I've been thinking a lot lately about what it means to be a feminist. I am consistently at a loss for articulate words and phrases when someone asks, "What is a feminist?" Allow me to defend my apparent stupidity by saying that gender studies, women's studies, and feminist studies scholars devote semester-long classes to this concept, books, articles, and an inordinate amount of hours, to this concept. We, as feminists, are constantly trying to figure out the definition. So it's challenging to articulate.
The closest thing I can compare it to, because it's an easy point of reference for a lot of people, is claiming identity as a Christian, or under any other religious doctrine for that matter.

As a Christian, you believe in a few core things. So do feminists. For Christians, when asked what a Christian is... can you imagine that range of answers, depending on the denomination, age, location, and world view of each person? It's sort of the same thing for feminism. But, I assume all Christians believe that Jesus died for them, on a cross, to save people from their sins. I assume that all feminists would say that women are oppressed, and that feminism works to end that, or save us from that, to neatly tie the two subjects together.

What I've been struggling with though is not just the definition, but what it means when I call myself a feminist. What does that actual act of claiming a feminist identity mean?

Have you ever seen those people outside military funerals, or any time a new state legalizes marriage equality? At Pride Parades? They have colorful signs that say, "God Hates Fags" or "Thank God for AIDS"? There are other really charming sentiments as well, but you get the idea. Now, the man who runs this campaign, Fred Phelps, is a Christian pastor. He and his church (Westboro Baptist Church, whose website address is actually GodHatesFags.com) claim a Christian identity. They are Christians. They stand outside military funerals, and protests the inclusion of gays and lesbians in the military (though I'd like to explain the "Don't Ask, Don't Tell" policy to him, because I believe it's closer to his ignorant beliefs that he thinks!). Even if the service person killed is not gay, he takes it upon himself to demonstrate. He demonstrated outside of Matthew Shepard's funeral, the victim of a brutal anti-gay hate crime in Laramie, WY in 1998. He now protests productions of the play, The Laramie Project, too.

From talking to my Christian friends and family, I know that this is not the prevailing attitude of Christians. Yet, Fred Phelps and his church claim that identity. And, shouldn't they? They believe in the life and death of Christ, and agree with other Christians that it means salvation from sin.

So what is a feminist? The word has become so loaded, a caricature of it's real meaning, over the years. To pervert it makes it really easy to dismiss it. "Embrace feminism in policy and lawmaking? But they're a bunch of man-hating lesbians! We can't do that!" See? Easy. But what if people knew what feminism really was, a quest for equality between the sexes? That's harder to discount, because, ladies and gentleman, that would be called discrimination.

But, just like Fred Phelps the Christian, there are questionable people claiming a feminist identity. The media refers to Sarah Palin as a feminist, yet she supports the idea of women in Alaska paying for their own rape kits. Most feminists would agree that making sexual assault harder to report, investigate, and recover from is very anti-feminist. But then, she must have some faith in the notion of gender equality, if she has propelled herself to high-ranking positions like mayor and governor. Someone who believes women have no place in politics or the professional sphere wouldn't be there. So is she a feminist?

We had a discussion in my transnational feminisms class the other day about defining feminism, shared a moral crisis (Oh shit! Do we have to claim Palin as a feminist?! Shit shit shit!), and wondered who the hell we were to define feminism. Then, we discussed a piece of feminist thought that changes me every time I read it.

bell hooks. She is awesome. We discussed her piece exploring the concept of "I am a feminist" vs. "I advocate feminism." My mind, it was like it just cleared. Some stopper had been removed, and the revelations flowed. By calling oneself something, one is essentially defining it by their own being. Fred Phelps defines Christianity for some people. Those people learn to define Christianity as hate-mongering ignorance. When the media propels this notion of Palin as feminist, feminism could be portrayed as all the very traditionally un-feminist things she stands for. Especially with feminism, which is so misunderstood, we don't need these random labels and definitions applied to us.

Claiming an identity is empowering. Calling yourself a feminist, making yourself part of that movement, that realm of thought and possibility... enchanting. But what if we all started to say, "I advocate feminism"?? Essentially, "I advocate for the rights of women"? That has a different meaning.

It also makes us more proactive, I think. I call myself a feminist, but what do I do about it, besides call myself that? Do I volunteer with any women-centered organization? Do I seek the best pro-woman candidate, talk to others about voting for that person, donate to their campaign? Do I keep myself aware of issues affecting women and talk to others about them? Am I BEING a good feminist? So often, the VERB gets lost when claiming an identity. When we say, as bell hooks, that we ADVOCATE something... that requires more work and commitment.

To be a "good" Christian, however that is defined, takes a lot of work I assume. So does feminism. And my challenge to myself, and to all my feminist allies, is to remember the verbs behind our identity. What are we DOING, aside from claiming a word as our identity? What definition of feminism are we creating? How can we better at both?

Flamingo Fetus

When I sleep, it tends to be in one of two positions: curled up in the middle of the bed in a fetal position, or on my stomach with one leg stretched out and the other bent up so that my left foot is touching the right knee. Like a flamingo stands.


I was thinking about this last night as I tried to fall asleep. What makes some people find these positions? Why do I sleep like an idling flamingo or a floating pre-human? In my almost-sleep, I contemplated the nature of both stances, both beings, both concepts. Both flamingos and fetuses live in, I would guess, relatively warm, moist, places. I mean, I've been to both. Florida and the womb, I mean. I remember Florida slightly more vividly than the womb, but I tend to think of Florida as only DIsney World, thus what my brain lets me recall from my experiences there is generally inconsequential. I try to block things like Disney World out. And yet, I'll probably go again one day when my niece is old enough to appreciate it, yet young enough to miss the creep factor. Or, if Tom Petty and the Heartbreakers ever do another hometown tour in Gainesville when I have money.

The womb, where, actually, my niece is now, seems like a great place. I really wish I could remember the womb. Floating around, not even having to breathe for myself. That's the life. Or maybe it's stressful. I don't know. I was, you know, working. I was making myself into a human. All I know is that it must have been pretty jarring to leave that little cocoon and be thrust into a blinding hospital operating room, doctors trying to free me from the cord wrapped around my neck. Whoa, sailor!, I must have thought. Quit smackin' my ass, you have to buy me dinner first! I don't just cry for anybody!

Thank Dog he or she was persistent though. Otherwise I would not have begun breathing, which means I still wouldn't be breathing, which means I'd be dead. I wouldn't be writing this, and I surely wouldn't have ever developed my avian nocturnal stance. Or anything else for that matter. And when I'm really pressed to make a decision, I think I might have to say that the flamingo way of sleep has got to be my favorite. It takes up less room I think, which probably makes David happy. It probably promotes better posture. And, who knows, maybe I look sexy with my one leg all flexed like a graceful dancer. A flamenco dancer, perhaps.

My mom still talks about our trip to Spain and reminds me of the night I got drunk watching the "Flamingo" dancers.

I think flamingos, or flamenco dancers, are way sexier than fetuses. More graceful. More mature. More worldly. Pinker.