In defense of the sanctimonious women's studies set || First feminist blog on the internet

A thousand Hail Marys

TRAVERS2Just wanted to make sure Feministe honored Mary Travers, of Peter, Paul, and Mary, who died yesterday of cancer. I went to a hippie socialist summer camp, and every year on Hiroshima Day, we’d sing “Where Have All The Flowers Gone.” Mary was charismatic, blinky-eyed, and honest…and her voice was positively wistful. She also really held it down for the women in the folk world, which, despite its peaceful plea for social justice, could be just as male-dominated as most other music scenes.

This early video, of “If I Had A Hammer,” is great.

The Women of Country Music

I have to tell you, as much as I like country music and as much as I sit around and piss and moan about how great it used to be, it’s sometimes very difficult for me to listen to the women of country music. It’s almost a relief that the industry is turning itself into a landing pad for girls that could have been on the Disney channel and washed up rockers, because you don’t have to turn your face too far towards the past before you hear songs that make you realize that “Sometimes it’s hard to be a woman” is about the understatement of the century.

I was at the International Country Music Conference this spring and one of the presenters gave a talk about Patsy Cline’s reception in her own home town.  If I were to tell you now that there’s opposition to preserving her home and making a museum because of how “trashy” she was, do I even have to tell you that they booed her and made her cry even after she was one of the most famous women in the country?  And yet, god damn it, if she didn’t crash a parade in her own home town, her and her band, at the end of it, in her fancy car, driving like they belonged there.  Which, of course, they did.

Still, it breaks my heart.

Or the other day someone was talking about how Loretta Lynn’s dad married her off at thirteen to her husband, Mooney, with advice about how to beat her to keep her in line.  In Mary Bufwack and Robert K. Oermann’s book, Finding Her Voice, Lynn says, “After we had kids of our own, Doo [another nickname of Mooney’s] would take a belt to me as quick as he would to one of them,” and “It’s funny how it’s the old hurts that never heal.”

Of course she also said, “He never hit me one time that I didn’t hit him back twice.” But to me that sounds like bravado. But hell, so is getting in your car and joining a parade you’ve been clearly excluded from. Bravado doesn’t exclude action, I guess.

There’s another moment in Finding Her Voice, when Lynn is talking about getting grooming tips from Cline.

“You know, for years my husband wouldn’t let me wear makeup or cut my hair,” Loretta said years later. “To shave my legs, I had the children watch at the doors and the windows in case he came home. He didn’t want it, wouldn’t allow it. But I wanted to do just like Patsy Cline did, to be as pretty as her.”

I’m sitting here right now with legs I haven’t shaved in a week, hair I haven’t cut in a year, and no makeup. And, to me, that’s symbolic of my ability to buck certain gender norms, to have a little freedom from what’s culturally expected of me.  But how can there be any doubt that being able to wear make-up and do your hair and shave your legs was a profound symbol of independence for Lynn?

Growing up, I didn’t feel poor. I thought we were middle class.  We weren’t the richest folks in the towns we lived in. We weren’t the poorest. But going to college was a revelation about just where I stood in the pecking order, a very unfun revelation. And when I was 27, I got a raise that meant I was making more than my dad made when I was a senior in high school. And I was eating rice for dinner. It’s true that he didn’t have to pay for housing, but I didn’t have three kids.

I don’t know how to explain it, but it threw me for a big loop–making more than my dad and still struggling to get by. It made me feel like he and my mom had sheltered us from a lot, especially about how dependent our whole family had been on my mom working.

And I always thought I would get married to a man I hated.

I know that’s a strange thing to say out loud, but it’s one of the things you learn, if you spend a lot of time in church kitchens (and if you’re a girl of any age and your family was active in the church, back in my day, it meant you were going to spend a lot of women-only time in church kitchens), is that the era of 1974-1996 was full of smart, funny, articulate women who had given birth to your friends, who were tied, through marriage to men who were ruining their lives.

None of these women were feminists.

In fact, that was often very clearly articulated, not only in the familiar “I’m not a feminist, but…” formation, but also in the “Well, I’m not a man-hater like those feminists, but…”

The feminist monster gave room for women to talk about the kind of stuff that would just tear your heart out and to try to figure out what to do about it.

And the women they listened to on the radio, so many of them those great women of country music, seemed to help them make it through, which, to me, feels like a very feminist thing.

