No YOU shut up...

Hillary Clinton has always been a polarizing figure for the left and right. However, since the 2016 presidential contest the ever-present debate between her detractors and supporters seems to emanate loudest from the political left. The anger arises, in part, from passionate Bernie Sanders supporters, who feel Clinton is too centrist and that the Democratic party was biased in its support for Clinton in the primaries. Additionally, a vocal number of disillusioned "party line" Dems resent Clinton for bungling what should have, in theory, been a slam dunk campaign. Both sides criticize her post-election for remaining visible and vocal... "picking at old wounds" wrought by the improbable election of Donald Trump to the presidency.

This debate was reinvigorated with the recent release of Clinton's post-election memoir What Happened (full disclosure: my hardcover copy is being lovingly packaged and shipped through the magic of Amazon Prime as I write this blog post) and her accompanying book tour (full disclosure: I will be attending her Davis, CA event with bells on). Reading commentary on Clinton's book and tour, I found not everyone was thrilled to hear from her. Predictably, traditional and social media were full of criticism. As is typical with criticism of Clinton, the language ranged from condescending, to harsh, to vulgar.

Allow me to present some charming excerpts:

“The best thing she could do is disappear.”

"What’s to be done with Hillary Clinton, the woman who won’t go away?"

"Hillary . . . is a major optimist. That’s great for persistence and mental well-being. She’s ready to keep driving the bus. But it’s not so great for knowing when to quit. That’s where the passengers come in."

"The vibe I'm getting is that Democrats wish someone would just lock her in the basement indefinitely. Not in a cold, damp, dark cellar exactly, but locked in a basement — perhaps one with carpeting and high windows — that she can't climb out of."

"Hey, Hillary Clinton, shut the f--- up and go away already."

Of course, there is significant precedent for shushing women in politics. This certainly isn't Clinton's first rodeo. As Nancy Pelosi, Kamala Harris, Elizabeth Warren, and Maxine Waters can tell you, when you're a powerful woman with something to say, inevitably someone is waiting to interrupt you, talk over you, or just plain tell you to "shut the f--- up." And lord help you if you if you're a woman with an axe to grind...

The ire directed at Clinton largely focuses on her alleged inability to "take responsibility" for the failure of her campaign. Instead, the argument goes, she blames sexism, she blames the media, she blames Jim Comey, she blames Russia, she blames Bernie Sanders. It's not enough that she suffered a humiliating election defeat to a ridiculously unqualified misogynist. It was her fault, and now she must suffer in silent, demure penance for her role in the entire catastrophe.

To borrow a term of art from Clinton's critics, I say, shut the f--- up.

I want Hillary to painstakingly dissect the 2016 presidential election. I want her to turn over every rock and connect every dot. I want her to ruminate. I want her anger. I want her frank opinion. I want to hear from the woman who was in the eye of the storm. I want to heed her warnings, her wisdom, and her advice to women who will follow in her footsteps. I want to know what happened. And you know what? It sounds like Hillary's version of events - involving sexism, terrible media coverage, and a corrupt Trump campaign aided by Russia - is being corroborated by an ever-growing mountain of evidence.

The one year anniversary of Trump's election is around the corner and the fact that he is running the country is ever-maddening. I fear for our nation's most vulnerable citizens on a daily basis: our immigrants who live in the shadow of deportations, our sick and disabled who depend on the ever-threatened ACA for healthcare, and our people of color who are dealing (as they always have) with blatant racism and white supremacy... now with the implicit (and some would argue, explicit) endorsement of the administration. Our public education system is being undermined, our environmental protections are being dismantled, and our system of government and political norms are under constant stress.

I think many reasonable people can agree that our country is facing a crisis. Yet all the while a parade of men within and around the Trump administration continue to bend over backwards to defend the indefensible, embarrass themselves, and practice blatant hypocrisy, only to show up later, unabashed, in the public eye because... you know... the past is the past.

We've got a lot of problems... but you know what doesn't feel like a problem? Hearing from the intelligent, thoughtful, badass woman who should have been president.

