Fufillment

     This week I am embarking on the sourcing project for CCASA and feeling delighted that I can actually apply my educational experience in the "real world". Initially, I thought the sourcing project would be soliciting or contacting resources for the handbook, such as victim advocacy groups, counseling centers, etc. I don't know where I formed this idea in my head, but I pictured myself cold-calling resources and standing on unfamiliar ground. When Karen at CCASA explained that it would be researching and citing the sources that were used in creation of the handbook, my eyes lit up and the gears in my head started turning. I love research! I am familiar with APA, have a naturally analytical mind and am neurotic about precision and detail. This project is perfect for me! My expectation that I would be a fish out of water was squashed. Dr. McCarver reminded us this week that we are experts at gender and communication, and I aim to live up to her confidence in our ability.
     The handbook, in its initial version, is daunting. At our orientation, a fellow student and I were allowed to puruse a copy - I'm pretty sure it weighed 10 lbs and I've never seen a binder that size! After thumbing through the pages, my second impression was that this handbook was thick with resources, educational materials and rich information. It obviously took hours upon hours of effort to compile, and the sheer size of it is a direct reflection of the authors' passion and dedication. I was given a folder of information to familiarize myself with and asked to write a short reflection essay based on the pamphlets and survivor's guide. Holding both the binder and folder in my lap, I looked at the two women hosting our orientation and was taken aback by the realization that CCASA only has 3 employees. Three. I've been charged with the opportunity to help, even in my small way, and feel as though I'm among the upper eschelon of activism and service. They work hard, and I am anxious to fall in line and do the same.
     Another expectation I had regarding my experiental learning opportunity was that I would experience an emotional swell as I became proficient in discussing sexual assault and violence against women. One year ago Tuesday, February 22nd, my dear friend and survivor, Alicia "Lic" Sanson, passed away. In honoring her life and the context of my blog, the details of her experience with being a victim of violence are not pertinent here, however, my point of relevance is. I was witness to the fallout she experienced and the synergistic effect it had on her life.
     In taking a moment to reflect, I see that my experiential learning this semester goes far beyond how I will benefit from volunteering. In my own quiet way, I get to honor Lic's passion for life, activism and mission to help others. I have the privilege to carry her legacy, to go on with my own life, to make a humble contribution and to collaborate with people who are already doing so much to stop violence against women. I see that CCASA is multifaceted in the way they combat sexual assault: through legislation, education, resources, being experts and bringing awareness. I know that my life experience and memories of Lic can only catalyze my desire to do something, really anything, to help. While the hours I put into the project will fufill my course requirement, the bigger picture is that I get to be a part of something that I feel passionate about and that helps people. My new expectation is that what I experience this semester will transcend the syllabus, rubric, course credit and transcript - the fufillment will come in another form.

                                                        Lic Sanson 11/18/82 - 02/22/10
Please visit any of the following links for information and support.
Colorado Coatilition Against Sexual Assault
To Write Love on Her Arms
The Phoenix Center at Auraria Campus

