Letting Marginalized Groups Speak for Themselves

I have a lot of privilege. I recognize this about myself.

I am white - very white, actually, with blonde hair and blue eyes. In high school, other people sometimes described me as Aryan. (I assumed they meant to imply that if I had lived in Nazi Germany, I would have so perfectly fit the description Hitler wanted for his new master race that not only would I have been spared, but possibly celebrated and married off to some prominent Nazi official in need of a respectable looking wife or something. The way they said it made it seem like a compliment, but it was a very strange compliment, and made me a little uncomfortable.) My point is - I could never pass for anything but white. I am so white that even among white people my whiteness is "fascinating" (or possibly intimidating). I have no way to fathom what it actually feels like to be a person of color in this country, because so much of my life experience has been that of white privilege. I can try to empathize, but there is no way I will actually ever understand.

I am female. And while this means I lack male privilege, I do still have cisgender privilege. My body and gender identity match. I also conform to many female appearance stereotypes - my hair is long, my fingernails are long and sometimes painted, and I often wear dresses and skirts, earrings and necklaces. I've never been misgendered. I can't truly understand how it would feel to have a disconnect between who I wanted to be and who I looked like on the outside.

I am straight. I am married to a white man. I never had to come out to my family or friends, or felt ostracized from my religion because of my sexual preferences, or had a stranger make incorrect assumptions about my sexual orientation, or felt that my relationship with my husband was somehow unacceptable or morally wrong. I'll never really know what it's like to be gay, bi/pansexual, or asexual.

I was raised Christian in a Christian-majority nation. My religion's holidays matched the school calendar. I was exposed to the traditions and cultural practices that remain entrenched in American society - and it was never required of me to learn any others. Though I chose to step away from Christian beliefs as I grew up, I still have that outward Christian privilege to fall back on if I chose to - unless I specifically admit that I don't believe in God and would rather identify as atheist, no one would know or assume that about me. I don't really know what it's like to belong to a different religion, a religion without privilege (though I've seen some glimpses, working as a graphic designer at a large Reform Jewish synagogue).

I grew up in a middle class family. I have never known real poverty. Even when my dad was unemployed for 15 months during the recession, I never really wanted for material things. Throughout my life, educational resources were readily available to me if I wanted them. I went to a local state school, was lucky enough to get scholarships and have a lot of my expenses paid for by family members and my (very) part-time jobs, and graduated with virtually no student loans. I'm 28 years old and my husband and I became homeowners five years ago. I don't know what it's like to lack class privilege. Even when it felt like maybe I didn't have it growing up, I really did. I've always had it, and still do.

I'm also healthy (relatively so). I look healthy from the outside. I have poor eyesight, so I wear corrective glasses - but there is no real stigma attached to wearing glasses, so that's irrelevant. And no one could guess any other chronic ailments I might have - unless I told them - because they are not noticeable, nor significant enough to impact my day to day life. I do a lot of preventive behaviors to keep the threat of LADA at bay (latent autoimmune diabetes in adults), because my glucose is slightly elevated. But it's never really been bad enough to be even officially labeled "diabetes," let alone impact my life much. And any mental health/emotional issues I'm working through also don't outwardly influence my daily functionality. I have ability privilege, and have no idea what it's really like to be discriminated against based on my ability (or appearance of my ability).

My point is that I'm not exactly an ideal candidate to talk about a lot of these issues - race, gender, sexuality, religion, class and ability - which I just spent several months addressing with colored pencil drawings and blog posts. I want to use my privilege to draw attention to these topics that warrant discussion, if I can. But I also want to be careful not to speak for these oppressed groups. I don't want my voice to drown out theirs, and I don't want to presume to know their experiences or what the best steps would be to help them moving forward.

This is perhaps the most difficult thing privileged people like myself face in trying to help the unprivileged. We want to help - but often don't quite know how to help. We spend so much time patting ourselves on the back for taking on liberal causes or doing good in the world that we neglect to recognize that we've painted ourselves as "savior" figures. Marginalized groups don't need us to "save" them - they just need us to shut up and listen. It shouldn't be up to us to give them more rights; it is instead our job to support them and help draw attention to their cause from the sidelines while they take the rights they deserve. We are meant to be allies, not leaders.

Marginalized means they have been relegated to the margins. It's our turn to stand in the margins instead, and allow oppressed groups an opportunity to assert their own voice.

I feel a bit like a fraud when I start talking about politics or social issues too much. I'm not an expert. I barely even follow details of what is going on in the world. (To be honest, there's just been too much bad news lately that it's been overwhelming. And I'm lucky enough that I have the privilege to tune all that shit out when it overwhelms me. But that is another discussion for another time.)

It is precisely this reason that my message in this "Stronger Together" series is so vague. My drawings celebrate the differences found in humanity and show a symbolic floral arrangement in which all flowers (all people) have equal weight in filling out a bouquet - regardless of race, gender, sexuality, religion, social class, or ability. It is a hopeful idea that could have just as easily been drawn a hundred years ago or a hundred years in the future as drawn today. It doesn't reference specific topical events, and it doesn't try to speak for marginalized groups. It just showcases a utopia in which all people have their own equal voices with which to speak.

It tells people where I stand - on the side of tolerance and love and acceptance, on the side of allies, on the side of hope for a better tomorrow - without presuming that I have any real answers, without taking a clear leadership role, and without even referencing many specifics. Maybe this isn't enough; maybe as an ally I could have done more. But this is where I'm at in my journey right now. I am erring on the side of Not Doing Enough out of concern for overstepping. This is the extent that I feel capable of.

I do feel more qualified to talk about gender and religion, because these are areas that I feel I have more personal experience in. I don't have male privilege and never have, and I gave up Christianity to label myself an Atheist (an Atheist who married into a Jewish family, an Atheist who works at a Reform Jewish synagogue), so I don't have as much religious privilege anymore either. I can more comfortably talk about these issues and state where the problems lie - because I've witnessed them myself and because I am one of the marginalized who deserve to have their voices heard.

But even here, I often want to step aside to let those with intersectional oppression speak. I can only speak to my experience as a white, cisgendered, straight woman; women who are black or gay or transgendered (or all of the above) face much greater oppression than anything I've lived through.

All humans suffer sometimes. But not all suffering is created equally.

I hope that my "Stronger Together" drawings are adequate at straddling that line - the line between speaking up but not shouting over those less privileged than me; the line between wanting to do something, or say something, but not knowing exactly what to do or say. I hope that their vagueness allow more people to find resonance in them. Often, the more we get into specifics, the more we start to disagree. I am hoping that despite where we are on the political spectrum, or what life experiences we've had, or what privilege we've been granted or oppression we've endured, we can all agree in this very basic premise:

Humans - ALL humans - deserve respect, love, acceptance, acknowledgement, tolerance, and to have their voices heard.

Especially those who have traditionally been denied such things, who have a lack that needs to be filled.

Intersectionality of Class

Intersectionality refers to the fact that there are often overlapping cross-sections of people with multiple disadvantages. This is especially true when considering social class. 

Consider the following statistics:

• 14.8% of females live in poverty, compared to 12.2% of males.

• Gender differences are more pronounced for the elderly, with 10.3% of elderly women and 7% of elderly men living under the poverty threshold.

• 26.6% of Native Americans, 24.1% of African-Americans, 21.4% of Hispanic-Americans, and 11.4% of Asian-Americans live in poverty, compared to 9.1% of whites not of Hispanic origin.

• 28.5% of people with a disability live below the poverty line.

• Somewhere between 20-40% of homeless youth identify as LGBT, compared to approximately 10% of the population at large.

• Children raised by same-sex couples have poverty rates twice those of children in heterosexual married couple households.

• Transgender individuals are four times as likely to have a household income under $10,000 and twice as likely to be unemployed as a cisgendered person. Furthermore, almost one in five report being homeless at some point in their lives.

• 24% of lesbians and bisexual women are poor, compared to 19% of heterosexual women.

• African-American same-sex couples are roughly three times more likely to live in poverty than white same-sex couples

(Statistics sources came from here and here.)

