AUDIO: Independence Day, 2008

On this, the fourth day of July, in the year 2008, we find cause to celebrate our vices:

We dedicate this day to that declaration which decreed the end of our subjugation to tyranny and the beginning of our addiction to war; we revel in all 232 glorious years, and it is in commemoration that we unleash facsimiles of rockets and missiles and mushroom clouds into the air above us, to the hushed awe of the crowds huddled in the summer darkness, shivering with explosive thrill at the seductive whisper of our collective power.

We dedicate this day to our addiction to the flesh and bone and blood of our Mother; to $4 a gallon gasoline from the luxurious view afforded us from the windows of our SUVs; to the labor and sweat and crushed souls of those who toil for our convenience across oceans and earth, where, if we cannot easily see, no knowledge of modern slavery will penetrate to trouble our serene national psyche.

We dedicate this day to our Berlin border wall, to the 1,952 mile stretch of desperation and despair, to blind nationalism and xenophobia, because no one born outside these arbitrary borders, truly, can be completely human; we relish our corporate addiction to cheap labor and union busting, to salmonella-laced produce and lead-based toys and always low prices delivered with a brilliant yellow grin.

We dedicate this day to warrantless wiretapping with bipartisan immunity from prosecution, to spying on citizens in the event they should commit thought crimes and rebel; we dedicate this day to American fascism, to Big Brother government with none of the perks, to the Red Scare, to Black Lists and Do Not Fly; we dedicate this day to busting down doors, shoot first ask questions later.

We dedicate this day to the spiritual vacuum left in the wake of postmodernism, pining for the Tooth Fairy and Santa Claus and Satan; we gnash our teeth and wail and cry because there is nothing left to believe in except, perhaps, that through war and waste and endless consumption, through wage slavery and sex trafficking and industrial abuse, through blind faith that all is well and a refusal to acknowledge the possibility that anything can and should be different, we will find salvation and we will not rot in Hell.

On this day we find cause to celebrate the occasion of our dependence, and we call ourselves free.

You and I are living in the swollen heart of dead America. We are in the cold clammy hands, the blank stare fixed on every television screen and wondering which box office hit might be our new Messiah; we are every muscle, aching, stiff with rigor mortis, unwilling to relax our failing grip knowing that we are dead even if we are not consciously aware of that reality, seeing speaking hearing no evil and disregarding any indication that we are not Superman and baseball and apple pie and that this is not our world to plunder any longer. We are the hard cock yearning to subjugate and conquer because otherwise we might be the willing split between thighs spread wide, or worse, unwilling and unavoidably vulnerable. We are sweat and blood and excrement accumulated and not yet dry, layers on layers of fresh toil and pain and fear caked on with each passing year to hide the reeking evidence the past has left behind…beneath it all, America does not even wear skin on its skeleton to shield its delicate and vital machinations from exposure: this emperor, like all others to come before and after him, has no clothes, no function, no blood beating through his veins and thus no humanity, no soul.

You and I are mired, here, within this lumbering monster of a nation, denying we are staring out its eyes into the sky from the bed of an unfinished grave.

The specifics of geography and location do not exactly matter; this is a systemic condition and the same stores-in-a-box and burger joints can be found, now, in Anytown, USA., can be observed with a clinical distance and dispassion in any number of cancerous microcosms working their destruction across the face of the whole. But you and I are here, in the midst of a quiet unassuming Denver suburb whose name means Town of Thorns on an empty and desolate Sunday afternoon.

This place is slow poison; nothing can flourish here, nothing can grow, this is not like the city where there is color or the country where there is life. This is not skyscrapers miming Babel and homeless vets huddled in blankets of newspaper, and it is not rolling prairie or purple mountains’ majesty. This is not art galleries and it is not a stroll so breathtaking in altitude our mutually asthmatic selves must pause for air as we stare down at the city below. This is not pleasure in pain, it is not happiness, and it is not life.

AUDIO: A Call To Arms

This is the Great American Scream, this is the sound of one million disenchanted voices waking from their fairytale slumber to see the devastation laid before them, the havoc and destruction wrought upon us by our fathers and our mothers and their fathers and mothers and each successive preceding generation — back to ancient times when the first woman alive plucked knowledge of right and wrong from the Kabalistic concept they call the Tree of Life, shortly before Manifest Destiny was decreed and Eden was paved over to make way for a Wal*Mart Superstore and a McDonalds, so no one knew what right or wrong was anymore, ever, anyhow.

