crowd, moved quickly.

It was while examining the fruit juices, reading the label of a pomegranate flavored 100% juice that I imagined someone saying my name.  It was there that I found the National Signs Barbie.

Or, her inspiration, found me.  She said:

You may not remember me . . .

And I hugged her.  How could I forget one of the kindest, most loving & genuine souls I had ever met?  How could I forget the inspiration for the National Signs Barbie?

Debbie, who was working full time & going to TSU to become a social worker.

When I arrived at National Signs, my own direct reports did not mingle with me at first.  I spent most lunches alone, or at my desk, or driving my VW Beetle around the NRG Stadium area, wondering why I had taken the job.

After learning that all office supplies had to be approved by a person who frequently went through desks & pulled out what he felt was a surplus of hoarded supplies to justify not approving requests, I brought my office supplies from the desks at my previous jobs.

And my own pens & pencils & markers.  I made sure to inform the Office Supply Police that these were my personal possessions & were not subject to raids on hoarded supplies.

I also brought the Barbies. 

When both my brothers & my sister produced daughters, I developed a love / hate relationship with Barbies.  I hate the ridiculous body image Barbie established for little girls.  But I also remembered playing with them as a little girl.  They were not as interesting to me as baby dolls that felt like real babies when I held them.

But I bought Barbies for my nieces.  It was often a struggle to find a Barbie that resembled their diverse coloring.  I spent a lot of time in Barbie aisles in Toys-R-Us & Wal-Mart.

At some point, I wanted a red haired Barbie.  So I bought a blonde Barbie (no chance of finding one with one eye darker than the other or one whose eyes changed color with its surroundings) & my youngest niece & I dyed her hair with Rit dye. 

Subsequent attempts proved more successful than the first & the red headed Barbies ended up on a bookshelf above my desk at work, along with a copy of the complete works of Emily Dickinson (one never knows when one might need to read Dickinson), Virginia Woolf’s To the Lighthouse, Thomas Heywood’s A Woman Killed with Kindness, Luce Irigaray’s This Sex Which is Not One, & a feminist guide to mythology.

One never knows what one might need to read during lunch at one’s desk.  Or a random moment seeking sanity.

In my next job, the red headed Barbies followed.  And in the interests of team building, I posted a Bowling Barbie with an old trophy from my parents’ bowling days to promote participation in the company’s bowling day.  

There was discord between departments, but Bowling Barbie attracted attention & discourse replaced discord.  At least for the company bowling party.

Chocolate also played a huge part in encouraging conversation & understanding.

The Barbies & books & diversions followed me to my first job in corporate America – a division of Sprint.  One of the first questions asked the CPA with whom I had worked at two previous jobs was:

Are the Barbies Welcome?

She assured me that yes, they were welcome.  As were chocolates.  And the feather boa I kept because a girl never knows when she might need a feather boa.

When I took the Barbies to National Signs, I displayed them on a ledge above my office window overlooking the production shop.  On my bookshelves, I added my books & a radio / CD player & CDs designed to calm or inspire me & a small black & white TV.

To attract conversation & as an act of team building, I created a National Signs Barbie.  And kept chocolates on my desk.

Eventually, I retrieved a giant B channel letter from rejected channel letters on the production floor.

Debbie was my inspiration for the NSI Barbie.  She was not one of my direct reports, but her job was important for me to understand in order how to produce the job cost reports I submitted each month.

We attended the same weekly meetings, including production meetings in the offices downstairs.

She was peers with & respected by my direct reports & eventually, I was invited to lunch & never again had lunch alone except by choice or necessity. 

Over time, I asked the ladies who lunched together why they did not ask me to join them for lunch break at first. 

We had to check you out, make sure you were here to stay.

Apparently, my most recent predecessor lasted one day.

I cannot recall when Debbie first felt comfortable enough with me to talk about the woman who was her partner or about her return to school & her pursuit of a degree in social work.

As I have expressed earlier, Debbie is one of those rare, truly genuine human beings. 

When I created the NSI Barbie, I spent many visits to Barbie aisles to find the right clothes.  I spent hours with a curling iron & gel arranging her hair to reflect Debbie’s natural curls.

