Wandering for Distraction

I’ve been finding myself increasingly, and more commonly, frustrated with the prevalence of classism amongst supposed ‘radicals’ or ‘leftists’ or ‘liberals.’ When did we decide that it is okay to employ classist stereotypes about poor (usually white) people in the interest of advancing arguments against homophobia, sexism, and racism? Or, perhaps more accurately, why haven’t we gotten around to loudly and explicitly saying that this isn’t okay?

I generally really like Margaret Cho. She’s funny and vocal in her denunciation of sexism, homophobia, heterosexism, and racism, and she’s pretty good at what she does. But I have to wonder, why not classism? I came across a clip on youtube today from her Assassin dvd (I haven’t seen all of it). Now, granted, this is an old show, but not THAT old. The piece is called “These Christian Groups Have Lost Their Minds,” and it is her rant on the inanity of Right-wing, Christian homophobia. For the most part, it’s funny, calls out the hypocrisy and ludicrousness of a lot of the things people were (and are) saying about why gay people are evil, and has a few great lines. But at one point, she slips into throwing out the same old, tired, offensive classist stereotypes. Now, not only is it disappointing because it’s offensive, but it’s also not very original. Really, I expect more of her than lines about how gay people wouldn’t want to live in a trailer park. (Which, of course, is problematic because it makes invisible those queer people who DO live in trailer parks, and it reinforces the urban = good for gays/ rural = bad for gays dichotomy, which isn’t quite so clear cut.)

This isn’t something that’s specific to Margaret Cho, though, and it comes up again and again and again amongst white liberals. We seem to be under the deluded notion that racism, sexism, and homophobia are only problems amongst those “other” white people - the poor, uneducated white folks. This trope has a lot of problems, but I’ll start with a couple of the big ones.

Keep reading →

Firstly, I realize that I haven’t been blogging here since I left Europe, but I’m planning on doing more of it. We’ll see how that goes, right?

There were a couple of articles in the Times this week that sparked my attention.

The first is on the environmental and economic impacts of the record high rates of meat consumption. You should read the article for all of the details, but in short, the impacts are pretty significant. Everything from the amount of soy and grain needed to feed livestock (soy and grain that could be feeding starving people, potentially), to the effects of waste run-off on local waterways, factory farming’s contribution to global warming and the destruction of rain forests for crops and livestock farms can be traced back to the meat industry.

Though my action and behavior may not always demonstrate it as much as I’d like, I am an environmentalist. I think that the boundaries we draw between humans and our environment are incredibly dangerous and problematic, and that was the driving force behind my decision to be a vegetarian a couple of years ago. Last time I was a vegetarian, my concern was about the lack of connection we (people) have with the food that we eat, particularly meat. I began eating meat again when I realized that I wasn’t necessarily changing attitudes toward food by not. However, I’m seriously considering being a vegetarian again, because that disconnect between us and our environment isn’t just psychological or theoretical - it has real impacts on the world and the lives of those of us who share this space.

I’m thinking I’m going to cut back on my meat consumption severely. That may allow for the occasional exception, but for the most part, I’m going veggie again.

The second is a reflection on how the current Democratic candidates may fare in the south. I’m disappointed about Edwards withdrawal from the race, but I’m also concerned about the viability of either Obama or Clinton in the South. I think it’s interesting how different people’s perceptions of candidates can be than their stated policy goals. The article remarks that a number of white, male Southern voters are hesitant to vote for Obama or Clinton because they are perceived as ‘too liberal.’ Yet they all supported John Edwards. I’ve spent a good amount of time evaluating the candidates’ policy positions, and to classify Edwards as LESS liberal than either of the other two seems a little ridiculous to me. Edward’s clear, precise, liberal policy positions has effectively forced the other candidates to talk about healthcare and poverty in a real way, advancing policy positions rather than just giving them lip-service. He has also driven a lot of the discourse further to the left, in my opinion. So, why do people think he’s more conservative? I’d be willing to bet it has a bit to do with him being a white dude - which brings to light some interesting challenges facing women or people of color and the pressure for them to be more moderate.

That’s all I’ve got for now.

Peace.

Last Friday marked the 35th Anniversary of Roe v. Wade, what did you do to commemorate it?

To be honest, I’d forgotten about it until I sat down at my computer. My tuesdays are long days, and I had a total of 25 minutes in which I was not in class or working between breakfast or dinner. I used those 25 minutes to eat lunch. So, I didn’t think about reproductive justice today, because I was busy, because I was focusing on other ways to overthrow patriarchy and feminist film makers and the Library of Congress classification system. And because right now, I’m not pregnant. I’m not pregnant because I have access to (moderately) safe forms of birth control and because the integrity of my body has not been compromised.