This is the agony of separation, imaginary friends behind bars like the common thought criminals they are and the real kind virtually imaginary; this is the sound of grandma’s funeral or a dead pet or unrequited love combusting in the ashes of the WTC towers like your own private Hiroshima and that of an entire generation; this is the girl crying out beneath her lover’s expert hands as he manipulates her, contorts her with pleasure and anguish in ways she did not think possible until now; this is the pulse, the breath, the heartbeat, the collective sob, the universal gasp for air underwater; this is the voice that is better seen and not heard; this is ecstasy in anarchy, order in chaos and chaos in order; this is the What Would Jesus Do and Follow the Rules collapsing beneath the colossal weight of their own bullshit; this is a rape victim sentenced to 200 lashes for speaking up about it, this is 70¢ to a man’s dollar, this is fuck-me heels and miniskirts and lipstick and upraised arms with hairy pits brandishing smoldering bras in defiance of the natural order; this is the raised middle finger, the turned back, the Fuck You mingled with ecstatic cries of Fuck Me; this is suicide bombers and Jessica Lynch and Tim McVeigh and Malcolm X; this is the vacant lot of the American Dream, and it has been condemned, boarded up, demolished; this is We Don’t Need No Education remixed by Eric Harris and Dylan Klebold; this is Yeats’ dream of WWIII slouching towards Iraq to be born; this is the thousand eyes of Moloch screaming without mouths, without words, and they are our eyes; this is the children of privilege being marched down the assembly line, realizing that the guillotine gleaming red with the life of every AIDs-infected starving Ethiopian child is still sharp and polished and hungry; this is a divorced single mother whose blood could stop cold in her veins and who could not pay a doctor to keep her from dying, while Congress issues orders to keep a woman who cannot drink or chew or swallow or move with no brain activity alive just in case, while a man’s teeth rot inside his face because nobody cares what happens to you if you don’t have a perfect white Hollywood smile, you might as well crawl into a ditch if you can’t find room at the inn or the shelter, you might as well die.
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Look out.

Look out the bedroom window to the street–if it faces the street–and see it stretching like two long arms reaching forever and ever (or maybe not so far) in either direction. Let your line of sight be directed down a meandering road that may, in this corporeal world, terminate to the North, but which, some of us know, really leads West, West, further and further back, winding down through Grand Junction or up through Yellowstone past the Rockies to that body of water, a landlocked sea, dead to everyone and everything but the putrid flies and bugs inhabiting it, and the seagulls glutting themselves upon its salty shores. Let it take you further, submerge you in the Platte and then sweep you away, down, down toward Mexico to escape an invented persecution with two wives and too many mouths to feed and to Guatemala with pretensions of
Spanish aristocracy.

This is where we come from. This is where we’ve been.

Look out.

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Dearest Family,

I am aware that you are concerned about me and only want the best for me, in your limited sense of what “best” means. (Hint: what you accept as “best” is nothing that makes me happy, and, in fact, tends to be exactly that which makes my life most unbearable. See: trying to convince me to waste my time at a vocational school or community college rather than pursuing a degree at an excellent, if expensive, school, in an area which excites me. See: trying to break me up with my boyfriend, who is in fact the reason I am going back to school and who is demonstratively good for me by most objective measures…just not the ones you think are important, apparently.) I appreciate that you genuinely care about me even if you do not understand me and generally give poor, unsolicited advice. I love you anyway, even when I sometimes probably shouldn’t. (See: trying to break me up with my boyfriend. Assholes.)

However, I cannot help but notice the irony of the girl with the terrifying facial piercings and tattoo in a dead-end job with no professional or intellectual aspirations in life lecturing the clean-cut aspiring art and creative writing student about her unprofessional appearance due to her short hair. I cannot also help but notice that the coincidence when this conversation coincides with a recent transphobic diatribe about the aforementioned sister’s distaste for people who defy conventional gender norms and preference for “girls who are feminine” and “men who are masculine”. This, combined with the failure of Congress to recognize that, once again, trans issues are everyone else’s issues, and that gender-nonconformity is in fact a very real area of concern re: discrimination in employment for the cisgendered, results in lectures about my appearance being far more personally hurtful and infuriating than you can possibly realize.