Why ballet is boring

Classical ballet has to be one of the most technically revered art forms in the human arsenal. The fine balance between sheer athleticism and seemingly effortless poise pushes one to the outer extremities of their physical capabilities. Yet more often than not, the mere mention of it sends the unappreciative into an impulsive fit of eye-rolling. You see, ballet bores a lot of people, and even though it’s one of my passions and I’ve danced for the most part of my life, I can see why.

The pervasive stereotype of ballet undeniably stains it a baby pink. From its nascence to modern day, ballet has been deeply entrenched in Western culture as a “girl thing." Fumbling around a ballet class at the age of five has come to be viewed as quite a ‘normal’ hallmark of a girl’s childhood (at least if they’re white and middle class), and while the vast majority don’t actually end up pursuing careers in dance, ballet is undeniably dominated by women. At least at a glance.

Classical ballet is saturated with gender clichés. In terms of physique, elite dance companies such as the Vaganova Academy of Russian Ballet, are rigorous in maintaining their dancers firmly in the clinically underweight section of the BMI index, with a 5.7ft tall girl being expected to weigh at most a mere 109.8lbs. This wafer thin female ‘ideal', is supposed to make it more aesthetically pleasing for female dancers to execute certain moves, but is in fact primarily in place for the benefit of male dancers. A large part of the male dancer’s role in classical ballet is dedicated to performing intricate lifts of their female partners in pas de deux. Vaganova has stated that girls who weigh over 110lb will have “very limited access” to partnering classes to protect boys from potential injuries. But what about protecting girls from the rampant eating disorders and unhealthy lifestyles that injure female dancers in their pursuit of these ridiculous ideals? I didn’t come across a section about that.

So female dancers must be ‘slight’, as many companies phrase it, but also significantly shorter than men to facilitate a height increase when they dance en pointe. Male dancers also aren’t immune to bodily requirements. They are to generally be tall, lean and strong, quite obviously so they can fit into the classical roles of princes and protectors of the ethereal heroines, who only exist to live and die for heterosexual love.

It’s a mystery to me how in an industry largely populated by women, a bias in favour of men manages to prevail. Yet if you peer past the pliés and pas de chats, you can see the different strata of sexism are more concrete than classical ballet's fairy tale foundations.

It’s a known fact amongst the ballet community that male dancers progress through the ranks of dance companies in an expeditious fashion in comparison to female dancers. Supply and demand, apparently. Although I admire his awe-inspiring command of the art form, I can’t help but think that Sergei Polunin, who danced to Hozier’s ‘Take Me to Church’ in a stunning video directed by David LaChapelle in 2015, would have actually grossed 21,239,206 Youtube views if he hadn’t already been dubbed the “bad boy of ballet." He’s infamous for his tattoos, tantrums and tremendous snubbing of the Royal Ballet in 2012, when he left the company shortly after being appointed its youngest ever principle dancer at the staggering age of 19. His stunning classical technique aside, he defies all expectations of how the conventional stoic ballet dancer should act. He didn’t conform, he partied, he took drugs and had even danced while high. The reason why he seemingly got away with it all? His male privilege in the industry. As a classically trained dancer, I’m acutely aware of the rigorous discipline any dancer of a high calibre, let alone the principle dancer of the Royal Ballet, would have to engage in. Which is why I can see that if a female principal dancer ever acted in any way erratic regardless of their talent, they’d quite frankly be shown the door. Female talent is easier to come by, after all.

Sexism in ballet is often subtle. However, what’s not subtle is the severe lack of female choreographers being given the opportunity to flourish. If women are the more populous sex in the industry, common sense would dictate that a wealth of talented female choreographers would showcase their work, wouldn’t it? Apparently not. Based on their 2016-17 seasons, The Paris Opera Ballet featured only Crystal Pite as their token female choreographer amongst 23 men. The Royal Ballet featured the work of Pite, and another female choreographer, along with 14 male ones. If you’re looking, the examples of gender inequalities in the context of choreography are endless and obvious.

