hear me roar

I think I was a freshman in college when I first realized I could identify with feminism. Up to that point I thought they were a bunch of radical crazies who burned bras and didn’t shave under their arms… and other things that made an uncomfortable challenge to my Catholic reality. I don’t remember the conversation that prompted my shift in attitude, but I can picture myself sitting in a Lesley classroom, at a table, realizing… um, yeah, I guess that is me. I don’t even have to change my attitude… or burn my bra.

The word means different things to different people. But for me, what I took away from that Lesley (which was still a women’s college at the time) classroom, is that being a feminist means having pride in my sex. There are a million different paths by which one can explore that pride… and certainly, that has evolved for me over the last two decades.

I think my biggest thing has been trying to find the invisible woman in history. Not because I didn’t think the men weren’t interesting. There were some fascinating Henrys… but there was also Empress Maud, Eleanor of Aquitaine, Joan of Arc… and all those nameless women living in convents, working in fields, brewing, birthing, healing… doing all sorts of things that don’t get mentioned as often in the history class.

Then, of course, is my determination to gender bend Shakespeare. I owe that to going to a women’s college where it wasn’t so much a statement as a necessity… but it broke down the excuse not to do it. Because, seriously, those great soliloquies and descending actions shouldn’t always belong to the significantly less quantity of male actors. 

But those are … arguable things. Just as much about taste as my determination that the BBC is superior to any other television broadcasting service. If someone wants to tell me the feminine is dull, I will disagree… but not decide I have sole ownership of right.

I have thought about the fact that my feminist determinations are more about casual interest than about the things that I do. I know the history that they do teach us, about getting the vote in 1920 after many, many women fought – some with their lives – to get that easily cast away privilege. I think about the fact I’m not married, without a child and yet still have the ability to take care of myself, carve a living, and reach for a dream. I can wear what I like, go where I like – confined only by the limitations of my pocketbook and not as much by my biology.

I realize, of course, I have these freedoms because I live where I live, when I live. I know not every female has these things to take for granted… and yet… might it be actually possible I’m about to lose some of them?

I hate to be alarmist… but it is pretty hard to miss the fact there are conversations happening in Congress right now that… disregard women. They’ve put up the red hot issue of abortion so people are less likely to touch it. But when we are actually having a conversation about the degree of rape, isn’t it time to say what the hell?

Except… we should be having the conversation. We shouldn’t just let people say things and let it slide because it’s unpleasant to talk about… or because it might make us females seem like selfish screaming banshees. We need to speak up and talk about this and say no. You aren’t going to take this away from us. Not now. Because it is one thing to obscure women from history. It’s another thing altogether to obscure us in the present.