Furthermore, suggested solutions to this issue — “buy a cheap wig” — are laughable.
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Yeah, I know I linked to this post about radical feminist critiques of BDSM before, but I’m still thinking about it and still had a few things I wanted to articulate in response. (Sidenote — Trinity totally rocks. That is all.)

One thing that has always really bothered me in feminist discussions about kink is the assumption I often see that a woman could only want to be submissive if she’s been abused, coerced, brainwashed — that nobody could possibly be born with these sort of desires, that they’re inherently unhealthy and abnormal and could not develop on their own in a vacuum. There’s this sometimes unspoken, often articulated, assumption that the only way a woman could want what I want is if she has been emotionally damaged.

I suppose I’m just here to say: well, they can develop in a vacuum, and they’re not abnormal for me. I have never been sexually or physically abused by a parent, family member, friend, partner, or anyone else. As much as I desire a relationship where I am not in control, where there is a distinct power imbalance, where I might get bitten and smacked a little, pushed to my limits and beyond my comfort zone sexually, mentally, and emotionally…I have no desire to be abused. Wanting to be dominated consensually by someone I trust who respects my hard limits but not always the more flexible, softer ones is entirely different from being with someone who forces me to do things I really don’t want to do.

(That’s one reason it’s hard for me to find prospective partners: there has to be an enormous amount of trust and understanding. I always have to wonder what part of this escapes people: being submissive makes finding a sex partner I can trust much, much harder, since I am very aware of the fact that it’s possible to coerce me into doing things I don’t want with my tacit “consent”. More on that some other time.)

So now that I’ve laid that out, the real point I’m trying to get at. One thing that’s been nagging at me for awhile is the realization that these criticisms of kink are exactly the same as arguments about homosexuality. The argument, especially, that women are made queer by rape or other trauma. Most of the normally, otherwise very intelligent women I see arguing that BDSM is inherently harmful and degrading to women would never say such a thing about queer women because it’s plainly ridiculous. Most women do not decide to be lesbians because they’ve been damaged by men in their lives. The assertion is clearly and fatally flawed.

So why is it okay to say these things about submissive women? (And it’s always submissive women. The very concept that dominant women could possibly exist seems to fly over these people’s heads — when they do acknowledge the existence of dommes, it’s usually in a sneering, “it’s all just an act they put on for men, they aren’t actually powerful” sort of way. And forget the idea that a submissive woman might want to be topped by another woman.) Why is it not okay to say that I only like women because of some severe psychological trauma, but it’s perfectly fine to assert that I Must Have Nasty Issues if I want to let a partner (especially, heaven forbid, a partner with a dick) to tell me what to do and be in control?

I am not damaged. I am not queer because of abuse. I am not submissive because of abuse. I have been both queer and submissive my entire life. I can recall having both of these desires from an incredibly young age: an unusual attachment to female friends and a near total absence of crushes on male peers, and a persistent desire to be “owned”, an eagerness to please and take care of everybody in my life. These are the things which fulfill me. These are the things that I need to be happy. Attempting to deny me that because it’s “un-feminist” or “unhealthy” denies and undermines my actual health (mental and emotional, by extension, physical) and my very real dedication to women’s rights.

I should not have to justify my submissive identity (and it is that — it is not simply a role I adopt in the bedroom, it is a basic cornerstone of who and what I am) anymore than I should have to justify my attachment and attraction to women. Would the feminists demanding that I “examine” the roots of my kinky desires for their entertainment ever dare to say the same thing about my queer desires? Of course not! Even if (and this is important!) I did feel I were only attracted to women due to an abusive past, it still wouldn’t be relevant, it still wouldn’t mean there’s anything wrong with my same-sex attractions, and it still wouldn’t be any of their damn business. Because there is nothing inherently wrong with my sexuality, in the queer sense or the kinky sense.