[Side Note on Religion: Religion is one category that does not necessarily fit this pattern in the U.S.; in fact, according to a 2014 study by the Pew Research Center, Jewish people ranked as the most financially successful religious group in the U.S., with 44% of Jewish people living in households with incomes of at least $100,000 - followed by Hindu (36%), Episcopalians (35%) and Presbyterians (32%). There is a similar correlation between education and income, which probably accounts for this anomaly - about 77% of American Hindus have at least an undergraduate degree, followed by Jews (59%), Anglican (59%), Episcopalians (56%) and Presbyterians (47%). (Source)  

Rates on Muslim-Americans with regards to wealth are less clear - in part because U.S. Muslims as a group tend to have a high level of education (which might indicate increased wealth), and because Muslims in the U.S. are a very diverse group, many subcategories of which fall into other minority groups (which might indicate greater instances of poverty). It is estimated that more than 60% of U.S. Muslims are immigrants (largely from South Asia, but also from Arab nations), and of those, up to about 30% are not U.S. citizens. Of native-born U.S. Muslims, about 60% are African-Americans. Though there are clear differences between the style of worship used by immigrants and by African-Americans, the truth is that both groups may face discrimination for their ethnicity/race; it is therefore hard to determine how much of the rate of Muslims in poverty might be impacted by their religion, and not from other factors. The only concrete statistics I could find only compares Muslims in the U.S. to Muslims in Western Europe, where many have seen significant issues with poverty and integration. A 2007 Pew poll found that just 2% of U.S. Muslims are in the lowest income bracket, while Muslims in Britain, France, and Germany made up around 20% of those countries' low-income populations. (Source)]

In general (religion not withstanding - see note above), the more disadvantages someone has in other areas (race, gender, sexuality, ability, etc.), the more likely they are to also struggle with their financial situation. If our goal is to lessen the economic inequality in this nation, looking at how class intersects other categories can therefore lead us to some profound conclusions, and lead us into some helpful solutions. 

Once we realize how many women live in poverty, for instance, it's easier to see how so-called "women's issues" (like better sex and reproductive education, greater access to women's health care, more comprehensive maternity leave policies, and addressing the persistent gender wage gap) are actually economic issues that could help alleviate some of the wealth disparity in this nation and rise countless women out of dire financial hardship.

Better access to and higher quality health care would also help alleviate the financial burden of many disabled Americans. Anti-discrimination policies in the workplace, handicapped accessible public transit, work environments that allow for flexible scheduling, and the destigmatization of mental illness would also help the countless Americans who suffer with any myriad of chronic diseases.

Similarly, pushing for marriage and job equality for homosexual couples are important economic steps to ensure that their families have the same legal protections as heterosexual couples, and that no one will face job discrimination for their sexual preferences. Better laws regarding public restroom usage would create more safe spaces for transgender individuals, and reform regarding workplace discrimination would create more job opportunities.

Affirmative action policies at universities are implemented for comparable reasons - to allow more African-Americans or Native Americans access to higher education (and, in turn, higher economic status). 

There is no specific amount of poor people the United States is required to have; it is not the case that lifting African-Americans or Native Americans or LGBT individuals or disabled Americans or women out of poverty will create a sinkhole that will suck other groups into lower social classes in their stead. Helping these subsections of poor people decreases the general rate of poverty in this country, and can only be a good thing for the economy of our nation. 

Before I conclude this blog post, I would remise if I didn't make one final point - I am married to a statistician/actuary, after all - and that point is this:

The above statistics show a correlation between certain subgroups and lower income brackets. Do not confuse correlation with causation. It is not a simple cause-and-effect situation; in fact, they each tend to exacerbate the other.

When someone lacks institutionalized privilege in these other categories (all of which are completely outside of someone's control), it can be harder to earn a steady income, be accepted into higher education programs, secure housing in good neighborhoods, have access to community amenities, feel safe working irregular job hours or taking public transportation, make networking connections, have access to quality health care services, see their families and unions protected by legal and economic safeguards, or have self-confidence in their abilities. All of those things, in turn, can contribute to poverty. 

Conversely, when certain groups of people are continually associated with lower class status, it can reinforce negative stereotypes and discrimination towards those groups. These include stereotypes that people of color are lazy (because many of them live in poverty, and must, therefore, have been unwilling to put in the effort necessary to pull themselves out of it) or violent (because many of them live in poor, crowded, urban areas, where there is also a higher instance of crime).

Such gross generalizations, while rooted in a very real truth that intersectionality is a serious problem, also do the disservice of discussing large groups of people as if they were homogenous. Thinking in such absolutes is not only incorrect but deeply concerning, because it encourages segregation and "othering" - viewing or treating certain groups of people as intrinsically different from and alien to oneself. Though many people living in poverty are people of color, not all people of color are poor or live in poor neighborhoods, and many people who are poor or live in poor neighborhoods are actually white. To believe or talk as if "people of color" and "people living in poverty" are synonymous is to perpetuate dangerous misrepresentation. 

Indeed, many people in power who want to uphold the current systems of inequality to ensure they maintain their own privileged standing purposefully make these generalizations as a fear-mongering tactic. Such liars don't even require facts to lay a tenuous foundation for their claims, insisting for instance that "all Muslims are terrorists" or "all homosexuals/transgendered persons are pedophiles/rapists" even when the data proves that it is more likely for a non-Muslim to be a terrorist in this country, and for a pedophile or rapist to identify and present as heterosexual and cisgendered.

It is important, therefore, to balance careful consideration of harmful stereotyping against one's desire to recognize the intersectionality of class and take concrete steps towards addressing the unique problems faced by people who lack privilege in more than one area of their lives. We need to keep the above statistics in mind - but also not fall into the trap of misinterpreting them, misrepresenting them, or assuming that correlation implies a direct cause-and-effect relationship.

Dear Fellow Liberal White Women

Dear Fellow Liberal White Women:

By now you've probably heard the statistic. 53% of white women voted for Donald Trump on Tuesday, while only 43% of white women voted for Hillary Clinton.

This statistic has been the catalyst for articles like this one from the Huffington Post, which accuses white women of not caring enough about sexism, about their friends of color, about the LGBTQ community, and other marginalized groups that Trump has bullied, belittled, unsettled, and threatened during his contentious campaign run. These articles attempt to shame white women. The message is clear: this tragedy is your fault. You should know better. You should do more.

What is less clear is the intended audience. Is the article talking about the white women who voted Trump? They would seem to be the most directly culpable - and yet, they're hardly the ones who are going on Huffington Post the day after the election, heartbroken and searching in desperation for answers as to how Hillary lost. So is the article actually talking to liberal white women? Liberal white women who perhaps knew conservative white women, but didn't "do enough" to convince them not to vote for Trump, or not to vote third party?

Why is the article talking to women at all?

As if women - the victims of the patriarchy - are the worst offenders. As if because they witness sexism, they should "know better." (Isn't that called victim blaming? If you were talking to a rape survivor, would you ask why she let herself be raped? No. You wouldn't.)

This article is hardly alone in casting blame unilaterally, in failing to understand what is actually happening. Even before election day, it was rampant. In an email chain going around my husband's liberal, Jewish family, a relative wrote, "Remember: a woman voting Republican is like a chicken voting for Colonel Sanders."

To us liberals, it is obvious 1) that sexism exists, 2) that sexism is a bad thing that needs to be eradicated, and 3) that the Republican party only perpetuates sexism. But those are not givens. Conservative women do not see those statements as fundamental truths. They do not understand that voting Republican is contributing to their own oppression. And blaming them, or trying to shame them into understanding that is not a tactic that is going to work.

Those white women who voted Republican? I know them. They are my family members, my Facebook friends, my ancestors, my neighbors. Hell, I was once one of those women. It was the environment I grew up in. And if I hadn't had some liberal high school teachers, if I hadn't gone to college, if I hadn't taken Women's and Gender Studies classes - it's likely I would still be one of them.

I know those white women. And I'm telling you - they are not monsters. They are not stupid. They are not mean-spirited or vindictive, and they did not vote for Trump because they don't care about other women, or people of color, or disabled people, or members of the LGBTQ community. Even the ones who were most enthusiastic about Trump did not love everything about his rhetoric. They made excuses for his poor language choices, his misbehaviors, his bullying - rebranding them as antics, as "speaking his mind" - because they liked him for other reasons.

They are not monsters. They are victims. They are victims of the patriarchy, same as us. There is no "perfect" victim. Some recognize sexism and do everything in their power to try to fix it. Others recognize sexism but don't prioritize fighting it. Still others don't even recognize sexism at all. They don't know they're victims. That doesn't mean they aren't victims - just that they don't know they are.

These white women who voted for Trump live in suburbs, in rural areas, where everyone smiles at each other instead of leering. They've never seen an obvious example of sexism in their everyday lives, because they are privileged in other ways (by their skin color, their religion, their country of birth, the language they speak, their sexual orientation). They have always (or mostly) felt personally valued by the men and other women in their lives; they've always felt respected and loved. Their oppression is familiar, a comfort, and they do not recognize it for what it is.

They recognize that there are differences between the genders - both innate and learned - but they don't see this as oppression. They easily fit into the criteria our society has developed for womanhood, and so it is not of their concern for them to be kept in that box. They like the challenge of juggling double standards. They don't even realize they're juggling them.