Seneca Falls

     When I think of women's movements, I think of "The Personal is the Political", the 3 waves of feminism, women uniting to raise their collective voices above the din of patriarchy and inequality. I hear my mother's voice, shouting at the television, "We fought hard for that!" in reference to abortion rights. I imagine my mother, aunts and innumerable women before me fighting for the freedoms I enjoy, and all of the energy, sacrifice and work that it took to be where we are as a society today. I also have an unsettled feeling in the center of my chest, knowing that a lot is yet to be done in terms of equal rights for all people, not just women. Above is a photo of 2 friends and I protesting in downtown Denver for equal marriage rights during the time Proposition 8 was undergoing appeal - that day is forever on my mind. I felt exhilarated, angry, powerful, powerless, joyful and proud to be a part of something greater than myself. My mother is a feminist, and grew up during second wave feminism as a part of the women's liberation movement. She had short hair, wore combat boots, swore she would never marry and was involved in grassroots political campaigns. Protesting for a few hours in front of the Wellington Webb building on Colfax gave me a sense of my heritage.
      In many ways, I identify with radical feminism. The movement began in the 1960's in a time of social revolution and awareness. In our text book, Wood says the radical feminists of the time were committed to "call attention to the oppression of women and to demand changes in women's place in society." My mother calls herself and others from that era "Women's Libbers" and every time she mentions it, she seems to stand a little taller, breathe a little faster and her eyes sparkle a bit more. Radical feminists in the 1960's unified, formed consciousness raising groups, were active in politics and publicly protested against oppression of women. The work of radical feminism is not finished. Current radical groups such as the Missile Dick Chicks, Guerrilla Girls and the Radical Cheerleaders employ many of the same strategies. They do public expositions and performances and raise awareness in a highly visible way.
     I am very drawn to ecofeminism and the idea that oppression of women and misuse of the Earth are related. On the website for EcoFem (it's a link!), I read about the connection between domination of the Earth and animals, racism, social inequalities and oppression. I am militant about recycling, have an ecofriendly car, try to limit my consumption and feel like I have a responsibility to do my part in taking care of our planet. I'm interested to learn more about ecofeminism, and it's sister movement, queer ecofeminism.
     The men's movement I most identify with is father's rights groups. This part of the men's movement is concerned with discrimination against men in custody battles and issues related to fatherhood. I have a couple of friends who are single fathers and know many more who wish they could share more of the custody of their children. Groups like Fathers 4 Justice use sit-ins, humor and dramatic stunts to raise awareness about inequality in parent rights. I am not a parent, however I hope to be one someday. I have fear that my partner or I would face similar problems as same-sex parents if we were to separate, and can identify with the struggle for seeking equal rights.
     As I am writing, I am finding myself returning to the issue of equal rights and injustice. I have joked that all queer-identified people should unite and stop paying taxes until we are afforded same-sex marriage/partnership rights. At times I feel like a second-class citizen and it's unsettling. I do not, however, feel victimized and take pride in doing things to be a part of the solution. Whether it be protesting, using my precious right to vote, or having conversations with my peers and loved ones about equal rights, I will continue to take action and try to empower others to do the same. One of my favorite musicians, Inda Eaton, often concludes stories with the phrase "And there's a song in that...". In her honor, please click the following link to a song called "Seneca Falls" by The Distillers. It is in reference to the Seneca Falls Convention in 1848 organized by Lucretia Coffin Mott and Elizabeth Cady Stanton, two pioneers of the women's rights movement. Lyrics to this song are copyrighted and can be found by clicking here. I hope you like punk rock.
"Seneca Falls" by the Distillers

Exemption and Opportunity

     Last week in my Gender and Communication class we did an exercise where we made a time line of significant events in our lives and how those experiences helped form our gender identity. I consider myself to be pretty self-aware, and yet I was surprised at some of the things I wrote about and sense of clarity I felt afterward. I talked about my pink and purple phase, when everything I owned was some combination of cotton candy hues; during the same time was the pocket knife event I have previously blogged about. At the time, it was perfectly acceptable to express both masculine and feminine traits. A couple of years later I was in the 1st grade, had a crush on a girl and beat up boys on the playground who tried to kiss her. I felt tough, protective, and more masculine than the other 7 year old girls around me. Later came the Girl Scouts, where we did domestic projects like crafts and baking, but also learned water safety and spent time outdoors camping and hiking.
     In the 7th grade, I began snowboarding competitively. While I was the only girl on the team, I did dryland training and some on-mountain training with the ski team. We were all fierce competitors and our head coach insisted on referring to us as "athletes" instead of boys and girls. I traveled a lot in those years, had some amazing experiences and was somewhat isolated from my peers due to training and competing out of state. My ideal of beauty was that of an athlete - strong, muscular, fit, toned, focused, healthy, dedicated, determined. Being an athlete first and a girl second came with some sacrifices. As though puberty isn't tough already, I was muscular, obsessed with fitness, extremely concerned with  nutrition and was not like the other girls at my school. My focus was on performance and not on how a 12 or 14 or 16 year old girl should be acting.
     In high school I retired from competition, became quite thin and started dressing/acting like other girls my age. It was a drastic shift but I have mostly fond memories of it. After high school, I came out as a lesbian and that radically changed every aspect of my life. My hairstyle didn't change, nor did the amount of makeup I wore or how many dresses hung in my closet. In terms of gender, I felt like expectations of me changed for those who were aware of my sexual orientation. It was as though I was no longer expected to get married, bear children or be domestic. It was more acceptable to be career focused than family focused, ok to be less feminine and not unusual that I had a lot of guy friends. I was told on many occasions, in both subtle and direct ways, that expectations of beauty no longer applied to me. People have said to me, often in a hushed voice and with confused expression,  "But, you don't look like a lesbian." After coming out, it seemed as though I became exempt from being a female. Society had canceled my subscription.
      Moving to a larger city and making connections in the queer community allowed me to feel accepted. Even here I found an entirely new subset of gender expectations. Am I butch or femme? Do I play softball? What gym do I work out at? Do I date butch or femme women? Do I want children, and if so, do I want to carry them? I was surprised, stunned and somewhat entertained by the stereotyping and essentializing I encountered.  Something that took me aback was the perception that we as lesbians are immune from problems like sexual health, STD's, domestic violence, rape and oppression. This shocked me when I heard things of this nature from people outside of the queer community, and imagine my horror when it came from the mouths of my peers.
     This semester I will be volunteering with CCASA, the Colorado Coalition Against Sexual Assault. I am so excited and can't wait to get started! Sexual assault, violence against women and oppression are issues I am passionate about; I feel honored to have to this opportunity to help, even if in a small way. It is important to me as a lesbian to raise awareness in the queer community, as a feminist to speak out and support women who are victims of violence, and as a human being to bring love and passion to this fight.