I aimed to make the NSI Barbie not only represent the company, but its inspiration.

When Debbie found me at Aldi’s I remembered how many times I have thought of & wondered about her since our time together, how much I enjoyed talking with her, how her warmth & empathy made difficult times bearable.  Whether personal or professional.

Her smile still lights up a room & one’s soul.

She asked about my family, remembered my two sons, remembered that my now daughter-in-law, the Lady Jane, had worked in a pet store during high school.

 

It was not a long conversation, but it brought back memories of people who sought to create & maintain a positive, supportive working environment in the face of toxicity.

That Sunday, I went in search of the Barbies – I had forgotten how many were natural redheads, how the face & look of Barbie had changed.  I found Rosie O’Donnell, Zena (but not Gabriel, Irish Barbie, Valentine Barbie, Mardis Gras Barbie, Rodeo Barbie, Halloween Barbie, Easter Barbie, Gardener Barbie, Overalls Barbie, Patriotic Barbie - Barbies I no longer remember choosing or dressing.

And I found Prince Charming in the box of Barbies & others.

Slightly smaller than his female companions.  

NSI Barbie, inspired by Debbie, brought back something I never want to forget.

The encounters we experience, not just the prolonged or limited relationships,  but the random sound of a voice in an Aldi’s aisle, matter. 

Somehow that random moment at Aldi’s reminded me of who I have been, who I am, & who I strive to be.

Someone remembered as lighting up a moment in time.

Thoughts from yesterday & today & tomorrow.

To a few of us here today this is a solemn and most momentous occasion. And, yet, in the history of our nation it is a commonplace occurrence. The orderly transfer of authority as called for in the Constitution routinely takes place as it has for almost two centuries and few of us stop to think how unique we really are. In the eyes of many in the world, this every-four-year ceremony we accept as normal is nothing less than a miracle....  Ronald Reagan, 1981

While January 20, 2017 not the day for which I had hoped, not the inauguration of America’s first woman President, it was, as is every Inauguration, an important moment in history.

How that history plays out over the next four or eight years, what impact & changes it will bring to our country, will be for subsequent generations to analyze & interpret.

For me watching the transition of power was, as always, overwhelming. 

I wept.  Not just for my disappointment & a dream shattered, not just because I am wary of a man whose words & actions & promises cause me to fear the future of the country & the world.

I wept at the wonder of a peaceful transition of power that has occurred since George Washington turned over the Presidency to John Adams.

And a sincere hope that we never forget to appreciate that wonder.

But I was not so overwhelmed that I did not listen carefully to the 45^th President’s Inaugural address. 

It was, for me, a strange speech.  But its content not unexpected.

Although I wanted to believe that #45 would use this day to extend an olive branch to those of us who did not support him & call for the nation to come together & embrace difference, DJT spoke to his base, reassuring him of his commitment to their dreams, their needs, their demands.

Demands that he described as those of a “righteous people & righteous public.” 

Americans want great schools for their children, safe neighborhoods for their families and good jobs for themselves. 

Nothing about access to affordable healthcare.  Nothing about protecting the threats to women’s right to choose & control their bodies, nothing about protecting those of difference.  Nothing about protecting the voice & religious choice of millions of Americans who did not vote for him.

But he will listen to a “righteous people & righteous public.”

I so wish someone who ask him his definition of righteous.

Invoking the Bible offended me as a believer.  I have major issues with people who profess to love God & to listen to Her using the Bible as a political tool or an excuse for behavior that is the antithesis of Judeo-Christian teaching.  While I have no access to DJT’s heart or soul, it was an invocation designed for his base, not for all Americans.

At the bedrock of our politics will be a total allegiance to the United States of America, and through our loyalty to our country, we will rediscover our loyalty to each other. When you open your heart to patriotism, there is no room for prejudice. The Bible tells us how good and pleasant it is when God's people live together in unity.

The Biblical reference Trump’s writers used is  Psalm 133:1, one of the Song of Ascents. 

Attributed to David, Psalm 133 consists of three verses:

1 How good and pleasant it is when God’s people live together in unity! 

2  It is like precious oil poured on the head, running down on the beard, running down on Aaron’s beard, down on the collar of his robe. 