I want Loretta Lynn to be a great feminist hero.  But I get why she wouldn’t call herself a feminist.  Not only because the things that helped liberate her felt like ways to keep me stuck, and visa versa, but because being able to say “I’m not a woman’s libber” gave her a little wiggle room to act like one.

Goodbye Goodbye

My last day as a guest blogger!  I want to thank the Feministe regulars for sharing your corner of the interwebs with me.  Thank you to the readers who read my posts, and especially thank you to those of you who posted thoughtful responses to them.

Like many guest bloggers before me, I leave you with many thoughts un-posted.  I have a half dozen half finished posts on my hard drive, posts on subjects ranging from Arabic hip hop to Zionism, veganism to 9/11.  Etc.  I’m gonna mash a few thoughts into this goodbye post.

First, I really want to talk a little bit about  Israel’s ongoing occupation of Palestine while I’m here.  I specifically want to talk about being a Jew who does anti-occupation activism and opposes Zionism.

When I say “Zionism” I am referring to a nationalist ideology holding that Jews have a right to a Jewish-majority nation state/”homeland” in historic Palestine.  Although over time there has been much debate about the definition of “Zionism”, I am using the meaning that carries currency currently on the global political stage.  Some Jews have more personal definitions of Zionism that are different; some may have nothing to do with nation states and refer instead to an important religious/spiritual connection to the land; I may not share such sentiments (I feel that Brooklyn and the Lower East side are enough of a homeland for me), but I certainly don’t object to them.  Such definitions are not being referred to when most people across the globe express objections to Zionism.

Along with anti-Zionists in general, I do not question the right of Jews to live in historic Palestine.  Jews have always lived there, often in peace with their neighbors.  There’s no problem there.  The problem is with the belief that Jews have more of a right to be there than anyone else, and that the “right” of a state with an artificially maintained Jewish majority to exist trumps the rights of all the people in the region.   These beliefs are racist, though it’s taboo to say that in most public spheres here in the United States.  Since the ’67 war (when the IDF proved itself to be very useful as military muscle), we’ve had a special relationship with Israel, supplying their military with an unprecedented amount of aid.  The US government also has a long history of supporting Jewish migration to historic Palestine, at least in part as an alternative to a feared massive arrival of Jews on our shores.

The US stands apart from world opinion in our official, unyielding support of Zionism and our active participation in the conflation of anti-Zionism and anti-Jewish politics.  I’m old enough to remember being appalled in 2001 when reps from the US and Israel walked out of the UN World Conference against Racism rather than discuss the relationship between Zionism and racism, slandering participants from every other country as anti-Semites.  Similar dynamics played out when the US pulled out of participating  in this years conference because Israel’s crimes were on the table.   This should raise red flags for those of us committed to fighting racism.  It is US and Israeli exceptionalism.

I view anti-Zionism as a logical piece of a broader anti-imperialist, anti-oppressive politic.  Of course I abhor anti-Semitism, but I am also disgusted at Jews (and fundamentalist Christians, and assorted other pro-Zionist factions) who exploit the historic persecution of Jews for their own political ends.  It in no way diminishes the horror of the Nazi Holocaust to suggest that the expulsion and murder of Palestinians in 1948 does nothing to honor its victims.  It is not anti-Jewish to resist Jewish colonialism.  The refugee crisis and ongoing oppression of those living in the Palestinian territories are not going away soon, and no amount of righteous anger at Hamas will shift the balance of power in the situation.  Those of us in the US-Jewish and not–are directly implicated, as our tax dollars fund the ongoing occupation.

The number of Jews who identify as anti- or non-Zionist is growing.  A 2006 study sponsored by The Andrea and Charles Bronfman philanthropies found that among non-Orthodox Jews under 35, only 54% are comfortable with the idea of a Jewish state. (as opposed to 81% of those 65 and older. ) Last year saw the launch of the International Jewish Anti-Zionist Network as well as an increasing amount of Jewish organizing against the ongoing Israeli occupation of Palestine within a specifically anti-Zionist framework. In 2008, I participated in the nation-wide No Time to Celebrate: Jews Remember the Nakba campaign, which sought to counter celebrations of Israel’s 60th anniversary with events commemorating and spreading awareness of the correlating “Nakba” (or “Catastrophe”) of 1948 which resulted in the death or displacement of hundreds of thousands of Palestinians.   This is a shift-it’s often controversial enough to criticize Israel at all, let alone dispute Zionist ideology.  But this controversy comes not from some kind of Jewish “consensus” on the matter (there never has been any such thing) but from which factions hold institutional power and the lengths they’ll go to silence their opposition.