They like pleasing people. They like taking care of the men in their lives. They are peacekeepers within their families. They do what is expected of them because it is easier that way, or because they like knowing that they are doing all they can to keep their families running smoothly. They like knowing what they are supposed to do. There are traditional gender roles, and as long as they follow them, their lives are pleasant, tolerable.

When they are catcalled at the grocery store, they take it as a compliment. Because they have been taught to take it as a compliment. Because they have been taught that men are allowed to "act like men."

They rationalize and make excuses when Trump (or anyone else) brags about sexual assault, describes women in vulgar terms, or indicates that women are put on Earth for the sole purpose of men's desires - whether that be for her to let him have sex with her, or for her to make him a sandwich - because that is what they do everyday of their lives. They have seen their husbands, their fathers, their brothers, their sons, their friends act the same way and say the same things. They believe (they hope) that their men don't mean anything by it - that it's just silly, that it's fine, that it's the way things always have been and the way they always will be.

They would never dream of working outside the home - because they don't need to, because they don't want to, because they firmly believe that they are not supposed to.

They feel the double-bind of working outside the home and childcare. They feel guilty if they spend too much time at home with their children - they wonder if they should be at work, modeling for the next generation that a woman can do both, that a mother can have a wider range of influence than just the tiny sphere of her home. They feel guilty if they spend too much time at work - they wonder if they should be home, taking care of their children and doing housework, as their mothers and mother's mothers and mother's mother's mothers did. They want to "have it all" and they want to prove that they can "have it all." They think, "All these other women do it. Why can't I? It must be something wrong with me. Me - not the system, or the unfair double standards, but me as an individual. I am the one who is failing."

They don't like to be called a Feminist, because men don't like women who are Feminists. They don't like the idea of rocking the boat. They would rather be the one who smooths hurt feelings, rather than the cause of it.

When they see oppression, they deflect it. They think: "That wasn't what I thought it was." They think: "I was wrong." They think: "This isn't systematic oppression. It's just a one-time thing." They think: "Maybe that woman deserved it." They think: "Maybe I deserve it."

They are Christian, and they believe it when men tell them that the Christian God once decreed that women are inferior to men. They believe that the best thing they can be is someone's daughter, someone's wife, someone's mother. They define themselves - gladly, willingly - as belonging to someone else. They don't feel qualified to stand alone, to be independent. They don't have high enough self-esteem to believe that they have value outside of their interpersonal relationships.

The world has favored men for so long that they assume this is simply the way things are. Men wouldn't be the heads of religion, the heads of government, the heads of households if it weren't supposed to be that way. Life is just harder for women. It's okay. It's what God intended. They think, "God gave me this cross to bear, this cross of being female. And it is up to me to be strong enough to bear it." They tuck their feelings inside, until their feelings disappear.

They have been objectified and condemned and violated. They have been beaten and emotionally abused and sexually assaulted and raped. But they don't want to think about it. It happened a long time ago. It doesn't matter anymore. Best to forget about it.

They blame themselves for tragedies that have happened to them. When their husbands beat them or yell at them or control their money or threaten to leave them or threaten to separate them from their children, or use any number of psychological and emotional and physical abuse tactics, these women wonder, "What did I do wrong? What did I do to provoke him?"

They don't want to act like a victim. They don't want to be upset with their lot; they don't want to cry, they don't want to be angry. They've witnessed sexism everyday of their life, but choose not to acknowledge it, because it is easier to bury their heads in the sand. They have a series of defense mechanisms - defense mechanisms they aren't even aware that they use - to keep them from understanding that women are still second-class citizens, to keep them from understanding why Feminism is important.

Their husbands, their pastors, their Fox News anchors tell them to vote Republican. These women hear that "women's issues" are special interests. They are told that there are more serious issues at stake - issues like immigration, or the economy. Issues that effect everyone. Issues that effect men. Issues that effect Christians. Issues that "matter."

They are tired. They've never fought for their own freedoms before, but it looks exhausting. They've tried fighting before, and it got them nowhere. They see the writing on the wall. They think change is impossible, improbable. They see other things that are easier to change, easier to fight for - and so they focus on those other issues that they care about, the ones they have come to believe are more important to focus on.

They have other things in their lives, other priorities. Being a woman is only a small part of who they are. They have jobs that consume their time, or children that consume their energy. They consider other things when deciding who to vote for. They know they can handle sexism. They've been surviving sexism since they were born; they can do it for another 100 years. It's all they've ever known.

They still live with their parents. They live with their husbands. They live with their children. They live in a nursing home. They are intimidated. They are scared. They have different opinions than their families. They keep quiet.

They worried what a Hillary presidency would do to men. They worried that it would make their fathers, their husbands, their coworkers more intolerable. They worried at the personal backlash that they might witness, or be victims of, in their work spaces or in their homes. They didn't want to have to see the men in their lives suffer under a female president. They've been living under male presidents their entire lives, but they know that men's egos are more fragile. They are frightened of the die-hard Trump supporters, of what they might do if Hillary is elected. They think Trump might actually be the safer choice, because Trump would keep America closer to the status-quo.

They are new mothers, exhausted from late night feedings. They watch Nick Jr. all day, not the news. The information that reaches them is filtered, distilled, distorted - if it reaches them at all. They trust their husbands, their parents, their pastors, who seem to make good points, who seem to know what they are talking about. They adopt the convictions of others because it takes less energy than to figure out what the issues are and how they feel about them.

They are elderly women, more afraid of what will happen now than what will happen in the future, a future they won't live to see. They've seen Republicans and Democrats come and go. They think, "Is one decade really so different than the next?" They have the wisdom of their years. They know that their day-to-day won't change much from one president to the next. They've seen the country survive wars; they know that we can survive anything.

They were sick of an election cycle that lasted two years. They were sick of the arguments on their Facebook feed. They cannot stand conflict. They try their best to smooth it over. They shut politics out of their world because it makes them ill, because they have already enough stress in their lives, because it only brings them heartache, because they don't have time for it, because they are told that their vote doesn't matter anyway.

They have never had enough confidence in themselves to trust their own opinions. They have never been nurtured and given the chance to form their own opinions. When they raise their hands in class or try to speak up at work, they are ignored in favor of their male counterparts. They think, "I must be stupid." They think, "Women must be stupid." They think, "What do I know about politics anyway?" They think, "What do women know about politics anyway?"

They are enthusiastic about Trump.

They are reluctant about Trump, but voted for him anyway.

I understand that some of these are contradictory assertions. But "white women who voted for Trump" is not a homogenous group any more than "white women who voted for Hillary" is. In fact, I have felt many of the above things myself, cycling through them throughout the day - using whatever thought patterns or behaviors are necessary to deal with the Sexism of the Moment, to calm my cognitive dissonance enough so that I can survive my day.

White women who voted for Trump, white women who voted for Hillary, white women who voted for third party candidates, white women who didn't vote at all - we are all the same in that we are all victims. We just cope with it differently.

I wanted Hillary Clinton to be the next president. I was excited at the idea of my future children looking at photos of presidents in their history textbooks (or, let's be honest, a Wikipedia article), and seeing, after a long line of old white men, a black president and then a female president. I was looking forward to telling them, "I voted for both of those presidents. My generation was the one who gave America Barack and Hillary back-to-back." I did not vote for Hillary solely because of her gender - but make no mistake that representation matters. I was looking forward to being represented by a fellow woman.

Tuesday night and Wednesday morning were heartbreaking. Maybe it's always this heartbreaking when the candidate you really wanted to win does not win - I don't know. This is my third presidential election, and the first one where the person I voted for lost. I have a feeling, however, that this is a particularly heartbreaking election to lose. Because it wasn't just one candidate against another candidate - but two very different sets of ideas. And the man who I saw as representing sexism, racism, homophobia, transphobia, xenophobia, and ableism was the man my country chose to elect as our next president.

It hurt. Of course it hurt. I cried Tuesday night, and I cried again Wednesday morning. I check my blood sugar every morning because I have high fasting glucose, and Wednesday it was higher than I'd ever seen before - 151. I immediately looked up on my phone if stress can effect blood sugar. It can.

But I wasn't just crying or stressed because the president I wanted to win did not win, or because I was afraid of what President Trump might do - to women, to minorities, to immigrants, to LGBTQ individuals, to natives, to everyone - though of course both of those worries did factor in. One of my greatest reasons for crying, however, was mourning. Mourning what could have been and mourning what is.

Hillary Clinton would have worked tirelessly for everyone. She knows that all women are victims of the patriarchy, even those who do not recognize their status, or those who try to ignore it, or those who (willingly or unwillingly) participate in perpetuating their own oppression. She would have bolstered the status of all women - even those who fought her tooth and nail, even those who did not want her help, even those who did not see what she was fighting for as "help" at all.