I find the allegations I’m not a real feminist actually hurtful. It’s like someone saying that because I like to play video games with fake violence in them I can’t be part of the anti-war movement. One has pretty much almost nothing to do with the other. While it’s definitely worth looking at how violence is normalized in our culture and how that feeds our willingness to do real harm to others, my personal recreational habits don’t disqualify me from standing up for my pacifist principles.

And kink is the same. Real abusive relationships, which are disproportionately a matter of violence committed by men against women, are terrible, evil, horrible, and wrong. My submissive desires, which, if they were unwanted, would in some cases constitute abuse, do not harm women as a whole. My submission has nothing to do with anybody else’s relationship. Just as it’s nobody’s business which variety of genitalia I entertain in the privacy of my own home, it’s nobody’s business whether I want to be spanked, either. It’s not okay for other people to tell me it’s wrong for me to sleep with a woman. It’s not okay for other people to tell me it’s wrong to be submissive.

Let’s try another example, if that one doesn’t work: it’s like arguing that since I personally am not attracted to most men, I’m a horrible misandrist man-hater bent on overthrowing the patriarchy and instituting a repressive matriarchy. It just doesn’t make sense. There’s a small subset of people who believe in female superiority (which I think is way more harmless than the converse concept, since matriarchy enjoys less widespread popularity). There’s some people who believe intimate partner violence is acceptable. Obviously, that doesn’t mean all feminists want to oppress men. Why isn’t it equally obvious that not everyone into BDSM wants men to be able to rape and abuse women?

I’d like to be charitable and believe it’s just ignorance that leads to this glaring gap in logic. But I don’t actually. I think it’s just that people who make these arguments honestly know they’re being disingenuous and hope nobody will call them on it. Well, I’m doing it, because I’m damn sick of reading this tripe spouted as if it’s some brilliant new idea no one’s ever thought of before, as if it’s a criticism that can actually survive the barest scrutiny by someone who actually knows what the fuck they’re talking about.

Roy over at No Cookies for Me (discovered just now through his guest blogging at Feministe — yay!) posted a wonderful, thought provoking entry regarding discussions about the sex industry and how they neglect the actual reality and humanity of the sex workers involved:

I sat there at my desk, talking about sex workers and sex work and porn like they were abstractions… but they’re not, and mythago rightly called me on my shit. It took me a while to realize that, but it was a totally fair criticism. My sitting there saying that stats show this and stats show that and look how many sex workers were this or that… none of that helps them now, and talk like that does make me more likely to find myself allied with religious conservatives who have a “moral interest” in condemning sex work… and sex workers.

And when I allow myself to ally with questionable or even flat-out bad groups, I have to accept that the damage they do in the name of our cause is damage that I’m contributing to. I can’t wash my hands of the harm that my allies do if they’re doing the damage in the name of our mutual cause. If I’m rallying behind the cry of “PORN HARMS ALL WOMEN!” and I allow myself to get backing from a group that’s adding “BECAUSE DIRTY SLUTS ABUSE SEX!” then aren’t I at least somewhat culpable? Because, ultimately, don’t my actions help further that cause, as well? And doesn’t that mean that the damage they’re doing is to some extent, on my hands?

Because those people have made it absolutely clear that they don’t care about the women involved. They’re not working to help end the abuse of sex workers. They’re not condemning poor working conditions. They’re not working to help sex worker’s rights. They’re not even remotely interested in making sure that their voices get heard. They’re interested in keeping the whores out of their neighborhoods.

This is my big problem with a lot of (radical, particularly) feminists. I don’t disagree that most pornography is harmful to women* — and not just in a vague, nebulous sense. I believe a great deal of it has a real, tangible impact on the women involved. The industry can be unsafe and abusive, and sometimes it cheats the women out of the money they thought they were going to make by having sex on camera. Not to mention how it’s clear that depicting women actually experiencing pleasure is apparently pretty low on the priority list. (Because women exist for men to enjoy. Whether we enjoy ourselves isn’t important to a lot of people. It’s actually terrifying.) And it hurts women who buy into it, who think that they have to have labial surgery to be acceptable as a sex partner.

