Oh, It’s Tuesday: Ain’t I A Feminist?


Photo Credit: Jay Morrison

Photo Credit: Jay Morrison

Because I like to rep my hood, a lot of you know that I bleed blue and grey — that is I’m a super-proud graduate of Smith College (or Smithie, as we like to call ourselves). I never really intended to go to an all-women’s college, but I was legacy at Mount Holyoke, thanks to an aunt on my father’s side who got in on full scholarship during the 70s, and I had promised that I would at least look at Holyoke on my college tour. MH wouldn’t put me up on a weekend. But a dear teacher who thought that I would like Smith, given my personality and then-just-budding feminist leanings found a sister of one of her SAT prep students, who was willing to host me during Family Weekend (though back then it was called “Parents Weekend”), which happened right around now every year.


It was just one stop on my college tour and not a school I was seriously considering, but I got off the Peter Pan bus the morning after a Halloween party at Trinity College in Hartford, Connecticut, where I had been allowed to drink copious amounts of beer for the first time in my life. Duffle bag on shoulder, I walked up the slightly inclined State Street until I came upon Smith College in all of its black-gated, fall-leafed-up glory. And I fell in love. I can still remember thinking that I wanted to go to school on this campus, as I walked until I found and opening in the gate. And everything that happened that weekend seemed to confirm it.

I asked my hostess how she liked going to an all-girls school and she answered that she loved going to an all-women’s college. I had always been used to being the strongest feminist in the room, and I wasn’t even that much of a feminist. This was excellent. It felt like I had finally found my lost tribe.

My hostess had a lot to do that weekend, so I was left in the care of two other Smithie’s in her house, which like most Smith Smith houses was literally a large mansion converted into dorms. Four hours after landing on campus, and two hours after making their acquaintance, I called my teacher long-distance in St. Louis and told her that this was now my #1 pick for college and I just hoped that I could get in. The two Smithies took me all over Northampton, then into Amherst to look at their campus and eat at their town’s admittedly superior pizza shop. And the next day, one of them actually decided to accompany me on my Mount Holyoke tour and trash-talked it the entire time. The guide was furious, and I was impressed, while trying to suppress giggles. I had never met women like this, who had such strong opinions about everything and said what they wanted even if it meant not everyone would like them. I was head over heels for this school.

And even though my mother died while I was there, I still regard my time at Smith with nothing but fondness. I remember the solidarity I felt with other women, walking up to Gloria Steinem and handing her an article which my BFF and I had written and felt should be published in Ms. (she actually passed it on to a Ms. editor!). I remember gaining new respect for Republicans, b/c there were so many smart ones at Smith and I remember feeling like women could do anything and surmount any obstacle, b/c we were just that awesome.

I tell you this long story only to preface how genuinely sad I am when I read articles online and off stating that if feminism isn’t dead, it’s at least “stalled.” Women are still not making equal pay for the same work. We’re still expected to take responsibility for the majority of the housework and the childcare, even when we have a full-time job. And most of all, it seems that fewer women are willing to identify as feminists.

We’ll explore a lot of these issues in the days to come, but for now, I would like to point out that surprisingly the black movement and the women’s movement seem to find itself in the same place.

Growing up in a mostly black environment, I was repeatedly hounded with accusations of “not being black” because of crimes like speaking English as taught, being interested in a variety of things that weren’t necessarily targeted at black people, and being smart. Even my childcare ideals and feminism have gotten me in trouble with the supposed “black police.” Apparently not believing in corporeal punishment and not taking my husband’s last name means that I have rejected my black heritage and that I think I’m a white woman respectively. Ridiculous, right?

However, I have been aghast lately to hear and read of so-called feminists doing the exact same thing. According to them, you can’t be a real feminist if you

1) Stay at home with your children.

2) Voted for Barack Obama over Hillary Clinton in the primaries.

3) Take your husband’s last name or epend on your husband financially..

4) Like make-up and dresses.

5) A man.

However, I and every single feminist I went to school with has violated at least one of those rules. Does that mean we’re not feminist enough?

I think one of the reasons Feminism is stuck in a rut right now is that orgs like NOW are too busy denouncing David Letterman for cheating and not busy enough recruiting the next generation of feminists — that is women and men who still support women, believe in equality, even if they choose to violate one of the unspoken rules of feminism.

So just like the black movement needs to embrace both their Cosbys and their Medeas. Women need to embrace feminists from all walks of life and stop imposing silly requirements on what it takes to be a “real feminist.” Let me tell you, it will take a lot of people to push this car out of the rut we’re in and forward on the road to equality. Do we really want to reject anyone who is willing to push?