But that is not what we got. I knew several of those white women who were voting for Trump, and yet I still allowed myself to believe that we would not end up with Trump as our president-elect. I believed (naively) that enough women had come to recognize their oppression, vowed to fight it, and prioritized that fight above the other concerns in their life. I was wrong.

It deeply saddens me how many women willingly participate in their own demise. I don't like the joke my husband's relative said ("Remember: a woman voting Republican is like a chicken voting for Colonel Sanders") - not because it isn't true, but because of its flippant tone. It's not funny that Republican women believe in their second-class status. It's heartbreaking.

I know a lot of liberal women (especially women of color, for whom the symptoms of oppression are so much more obvious that it is hard to fathom how anyone could be blissfully unaware of them) are angry at the white women who voted for Trump. It is easier to be angry at people than it is to be angry at the system. But it is not their fault.

Not all victims are capable of recognizing and fighting their own oppression. The women who are blind to the reality of the world? The system made them that way. The women who follow all the patriarchal rules? The system made them that way, too.

Sexism works very hard at keeping women from recognizing their oppression, and at denying them access to the resources that would help them fight it. It has to. Women exist in equal (or slightly higher) numbers than men; sexism would not have endured for so long if it was not successful in those goals. Of course women perpetuate their own oppression. They were raised to.

I am not trying to make excuses, or say that people who voted for Trump (or who voted third party) should not be held accountable in some way. I don't know what that way is, but I can't think going around blaming demographics is going to do any good. You're not going to convince the white women who voted for Trump that they did something bad. You're probably not even going to convince them to label themselves Feminists. For many, to become Feminist would be to give up the one thing that has made their oppression, their lives bearable. Christianity, God, gives them hope and strength when times are shitty. How are they supposed to understand that it is also part of what contributes to their lives' shittiness?

Shaming women, telling them that they are supposed to pull themselves up by their bootstraps, regardless of the cost done to the personal lives, is not only unhelpful - but also anti-liberal. Lumping everyone together into demographics without considering their personal stories is counterproductive and insensitive both. It is not a very good way of getting more people enthused about politics - on the contrary, it will make these people angrier and less interested. They will disengage even more, they will deflect further into the oppressive Republican camp.

We need to come together, not pull each other apart.

Why Are You So Quiet?: A Modern Double Standard

It used to be that men had no qualms about verbally disparaging (or physically abusing) womenfolk if they spoke "out of turn," voiced opinions, or socialized - with other men, or even with each other. A well-behaved woman was meek and silent; like a child, she was allowed to speak only when spoken to, or only in certain places. The specific customs varied depending on location and historic era, but a popular one was that women could only speak at home, and that their voices were unwanted in public.

In the Bible (1 Corinthians 14:34-35), for instance, Paul said: "Women should remain silent in the churches. They are not allowed to speak, but must be in submission, as the law says. If they want to inquire about something, they should ask their own husbands at home; for it is disgraceful for a woman to speak in the church." (NIV)

In some religions or cultures even today, women are discouraged from speaking. An overly loud, gregarious, or social female is seen as dangerous, unruly, and impolite. Often, it is a seen as a reflection of other "moral failings," such as sexual promiscuity. A woman who speaks freely also probably has sex freely; a sociable woman is therefore a bitch and a whore.

This is an extreme opinion. It is not usually said so harshly - at least in modern America - and yet some of this idea remains and permeates our culture more subtly. Women do not generally fear physical abuse or being called a whore if they were to voice an opinion in public or interrupt a man - and yet it's statistically observable that in many gender-integrated public spheres (classrooms, business meetings), women are less likely to raise their hands or speak up. They're less likely to be called upon to speak up. And they're less likely to interrupt their male counterparts, compared to how often women are interrupted by men. Women don't participate in public in the same way that men do - because we've been conditioned not to. We've been raised that interrupting others is impolite.

The standards of "good behavior" are different for girls and boys - "boys will be boys," we're told, and so they are allowed physical and verbal freedoms like running through the house, making a mess, interrupting each other, and speaking loudly. I could see how someone might even try to argue that it is the boys who are discriminated against with such cultural allowances - because girls are seen as more capable of good, polite, restrained behavior, at a younger age, and so are given a higher standard. A boy is going to have a hard time believing he has a capacity for patience to wait his turn or to sit still in his seat if such behaviors are not modeled for him or encouraged, or if he is met with a laugh or a shrug or a "oh well, we tried" attitude when he missteps from this desired behavior. He comes to believe instead that he can't help fidgeting, that he can't help playing rowdy, that it's in his very nature to do so. When he gets away with interrupting others, he comes to believe that his words are important, that his opinions are important. He learns that a louder voice can be heard over a softer one, and if he speaks up, if he yells, if he interrupts, people will pay attention.

Similarly, girls often learn that their gender is predisposed to politeness, to empathy. They care about others, and so they care about listening to what others say, and they're willing to put others first. They will listen to someone else complete his or her thought before voicing a response. They have the capacity to wait their turn, to be patient - and indeed embody the positive qualities of their gender when they do so.

I've said it before, and I'll say it again - gender roles hurt both genders. Boys who are not loud or rambunctious might feel ashamed for not acting like a boy is supposed to; he may then purposefully act like the other boys to fit in. And girls who are too harsh or too loud or too opinionated or too rambunctious are called tomboys or bitches.

Of course, at a certain age, these prejudices about how boys act more or less fall away. Men are expected to conduct themselves with politeness and good behavior in college lecture halls and business meetings. While they may get away with interrupting colleagues on occasion, it would be noticeable (and potentially worthy of an HR write-up, or a chat with the boss) if he interrupted constantly, or acted particularly rudely when doing so.

Furthermore, while there is an expectation that women are quieter than men in professional settings, there are other public settings where women are expected to be more talkative than their male counterparts. When surrounded by other women, women are in fact "known" for their socializing. There are myriad jokes and (derogatory or derisive) phrases about their tendency to talk: gossiping, chatting, prattling, "clucking hens." In private, it's a well-known trope that wives "nag" their husbands, or just in general try to talk to their husbands about their day. (It's no wonder men are so reluctant - they spent all day at work getting a chance to talk, and now that they're home, they only want quiet, relaxing time.) At parties, women often engage both sexes in conversation, often doing the brunt work of moving a conversation forward, trying to engage those at the fringes of conversation, prompting others with questions about how they're doing, etc. If there is a person in your family who takes on the role of keeping track of everyone and updating the rest of the family on the goings-on of the others, chances are it's a woman - a mother, a grandmother, an aunt, a female cousin.

Even as girls, females are expected to be social - but only during "social times." I went to three different elementary schools growing up, and anytime I started at a new building and had to make new friends, I would go through a period of transition where I would be particularly quiet and shy. Recess monitors came up to me that first week to ask if something was wrong. Why wasn't I talking with or playing with the other girls? I was shamed for not talking, for not being social. Yet later, after I made friends, I was told off for being too social. For those who know me now, it may be hard to believe - but my third grade teacher in particular had so much trouble keeping me quiet during class that she regularly kept my assigned seat away from those of my other friends. I have the report card to prove it - she wrote in the comments section that I talked too much in class, when I wasn't supposed to.

To be fair, I don't think this is necessarily gendered - we all have to learn growing up when we are and aren't allowed to do things. There is a time and place for socializing; this is true for everyone, regardless of gender. Additionally, I think the lines become more blurred, more subtle as we age. Men and women don't talk or act so differently as adults as they do as children. We all interrupt each other sometimes, we all speak loudly sometimes, and we all stay silent sometimes. We find our own rhythm, and it's often more individual and based on where and how we feel comfortable, than about gender specifically. I'm very reserved with strangers, or in large groups, but I'm comfortable talking a lot with my husband and other close friends and family members.

Yet what I do think is gendered is the policing of one's decision of where and when and how to socialize or speak up. A man can speak as loud and ardently as he wants with few repercussions; a woman does not have the luxury of always speaking her mind unless she's comfortable with being called a bitch. A man can also be as quiet and reserved as he wishes with few repercussions - if a man isn't social, he's painted as the "strong, silent type" (stoic, unemotional, manly), or it's assumed that he has "better things to do"; he's not talkative because he's busy, he's tired, he's been working hard all day. A woman who isn't being social is seen as out of the ordinary. "Why aren't you talking?" "Is something wrong?" "Are you unhappy?"

I would be remiss here if I didn't make this discussion more intersectional. A white man probably gets away more with voicing opinions and speaking loudly than a black man does. When a white man interrupts, he's eager and has strong convictions; when a black man interrupts, he's being a bully or a thug, or his parents never taught him proper manners.

