Doing Feminism “Right”
Am I doing feminism right?
When my older relatives say something misogynistic or homophobic, I don’t jump to correct them or scold them because they “grew up in a different time”.
When people at a party make fun of feminist activists, I don’t interrupt the stream of derogatory comments with, “Well, I’m a feminist,” because I’m not one of those feminists.
In fact, when people ask me about myself, I rarely offer that I’m a feminist, because, well, I worry I’m not doing feminism right.
I grew up in a left-leaning household, but feminism wasn’t a regular topic of conversation. I therefore gleaned my view of feminism from outside sources, and by the time I was a teenager, I had a pretty clear idea of who feminists were: angry, hairy-legged man-haters who were also probably lesbians. So I totally wasn’t a feminist. Because, I mean, I had a boyfriend… in Canada.
When I went to college, my roommate took an introductory Gender and Women’s Studies course and loved it so much, I decided to sign up for it the following semester. It was in Intro to Gender and Women’s Studies where I learned the real definition of feminism: “The belief that men and women should have equal rights”.
Oh.
So, I guess I was a feminist. In fact, I gathered pretty much anyone who isn’t a terrible person is a feminist. It’s the 21st century. Who doesn’t believe that women should have the same rights as men?
Well, after I got hooked on Gender and Women’s Studies and took about three more courses, I learned that there are plenty of people who still don’t believe women are entitled to the same rights as men. And that pissed me off.
Per the Feminist Starter Kit, I read bell hooks, author of Feminist Theory: From Margin to Center. I watched Killing Us Softly. I learned about white privilege and phrases such as a “Gender is a social construct” (which, if there were a feminist pledge of allegiance, would surely be included). I learned about fag discourse, rape culture, intersectionality, and women in the media. I took enough courses that, by the time I graduated, I had an unofficial minor in Gender and Women’s Studies.
And yet here I stand, two years out of college with all this knowledge, and afraid to call myself a feminist. Afraid I’m still not doing it right. What put a wrench in my feminist works?
Perhaps it has to do with being out of school and in “the real world.” I find myself less in the company of proud feminists and more in the company of people who make fun of feminists. And without the backup of like-minded individuals, I’m afraid to stand up for what I believe in.
Or perhaps I’ve grown less passionate about women’s issues, too consumed by work and day-to-day stresses to be as fired up about feminism as some of these young people on I see Tumblr. I sit back and squint at the screen like an old woman, reminiscing on the passions of her youth. “Ah yes,” I murmur, rubbing Bengay on my sore hip. “I remember when I, too, called out sexism and white privilege. Those days are far behind me, I’m afraid…” Then I shuffle over to my victrola and listen to some George Gershwin records until the white light takes me.
Really, it’s that there are feminist issues I’ve yet to understand, and now that I’m older and a little less wide-eyed and receptive, I wonder if I am actually able to understand them.
In studying feminism, I learned about the gender binary and fluidity, and about the inclusivity of the LGBTQIA community. Yet these are things I still don’t fully understand. My experience with feminism has been one of a cisgender white woman. And my experience is probably very different from someone who is a feminist and a person of color, or someone who is a feminist and a trans person.
I feel a certain degree of embarrassment and shame that I don’t know more about intersections of feminism, such as gender, race, and ability, and the experiences that occur at these intersections. And I sometimes wonder how I can truly call myself a feminist when my experience, and the experiences of so many people I know, has been one of privilege. In my mind, a “good” feminist, or someone who is doing feminism “right”, would be well-versed in the experiences of other feminists and constantly checking their own privilege, and I feel I’ve been negligent on that front. How often do I think about the privileges I’m afforded by virtue of my race, ability, or embodiment of gender norms?
I cannot put myself in another feminist’s shoes, nor would I dare to. I will never be able to fully understand someone else’s experience with feminism, and that’s okay. The best I can do is seek to understand, and respect an experience other than my own.
I realized this was a crucial missing link in my relationship with feminism just the other night, when I went out to dinner with my dad.
My dad is one of those men who is from “a different generation” and, quite often, whether he means to or not, will say something misogynistic or offensive.
This time it was about Madonna, who, to be fair, isn’t my favorite, but I will defend to the death her importance in pop music history. My dad blurted out that he never understood Madonna claiming herself as a feminist when she would perform “half-naked”. We’d only been sitting down for five minutes, and already his loud and dismissive tone of voice had me annoyed. This was going to be a long dinner.
I quickly countered that women can still be feminists no matter how they dress, and spitefully sipped my drink.
“Well,” my dad’s voice was a little softer. “When I was growing up in 60s, the women’s movement had just started, and back then, it was about how women should be judged for their abilities rather than their appearance. You know, that women were worth more than how they looked. And that’s why I objected to people like Madonna. I thought that was the opposite of what feminism was working towards, but… I mean, what are the issues now?”
Nothing will fill you with shame faster than your aging baby boomer dad being less judgmental than you. He was simply seeking to understand, and I myself had a ways to go in that department.
So here I stand, an imperfect feminist to be sure — one who is definitely privileged and hasn’t fought for much. But at the very least, I can say that I am seeking to understand the experiences of others. I am trying to learn when to use my voice and when to shut up and listen, when to stay out of certain conversations and when to contribute, and I am working on getting rid of the notion of doing feminism “right”.
