In the midst of this election cycle, I have been reminded of all the different facets of my feminism. Almost every article I have read about Hillary Clinton has called forth memories of how I used to feel about her, what I used to think of her, the type of image I had of her as I grew up. In one way or another, I have had an opinion of Hillary Clinton since I was nine years old. And it is only now that I am looking back on those memories that I am considering the possibility that maybe I grew up with bad information. Maybe, like how I thought pickled herring was traditional southern food because I associated it with my southern granddaddy--because he fell in love with it at my great-grandmother's when he was courting my grandmother in her Hungarian neighborhood in New York City--the assumptions I made about Hillary were based on a confluence of circumstances that I was unaware of at the time, and as someone who likes to imagine that I think for myself, I should look again and see if things are different.
So I am looking back, and I hear so many people yelling about Bernie and Hillary and what terms like progressive and feminist mean, and what those words mean a person can and cannot do, and I retreat further down this path. Because down this path is where I remember myself. My progressive, feminist self.
And I remember how I didn't call myself a feminist until late in high school. I knew what feminism was. I was raised by a feminist. I grew up hearing stories of how the Dean of the School of Design condescendingly threatened not to sign her admission to the then all-male school, and she replied by saying she'd "just have to forge his signature, then." But I also grew up thinking that feminism had to be adversarial. And I didn't feel very adversarial. I felt like a tomboy who just wanted to play in mud and wear osh-kosh overalls. I felt like a kid who idolized her brother. I felt like a girl who had crushes on boys, not someone who was angry at them. I don't know where the switch happened. When I realized that I could be all of those things and be a feminist. But I remember being frustrated by the word. And really concerned with what that word meant for me if I assumed it. The assumptions people would make of me. The instant dismissal of my views because they were tainted with the title.
And at the same time that I was feeling the pressure of what I was supposed to be willing to do with boys I liked, pressure not from them necessarily, but from the general "in the air" expectations of girls my age, things I realized too late that I didn't want yet, or wasn't ready for, at the same time there was Hillary Clinton, and Linda Tripp, and Paula Jones, and Gennifer Flowers, and Monica Lewinsky. There was Nicole Simpson. I remember being confused that my sympathy for these women was consistently being negated in the media, and how that attitude trickled into the opinions of my feminist mother and all of the other role models in my life. If progressives were on the side of feminism, then why was I being told that it was okay to mock Linda Tripp's appearance, Paula Jones' nose, or Monica's weight? Why was the progressive stance on OJ solely about race, and not even remotely about domestic abuse? Why couldn't we consider both? Why was the defense of Bill Clinton from a sex scandal the progressive agenda, but considering his position of power as the President over an intern not a legitimate problem to address? Why was it necessary to paint Monica as a bimbo, or a homewrecker when she was an intern at the White House, a position for which I certainly never had the qualifications.. Even now, when she gave her TED talk, people were surprised that she was intelligent. But if all of those things frustrated me, or contradicted my initial impulse toward empathy, I was still young, still growing into myself, and I adopted these views in part as my own, because there was no other narrative available.
As a tomboy, feminism becomes an assumed position. If you so clearly do not fall in line with gender norms, people tend to assume you are opposed to them. So the nascence of my feminism was rooted not in opposition to patriarchy, but rather in opposition to the other girls. You know the ones. The girls who liked girly things. If I engaged in girly things, it was always with a sense of irony or at least self-awareness, something I had that those other girls clearly lacked. This positioning allowed me to be a "cool girl" feminist. By not critiquing men on their behavior, but instead critiquing other women, I could still be seen as desirable or approachable by men. A trickle-down feminism, whereby just being is enough. I didn't need to risk anything, least of all offending a male friend or possible boyfriend by asking them to consider the way they talk to or about women.
This stage of my feminism lasted through my early twenties. And when I think about that period of my life, I remember shooting pool. I learned to shoot pool when I was about ten, in the attic game room of a family friends' house, and I was taught by a group of boys and men. I love the game. I love the physics, the geometry, the sounds, and the feel of pool. But I also loved the sense of power in defying expectations. I wasn't just another player, I was the girl who could hold her own. Who didn't need to have her hand condescendingly held, and who didn't act shy or offer a tinkly laugh when all of those condescending lessons garnered a pathetic whiff. And this sense of power turned into confidence around men, the confidence that I could wipe the floor with them. But embedded in that attitude of defiance was still a desire for male approval.
