Linksplosion! Quotage edition

“I can never read all the books I want; I can never be all the people I want and live all the lives I want. I can never train myself in all the skills I want. And why do I want? I want to live and feel all the shades, tones and variations of mental and physical experience possible in life. And I am horribly limited.”

Sylvia Plath, via Anna at Trouble is Everywhere.

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“I don’t fear death; I fear remaining silent in the face of injustice. I am young and I want to live. But I say to those who would eliminate my voice: I am ready, wherever and whenever you might strike. You can cut down the flower, but nothing can stop the coming of the spring.”

Malalai Joya, who sounds kind of incredible. Do click through. Via Melissa McEwan.

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“Throughout my development, I have felt that pressure, to conform or assimilate to a population more visible, more respected, more feared and envied than mine. And in the past, I have. I dissed my own communities for my own gain, and dealt with the immense wells of self-loathing I harbored for myself and my people. And that temptation, to submit, still exists in me, because really, who wants to be hated for bringing up that loathsome specter called race? Especially for a group of people who are continually told that we have no right to complain, that we should be thankful for what we have?

“A friend of mine just emailed me about this strange phenomenon we face, that we are intensely scrutinized while remaining completely invisible. People talk about us, hate us, and we aren’t expected to ever talk back, fight back. We belong nowhere. We have no rights to anything. Our bodies are not ours, and we have no voices.”

Bao Phi, on being Asian in Minnesota. Read more at Racialicious.

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“All this was much simpler when I only looked up. I looked above me, at those that are oppressing me, and boy was I good at pointing fingers at others and pointing out their privilege. The other day, I royally shoved my cissexist foot into my privileged mouth. And for the first time I looked down, at those below me, those I was oppressing.”

Criss L. Cox

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“For me, being an activist is a way of thinking and engaging in the world. It is not a list of activities. It is a personal decision not to accept things as they are. It is a decision to challenge oppressive ideas and actions – within oneself and in the world around us – in whatever way we are able. And there is NO hierarchy in the different ways in which people do that.”

Turtle, of The Turtle and the Wren, in comments at Raising My Boychick, in response to my post This is what an activist looks like.

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“I’ll only be someone’s inspiration for a speaking fee with 4-5 figures. Inspiration doesn’t come cheap.”

Kaitlyn of Oh Monkey Trumpets in comments on Avendya’s To Whom It May Concern.

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“We’re not martyrs and we’re not saints – we are people. More than that, we are – we exist, and no matter how many times our needs are disregarded, our stories are erased, we refuse to let you define us.”

From To Whom It May Concern itself. Check out Avendya’s DW, I have just found her but she seems to be all kinds of fabulous. (Teenage! Disabled! Feminist! Squeeeeee!)

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“[...] some things are not well defined and these things tend to be the things we consider to be fundamental. It’s much easier to define smaller things at the edges; it’s easy to define a fingernail. It’s harder to point to where blood stops flowing away from the heart and starts flowing back towards it.”

kaninchenzero, writing about intelligence.

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“[...]a trans what? A transformer? Far be it for me to stand against robot-human love.”

Queen Emily, in response to a commenter who said ‘Is it transphobic if a cis person will not date a trans?’ at Feministe.

Limits

You keep telling me to accept my limitations, so why don’t we talk about yours?

Why can you only think of disabled people as substandard, tragic, less than whole? Why can’t you see us as parts of your life, community, family, lovers, friends, world? Why must we be super crips, stoic heroes, silently suffering? Why must we be a burden on our families, better never born, better have died in the accident that made us so? Why must we be inspirations overcoming the odds? Why must we be not trying hard enough, making a fuss, getting unfair advantages?

You need to approach me as limited because you need someone to be less than you. It is a relief to have someone to compare yourself with and think that you’re doing better than me, at least.

I don’t experience my world as limited, though others may find that a useful construction for their experiences. I have my things I cannot do, I have things an ableist world prevents me from doing, and I understand them better than you ever could, so your focus on them is strange to me. Do you think I don’t know, I need to be told, I am not constantly reminded as I go through the world? Don’t you have things you cannot do? You just want to set aside mine to surround with your pleasure-pity, your ‘so glad it isn’t me,’ and the world allows you to.

Those are your limits: you cannot understand people like us outside of your framework. You are trying to limit us with your ideas of who we can be.

I will not fit your limited narrative. I tell my own story, giving shape to my own experience.