But trying to criminalize porn will not help anyone. The women who are harmed will be harmed more because they will have even less recourse. When people discuss sex work in impassioned, black-and-white moral terms, so often they forget that sex work isn’t just about feminist theory. It’s about the actual women who do it, for whatever reason. The lives of women are not abstractions. They are real people with real lives and their ability to make a living however they can manage is incredibly important.

Is it right that a woman’s only option to support herself might be sex work? Absolutely not. (Although if she really enjoys doing it, and, yes, I think that’s possible although perhaps rare in a world this fucked up, and she can make a living on it, more power to her.) But it doesn’t matter if it’s right or wrong. What matters is that this is a human being who needs the money to live.

And one would think, one would hope something feminists could agree on is that women being able to live is important — but somehow, we manage to forget that for many women that’s exactly what’s on the line. The lives of sex workers get lost in the discussion and suddenly they don’t matter. I wouldn’t argue that most people are intentionally devaluing the lives of these women, but that’s the end result. Isn’t treating women’s lives as negligible exactly the attitude we need to get away from?

1. I also don’t think porn should be criminalized because I don’t think it’s inherently harmful or wrong, but that’s another discussion entirely.

Now that we’ve established that, on to a different reason why it matters which has been touched upon but which was tangential to the other point I was trying to make.

Beauty standards are a class issue. I can’t say it better than Winter did a while back, so just go read that post if you want in-depth analysis. It’s also a race issue, and the two are distinct but also connected enough that if I address one I must address the other. I’ll simply try to explain briefly:

American standards of femininity are constructed in a way to be accessible to members of a certain class and ethnicity because they are markers of precisely that. Women are expected to look, at the least, middle-class and As White As Possible, because that’s what has been constructed as attractive and acceptable. It’s a deeply classist and racist system.

Not everyone has the time or money to spend making themselves look acceptably “feminine” all the time. Debates about whether or not some woman is a “bad” feminist for getting a bikini wax are pointless because they ignore the fact that many women can’t afford to pay someone to rip their hair out of them on a regular basis. Good quality cosmetics are expensive. Being acceptably hairless takes time and money, and if you’re poor, that might not be something you can afford to worry about all the time, and if you’re not white, it takes even more time because you might have more hair or darker hair or you might be more prone to ingrown hairs or skin problems from hair removal.

And the problem is that these standards of middle-class, white beauty are spreading. They are expected of every woman, not just the ones who are easily able to attain them. This is deeply harmful to poor women, and women of color; these are not necessarily one and the same but tend to go together. And so, in order to keep her job, a waitress has to waste time and money on cosmetics which might be toxic because it’s not considered a legally undue burden for waitresses to be expected to be “pretty” even though as long as they are clean and pleasant, it should have no impact on their ability to perform their job. This woman might lose her jobs if she doesn’t conform, a very real and negative consequence of how beauty standards are socially enforced. And so we have African-American women frying their hair flat in an effort to avoid social rebuke, Asian women having surgery to make their eyes rounder and more white-looking, and women of color all over the world being permanently poisoned and scarred from the use of chemicals intended to bleach their skin.

This is not okay. A woman forced to choose between spending her money on actual necessities and cosmetics in order to keep her job is not okay. A woman being forced to iron her hair in order to keep her job because “ethnic” hairstyles are considered “unprofessional”, because somehow her body is unacceptable the way it naturally is, is not okay. Being forced to choose between the pursuit of an ideal which is unrealistic and based on the income and often race of a totally different group of people, therefore often unobtainable, and the ability to make a living and live a decent life is not okay.

That’s why the hell it matters.

I’ve been sitting on this post for awhile. I just didn’t have the heart to finish it or post it, but I need to. So, not quite as timely as it could have been since it’s been a little while since the events I address, but…still worth saying.

I’ve been too depressed by recent events in the news to even feel like writing about them — even though these are things which need to be talked about — but what is there to say? Between the recent violent attacks on young girls in my country (I refuse to call them “school shootings”; I’m from Colorado, and this is no Columbine) and our national legislature’s decision to legitimize the Bush administration’s war crimes, I feel too hopeless to even try. Why bother? No one seems to listen or care; things keep getting worse despite the work of all the amazing activists I know. But that’s just temporary burnout talking. Anyone who actually cares, anyone who actually tries to make the world slightly better, will feel like that sometimes. That doesn’t mean I can stop trying; of course, I can’t. Not standing up for what one believes is right makes one complicit in the whole mess.

