Today is my last day here on Feministe. I’d just like to offer my heartfelt thanks to Jill and the entire Feministe crew for inviting me to write for you. And I’d like to thank all of you who have read my posts and stories. I hope they gave you a little pleasure and perhaps something to think about.
There are women, all over the world, living in rural areas with fascinating cultures. It’s my wish that we don’t forget these women, their struggles and their lives. That we honor their cultures, even if we don’t agree with how they’ve lived their lives or what politics they have followed.
I’ve paid my dues in the ivory towers and I know how easy it is to get caught up in the theory and the noise. It’s a beautiful thing in all of its ferociousness and intellect. The anger is exhilarating and pleasurable in some odd way.
These women get lost in all of that. They fall through cracks like canyons. It wasn’t until I came here and attempted to live in just a fraction of the way that they have lived for so long that I finally “got it”.
There are different kinds of smart. My liberal education means nothing here. These women are smart, talented, strong and ferocious in an entirely different way. They deserve to be remembered. And they have earned it in ways that have broken bones and torn skin.
They have a saying here. “Let your prayers have legs.”
I’ve really latched onto that concept. That my actions are more capable of changing hearts and minds than my words or proselytizing ever would. I’m not talking religion here.
I’ve watched as these women came out with all the ardor of Spartan women in support of the current war. They looked at me strangely when I confessed that I wept as the bombs fell on those strangers. And now, I have watched as they have changed their minds and come to my way of thinking.
So, after while of living here, my anger became less pleasurable. And I have found a certain peace.
From Shaconage, The Land of Blue Smoke, this is Rosanne, signing off.