Classical ballet with all its flaws has at least flirted with feminism, I’ll give it that. Isadora Duncan, a renowned California-born dancer of the 19th Century, rebelled against the Victorian ideal of womanhood by refusing to wear the restrictive corset or painful pointe shoes, she instead opted to perform bare foot and in a loose-fitting Grecian tunic. She paved the way for other women to rebel against the inherent inequality of classical ballet. Duncan, along with Martha Graham, another feminist of the ballet world, facilitated the rise of modern, more abstract ballet. This took hold of some of the feminist ideas of the 60’s and 70’s, such as sexual liberation, and channelled them into the art form. As a result, modern ballet and dance have been said to be truly dominated by women, yet classical ballet still isn’t quite ready to boast this feat.

I find it remarkable that in one of the most widely perceived “female” spheres, there’s still ample room for sexism. It’s surprising and generally covert, yet unmistakably there. Which is why I no longer get irritated when people roll their eyes and say classical ballet is boring. Although the art form itself formed a huge part of my life and will always be dear to me, the sexism that classical ballet represents bores me too.

Women in sport: how far have we come?

Last week in class we watched a clip from the Makers documentary. This told the story of Kathrine Switzer, who, in 1967, became the first woman to run the Boston Marathon as a numbered entrant. At the time, women were not sanctioned to enter the iconic race but Katherine had completed her application in the way she normally signed her name, ie as “K V Switzer”. Consistent with the attitudes of the time, race organizers “naturally” assumed that she was male.

Katherine didn’t enter the 1967 Boston Marathon looking for a fight. She simply loved to run. However, the race official, Jock Semple, was so outraged when he saw her racing with the other competitors (all male) that he ran onto the course and attempted to physically pull her away and rip off her numbered bib. Although Katherine’s story made headlines at the time, it was another five years before women were officially allowed to compete in the Boston Marathon.

Fifty years on, we rightly celebrate the undoubted progress that women have made in the sport and fitness world since Katherine’s frightening 1967 encounter with sporting officialdom in Boston. No one today bats an eyelid at female marathon runners. In fact, it’s a recognised Olympic sport. Women’s participation in various other sporting and fitness disciplines has rocketed. Indeed, we’re now increasingly being accepted even into “traditionally male” sports like boxing (Ireland’s very own Katie Taylor being one such example) as well as soccer and rugby. All of us – male and female – are increasingly familiar with and accepting of ever more female sporting role models such as Serena Williams and Nicole Adams. Clearly, we have come a long, long way since 1967. Or have we?

A seemingly trivial remark apparently made about me a few days ago prompted me to question how far women have actually come since 1967. What triggered the thought was something a friend told me the other day about what a male student had apparently said of me. What was stated was apparently along the lines of:- “I saw that Irish girl [me] in the gym yesterday and she looked like she really knew what she was doing… Is she doing that for the float trip next weekend?”

I never heard the comment myself and I’m sure there was a compliment intended in there somewhere. Yet for some initially inexplicable reason, I can’t help but feel slightly offended. Why?

Perhaps, I’m simply neurotic. Or, perhaps, I’m unduly sensitive about being Irish outside in the United States and that someone would assume that, as an “Irish girl,” I would not be expected to “know what I was doing” in the gym (particularly in the male-dominated weights area, where I spend most of my sessions). But no, I know that the comment was in no way derogatory of my Irishness. That is simply part of who I am and how I’m known here, and is perfectly fine.

So what was it about the reported remark that caused me to react so badly? The more I thought about it, the more I realised that my real issue was the seeming association between my interest in the gym and personal vanity. To me it implied that my sole motive for being in the gym was to make myself appear more physically attractive on a weekend outing – presumably to male students. In short, I (rightly or wrongly) interpreted the statement as judgemental and demeaning, not of the Irish, but of females in general who choose to go to the gym, exercise or take part in sport. I am sceptical that a statement like this would have been made about me if I had been male.

As earth-shatteringly appalling as it may sound coming from a female, I actually love the gym, and I love exercise. I have been weight lifting for several years now, and health and fitness has become a very important part of my life. It has helped not only my physical health, but also my mental well-being. In the past, I have struggled with anxiety, and, for me, the gym and other activities like hiking, horse riding and swimming have become my “sanctuary.”  It’s where I go when I’m stressed or upset or just simply need a bit of “me-time.” It makes me feel strong and confident. Of course, all of us like to look well and to keep our weight in control. But that is a human desire and is certainly not the sole preserve of females!