[Cross-posted at FWD/Forward]

Awarded!

Mim of Mim’s Muddle was kind enough to give me the One Lovely Blog award. I have been wanting this particular award pretty much since I started blogging, so I am pleased as anything! Thanks Mim.

You’re supposed to pass it on to fifteen people, but I feel a bit awkward about doing that. So let’s say that if you’ve commented here before, leave a comment below. The first fifteen people to respond asking for the award get it!

Duality

I’ve lived in Australia all my life, and it’s a beautiful country, but it has never quite felt like home. I don’t know that anywhere would. I’ve got my ancestral culture on the one hand: rich, both deeply joyful and sad, mine. And on the other I have the mainstream white culture of this country: brash and casual, friendly and strong. If I try to move into one more than the other, I feel like a stranger. I don’t belong anywhere.

I only speak English, and my mother gets sad because I can’t understand, feels bad because my non-English education stopped and started (no one’s fault, really, it just happened like that, and I’ve got little talent with languages other than English). If language informs the way we think, I’m struggling with ways of being in the world I can’t quite articulate and therefore can’t quite realise. Yet I don’t quite have the knack with white, Western ways either.

Two cultures, two senses of time, two ways to use my hands in conversation, two ways of talking, two ways of being.

I don’t belong anywhere, so I try to belong in myself. But we need people, we need people to tell ourselves to, share experience, build culture. ‘Do you feel it this way? Do you feel it, too? What does this mean to you? Do our minds work the same way, have I absorbed ways of thought as you have, as everyone else has?’ Culture is built together, and we must relate it to each other. So I have to risk branching out. I find community where I can.

Peeling the sticky tape away from sex ed

I went to a Christian girls’ school. Now, not to say that all Christian girls’ schools are run like this, but I’m sure you can guess what the sex ed was like. No sex before marriage for you, girls! (Because you’re getting married, and to men, don’t you know.) You are like a piece of sticky tape: every time you stick yourself to someone, you get more bits of dirt on you until you find you can’t stick to the person you want to spend the rest of your life with! Look at these gross pictures of gross sex diseases, eww!

Suffice it to say, we were taught about uteri and fallopian tubes, but not about what this mysterious clitoris was. We weren’t taught about masturbation, or any sort of non-PIV sex, and we only got a hushed ‘and use a condom!’ at the end of the course. We were too embarrassed to look at each other, let alone discuss our fears or excitement or the gaps in our knowledge.

When we were in Year 11, we had a personal development day together with a boys’ school and another girls’ school. We all trooped into the boys’ school and prepared for a day of speeches, much like those we’d been given through school. But part way through, we got a rather unusual speaker who I’d encountered once before, have met once since and have never, ever forgotten. I’ll call her Mary. Mary was a very loud, enthusiastic woman: enthusiastic about teaching us, enthusiastic about being a Christian, enthusiastic about sex. Her manner was pretty full on, going from joyful shouting to (somewhat) hushed prayers. On this particular day, one of these prayers contained, ‘and I thank the Lord for my clitoris!’ Not a Christian myself, I wasn’t in head bowing mode at the time, so I had the opportunity to look around the hall – once I got over the shock that someone actually said that word out loud, that is. Half of my classmates were tensely frozen – particularly the ones sitting near boys – and half of them were whispering to their neighbours. Even though I couldn’t hear any of them, I knew exactly what they were saying. ‘What’s a clitoris?’

Looking back, I shift between describing this moment as hilarious and horrifying. From ‘I thank the Lord for my clitoris’ on through the rest of high school, I made it very clear to my classmates that they could come to me for any information or resource recommendations they might want and I wouldn’t shame them.

What’s a clitoris? It’s a question I’ve had to answer many times since that day, but every time it makes me very sad that I’m the one answering it. It should have been told these young people by their parents and their teachers, not that oddball feminist they know. It should have been taught along with all the other information they were given, through education formal and informal, about their bodies, and relating to people, and information about how the world works. Because whether they’re waiting for marriage or not wanting to have sex ever or already starting out on their sexual lives, young people have the right to information that will allow healthy, informed decisions about their own selves. And it’s terribly sad that young people are so often left to glean this information as best they can.

I think about this kind of sex education and how damaging it can be, causing anxiety and shame where there shouldn’t be, for a start. What kind of educator wouldn’t want their charges to have proper information so they can make up their own minds and run their own lives well? Mine, apparently.