I speak from my own experience when I write of quiet women being called out on their quietness; it happens to me all the time. It's not always a question. ("What's wrong?" "Are you okay?" "Why are you so quiet?" "Do I intimidate you?") Sometimes it's a statement. ("You're so quiet." "You're so reserved." "You don't have to be scared to speak up.") But the questions are still there, still implied. It's wrong, it's weird for someone like me to be quiet or reserved. It must mean something's wrong. I must be unhappy, or uncomfortable, or scared. Maybe I'm just shy and thoughtful. Maybe I'm more comfortable with silence than with talking just to talk, with saying nothing just to fill space; maybe you're the one making me uncomfortable now that you've pointed out my "unnatural silence." I hate when people say these things. What? You think this is news to me? I know I'm quiet; you don't have to tell me.

I suspect that many people point out that I'm being quiet because they wish to draw me into conversation. Instead, it often makes me retreat more, because pointing it out makes me self-conscious about how quiet I was being, and I turn even quieter to reflect on how I was acting or how I am being perceived.

On the other hand, other people may point out that I'm being quiet because they are uncomfortable with my silence - and, for some reason, think their discomfort is my problem. What they're really saying is: "I didn't expect someone who looks like you to be quiet, and you not being how I expect you to be is making me uncomfortable - which is your problem, not mine, so please get around to fixing it and acting more like how I expect you to act, so that I can be comfortable again."

Many women complain that they are told to smile - by complete strangers. They are policed on their apparent happiness and told to smile - not because the stranger is trying to make the woman feel better or feel happier, but because the stranger is uncomfortable and wants the woman to smile, to pretend that she is happy or at ease, so that the stranger can feel secure. I don't think this has happened to me; I can't think of a time (other than when I was child throwing a pity party or a temper tantrum) when I was told by someone to smile, or act happy. I certainly can't think of a time that a stranger has approached me to harass me about not smiling. But I do hear a lot of comments about how quiet I am (from people close to me and strangers or near-strangers alike), and I think these are related. Maybe it's a level worse than "not smiling." I'm not smiling and I'm not talking, not engaging socially with the world, and it's the worst offense that people pick up and try to call me out on.

I wonder, too, if it's not because I'm blonde. I'm a 20-something blonde woman, and young women and blonde women are particularly stereotyped as social, as extroverted, as talkative, as friendly, as perky, as happy. We're supposed to all be cheerleaders, sorority girls. I'm sure Black and Hispanic women who are quiet, introverted, shy, or bookish have similar stories. Because these groups (like blondes) are particularly seen as loud, extroverted, and social, with a love of raucous parties and/or dramatic displays of emotion, a Black or Hispanic woman who does not embody the expected stereotype might hear similar "concerns." What's wrong? Why aren't you friendly? Why aren't you talking? Asian women on the other hand, are not expected to be loud or talkative, so they probably don't see similar surprise from strangers when they act quiet and reserved. I can't imagine an American woman in a hijab being told: "You're so reserved. I hardly ever hear you talk." But someone like me does.

Being a woman - even an American woman - is not a universal experience. Double standards are going to be slightly different among different groups of women. But as a young blonde white woman, I am exposed to these double standards:

- If I talk a lot, I'm seen as gossiping and idly pilfering time on silly chats; yet if I'm quiet and choose not to take advantage of opportunities for small talk, I must be unhappy or uncomfortable, because a blonde anti-social female is unnatural.

- If I'm too friendly, I'm a social butterfly, a ditz not to be taken seriously - or, even worse, a flirt, a whore, a slut, sexually promiscuous, "asking for it," begging for attention; yet if I'm not friendly enough - if I prefer solitude to parties, if I'm reluctant to smile or share personal stories - then I'm uptight, uncool, rigid, old-fashioned, I have a "stick up my ass" or my "panties in a wad," I'm a prude, a tight ass, a virgin, a bitch.

- If I interrupt someone else (especially a man, especially in a professional setting), I'm rude, I'm selfish, I'm impolite, I'm a bitch; yet if I never speak up, I'm seen as weak, scared, intimidated, and unwilling or unable to stand up for myself: a doormat, a wimp, a pussy.

- If, in the process of continuing or sparking a conversation, I ask too many "personal" questions, I'm a nag, I'm nosy, I'm a bitch; yet if I don't play this role and inquire how others are doing - or if someone else were to ask for an update on my life and I were to give what they consider a short, unrevealing answer - I'm a brat, I'm snotty, I'm not feminine or empathetic enough, I'm rude, I'm uptight, I'm a bitch.

Double standards are, by definition, a "damned if you do, damned if you don't" situation. Because there is no way to win, I've gravitated over the years to one end of the spectrum. I decided it was safer or more comfortable for me to be thought of as uptight or unfriendly than it was to be seen as sexually promiscuous or flirty, or seen as a frivolous, vapid, unintelligent ditz. I decided I'd rather be too quiet than too loud. I was okay with being thought of as snobby or rude; I told myself I was being mysterious and unknowable, that it was a virtue, that men get away with it all the time. And so I played up my introversion more. I policed myself, I made myself quieter. I think I was predisposed to some shyness and reserve, but I definitely became more shy, more reserved, and more quiet, starting in high school and college.

I've taken the Myers-Briggs personality test a few times, and though I've nearly always come out at INFJ (and always I, in particular), for many years the amount of "I" I was on the Extroverted-Introversion spectrum only increased. I went from being like upper-60s% Introverted to high-90s% Introverted from the beginning of high school to the end of college. No wonder I seemingly lost my ability to make new friends and started giving off more austere and less friendly first impressions.

I'm not trying to be rude or impolite, and I'd rather not be called a bitch (who would?) - but what hurts me more is when my reserve is interpreted as me being a doormat, or weak, or scared, or intimidated, or sad. Maybe because there's a bit of truth in there, and that's why those words hurt more. I don't see myself as rude (on the contrary, I think I'm one of the nicest people I know); but I do worry that I don't stand up for myself enough, that I don't think enough of myself. I do worry that I'm too sad, or too anxious, or too easily intimidated. Isn't the whole reason that I became more introverted because I was afraid? I was afraid of being seen as a ditz, as unintelligent, as flirtatious, as "asking for it." Being quiet seemed like it could be my protective shell.

So to all of those who have ever asked me "Why are you so quiet?" - feel free to pick your favorite answer from the ones provided below:

- Because being quiet often feels safer to me than the alternative.

- Because being quiet often feels more comfortable to me than the alternative.

- Because by now being quiet is a habit.

- Because I'm tired of being asked why I'm quiet.

- Because I'm just tired in general.

- Because I'm mysterious and unknowable. Because still waters run deep.

- Because you wouldn't ask me that question if I were a man and I'm silently protesting your belief that you have the right to police whether or not I engage you in conversation.

- Because I'm actually not paying attention to the conversation and have zoned out and am thinking about my novel or some other much more fascinating thing.

- I actually don't owe you an explanation at all. And I suspect you weren't really looking for a thoughtful response anyway - you just wanted to get me to say something in response.

2015 Media Roundup - TV

I feel like I don't watch much TV (my husband and I dumped cable and now exclusively watch our shows on Netflix and Hulu), but looking back and composing this list makes it seem like I watch a ton of television.

Here is a list of favorite TV that the year 2015 had to offer.

In alphabetical order:

BoJack Horseman (on Netflix)
My husband and I love this show. It's an adult animated Netflix show where people and anthropomorphic animals coexist in (relatively) happy harmony. The best way I can describe the main character (BoJack) is thusly: MTV's Daria reincarnated as a gone-to-seed middle-aged former-actor horse living in Hollywood. Despite the rather odd premise, it's really good. I guess I'd classify it as a "dramedy" because it's not really laugh-out-loud funny and gets into some really deep stuff like middle aged crises and how we define ourselves as adults. There are also great moments of satire. And for a show about a male horse it is AMAZINGLY feminist.

Brooklyn Nine-Nine
First of all, Jake and Amy are adorable - separately and together. Andy Samberg is funny in practically everything. And I identify so much with Amy. Smart, driven, strong - she's everything I wanted to be when I grew up. Second, the diversity on this show is amazing. So many sitcoms would refuse to have two tall black bald men because one is sufficient to fill their diversity quota, but this show has two - and shows how individual they are. They're both great leaders and hard workers, but they do so in completely different ways. The captain's strict, monotone delivery is priceless - and he's such an important character to prove that gay men come in all shapes, sizes, colors, and personalities. And Terry Crews is hilarious in his own way. And then there's Boyle, and Rosa... honestly, all of the characters are amazing. There are unmasculine men and unfeminine women, there are several races represented... And, it's a sitcom that's actually funny.