If nothing else, here’s what I have to say: the fact that, in 2006, in the fucking United States of America, little girls are being killed by grown men simply for the crime of being born female, should tell us that feminism is still necessary. The fact that, in the US, religious conservatives keep pushing their agenda to prevent women from having any sort of control over their own bodies and health — and hey, people, you realize that women take hormones reasons other than the perverse joy they feel at preventing the implantation of possibly-fertilized eggs, right? to treat PCOS and endometriosis and such? and that by denying them their medication based on your moral principles you’re causing them extreme pain and agony for reasons which have nothing to do with your moral objections, not that your moral objections have any legitimacy anyway? — should tell us that feminism is still necessary.

And, of course, it’s not just here. The other day, I heard a report on the radio about how children in Afghanistan attending co-ed schools are receiving death threats, how little girls have been killed for going to school…go ahead, tell me feminism isn’t necessary. Just try to look at that and tell me that we can’t specifically promote the rights of women as human beings, that women and men are equal, that we should be “equalists” instead of “feminists”. Oh, but of course, I forget: we’re not like “them”. This is the US, not the Taliban, and anyway, we’ve liberated the people there, haven’t we…right?

But the people who would point to that as an example of a place where feminism is needed and then claim that US feminism is misguided, misplaced, useless… The way this place is headed, I can see that kind of future as a distinct possibility.* We’ve already fallen too close for comfort. And damned if I’m going to quietly allow myself to be put in a place where I can’t control whether I give birth or how many children I have, where I risk being killed on a daily basis simply for being born female (or not-white, or queer — but then, aren’t we there anyway?).

Those are only the worst extremes of what I’m afraid of. There’s smaller things, more insidious: I live in a place where girls being discouraged or prevented from developing their abilities in certain areas is said to reflect their inherent aptitude; where woman and girls are encouraged to endanger their health or kill themselves in pursuit of an impossible vision of ideal beauty (which seems, by all accounts, to consist of not-exisiting); where if women are not sex objects, they have no value, and if they are sex objects, they have no value. Where women and people of color and everyone who’s just not lucky enough to be born a straight, cisgendered, white male is considered by many to be responsible for their own oppression.

For all these reasons and many, many more: feminism is necessary.

1. I don’t mean this to come across in a “oh my god I don’t want to be like those poor brown women” kind of way, but in a “oh my that’s terrible, I want to help, and I also need to protect my own interests” kind of way. Just in case there’s any confusion.

A long response to tekanji in this post started to take on a life of its own and get out of hand so I thought I’d just write a post instead.

So, tekanji said:

But, see, you’re setting up a strawfeminist with the “choice feminist” arguments. I’ve never seen anyone identify as a “choice feminist” but I have seen it often used to try to shut down discussion on the topic of choice before they start. And, furthermore, by the first part of your definition, people would see me as a “choice feminist” because I often say that feminism is about choice. Because, to me, it is.

(First off, I’d like to acknowledge that “choice feminism” was a very poor choice of words on my part because it was what first came to mind in trying to describe the concept I was thinking of. So, I’m retracting that statement since it was really loaded with a lot of connotations I wasn’t trying to convey and don’t agree with. Just in case you don’t read the comments on the other post.)

I think it’s disingenuous and does feminism a disservice when people say “it’s all about choice”. I am not trying to put words in tekanji’s mouth, because that’s not what she said. I am just explaining where I’m coming from on this. In fact, I’m mostly using her comment as a springboard onto a tangentially-related topic and not a direct response. Just in case that isn’t clear.

Is feminism all about choice? Just about choice? No. It’s not. That’s part of it, and an important part, but choice isn’t possible without economic and legal equality, equal rights, etc. I suppose for women like me and tekanji, choice is probably the most important aspect of our feminism because we’re very privileged, but in many parts of the world (and, hell, for many women even in the US), there isn’t a choice. You do what’s expected of you, or you may not survive. For those living under the system of oppression, there can be strong economic, legal, or social barriers preventing any choice from being possible in a very literal sense. Sometimes, it simply makes that choice more difficult, and I would argue that’s still not a “real” choice if it’s made under coercion but the two situations are enormously different.