The question I’ve been left with is whether a seemingly throw away remark about my reasons for exercising might be exemplary of wider barriers that women still need to overcome in the area of sport and fitness. I found myself wondering whether the 1967 spirit of Jock Semple still survives in sport – albeit, perhaps, in a more covert and less glaring form? Once I began to look further into the subject, it became hard for me to avoid the conclusion that a bit of the outraged spirit of Jock Semple might still lurk amongst us, perhaps somewhere in the depths. In preparing this blog I googled “women in sport” and was stunned to discover that the first search result was an article entitled, “Top 10 Most Beautiful Women in Sport”. The more I searched, the more I found female sports being praised (or criticised) for their bodies, rather than for the hard work they put in for competitions or the titles they win.

And what of girls in sport who may not correspond to the traditional stereotype of a physically slender female that many men find appealing? I noticed that, in recent years, Olympic gold-medalist, Caster Semenya, was barred from competing and was subjected to degrading gender testing simply because the media and athletic associations thought she looked “too masculine”. Such attitudes are reinforced by the limited nature of media coverage of women’s sports. Studies show that only about 4% of sportscoverage in local and national media is dedicated to women’s sport. Self-evidently, female athletic achievements are much less important to the popular press than male.

If this is how women are evaluated and treated in sport, how can I blame any male student for possibly suggesting that, as a girl, I only go to the gym because I want to impress men? If this is how women are evaluated and treated in sport, no wonder there remains a significant disparity between male and female participation nationally and internationally. If this is how women are evaluated and treated in sport, should we be surprised that, by the age of 14, for example, girls are dropping out of sports at twice the rate of boys? Surely all this merely serves to maintain life support for the 1967 Jock Semple notion that women and girls don’t belong in the sport and fitness arena on the same basis as men?

Women today owe a huge debt of gratitude to people like Katherine Switzer. Their personal courage, determination and audacity opened a huge new door of freedom and opportunity for women in sport over the past 50 years. However, we owe it to Katherine - and we owe it to the many other brave women of her generation - to remember her example and not to become complacent. It is Katherine’s spirit - not the 1967 spirit of Jock Semple - that most needs life support today and which we must, in our own and our children’s interest, endeavor to keep alive and perpetuate.

Yes, we have come a long, long way from the 1967 Boston Marathon. But the journey is not yet over.

Feminism and rap: an imperfect union

As a brown man raised in a community bursting at the seams with people of color, police presence, and poverty, it was impossible for me not to be captivated by the allure of rap music. American society’s dominant narratives have always been a reflection of the convictions of white men. At some of our nation’s darkest moments, rap has been a powerful counter-punch, giving a voice to the otherwise voiceless. When the crack epidemic was crippling ghettos, Grandmaster Flash and the Furious Five gave us “The Message.” When police brutality was dominating the national headlines in the mid-80’s, Ice-T gave us “6 in the Mornin.’” When people were getting fed up with racial profiling, N.W.A. brought gangsta rap into the mainstream with “Straight Outta Compton.” I love rap music because it is honest and unfiltered. All of that being said, it is impossible to be a feminist and a rap enthusiast at the same time without feeling like a hypocrite. 

I recognize that it is difficult to speak about rap music, or any kind of music for that matter, in broad strokes. People make music for a myriad of reasons. Some people hope to be famous, some hope to be rich, others make music simply for themselves. Motivations vary and not everyone seeks to make music as a means of effecting positive social change. That being said, one thing is disturbingly common across all rap, the dehumanization and over-sexualization of women. When women appear in music videos, it's almost guaranteed that it is in a skimpy outfit. When women are the focus of songs, they are almost always as an instrument of male pleasure. 

Perhaps worst of all is the fact that women are largely mute when it comes to rap. Whether they are there to be ogled, insulted, or sexualized, women do not often speak. This raises another important issue, the lack of prominent female rap artists. While capable and talented female rappers exist, they rarely gain the traction that male rappers do. Sure, there are examples of iconic women who have overcome the odds such as Nicki Minaj, Missy Elliot, M.I.A., Beyonce, Erykah Badu, Lauryn Hill, Queen Latifah, etc., but these women are exceptions. Additionally, even for those who find mainstream success, it is often only after conforming to average rap fan's expectations of what a female rapper should be. It is difficult to enter a male dominated industry as an outsider in any context but I imagine the difficulty is amplified in the hyper-masculine space that is the rap industry.