I used pool to flirt, often shamelessly. Fully aware that bending over the table was provocative, I used the gestures of the game to my best advantage. I used my "girl who can play" status to tease, and distract. I had a lot of fun, had numerous short-term flings, and a couple of great longer relationships. But the longer I persisted in this path, the emptier I felt. Because it ended up being less about shooting pool than it was about playing men. I started getting tired of the trap. I would want to play just to play, and the result would still be a game of flirtation, even though I had no interest in flirting, wasn't attracted to anybody at the table, or just wasn't in the mood. Slowly this idea of being "the girl who can play" started feeling less like a badge of honor and more like a stigma. I could never just be one of the players.
Now, when I shoot pool, I still fall into that trap, especially if I am sans husband. But my attitude has changed dramatically. When some guy makes a comment about how surprised they are that I know what I'm doing, I don't hear the compliment anymore, I hear the disdain. I am not proud, I am angry. Because what they are saying when they are so happily surprised that I can play without being taught is how little they think of the women who can't. I have had guys who are on a date with a girl they are "teaching" to play pool, that girl I decided a long time ago I was not going to be, pay me this kind of "compliment." And in these sorts of moments, when a male compliment toward me, or the type of woman I represent to them, comes at the expense of the type of woman I am not, I see the failures of my first ideas of feminism. The selfishness of it.
One of the traits of this concept of feminism for me was the idea that the ultimate act of a feminist position is to criticize another woman the same way you would criticize a man. This is an idea that I am slowly coming to hate, especially as I see it repeatedly used as a tactic against Hillary in this primary. Because it sounds good. It sounds ideal. It is, in fact, ideal. The ultimate result of equality would be a world in which people of all identity-markers would be judged according to their merits, their actions, their choices, and not because of a systemic bias for or against them. But we don't live in that world yet. Just like white parents teaching their kids "not to see race" will not help as much as teaching them to see race and racism clearly, assuming the position that we are even capable of not seeing gender when we criticize women ignores the very real circumstances that the women we criticize are dealing with every day. It is the trickle down positioning again. The non-racist, non-sexist, non-homophobic, non-transphobic stance that requires nothing of us. It requires no introspection, no risk, no confrontation. Being "anti" requires risk.
It is the difference between fair and just. Fairness would be treating everyone the same. Justice requires us to treat each other differently based on the premise that our differences create different sets of needs. Affluent, straight, cis, white men don't need as much support in our society as anyone whose identity varies from that standard (and it is a standard) in any way. This is why it is never popular to argue for justice. Why affirmative action is resented on the right and on the left. Why a liberal man said to me the other day that "if you want to break the glass ceiling, you better be capable," in complete sincerity and with no regard to the fact that men can be terrible at their jobs and still rise to the top if they know how to promote themselves.
In thinking about this idea of criticizing women fairly, I remember reading an article about how women should stop telling men at bars that they have a boyfriend in order to evade an advance, because it propagates the idea that men don't have to respect women's desires, only the claims that other men have on those women. I remember reading that and thinking, "Yes.That is true. That is what we are allowing those men to continue believing. That is a problem." But then I remember all the times I have used that line, whether I had a boyfriend or not, and I am angry that I am being criticized for utilizing a successful strategy in order to protect myself. Much like the "She's someone's sister, mother, daughter, wife" posters being amended to say "She's someone," this is a meta-argument about the ways we should argue. I consider that original poster and think that as much as I revile the idea that my worth is dependent upon a man's estimation, and therefore agree with the amended version, maybe that poster is not intended for me. Maybe it is utilizing a tactic shown to be successful in order to reach the type of men who need that reminder.
I have never heard someone criticize women for walking home with key-claws, or with their phone set to dial 911, or whatever other tactic they may employ to safeguard themselves, yet it is the same principle. Much of women's behavior is dictated by the myriad ways in which we are threatened--physically, sexually, professionally, emotionally, and psychologically. And to truly criticize women justly, those threats need to be taken into account.
This does not mean that women can't be criticized, or that everything a woman does is excusable, because patriarchy. The scales by which we measure what is and is not an acceptable level of compromise are entirely subjective, though. And it largely varies depending on our own experience of the pressures or threats in play. This is where the gender of the one offering the critique comes into play, because men are simply less experienced, and that experience is in turn less immediate, than women in this regard. It also affects our degree of sympathy for those in the spotlight, because few of us have ever been in such a public forum, and felt the exacerbated effects of those threats.