Community (on Yahoo)
I've been watching this show since the first season, and while this latest incarnation (season six) wasn't Community's best, it also wasn't the worst. When it's on point, Community is somehow laugh-out-loud funny and satiric and touching all at once. I don't always get its episode-long pop culture references, but when I do it's amazing. And for a show that lost (and regained) its creator, lost much of its ensemble cast, and has seen many iterations of itself (on NBC and now on Yahoo), it's doing its darndest to hold on. I can't say I miss Pierce, or even Shirley that much, but Troy was amazing, and the show lost a lot of humor and heart when his character left. They've introduced some interesting new characters, and it's not a completely different show, but it has changed somewhat.

House of Cards (on Netflix)
I'm not really one to watch political drama (and there are SO many to choose from on TV right now), but I do enjoy House of Cards - mainly because of the characters of Francis and Claire Underwood. And the theme song. I legit listen to that pulsing instrumental theme song on repeat sometimes when I'm working on my novel. It's great motivating background noise that makes everything seem oh so dramatic.

The Master of None (on Netflix)
This is Aziz Ansari's brainchild, and it's fantastic. It's funny, but it's also very authentic. I think it does a fabulous job depicting life for Millennials in today's world, and I relate to it a lot. There are also some great points brought up about race and immigration, parents, old people, and relationships. These are my favorite shows - ones that talk about real issues and depict real problems, but do so in a clever or humorous way. Plus, the diversity in the cast is crucial. And it's not even a big deal! Like, four friends - an Indian guy, a white guy, a Chinese guy, and a black lesbian - can just hang out at a bar without it being about "hey look, we have several races represented." It feels like these guys would actually all just be friends, because this is 2015 and they live in New York City. Definitely worth checking out.

The Mindy Project (on Hulu)
This show has changed a lot since the beginning. Maybe it was too "network TV" in its earlier seasons, I don't know. But I feel like, especially since the move to Hulu this fall, it's gotten a lot "realer" - more authentic, more interesting, and more feminist. I was pulling for Mindy and Danny, and was excited when they got together (because it was set up as a romcom TV show, and that's what the viewers were supposed to want), but then they weren't afraid to show some really sucky parts of their relationship. They continue to complicate things - Mindy's career goals, the unexpected pregnancy, Danny's stubbornness when it comes to gender roles - in ways that are authentic and don't feel at all forced (unlike, say, the ridiculousness that Once Upon a Time has become. More on that later). I honestly love what they've done in the last few episodes before the mid-season finale, where Mindy finally discovered the courage within her to say things to Danny she's been meaning to say for awhile. When people you love are being assholes, you need to call them out on it. Especially when they're being assholes to you. I loved how Danny and Mindy worked at the start of the relationship, but relationships don't always continue that way, and it's just as important to recognize when they stop working and make the steps necessary to change them (or leave them) as it is to pursue them at the beginning. If the first seasons were like a romcom, now it's like the "after the happily ever after" part that fairy tales never show.

The Muppets
This sitcom can be a little hit or miss, but I think it's gotten better as the season's gone on. My husband in particularly gets easily bothered by Miss Piggy (as he got bothered by the character of Mindy Lahiri on the Mindy Project at the end of last season/start of the Hulu season), finding her annoying and stupid - and I tend to agree on the Miss Piggy front, to the point where episodes that heavily feature her don't feel nearly as good. But thankfully there's a large cast (of puppets and people), and they seem to be trying to give everyone a shot at some character arcs, which is nice. I did ask my husband if he would be so bothered by Miss Piggy's (or Mindy's) selfishness and bossiness if they were men - because I think one of the reasons they get a bad rap is because they're women; if they were male leads, wouldn't they just be "antiheroes" instead of bitches? - but he also hated Michael Scott's character in The Office (U.S. version), so at least in his case I think it's a general distaste for stupid/selfish/arrogant/racist/demeaning/ignorant/bossy authority figures, regardless of sex.

I also want to point out the story line with Scooter, the "dork" who lives with his mom, when he went on a date with Chelsea Handler. I actually really liked how the show handled that - they didn't paint Handler as a whore just for her sexuality, and they also recognized that not all men want to "move quickly" in a relationship, or perhaps get sex out of it at all. Even though some other male muppets teased Scooter for not wanting to jump into a physical relationship with Handler, Scooter stood his ground and was like - no, guys, I'm cool with taking things slow, how about you not pressure me? Because Scooter is awesome and doesn't worry about fulfilling antiquated stereotypes on masculinity. Kudos.

Orange is the New Black (on Netflix)
Honestly, I could take or leave main character Piper, who is kind of bland (though Taylor Schilling does her best with the role). The supporting cast however is amazing. (I feel like I'm overusing that word in this post? Oh well.) I love the diversity (in the cast itself and the storylines covered with them) and I LOVE that so many female actresses are getting the opportunity to play some realistic, dimensional, nuanced characters. It gives me hope for the world.

Parenthood
Parenthood ended this spring, and it was one of the most moving finales ever. I mean, it was also one of the most moving shows ever, so naturally it went out demonstrating what it does best. Talk about authenticity - this show was amazing. They covered complicated, deep, important, modern, difficult topics like autism, abortion, divorce, and aging. I could talk more about it, but honestly countless TV critics already have, and it's really best to just let this show speak for itself. So if you haven't already, go watch it. And keep tissues handy.

Parks and Recreation
My husband and I were totally late to this game... We watched NBC back in college (for Community), but when Parks and Rec came on, we switched it off. We tried watching a couple episodes but didn't get hooked, and soon gave up. (Our hearts weren't really in it.) But then last year we started at the beginning on Netflix and binged the whole damn thing. It's funny! I feel like a broken record, but I love the nuanced, dimensional characters, the diversity of the cast, and the strong females (Leslie Knope, April, Ann). I guess we all know what I look for in a TV show, eh?

Reign 
I'm actually not entirely caught up on the season yet, and was a little disappointed in the beginning of the season (they're really dragging out Francis's death, despite the historical timeline to the contrary), but in the past this show has been really good, and I'm sure there will be some redeeming moments in the episodes this season that I haven't yet watched. One of the best things about this show are the females, who are depicted in a pretty feminist way, especially given the era the show is set in.

Queen Mary has an affair (which, other than adultery, is actually treason, given that her husband is the King of France), but still she and Francis come to an understanding. The rape from last season kind of bothered me (because there are so many other ways we can establish female characters other than raping them all the time), but it was handled well in regards to lingering trauma after the event. Greer, one of Mary's friends and ladies, is an even better example; she doesn't set out to be a feminist or an independent woman without financial dependence on a man, but when life throws shitty circumstances at her, she makes lemonade out of lemons, and she recognizes what she's accomplished for herself. She's willing to be proud of herself, and to keep what she worked hard to obtain, instead of throwing it away to be a "good girl" like she's supposed to. And then there's Kenna, who at the beginning of this series was the king's badass mistress. She didn't care what society thought of her, or their age difference, or even that he was king and married and she was "the other woman." Sure, she made some mistakes, but she was exploring her sexuality. And the actress who plays Kenna, Caitlin Stasey, is a badass modern feminist outside the show, too. She talks openly about her sexual orientation and her sexuality, and has a website, Herself.com, which pairs revealing photography of real, naked women with interviews about how that woman defines herself and how she grew into the woman she is today.

Unbreakable Kimmy Schmidt (on Netflix)
Netflix seriously has some great original shows, and this is one of them. The bright colors! The positive thinking! Kimmy Schmidt is my role model. And I have never laughed so hard at a tag than at Unbreakable Kimmy Schmidt's fake "Daddy's Boy" musical. We're talking tears rolling down my face, stomach cramping laughter. Actually, every episode is hilarious, but that one especially. I think I've watched the whole season through like three times already. It never gets old.

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The only other TV show that I actually watched was Once Upon a Time, but that's turned more into hate-watching than anything else. This show used to be amazing and have great, nuanced characters and strong female leads. Now the character development arcs are pulverized for no good reason, and I'm not a fan of any of the character relationships anymore. Lily Sparks writes great weekly reviews of the episodes, and her complaint is totally my complaint - the show keeps telling us who's in love with whom, or what their motivations are, but then they show us completely different things through chemistry and meaningful looks and the wonderful acting that the cast is capable of. Not to mention the plot has just gotten ridiculous to the point where literally nothing makes even tangental sense anymore. But it is fun to continue to watch and hate on.

Feminist Fiction

I recently read a fantastic feminist novel called Dietland by Sarai Walker.

But perhaps it seemed particularly fantastic because I feel like I've read so few feminist novels at all. Philosophy texts and essays and memoirs and other nonfiction, sure - I took a couple Women's and Gender Studies courses in college, after all - but feminist fiction is so hard to find! And I love me a good novel.

In her author's note at the end of Dietland, Walker commented that she was inspired by feminist novels of the 1970s/80s (the second wave feminist movement). This immediately caused two questions to spring up in my mind -

1) What are these feminist novels of the 1970s/80s? I would like names please, so I can find them and read them!