The narrow minded hyper-masculinity that dominates rap both keeps it from progressing and reinforces traditional gender ideas that relegate women to secondary roles. This has become especially clear recently following incidents involving prominent rap artists forced to confront sexual ideas they are uncomfortable with. Earlier this year Atlanta-based rap trio Migos, made up of members Quavo, Offset, and Takeoff,  came under scrutiny and were forced to apologize following homophobic comments made in a Rolling Stones interview. When asked about a fellow Atlanta-based rapper who recently came out as gay, Offset stated, "the world is fucked up" and Quavo followed by saying "That's wack, bro." A day after the interview Migos issued a disingenuous apology but the damage had been done and the message had been sent. This is only one example amongst many which make it clear that being anything other than a hyper-masculine male will be met with either disinterest or disgust. 

Personal experiences confirm that the problem of close-mindedness in rap is reinforced by listeners as well as artists. When popular rap-duo Killer Mike and El-P released their hit 2014 album "Run the Jewels 2," there was refreshing twist. Track 9, titled "Love Again," begins with Killer Mike and El-P describing a few of their most memorable sexual experiences in typical mysogynistic fashion. At the third verse we hear a guest feature from Tennessee female rapper Gansta Boo, her opening lines being "That's what you want, huh? Well, let me tell you a little story..." She then proceeds to describe one of her most memorable sexual encounters with a level of extreme detail typically reserved for men. When I heard this song I immediately replayed it because I could not believe what I was hearing; Killer Mike and El-P set us up to have Gangsta Boo completely subvert our expectations and traditional gender roles. Sadly, not all of my friends shared my enthusiasm. I found that many of them were uncomfortable with hearing a woman rap in the same way that men do, and they began skipping the track entirely. 

While the current place of women in rap is not great, there are reasons to have hope. We must keep in mind that despite its immense worldwide popularity, rap is a relatively young genre. When it comes to sexuality and gender, we are seeing a slow but noticeable shift towards a more accepting rap culture. On the one hand we have an older generation of rappers evolving in their beliefs. When confronted about his previous use of homophobic language, Killer Mike of Run the Jewels tweeted a sincere apology. True to his word, Killer Mike and Run the Jewels as a group continue to advocate for equality and speak out against homophobia in rap. In addition to changes of heart, we have a new generation of hip-hop artists openly embracing feminism and homosexuality. Frank Ocean and Syd tha Kyd, both originally of hip-hop collective Odd Future, are openly gay artists who today enjoy immense success and support. This past year alone hip-hop collective Brockhampton has exploded onto the scene, led by openly gay frontman Kevin Abstract. The group has various songs with lyrics about being proud of being gay and calling aggressively for respect for women. 

Ultimately it is unrealistic to expect that the entire rap industry will conform overnight to meet our hope for equality. In fact, it is exactly because rap refuses to conform that it is such a powerful genre. Sometimes this non-conformity can be on the cutting edge of progress and other times it can derail the genre and keep it stubbornly entrenched in outdated ideas. For all the criticizing we do, and must continue to do, it is also healthy to recognize the progress that has been made. When we reflect on the current state of rap it is clear that this generation of rap artists and rap listeners are much more accepting than previous generations. It is also painfully clear, however, that better in this case is not good enough. As Tupac one famously said, "Time to heal our women, be real to our women...So will the real men get up? I know you're fed up, ladies, but keep ya head up." While we can hope to see more women enjoying prominent roles in the rap industry and to hear lyrics that are less degrading, this is a change that can only be facilitated by us, the listeners. We must challenge ourselves to be more intentional about the music we support. Only then, collectively, can we begin to make major strides towards creating a more accepting and empowering hip-hop culture for women. 

Un joto femenista!