I also want to plug my new favorite movie, Slingshot Hip Hop, a documentary chronicling the emerging Palestinian hip hop scenes and movement.  It is particularly interesting from a feminist perspective, as the consciousness around the need for women’s voices in Palestinian hip hop displayed by both male and female musicians in the film puts to shame the gender analysis of most music scenes I’ve ever been around. Please, order it and watch it if you haven’t yet.  You’ll laugh, you’ll cry, you’ll probably learn things, you’ll be left both angry and inspired.

What else.

It’s a little early, but September 11 is next Friday and I won’t be blogging here then.  This year I hope to get tickets to the big Jay-Z 9/11 benefit concert thing at Madison Square Garden.  That would be nice.  Not that most years I do anything, other than reflect.  It’s still a date on the calendar that provokes a visceral response from me.  On the morning of September 11 2001 I was at work at a phone sex call center in Manhattan.  I was on a call when the first plane hit the tower and yes, caller, you really will always be very special to me.  On 9/11 I thought I was maybe gonna die at various points.  Not to be dramatic, I wasn’t near the towers. There were initially rumors reported on the news that there was a third plane headed towards New York, and I was near other famous NYC stuff that people speculated might be a target.  Obviously the third plane didn’t exist.  No one I knew was hurt or killed.  Some I knew lost friends and family.

It was a really, really fucked up day.

The thing everyone says about the city coming together was true, in my experience.  I was unlike anything I had experienced before or have experienced since.  From the women at my job banding together and helping one another through those early, awful hours to just about everyone I saw after wards.  Strangers talking to strangers, asking each other how we’re doing, offering whatever aid or comforts we could.  I don’t have the words to express the power of experiencing that this is what happened to my city when hit with a crisis of such proportion.  We didn’t know what to do but try to help one another.

And then Bush and Giuliani got on TV and told us we needed to shop and “smoke out” the terrorists.  And suddenly the horror was constant and everywhere.  Attacks on Mosques and random people perceived as being Arab and/or Muslim.  The looming war.  A lot of us started having anti-war strategy meetings, back when opposing the war on Afghanistan was a fringe wingnut thing to do.  Now the majority of the country opposes it.

And yet, we’re still there.  In fact we’re sending 14,000 additional combat troops, on top of the increasing number of contractors from firms like Blackwater (excuse me, I mean the re-branded “Xe Services LLC.”) We’re still in Iraq, too, despite the popularity of Obama’s anti-Iraq war platform.   The horror marches on.  I wish I could see an end.

And on that cheery note…I guess I’m out?  You can follow my pop culture critiques, short videos, vegan recipes and political griping at my blog.  Hope to see you around the internet.

Happy Birthday MJ

I know some of you are like: “enough with the MJ!”  But I’m in Brooklyn.

There was a big birthday party in Prospect Park today that I did not attend as my asthma and allergies have been out of control this week; hanging out around piles of fallen leaves is not what I need.  I’m sorry I missed it.  My sources thus far have described a fun, emotional, positive Brooklyn scene wherein people across various demographics came together in celebration and appreciation of one of our greatest popular artists.   As Monica wrote today on TransGriot:

<i>it still seems surreal to talk about him in the past tense…it speaks to the fact I was spoiled. I didn’t realize the quality type of music I had growing up and the sheer volume of music legends that graced my teen and early adult years. I’m becoming aware of it as these peeps leave us and what we have currently pales in comparison to them.</i>

Agreed.

I wrote a kinda lengthy post about my relationship to Michael Jackson’s art shortly after his death, how I felt he had served as a cultural scapegoat, the racism of his demonization, etc.  Since writing that I have had a summer to process the MJ fandom of my youth and the genius of his artistry.  Here in Brooklyn I think I heard more Michael emanating from car and apartment windows than any other artist this summer.  That was awesome, my incidental summer soundtrack music was all the richer for it.  I listened to more Michael on my own than I had in years, I especially enjoyed J. Period’s “Man or the Music” mixtape tribute.  At the risk of sounding corny, I realized that when I was a kid, and Michael Jackson began his descent from hero to joke, it was a kind of loss of innocence. Way before the somewhat ill-fated album bearing the name, he seemed invincible. This strange, brilliant man was the biggest star on the planet.  Then <i>Bad</i>–despite selling enormous amounts of records–was deemed a “disappointment” for not topping <i>Thriller</i>, and tabloid bullshit started usurping the music in the public consciousness. Kids on the playground started injecting Michael into the misogynist, racist, homophobic and transphobic dogma they’d absorbed and for anyone who’d <i>related</i> to his “weirdness”, it was like a slap in the face.  Or at least it felt that way to me, and it was painful. And instructive as to how we as a culture deal with freaks.