And

2) Have there been feminist novels since the 1970s/80s? Where are the contemporary feminist novels??

Basically, I just want all the feminist novels. Gimme gimme gimme.

And if I don't know where to find these books (when I read 70-90 books a year), there must be others also struggling. So I decided I wanted to start a list, which I would come back through and update as I discovered more books to include. The list is pretty short now, but I will be adding to it periodically. Hopefully it'll grow into a much more comprehensive list!

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Note 1: Checkmarks indicate which ones I have personally read. Mild SPOILERS may be in some of the descriptions.

Note 2: I am using an "umbrella" definition of feminism which includes all aspects of intersectional feminism, including discussions of racism, classism, ableism, homophobia, transphobia, etc. I am looking for books that make a CLEAR point about the importance of equality, either by setting up a utopian/dystopian world that comments on socio-cultural issues, or by following a character through an "awakening." Books that simply "have a strong female lead" (i.e. a woman who figures out how to balance her work and love life, or a woman who cleaves herself from dependence on a man) are not exactly what I have in mind, although I may include such books on this list if they do a *particularly* good job and attempt to raise social commentary on other feminist issue(s) as well.

Note 3: This list is organized by year (most current year first), and alphabetically by author within each year.

If you have a suggestion for something I'm missing that I should include, please let me know - in the comments below, on Twitter, etc.

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FEMINIST FICTION

√ Ally Hughes Has Sex Sometimes - Jules Moulin (2015) [Contemporary, Romance, Mother-Daughter Relationships] - Single mother and college professor Ally Hughes does not have time for sex - but she makes an exception for Jake, a surprisingly mature student in one of her classes. Ten years later, Jake comes back into her life as her daughter's friend - at the same time that her grown daughter finds herself so desperate for a nose job her mother won't help pay for that she's willing to work as a "live sex cam girl." Reads like chick lit/romance, but does confront issues such as female sexual empowerment (though with the goading of a man) and some of the problems of the sex industry.

√ * Dietland - Sarai Walker (2015) [Contemporary, Humor, Satire, Revenge Fantasy] - Plum Kettle has always believed her weight is an abomination - until she meets an underground community of women who live life on their own terms, and realizes she's been living the life others expect of her. Meanwhile, a dangerous guerrilla group called "Jennifer" is terrorizing a world that mistreats women, slicing this fast-paced and often funny satire with delicious moments of revenge fantasy.

An Untamed State - Roxane Gay (2014) [Contemporary]

Americanah - Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie (2013) [Contemporary]

√ * Life After Life - Kate Atkinson (2013) [Literary, Historic, Philosophical, Reincarnation] - As Ursula Todd lives many lives, she suffers tragedies on a personal scale (rape, crude 1930s abortion, domestic violence) and international scale (World War II). Using the "practice makes perfect" mentality to adjust her existence, she confronts the changes that one person - herself - is capable of producing.

√ A Tale for the Time Being - Ruth Ozeki (2013) [Historic, Contemporary, Philosophical] - This book is about strong women spanning generations: an elderly Buddhist Japanese nun, her Japanese-American granddaughter Nao, and a Japanese-Canadian novelist named Ruth (very meta) who finds Nao's diary washed up on the shore of her Vancouver island residence and believes it's an artifact carried across the Pacific by the 2004 tsunami. But what really makes it feminist is the struggles Nao goes through at her Japanese high school, where she is mercilessly bullied.

Cinnamon - Samar Yazbek (2013)

The Round House - Louise Erdrich (2012) [Contemporary]

The Flamethrowers - Rachel Kushner (2012)

Why Be Happy When You Could Be Normal? - Jeanette Winterson (2011)

The Nightingales of Troy - Alice Fulton (2008) [Connected Short Stories]

√ * The Disreputable History of Frankie Landau-Banks - E. Lockhart (2008) [YA, Contemporary, Humor] - In this fun Young Adult novel, sixteen-year-old boarding school student Frankie is absolutely unwilling to act "appropriately" for her gender. She hates being excluded from her boyfriend's all-male secret society - especially when she knows she's smarter than any of them - and uses both her intellect/creativity and the boy's utter dismissal of her to her advantage to plan a series of pranks with socio-political commentary right under their noses.

The Dark Abode - Sarojini Sahoo (2008)

A Thousand Splendid Suns - Khaled Hosseini (2007)

Tales from the Town of Widows: And Chronicles From the Land of Men - James Canon (2006)

Snow Flower and the Secret Fan - Lisa See (2006)

The Joy Luck Club - Amy Tan (2006)

The Red Tent - Anita Diamant (2005)

√ * The Birth of Venus - Sarah Dunant (2004)

The Secret Life of Bees - Sue Monk Kidd (2003)

Y: The Last Man, Vol. 1: Unmanned - Brian K. Vaughan (2003) [Graphic Novel]

Fingersmith - Sarah Waters (2002)

√ * Speak - Laurie Halse Anderson (1999) [YA, Contemporary] - Melinda is cynical about high school. She has no friends, and she spends the entirety of her freshman year withdrawing into herself, refusing to talk about - or think about - the rape she survived over the summer. This heartbreaking book flawlessly demonstrates what the aftermath of such trauma looks like for many young women - women who are forced to relive the experience every day that they see their rapist walking the hallways of their school, and who struggle to process the event, pushing away family and friends at precisely the moment when they might need them most.

√  Matilda - Roald Dahl (1998) [Children's]

The Poisonwood Bible - Barbara Kingsolver (1998)

Push - Sapphire (1996)

√  * Wicked: The Life and Times of the Wicked Witch of the West - Gregory Maguire (1995) [Reimagining of The Wonderful Wizard of Oz]

So Far From God - Ana Castillo (1993)

A Thousand Acres - Jane Smiley (1991)

Dirty Weekend - Helen Zahavi (1991)

Paradise - Toni Morrison (1988)

√ * The Handmaid's Tale - Margaret Atwood (1985) [Dystopian] - This cautionary (and, unfortunately, prophetic) book features a world where a totalitarian Christian theocracy has overthrown the U.S. government and taken away the bodily agency of all women. Women are not allowed to do anything that would make them independent - they can't vote, have a job, read, or even own any personal belongings. Their finances and bodies are controlled for political purposes; they are turned into baby factories. Women who are sterile, lesbians, feminists, or politically dissident are labeled "unwomen" and exiled from society. The true horror comes from the realization of how easily this "speculative fiction" could become a reality.

House on Mango Street - Sandra Cisneros (1984) [Children's]

The House of the Spirits - Isabel Allende (1982)

√ The Color Purple - Alice Walker (1982)

Kindred - Octavia E. Butler (1979) [Sci-Fi]

The Bloody Chamber and Other Stories - Angela Carter (1979) [Short Stories, Magic Realism]

The Women's Room - Marilyn French (1977)

Kinflicks - Lisa Alther (1976)

Lover - Bertha Harris (1976) [Lesbian Romance]

Woman on the Edge of Time - Marge Piercy (1976) [Sci-Fi]

The Female Man - Joanna Russ (1975) [Sci-Fi]

Free to Be... You and Me - Marlo Thomas (1974) [Children's]

Fear of Flying - Erica Jong (1973)

Are You There God? It's Me, Margaret - Judy Blume (1970) [Children's]

The Left Hand of Darkness - Ursula K. Le Guin (1969) [Sci-Fi]

Wide Sargasso Sea - Jean Rhys (1966) [Re-imagining of Jane Eyre]

The Bell Jar - Sylvia Plath (1963) [Mental Illness, Semi-Autobiographical]

The Golden Notebook - Doris Lessing (1962)

√  * To Kill a Mockingbird - Harper Lee (1960)

A Tree Grows in Brooklyn - Betty Smith (1940)

A Room of One's Own - Virginia Woolf (1929)

The Age of Innocence - Edith Wharton (1921)

Moving the Mountain, Herland, & With Her in Ourland - Charlotte Perkins Gilman (1911-1916) [Sci-Fi, Trilogy, Utopian]

The Secret Garden - Frances Hodgson Burnett (1911) [Children's]

Sultana's Dream - Rokeya Sakhawat Hussain (1905) [Sci-Fi, Short Story]

√  * The Wonderful Wizard of Oz - L. Frank Baum (1900) [Children's]

The Awakening - Kate Chopin (1899)

The Yellow Wallpaper - Charlotte Perkins Gilman (1892)

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FEMINIST MEMOIR

I know these aren't fiction, but I just had to include a space for memoirs, too. :)

How to Be a Woman - Caitlin Moran (2011)

Whipping Girl: A Transsexual Woman on Sexism and the Scapegoating of Femininity - Julia Serano (2007)

Zami: A New Spelling of My Name - Audre Lorde (1982)

I Know Why the Caged Bird Sings - Maya Angelou (1969)

Why Are We Wasting Time Talking About the "Gay Gene"?