Which brings me back to Hillary. Long before she was an evil mastermind, she was a ditzy, flighty woman with ideas of a "politics of meaning." So she stopped talking about her ideals. When she clearly demonstrated that she was far too intelligent for that label, the attacks found a way to make that intelligence frightening. Her involvement in her husband's politics brought forth the condemnation of her not minding her place, and her failure to pass universal healthcare was gleefully mocked as a demonstration of why she should have done so. I am thoroughly grateful that she never stopped interjecting herself, or demonstrating her intelligence in order to stop these attacks. Playing off of Bill's indiscretions as well as the liberal desire to protect their President, she became the buzzkill wife, which allowed for her intelligence and competence, but tainted it with the stamp of annoyance. And then there was Monica, and I don't really know what to say.
I cannot imagine what it must feel like to have the continuation of your marriage be a subject of public opinion. I cannot imagine what it must feel like to be unable to show your emotions toward your husband when his defense is so necessary to the progressive agenda. I cannot imagine what it must feel like to have the only anger you can express be toward the other woman, knowing that your anger will be amplified by your position. I can say that the whole thing makes me sad. But I cannot call her a "bad feminist" because I know that I have compromised for less. I know that women have stayed with cheating husbands for less. I know that women have demonized the other woman for less. To accept that there are some games you cannot help but play does not mean you don't hate the game.
And it is in considering these pressures where I wish Hillary could be honest. Not the many scandals attributed to her, but the ways in which the attitudes of those attacks have shaped her into the figure she presents. But she can't do that, because that would be "playing the gender card." I think about that fact and remember how Obama wasn't allowed to be honest about race, and how that affected the way in which he presented himself. That was something he couldn't say, so his supporters said it for him. But for Hillary, the pressures come from the right and the left, so her supporters can't speak to them without being called apologists by their own party.
And it is here where we land in the space of comparing her to other women in order to show how our criticisms have nothing to do with gender. If these comparisons crossed political lines, liberals would be united in their denouncement of them as false or unjust. But the person most looked to for this type of comparison is Elizabeth Warren, and it is fair to say that she is less compromising than Hillary. It is unjust, however, to suggest that this preference for Warren proves that our criticisms of Hillary are not gendered.
Here is the biggest example: trustworthiness. The right has been attempting to paint Hillary's character in these terms for decades. I do not think, however, that the attacks would be so successful on the left were it not for the fact that we have seen her self-presentation morph over the years into a very generic, composed politician, very clearly aware of the lines of demarcation surrounding her acceptable limits of speech. This morphing has everything--everything--to do with gender. And it gives her the appearance of being dishonest about herself, which in turn bolsters the argument for her being dishonest in other regards. So what is the safe route out of this trap, because I don't believe she is beyond reproach?
I have no answers for others, only myself. And for that I have been reading vigorously anything I can find where she speaks for herself. And I have read her words with the specific assumption that she is speaking as truthfully as she feels she can. I have gone over the cases against her, weighing the merits of the accusations without the added assumption that she is dishonest by nature. For me, this investigation leads me to a place where I see her as a person with intentions that I respect and admire, but whose decisions I occasionally disagree with (sometimes strongly). Which feels much more just than the picture of her as a greedy, power-hungry, two-faced monster.
But it is not just this that has set me down this memory-laden reevaluation. The instinctual sympathetic response I had as a kid watching Hillary, Linda, Paula, Gennifer, Monica, and Nicole is being repeatedly stirred again in this election, and again I feel like that sympathy is being denied. But this time I am not a child. I have a better understanding of how patriarchal pressures can manipulate a woman into contortions of character. And it feels personal, in an election where we are consistently evoking the ideal of equal pay for equal work, to have the most qualified candidate for the office of the President in my memory be so readily dismissed on the basis of what it seems to me amounts to likability. As a woman at a stage in my life where I am trying to find work in a field dominated by men, where I have watched as stores I have worked in regressively shifted throughout the course of a year or two to being predominantly, if not solely, run by men, where I have been in work environments where the concept of feminism was openly derided, where I have heard women I work with talked about by liberal men in deeply misogynistic terms as though those types of comments are valid criticisms of their work, it feels very personal. I am no longer afraid to call myself a feminist, but I have been made to feel like I cannot say so in my place of work. And that experience makes me deeply sympathetic to someone who can openly avow her feminism, and yet cannot openly defend herself against criticisms tinged with misogyny.
Perhaps, too, this slow understanding that there are games, however repulsive, that we cannot help but play has led me to be less condemning of "establishment" politics. The presumption that we can somehow evade being caught in a game of patriarchal, racist, or any other set of unreasonable and insulting regulations of our behavior feels like the height of privilege. And having had experience acting within while simultaneously attempting to fight such games, I feel more sympathetic to those acting within the game of politics. I still despise it. I still want it to change, but I also find the belief that it can be avoided fairly naive. Like I am regressing back to that version of myself, playing men, thinking I was just shooting pool the whole time
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