3  It is as if the dew of Hermon were falling on Mount Zion. For there the LORD bestows his blessing, even life forevermore.

Scholars differ on the history of the title of Song of Ascents given to fifteen psalms – but one thing prevails in the various explanations.  The psalms of Ascents are believed to have been sung as pilgrims made their way to religious festivals.

I am certain that the Bible was not talking about politics or the government of the United States of America or the 2017 Inauguration of Donald J. Trump. 

While I admire the veiled subtlety of the use of a Song of Ascents – invoking an upward, rising movement – in this particular moment, it does not resonate with me.

It is so easy to pluck a verse out of a book revered around the world as the Word of God.  I see no upward movement.  I see no one anointing of oil, no dew falling on Mount Zion.

Especially not in an Inaugural Address that channeled “America First” as a mantra.

“America First” is not an original slogan.  The AFC, America First Committee, was established prior to World War II.  Its 800,000 members included familiar names:  future President Ford; Sargent Shriver, who went on to lead the Peace Corps; & Potter Stewart, the future U.S. Supreme Court justice. It was funded by the families who owned Sears-Roebuck & the Chicago Tribune, & counted among its ranks prominent anti-Semites of the day, including Henry Ford & Charles Lindbergh.

Lindbergh, & many other anti-Semites, suggested that Jews were advocating the U.S. to enter a war that was not in the national interest.

It was a war in the world’s interest.  And most certainly in our nation’s interest.

On January 20, 2017, I did not hear a unifying or hopeful beginning to the 45^th Presidency.  I felt no reassurance, no hope for positive change.  No call for inclusion of ALL Americans regardless of race, religion, ethnicity, gender or status.  Instead, I was overcome by dismay, sadness & uncertainty.

As I told my friend Marianna Steele, writing about my reaction to the day is a way to expunge the day from my soul, if not my memory. 

Of course, Dan Rather summed it up best – as he always does:

We now have a new and untested captain. His power is immense, but it is not bestowed from a divinity on high. It is derived, as the saying goes, from the consent of the governed. That means President Trump now works for us - all of us. And if he forgets that, it will be our duty to remind him.

Today, millions around the world are reminding him.  All of us.

W

Jaki Jean on Watching the Inauguration of the 45th President of the United States

While I understand why artists & performers take a stand on refusing to perform at an Inauguration of a candidate they did not support, I have to confess that I did not do the same upon the election of George H.W. Bush.

The artists & performers who want no part of Donald Trump’s Inauguration or his Presidency are more privileged & financially secure than I was when I moved with my toddler son to Washington, D.C. the summer before the election.

I was a single mother who moved to a town that was not particularly friendly toward single mothers, against the advice of trusted friends.  All of whom pointed out that I was leaving my support system for the unknown.

But I wanted that move.  I had an idea that leaving Texas for a city that, on the surface, represented the same sort of nostalgia & history & attraction as the cities I visited in Europe. 

And the cultural opportunities of our Capital seduced me.

I was not an artist during my time in D.C., but I became a performer.  With the election of George 41.

My job title fluctuated with the whims of my employer.  Sometimes I was a bookkeeper, sometimes a manager, sometimes Vice-President of the corporation.

I worked for a floral design company.  A florist.  I lived in a rent controlled apartment in Foggy Bottom on Virginia Avenue not far from the State Department.  My nearest grocery store was in the basement of the Watergate complex, next to the John F. Kennedy Center for the Performing Arts. 

My son & I could walk to the National Mall & to the White House. 

That part was exhilarating.

After the election, the firm I worked for was approached by a tennis partner of future First Lady Barbara Bush to design the floral installations for one of George 41’s balls.  My boss & a designer who had worked on Inaugural Balls before planned the conceived the installation.

All I did was take notes & write up the bid.

One does not get a great deal of specific capital for these Inaugural ventures – the cultural capital, the prestige is priceless.

Then my boss, reacting to the fact that his recently ex-wife hooked up with a man she would eventually marry, began an earnest pursuit for a new wife.

After our firm was given the ball, he decided to take his new object of affection to Belize.  For several weeks.