Gender Roles

     The earliest I remember my parents communicating expectations for my gender was probably at kindergarten age. My prized possession in life was my cowgirl boots, taking a close second to Strawberry Shortcake dolls and our family dog, Chessie. Maybe I should back up for a second - my gender identity is female, however I have known for longer than I could articulate it that gender is something that fluctuates, that is dichotomous for me. I have always vacillated between feminine and masculine, sometimes in the span of the same day or same outfit. My parents were wonderful in celebrating that at times, I am a "girly girl" and others, I seek refuge in my tomboy side. The memory I referred to earlier had to do with a shiny, silver pocket knife that I received as a gift from my father, Jon. Growing up in Wyoming and being a Daddy's girl, cowgirl boots and pocket knives were status symbols to me. Having a pocket knife meant many things - that I was being trusted with a potentially dangerous object and that I could sit around the campfire or out in the garage with my Dad and whittle wood. It played to my intense desire to be a cowgirl, and I also valued my pocket knife because my Dad had one and my Mom didn't. I knew at the time that most of my girl buddies didn't have their own pocket knives, but some of the boys I knew had them. I didn't feel as though I was being given the wrong kind of gift; quite the contrary, in fact. My mother is very proud of her independence and self-sufficiency, and that quality was one of the things that made my father fall in love with her. To me, having a pocket knife had something to do with being independent and self-reliant. I was allowed to safely use my new treasure while tromping around in my pink cowgirl boots, Strawberry Shortcake and Chessie in tow.
     The most recent interaction with someone who communicated expectations for my gender was at a clothing store I like to frequent. This chain is my favorite stop for comfy hooded sweatshirts, t-shirts, caps and belts. They carry surf/skate/snowboard gear, and I tend to shop in the men's side of the store exclusively. On the day in question a few weeks ago, a young lady approached me to tell me about the current sale being held. We were standing in the center of the store, exactly between the men's and women's clothing, and she began telling me about skinny jeans, frilly blouses and snug-fitting jackets. I thanked her for her help and continued browsing the men's t-shirts and hoodies. I didn't take offense to her making assumptions about my style preference - I have long hair, feminine features and wear some make-up, so it may have been logical for her to assume that I would want to shop the other side of the store. I feel more comfortable in a balanced mixed of masculine and feminine clothing, and generally feel only a bit uneasy when I ask for a fitting room carrying clothes from the men's side of the store. I was annoyed at the sales clerk's assumption, but at the same time, I am not so self-centered as to think she should know any different. The last hundred women who walked into her store probably shopped on the other side - I, however, will continue to be polite, smile, and dress like a 17 year old boy.