Recommended related reading: Recently I rather enjoyed Que(e)rying Sex Ed by WildlyParenthetical, who teaches a university gender and sexuality course.

[Cross-posted at Feministe]

A little gratitude

There’s a gratefulness ritual among a couple of bloggers I read. Ariane from Ariane’s little world started it and Jay from Two Women Blogging picked it up. Every day (or thereabouts) they write a short post about something for which they are grateful.

I think it’s a great idea, asking ourselves to contemplate and affirm the good in our lives. As social justice activists, we invest so much in righting the wrongs of the world. I like to take the time to acknowledge all the magnificent work we’ve been doing, and this beautiful world we are working so hard to improve, and simply the small pleasant things in our lives. I thought you and I should try the gratitude exercise, if only just the once. So, here’s mine:

I am grateful for communities of dedicated women who support each other and work for social justice.

What are you grateful for today?

[Cross-posted at Feministe]

Ableism and the Aussie Battler

I want to talk about how Australia’s ideas of the ideal Australian exclude people with disabilities. But first I have to explain a little about the Australian national myth.

The ideal Australian figure is known as “the Aussie battler”. Essentially this is an ordinary man working hard to get by and support his family without complaining. I guess it’s a bit like “the little guy”. I’m going to paraphrase how Queen Emily explained it (as we discussed this on Twitter with its 140 character limit): ‘It’s an idealisation of (implicitly working class) struggle, self-sufficiency. You work hard and get paid fairly – but not well. I think it’s different from the US rags-to-riches story, because it doesn’t imply that hard work produces social mobility.’

I’m not sure how to convey to you how ingrained the idea of the battler is in the Australian consciousness, but it really, really is. It’s everywhere from our popular culture to our political discourse. Our previous Prime Minister, John Howard, drew on it a fair bit. (In fact, in 2007, US President George W. Bush referred to him as a battler at the Asia-Pacific Economic Cooperation forum, a moment which caused a few raised eyebrows.) Our current PM, Kevin Rudd, doesn’t do so quite so much, but it is still very noticeable.

There’s a whole culture around cheering on the underdog and tall poppy syndrome (tearing down high achievers). But the Australian idea of the underdog – the “Aussie battler” – isn’t really who is at the bottom of the kyriarchal pile. If white, abled men represent the struggling Australian, that’s a pretty warped idea of hardship. It’s not about valuing the real battlers. A lot has been said about the racism and misogyny coded in the battler legend, and I could say a lot about the assumptions regarding family (structure); today we’re talking about the ableism.

The Aussie battler ideal is about a person working hard to get enough money for the family to live on. Every feminist knows how problematic it is to set up paid work as the only sort of real work. After all, women’s work in the home, raising children, running the household – the second shift – has been devalued in Western society as a matter of course. It also is very ableist. Many disabled people cannot fulfil the paid work requirements to be a battler, or not consistently, because those standards are designed to fit abled people, to privilege what they can do over what people like us can do. It would seem that only particular kinds and amounts of contribution to family and society will do. Setting up “typical” as “best” is just about always problematic, and there is no exception here.

And if you must be disabled, there’s a battler’s way to do that, too. Complaining is not the Australian way, you must be stoic and soldier on. Never admit that you need assistance, because not being able to do everything on your own is weak. Having to rely on anyone else is a matter of shame. If the Aussie battler must be self-sufficient, and a source of strength and support to those around them, then what of those people who require that support? The Aussie battler idea devalues those the battler is actually working for: wives, children… disabled friends and relatives, perhaps. It’s not that those people are valuable and worth fighting for, it’s that the battler gets to prove their toughness and reliability. For whichever group, it doesn’t leave a lot of room to just be human: needing help, giving help, everyone deserving of love and support regardless. That’s what archetypes do: set up impossible tasks and cut out those on the margins. It’s okay to lend a hand to a mate as a one-off, but you better get back on your feet straight away. Assuming you have that hand, and you are able to get back on your feet, of course (oh, bodily metaphors, how much you do assume).

In an effort to keep this less than novel length, I’m not going to explain any more about Australia’s notions of ideal citizenship, but if you’re interested, you can try looking up larrikins, the ANZAC spirit and mateship.

Do you have specific cultural features like the battler ideal that make life a bit tougher when you’re disabled?

Cross-posted at FWD.

The meta! It’s everywhere!