There’s a lot of other things feminism is about too. I think the ultimate goal should be that, in the end, people can do whatever makes them happy* as individuals, where everyone has the same potential, starting from an unbiased position that doesn’t privilege certain people over others (as much as that is physically possible, which is admittedly a problem). …but this isn’t because all choices are good or that we have to honor/respect all choices. It’s because feminism is, to me, recognizing women as autonomous, individual beings who, by extension, must be allowed to make their own decisions and live their own lives with as little intervention as possible. Choice being available is really a result of the basic tenets of this attitude, which is great. My feminism includes trying to extend this attitude not simply to women, but other marginalized groups as well. Everyone deserves the same basic rights. So people need to be given the freedom to decide for themselves regardless of what others think about it, because everyone deserves the right to live on their own terms according to their priorities and what serves them best.

The problem is when the argument becomes just about choice. If feminism is reduced only to the choices women make on an individual level, ignoring the bigger issues, it becomes either incredibly judgmental or incredibly useless (or, probably, both in different ways). For example, I also believe people should have the legal freedom to say what they want, even if I think it’s harmful or wrong*. But this doesn’t mean I can’t criticize people’s speech. To me, the idea that we can’t critically examine women’s choices is much like that, or the people who claim that to be “tolerant” you can’t criticize their intolerance. If you stretch the concept too far, it becomes not only useless but also self-defeating.

BUT. I don’t think it’s okay to criticize or personally attack women for their choices. I don’t think it’s okay to make blanket statements telling all women they’re wrong for doing X. I think it’s better to suggest possible conditions which might influence people to make certain choices, to point out why certain choices could be problematic, and then step back and allow a woman to decide for herself what her priorities are, how she feels about things, and how her choices make her personally feel. And sometimes a woman will make an decision which is not feminist, but if it’s a practical matter of life or death, the last thing that woman forced into making a bad decision needs is to be judged, belittled, or demeaned.

We need to trust other people’s judgement about their own specific situations, that they do what seems best at the time or what is practically possible at the time. To assume we know better than someone else what they need to do, or what makes them happy, is not only presumptuous but antithetical to the basic goals of feminism.

So, I suppose, the big point I wanted to make here really was: is feminism about choice? Yes. But not just about choice. That’s the distinction about the attitude I was criticizing and those who believe choice is a very important facet of feminism. Choice is an abstract idea in many situations, for many people. Ideally, if everyone were in a more privileged position, choice would be all it would have to come down to. As it stands, feminism needs to be concerned with more practical concerns as well: healthcare, the wage gap, sexual violence, etc. And it simply gets worse if you’re a person of color, queer, poor, disabled; if you’re struggling to survive, or if you’re more likely to be profiled or targeted for hate crimes, or if you’re denied basic rights that other people are granted by default, those are much more immediate threats and concerns which must be dealt with before we can even begin to talk about choice.* It’s very nice place to come from if not being criticized for potentially anti-feminist decisions is the most one needs to worry about. For most people, it’s not that easy.

Footnotes:

1. Disclaimer: I don’t think it’s okay for people to choose to do things which harm other people. If your ability to be happy is contingent on doing horrible things to others, that’s a problem. So, yes, whatever a person finds fulfilling is great within what should be basic and obvious limits: doing nothing to another person without their consent, not abusing a person (or animals, for that matter) physically or emotionally, and not intentionally causing harm to someone. Unfortunately, there’s still room to argue about whether, say, BDSM is evil according to these guidelines, or abortion, but I don’t think either of them are, and that’s a debate for another time. Right. Disclaimed.

2. Another disclaimer: unless they’re actively promoting harm by trying to incite people to hurt others, or they’re sending death threats or something. Words can hurt but when it crosses the line into promoting physical violence there is a problem and I don’t think this kind of hate speech is okay. This is a slippery slope and hard to determine from a legal perspective, because if anyone’s speech is limited, everyone’s is. So I don’t like it and have no solution, but there it is.

3. This doesn’t mean we can’t talk about choice until all the world’s other problems are solved. I’m just saying it’s understandably not high on everyone’s list of priorities.