My husband and I were recently talking about the idea that sexual orientation could be genetic. Neither of us are geneticists or scientists, and we aren't saying one way or the other on the validity of that claim. Nor are we saying that it's something that should or shouldn't be studied, that the human genome should or shouldn't be mapped. What we did decide was this:

The question of whether nature or nurture contributes to someone's sexuality, while perhaps interesting from a scientific curiosity standpoint, should have no bearing on the debate of whether or not the LGBTQIA community deserves fundamental human rights.

Because you could use either nature or nurture to argue either for or against LGBTQIA rights. Which makes the entire thing pointless.

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Using Nurture to Argue Against LGBTQIA Rights

You could take the traditional Christian Conservative stance and say that to commit homosexual acts is a sinful choice, not unlike the sinful choice to murder or steal. Accordingly, it should be discouraged, if not outlawed completely.

But this fails to recognize two key things:

1) In America we have the freedom to be who we are as long as that doesn't infringe on others' rights to be who they are, and gay people aren't hurting anybody else by being gay (which makes homosexuality actually very different from murder and theft).

2) We don't make a distinction between the freedom to express who you are biologically (i.e. walking around with the skin color you were born in) and the freedom to express who you are by choice (i.e. using your right to free speech to spout rhetoric, or your right to assembly to choose to assemble).

This stance also suggests that somebody (preachers interpreting the Bible, the president, the Supreme Court, whoever) has the right to decide what are good choices and what are bad choices. And we all know how murky those calls can get.

Even things like murder that we globally agree on as being "bad" choices, we later make exceptions for. What constitutes "murder"? Is it okay to dole out the death penalty to criminals we've collectively decided are irredeemable? Is it okay to kill soldiers in the opposition army in times of war? I won't even get started on the topic of abortion, and what constitutes a "human life." For that matter, why do we make the distinction between different kinds of animals - deciding as a culture which animals can be raised for slaughter and consumed, and which are not to be murdered?

Do you really want to say that we need to be judged and tried on every choice we make - whether collectively as a culture, or individually in our bedrooms? And do we really want to give other people the power to do that kind of judging? What if we can't agree on which people to give that power to?

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Using Nurture to Argue For LGBTQIA Rights

You could argue that there is nothing that makes us who we are more than our choices, and that people should not be kept from exploring their options, or discriminated against for doing so.

You could even bring religion/philosophy into this and say that God gave us free will, or that free will is an important part (perhaps the most important part) of the human condition, and that to strip someone of their free will would be to strip them of their humanity.

One of my favorite quotes from the Harry Potter series is when Dumbledore says, "It is our choices, Harry, that show what we truly are, far more than our abilities." Of course, the presumption often is that choices expose us for who we are because some choices are "good" and others are "bad" - that in making the choices we do, we face certain consequences, and those consequences shape us and help us find out place in the world. In Harry Potter, Dumbledore is referring to the difference between Tom Riddle (Voldemort) and Harry - that one has chosen the wrong path, the path of evil, while the others has chosen the righteous path, the path of courage and love.

Which brings me back to my earlier point about the subjectivity of "right" and "wrong" and who should get to decide such things.

And it also begs the question - why would someone willingly choose to be gay, knowing that to be gay is to be denied certain rights, to be discriminated against, to be ridiculed, maybe even to be tortured or beaten or murdered? Did a trauma in their past "turn" them gay? Can changing aspects of their current situation "turn" them back to heterosexuality?

We can all try to change (or repress) things about ourselves that we don't want. And with any nurture argument, that's where we end up. If we look at being gay as a choice, that inevitably leads to horrible things like conversion therapy - which is why LGBTQIA activists often reject the influence of nurture on orientation.

When you're looking at nurture, it's too easy to see it as something that can be formed and molded like a sand castle. Once a society decides on those subjective "right" and "wrong" choices, anyone who does something that was deemed "wrong" faces their motives being questioned.

Of course, it's more nuanced than that. (Isn't it always?) How much of our choices are actually our own? A lot of what we do is influenced by the environment we grew up in, and the systems of privilege/oppression we're a part of (regardless of what side we're on). We can try to change our environment and dismantle those systems, but 1) that's a lot of work, and 2) isn't even always possible.

And then, what if we don't actually have free will at all - because something like God, or Fate, or Science has determined our destiny for us?

If nature and nurture work together and I'm genetically predisposed to having a shy personality, I'm never going to make it over to the Super Extroverted side of the scale, no matter how hard I try. I have some say over how much I let my timidity run my life, but I can't vanquish it altogether.

And that's the appeal LGBTQIA activists see in using nature to back up their ideas. If there's a "gay gene," and someone can be predisposed to being gay, how can you fault them for something that's outside of their control? They can try to repress it, or change it, but they'll ultimately be unsuccessful in deviating too far from what has been determined for them.

Which leads me to the nature side of the debate...

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Using Nature to Argue Against LGBTQIA Rights

You could argue that someone's genetics implies that they "deserve" discrimination. It's not a popular opinion - anymore - but it certainly has been popular in the past. Just look at the way "science" was used to historically justify racism.

Phrenology (the study of the shape of the skull, which was believed in the 19th century to reflect a person's character) was used to classify Africans as inferior to white races intellectually, culturally, and morally. Even Darwin's theory of evolution, which suggested that Europeans were related to Africans and that all humans were related to apes, saw the British at the top of the evolutionary scale of civility (source). Many Christian slave-owners argued that black-skinned people were biologically inferior - and that, because God decided our biology, they were merely upholding His will by subjugating these people to work their plantations.

It wasn't until after World War II that this so-called "Scientific Racism" was formally denounced; it undoubtedly still influences racist dogma around the world today. If the Holocaust hadn't happened, if Hitler hadn't been so systematic and obviously evil about the whole thing, this "scientific racism" (or, as the case is here, "scientific sexual orientation-ism") might indeed be the prevalent viewpoint, an undercurrent that impacts modern issues like the rights of gay people to marry or adopt children or live in the neighborhoods they want to live in. After all, gays were targeted by the Nazis and put in the interment camps with the Jews, and Gypsies, and others that were deemed "bad" enough to need weeding out of the genetic pool. If Hitler hadn't done it, would someone else have? Would we still be doing it (on a lesser, more internalized scale) today?

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Using Nature to Argue For LGBTQIA Rights

Finally, you could say that because someone was "born that way" (to use Lady Gaga's phrasing), they are not responsible for their discrimination.

But this does the danger of implying that those who are discriminated against for things that are not biological are responsible for their station.

This logic does a disservice to those who face discrimination for their current economic situation, their religious beliefs, or the kinds of clothes they choose to wear. If there are people who think only things that are biologically ordained need to be tolerated, wouldn't they also have to believe that poor people are the only ones to blame for their poverty? And that if someone should choose not to believe in what they think is the "right" God, they deserve to be judged poorly or even killed for that decision? And that women who wear short skirts - even when they know that doing so marks them as promiscuous - are welcoming that sort of attention and therefore deserving of catcalls or rape?

Never mind that things are never clear-cut about nature vs. nurture, and that they often work in conjunction. Genetics are influenced by the environment (that's the whole idea behind natural selection). And someone's environment is influenced by their genetics. A woman can't help being female, and a black man can't help being black, but because of those biological traits, they're going to struggle with the way society treats them and what society expects of them.

Isn't the whole point of dismantling racism and dismantling the patriarchy the idea that everyone, regardless of their genetics, deserves equal rights and opportunities? Isn't the point to remove genetic's influence on our society as much as possible, to say that we're above all that, to say that we have the power to choose to make a change, to go against ideas that have been ingrained in our cultures for centuries? So why would you fall back on an old historic argument to uphold your case - this idea that science (which is to us what religion often was to our ancestors) can be used to decide who should or shouldn't have privilege (or if there should be systems of privilege at all)?

Is it not possible for us be tolerant of everyone - whether they're formed by their biology, their environments, or a little bit of both?

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Which brings me back to my point. The question of whether nature or nurture contributes to someone's sexuality should have no bearing on the debate of whether or not the LGBTQIA community deserves fundamental human rights.

It is our responsibility (all of us) to respect and protect our fellow humans. Regardless of whether we have similar physical traits, or share a particular gene in our extensive genetic code. Regardless of whether we can understand the environment they grew up in, or whether we agree with their choices and modes of self-expression.

As long as our decisions do not infringe on the ability of others to make their own decisions, everything should be fair game.

LGBTQIA individuals deserve fundamental human rights because they are human. End of story.