As I said, I only translated notes into a coherent narrative for the bid.  Shorty after my boss & the woman who would become his next wife flew to Belize, the experienced designer quit without notice & I called Belize to bitch.

And bitch I did.  I had no idea what to do, where to begin.  The Inaugural Ball was not my project.  There were no cell phones & long distance was expensive & phone contact with Belize was complicated.  But I kept bitching & begging for guidance.

Throughout the call, my boss kept begging me not to yell at him.  I kept admonishing his abandonment, telling him to return & handle this.

In the end, he did not return.  At least, not until the day before the Inauguration.

And I handled it, with the help of several talented & experienced designers.  I submitted specs to the American Floral Association (who, at the time, donated the flowers & members of the AFA came to do the work).  Always with the help of my favorite & most talented designer, my friend Miguel.

During the weeks leading up to the Inauguration, I was continuously summoned to the Old Navy Shipyard (at the most inopportune times), where I met with all the members of the committee involved on this one Inaugural Ball.  The socialite who chose our firm, the catering manager of the hotel, the general manager of the hotel, the person in charge of the talent to perform, various hangers on & the Secret Service.

It was during those meetings that I began to perform.  I bought my first pair of cowboy boots – George Strait Red Ropers.  I wore ridiculously large cubic zirconia studs in my ears.  I played Patsy Cline on the sound system at the production shop.

And I began to speak with an accent I abandoned years before – my accent when I moved to El Paso was very deep East Texas.  My Speech teacher at Coronado High School made me read exercises into a tape recorder until it was gone.

It was a good time to be a Texan in WDC.  With an accent.

In the interest of transparency, I have admit that I whored that experience.   I was not in a position of power, influence or wealth. 

I was not willing to sacrifice my source of income to take a stance against a candidate 

I did not endorse with my vote.

I attended every meeting of our Inaugural committee members (losing several florist scissors & knives I forgot to take out of my purse before going to through the metal detectors at the Old Navy Shipyard).  I ordered elephant topiaries shipped from Houston for other celebrations & parties we put together

Upon request, I bid on the Texas Black Tie & Boots Ball.  Another florist did the work – but he used my proposed design & credited me – giant urns of the yellow roses of Texas.  He also requested that I be given two tickets to the Texas party.

On the final walk through the installation, my recently reappeared boss walked with me.  Everything was exactly as envisioned - & enhanced.  We were standing in the main ballroom when two men I recognized by their sunglasses, tans, matching suits & ear phones.

Not to mention the slight bulge from guns underneath their jackets.

(I have a theory that the Secret Service agents receive sunglasses & suits from the same sources & that there is a private Caribbean retreat where they are sent to renew their tans.  They may all use the same barber.)

I also recognized two faces from weeks of meetings in the Old Navy Shipyard.

As they approached us, one said:

We have your tickets to the Inaugural Ball.

My boss held out a hand & said:  Those would be for me.

The agent & his partner paused, faces without emotion, & he replied in all seriousness:

You don’t look like the Jaki Jean Ettinger.

And then, with just a sliver of a smile, he handed the tickets to me.

An awkward moment for a vassal with no power, influence or prestige.

What I knew that my boss did not know was that I had no intention of attending either ball for which I had been given tickets.

Because I had not commissioned my talented sister & seamstress to make me a gown.

And because I had not slept for forty-eight hours & faced an early post Inaugural installation the next morning at the Willard Intercontinental Hotel. 

Because it was my quiet, & personally necessary, moment of protest & resistance, I gave my recently reappeared boss the tickets.

Tomorrow, I will watch a man I know to be ill-prepared, ill-equipped & unsuited to lead the country be inaugurated as the 45th President of the United States & the Leader of the Free World.  A man who will communicate with the nation & the world through 140 characters or less.  A man I did not support & could not fathom as a viable candidate for the Republican party. 

Because my 81-year old mother Jean insists it is important to watch. 

Jean is right.

We must watch, not to support Donald J. Trump, but to witness, document & remember what is sure to mark a pivotal moment in history.

And as my friend Andres M. Dominguez said:  

We need to see and explain in the future as to what happened. So I will watch

Unfortunately, I do not believe that we will witness the beginning of making “America Great Again,” but a slow & sure descent into the abyss.