In México, joto is a masculine word that denotes a homosexual male, and pejoratively connotes an effeminate gay man who is a pasivo—sexually receptive rather than insertive. Moreover, the word’s breadth and potency as a pejorative is colored by regional influences: joto in metropolitan Guadalajara—Mexico’s Castro—connotes something different than it does in rural Michoacán. I have yet to find an English term that aptly captures the meaning of joto, so nuances are bound to get lost in translation. The same can be said of “queer,” which translates to raro in Spanish, which, in turn, translates to “rare” in English.  

I tell my English-speaking friends that I’m queer only if they are familiar with the term. Otherwise, I simply say that I’m gay. But with my Spanish-speaking friends, I vacillate between joto and gay. And sometimes I queer joto by upending the gender and calling myself a jota, even if it’s grammatical nonsense. Jotas don’t exist, but lesbianas (lesbians) do!

To add to my already complicated identity, I am also a femenista, and I have been one since before I knew what the term meant. Life steered me in its direction.

Due to my father’s trek to el Norte, my abuelita, tías, and mom raised me. They taught me early on that despite seemingly fixed gender roles, mujeres (women) deserved the same respect and treatment afforded to men. I also witnessed how poverty and an indifferent labor market gave these mujeres the impetus to practice feminism. Indeed, when my mother and I reunited with my dad, she let him know that she, too, would have to work because a single service-sector paycheck was not going cut it.

My father too agrees that men and women deserve to be treated equally even if he doesn’t grasp what femenismo (feminism) is. In fact, his trek to el Norte was also a journey into feminism, because it forced him to grapple with the fact that there isn’t, as former President Obama notes, a “right way and a wrong way to be a man.” When my father arrived in this country he had to cook, clean, and take on service sector jobs despite his traditional upbringing. Immigration forced him to confront domesticity and the untenabilty of strict gender roles. And he learned that, just like women are expected do, men of color in this country have to compromise in order to survive. In short, although my father didn’t seek out feminism, feminism found him.

Personally, as my lexicon grew, I learned to articulate what I had grown up observing, and I began calling myself a feminist. In fact, I became a hyphenated feminist. Throughout several semesters of undergraduate study, I identified as a queer-intersectional-feminista. This was not because it was trendy do so, but because I felt compelled to ask mainstream feminism to make room for an immigrant joto like me.

I wholeheartedly believe that “the personal is political,” and that feminism must continue to hear, incorporate, and reflect upon others’ her/hi-stories, including those of men. Indeed, Adichie’s comment that masculinity is a “small hard cage, [where] we put boys inside,” highlights the fact that gender norms also bedevil men. Thus, feminism should actively strive to fold more men into its ranks. 

In spite of the challenges confronting feminism, I admire feminism’s bent toward reflexivity and its willingness to critique itself. I take comfort in knowing that feminism is capacious enough to embrace jotos, individuals who identify as queer, and others whose identities may be morphed or partly lost in translation.

The feminists in our own lives

In last week’s Feminist Legal Theory class we had the opportunity to watch an episode of PBS’ Makers, a documentary film about the revolutionary women’s movement that blossomed and swept through American culture in the 1960’s and 70’s. As we watched the women onscreen, my thoughts naturally turned to the women in my own family. My mother and my aunts were born in the 1950's and came of age in the era of the National Organization for Women and the women’s liberation movement, Betty Friedan and Gloria Steinem. While I was familiar with the general contours of the feminist movement, I had never taken the opportunity to ask my family members about their experiences growing up during this time period and how these greater cultural and political changes affected their own lives.

My mother (Deb) and my aunt (LuAnn) were kind enough to spend an hour on the phone with me and let me pepper them with questions about their memories of the prominent figures and organizations within the movement. How much did they remember? Did they ever read TheFeminine Mystique? How many bras did they burn? While the specifics were foggy (and, sadly, no bras were burned), both my mom and my aunt were cognizant of the feminist movement. My aunt told me that while she didn’t really understand the movement’s significance at the time, she did feel inspired by it and wanted to learn more about it. Both my mom and my aunt expressed feeling somewhat removed from the greater women’s movement, perhaps an effect of growing up in rural, Catholic East Moline, IL.