I have said on various occasions since his passing that I wished Michael could see this or that tribute or gathering.  Depending on your beliefs on such matters, maybe you think he can. That would be nice.  The resurrection of Michael Jackson as a shared and treasured artist is some solace after his untimely passing.

Top 5 Beatles Covers

It’s BEATLES TIME! I know your resident Beatles freak is the lovely Cara, but please allow me to fill that role for you today. The post below was originally posted on my blog as part of Blogathon 2009. ENJOY!

This post is inspired by Cara’s Top 5/Top 10 Beatles posts that feed my Beatles addiction from time to time. I decided to put together my top 5 favorite Beatles songs covered by other artists — not to be confused with the top 5 songs the Beatles themselves covered. A lot of these might seem random to people because they’re not the more popular versions of Beatles songs or fan favorites or anything, but I really love ’em so hopefully you’ll at least enjoy listening along.

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Does Crossing Over Mean Selling Out?

Yesterday, I wrote on my blog about my disappointment in Shakira’s new style. I don’t want to put Shakira into a category of “sell-outs” because I think she does a lot of great philanthropic work with her money and fame. But taking a look at her new stuff, I scratch my head and think what the hell is going on here?!

For those who aren’t aware, Shakira has been making music for quite a while now. As a Spanish artist, she was sort of straddling the worlds of rock and pop, but she didn’t overdo the pop thing in her style. The focus was on her music. And, damn, did she make the most of that. What I love the most about Shakira’s Spanish work is that she pushed people’s buttons and made them think about the uncomfortable things. For example, one of my favorite songs is about a teenage couple who have premarital sex and end up pregnant.

When she crossed over, there was a shift in her material. Songs were a bit simpler, not as controversial, etc. I totally get that artists who cross over need to be careful about their marketability. They don’t want to be pigeon-holed and they don’t want to fail. They need to stay true to their fans to a certain extent, but need to appeal to regular Joe Schmoe and Jill Schmill. There are compromises to be made, themes to hold back on, a certain settling of your artistic style and whatnot. Certainly, you can’t simply translate your song about teenage pregnancy and expect it to be a hit.

I also understand art and music and get that people evolve. People get in touch with their sexuality and want to talk about that. People get into relationships or break up with old partners and want to tap into those feelings of excitement, hurt, freedom, release, whatever. I’m not one to usually think of an artist as “selling out” — I try to look at it as evolving. Yeah, possibly motivated by money. But we all have to eat.

But, ARG, this new Shakira just does not fly with me. The Laundry Service album was not as good as her Spanish-language albums, IMO. But whatever, it was what it was — some of it was catchy, some of it was still good. I think she tried to be involved in the song-writing as much as she could so the lyrics were not as deep as usual, but it’s cool.

Since then, it’s been downhill. With the exception of a catchy tune here and there, I have no idea what to make of her new stuff. Don’t get me wrong, I shake my ass like nobody’s business when Hips Don’t Lie comes on… I mean, seriously, if you don’t feel the urge to move when that song comes on, you need to check your pulse.

I guess I’m just trying to get a sense of what other people think. So far the comments on my blog post, my gchat, twitter, etc. seem to be people agreeing that they don’t like or don’t get her new image and style. This weird Shakira-meets-Beyonce style is just boggling my mind.

More than just her image… I don’t like the new music itself. I used to listen to a Shakira song and start bawling mid-way through from the raw emotion. (Inevitable is still my favorite song to sing along to.) I can’t think of one song since the Dónde Están los Ladrones album that has made me react similarly. I would describe her Spanish music as undoubtedly feminist; does anybody describe her English music that way?

But somebody out there must be buying her stuff… Is it you?!

What do you all make of this?

I’m Not Like Other Guys…

Michael Jackson has died, like Jill already pointed out. This is a continuation of my thoughts from that discussion about the influence and tragedy of Michael Jackson’s life. Hopefully (and with your help) with all the necessary nuance.

I feel like this is a good day to watch Thriller again, don’t you?

I have been thinking and reading about abuse a LOT lately, because of events that have been happening very close to home. Maybe that’s why I can’t help but read this short, musical film as a narrative about abuse, and the ways that abuse perpetuates itself.

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