I think I just have this thing about meta. I love writing meta-activism and I love blogging about blogging.

First up, a reminder to read the comments policy before commenting. If you haven’t checked the policy, or if it’s been a while, please have a read.

There have been several small updates to the sidebar and the about page. I couldn’t find a decent translation widget after all, so I ended up making an icon linking to the US Google translation page. Not perfect, but that was the most accessible and viable option I could come up with given WordPress’ restrictions on embedding.

Here are new blogs for the blogroll:

• Feminists with Female Sexual Dysfunction – K’s blogging one topic and doing it well.
• Egotistical Whining – I’ve been meaning to add shannon for a while now. She runs two other blogs, too!
• Something More Than Sides – Pharaoh Katt is my fellow Aussie feminist!
• Mothers for Women’s Lib – Home of the fabulous Carnival of Feminist Parenting.
• And Scarleteen – is not a blog, but deserves to be linked everywhere. A truly excellent sex ed resource.

And you know how I love my carnivals.

• Anji of Shut Up Sit Down has the latest Carnival of Feminists up. Go show her some love.
• There are just a few more days to submit to the next Down Under Feminists Carnival. The rather charming Jo Tamar is hosting. For details and information on the theme, head over to Wallaby.
• FWD/Forward is hosting the November run of the Disability Carnival. The theme is disability and intersectionality and it is sure to be fantastic! Get your posts in.

Lastly, I must share the most hilarious spam comment I’ve ever had:

To engage masculinities through the prism of feminist theory or to write feminist theory using masculinities as an analytic… Sex Video [link redacted]

Three posts in one!

So, I’m pretty much everywhere it would seem. I’m trying to settle in to writing for so many spaces, figuring out what goes where, realising I gear my writing towards really specific audiences, and I need to broaden that if things are to go on mulitple blogs (which will be necessary if I am, you know, to continue beyond a few weeks of this). But in the mean time, and in any case, you’re probably curious as to what I’ve been writing elsewhere that hasn’t, or hasn’t yet, appeared here.

So, from FWD/Forward:

Gender presentation, disability and intersections

How does your gender presentation interact with your disability, your sexual orientation (or lack thereof, if that’s how you frame it) and your life history?

Disability and Sexuality 101, or, Do disabled people have sex?

Disability often influences a person’s sex life, as it does many other aspects of life. (Not to mention framing disability as this overarching barrier to sex obscures the fact that, you know, other factors have their role in how and if a person is sexual.) Pain or fatigue or physical features, for instance, can have an impact, but that doesn’t mean PWD are never sexual. Because there are so many different types of disability – and some people have multiple disabilities – there are lots of different changes PWD and their partners might make to make sex possible, easier or just more fun. This could include clear communication when a partner has an anxiety disorder, assessing which positions are most comfortable with a particular body shape, adapting sex toys for people with limited motor control and a whole range of things.

And from Feministe:

Devaluing women’s words

I am very grateful that the Feministe crew saw fit to bring me in, but I must admit to being very surprised and not feeling quite deserving. I want to deconstruct some of the patriarchal influence that had its role in shaping my reaction.

I haven’t been sleeping that well what with my life turning upside down and all, twice in a week, so I’m feeling tired and thrilled. Thank you for all your support, everyone.

This is one of those surreal, ‘what the pancake?!’ type posts where I can’t quite believe what I’m typing even as I’m typing it. With very long titles. Probably the longest title yet.

Or, if you were in need or more titling, ‘This is kind of huge’ or ‘WHAT DO THESE PEOPLE THINK THEY ARE DOING?’

So, you know that second piece of good news I was cryptically referencing? You wanna know what it is? Do ya?

I’ve been asked to join the team at Feministe.

Yeah. I just shook when I got the email. I am trying to assure myself that they haven’t made a horrible mistake. It’s like some kind of far-off daydream. I really don’t understand. But I’m going with it.

I… yeah. Here’s my introductory post. And go look at my about page.

I can’t decide whether the best bit is getting to put ZatB on the blogroll, or knowing these amazing writers like what I do, or… it’s so wonderful, and I so cherish the opportunity. Thanks, Feministe crew.

I’d appreciate seeing a few familiar faces in comments, so to speak, so if some of you could comment on my posts there, I’d appreciate it.

(May now not sleep for a month and may spend waking hours refreshing pages.)

(But it will be fantastic.)