While the totems and highlights of the feminist movement don’t loom large in my mom and aunt’s memories, the women in their own family did. They told me stories about their grandmother, who drove the family car since grandfather never learned how to drive. They told me about their own mother, sort of a legendary figure on my mom’s side of the family. Lucille Petersmith was a powerhouse. She worked, like many residents of East Moline, for John Deere, and was the only woman working as a loan manager for the John Deere Credit Union. While she was respected for her business acumen and had a reputation for treating customers with dignity and professionalism, she still experienced sexism in the workplace, not only from men but from other women as well. Both my mom and aunt said that Lucille was known for speaking her mind, standing up for herself and others, and piping up when she saw something that “just wasn’t right.” My mom and aunt carried Lucille’s values and attitude of fearlessness as they started in their own careers.

The most eye-opening parts of our conversation pertained to the sexism my mom and aunt experienced in the professional spheres. My mother moved from the Midwest to California in her twenties. Her first job after college was working at Pacific Gas and Electric. Despite being in a more “progressive” locale, my mom was surprised to find she was still expected to adhere to a strict dress code… skirt suits and dresses only—and this was in the 1980’s!

My aunt, like her mother, began working at John Deere and was one of the first women to be promoted to Distribution Service Center supervisor. She was often the only woman in meetings and, as such, she was the “default” note taker. One day having had just about enough, she placed a pen and paper in front of a male colleague and said bluntly “Today it’s your turn to be the scribe.” They didn’t ask her to take notes again. 

Another incident occurred after my aunt became a mother. She had marked her calendar to let coworkers know she would have to leave work to take her son to a doctor’s appointment. Thereafter, a manager assigned her an important report, due the same day as the appointment. Yet this manager was curiously absent from the office when the report was due. The manager had expressly told my aunt that she couldn’t leave the office until the report was submitted; as a result, she missed the doctor’s appointment. The manager returned hours later, at which point my aunt handed him the report and told him she would not be missing another doctor’s appointment. These were only two highlights (or lowlights) out of many slights and hurdles my aunt dealt with as a powerful woman navigating a male-dominated company in a male-dominated industry (agriculture and engineering).  However, my aunt’s take no sh*t attitude and passion for her job served her well… ultimately she retired as manager of the John Deere Pavilion, the most popular tourist destination in Illinois outside of Chicago.

Our conversation eventually segued into a discussion of what it was like to work and raise children. My mother spoke about the stresses of balancing her own career goals with family goals after she and my father moved from San Jose, CA to Auburn, CA. She grappled with the fear of leaving her children for long hours with “strangers” while she made a daily commute to and from Sacramento. She also explained the isolation she felt after moving to a new town, where she lacked the support network necessary to feel comfortable extending herself professionally. Ultimately, while she loved her job, she ended up shifting gears career-wise and went from a supervisory position at a PG&E service center to an office assistant position at my elementary school. She never regretted her decision (and I was a happy child and lucky to have my mother so accessible). Additionally she explained it made sense financially since my dad made more money at the time.

As a hypothetical exercise, I asked “If you made more money than dad at that time, would you and dad have agreed him quitting or taking on a less time-consuming career?” She admitted it was a difficult question, one she wasn’t sure she was able to really answer.

I had two major takeaways from my conversation with my mom and aunt. The first was the importance of cross-generational feminism and the value of having these conversations and sharing common experiences. It’s inspiring to hear about the challenges women in my own family have overcome. It makes me feel like I am part of a larger, more personal feminist story. Furthermore, it feels great to “share notes” and strategies I can deploy in my own life. The other great takeaway I had from this conversation is the importance of recognizing the feminist icons in our own lives. The feminism prevalent in today's pop-culture emphasizes personalities, celebrities, social-media savvy. I do recognize the value of charismatic leaders who can mobilize and advocate for the feminist movement on a more national level, but sometimes the best role models are your own family, friends, and coworkers. After all, while my mom and aunt knew of Gloria Steinem… they attributed their feminist awakenings and journeys to their small-town mom and grandmother. The idea of looking to women in your own life for feminist inspiration isn’t revolutionary, but I can certainly say that the older I get, the more important it feels. I'm grateful I have such strong women in my life who've done this before and can help show me the way.