But that is not to say that reproductive justice isn’t important. Hell no. It’s rather to demonstrate one of the particularly dangerous realities of the recent attacks on reproductive justice that pro-choice advocates have been fighting back, tooth and nail - the reality that if Roe v. Wade is overturned, it still won’t be women like me who will have to be thinking about abortion. Sure, if it’s overturned, I’ll be thinking about it. I’ll be pissed as hell and ready to kick some ass, and then I’ll be working to get it back. But if Roe v. Wade is overturned, it won’t be upper-middle class white women who will be most concerned. Because, G-d forbid I ever need an abortion and it isn’t legal in Ohio, or DC, or California, or wherever I’m living - I can go to Canada. I have the means and an incredible network of family and friends who would support me, and I could do what I needed to take control of my body. But poor white women, and many women of color, don’t have that kind of access, and finding safe, affordable abortion providers will be incredibly difficult, if not downright impossible.

The Republican Presidential Candidate Mike Huckabee went to Georgia today. He went to support anti-choice activists and lawmakers who are working to pass a constitutional amendment in the Georgia legislature that would both outlaw abortion and provide a legal definition of life which begins at fertilization. Called, quaintly, the Human Life Amendment.

As a progressive individual, I support and stand behind the notion of “human rights,” including but not limited to those laid down in the UN’s Universal Declaration of Human Rights. In classifying human rights, I would maintain that human rights definitely include things like the right to liberty, the right to an education, the right to living without fear for one’s safety and security (not that women ACTUALLY have this, but there are still a lot of folks who don’t quite consider women to be people just like the mens), the right to autonomy in decision making, and … wait for it… the freedom to exercise agency over one’s body.

As a woman, I believe I am human. Radical proposal though it is, this outrageous law seeks to deny my personhood and replace it with a very particular status, that of the Potential BabyMaker. Ironially, that link above for the amendment will direct you to a website with the URL personhood.net. Because they really want you to believe this issue is one of personhood. The problem, as I see it, is that they aren’t REALLY concerned with people, they are concerned with zygotes and fetuses (who may one day be beautiful children that I will love and work to protect - but right now, are not). And they seek to criminalize women on their behalf. A leading anti-abortion attorney, James Bopp, made sure to clear that up for us all, when he explained that passage of this amendment could bring about “enforcement of homicide laws against pregnant women, restricting the activities of pregnant women, outlawing contraception and so on.”

Yes. You read that correctly. Enforcement of homicide laws against pregnant women. Restricting the activities of pregnant women. Because honey, in case you weren’t sure already, your ability to live your life is considerably less important than the collection of cells growing inside of you. Some much more so, that you best not drive your car, lest you get in an accident, miscarry, and find yourself charged with the murder of your own child, in addition to the trauma of a miscarriage. The inanity of this law almost bowls me over so completely that I want to believe it’s a joke. But it’s not. They want to take away access to contraception and criminalize your pregnancy, unless you spend it barefoot and cooking. (But don’t cook with wine, they might think the alcohol hasn’t cooked out and charge you with reckless endangerment.) This may come across as vaguely comic, but it’s really not a joke, and there are thousands of women living in Georgia whose freedom and agency is being threatened.

One of the cornerstones of the Reproductive Justice movement is the concept of reproductive justice itself. More than just the right to an abortion, reproductive justice is about the comprehensive health and freedom of women. From SisterSong’s publication “Understanding Reproductive Justice:”

Reproductive justice, at that time, was defined as “reproductive health integrated into social justice.”
Reproductive justice was further developed as an intersectional theory emerging from the experiences of
women of color whose communities experience reproductive oppression. It is based on the understanding
that the impact on women of color of race, class and gender are not additive but integrative, producing
this paradigm of intersectionality. The concept of reproductive justice was further elaborated in a seminal paper written by Asian Communities for Reproductive Justice in 2005.

And from the Asian Communities for Reproductive Justice:

We believe reproductive justice is the complete physical, mental, spiritual, political, economic, and social well-being of women and girls, and will be achieved when women and girls have the economic, social and political power and resources to make healthy decisions about our bodies, sexuality and reproduction for ourselves, our families and our communities in all areas of our lives.

Reproductive Justice is about more than abortions. It is about the freedom to live, as reproductive beings, and exert control over every aspect of our lives. To access political, economic, and social power and to live within a paradigm in which we are empowered and enabled to make choices about our bodies and our lives. It’s about having the freedom to be.

So the fight for Reproductive Justice isn’t about whether or not you’d have an abortion. It is about whether or not you will demand the respect to make that decision for yourself. And you can be sure as hell that I’ll be thinking about reproductive justice tomorrow.

Well, I made it to London.

It’s weird that I’m in the last site of the trip, at least the part of it that is organized with the program. We arrived last night, after a rather exhausting travel day. We have yet to have a travel day that goes as planned, and yesterday was no exception. Going from Bologna to Krakow, our flight was delayed about 10 hours (and the Bologna airport is REALLY not that exciting). From Krakow to Prague it wasn’t too bad, although one of our trains was delayed, and we almost missed our second. Prague to Berlin was supposed to be the easiest, just one train the whole way, but the German railway workers decided to strike, so we entered Germany and were promptly kicked off our train in Dresden, we then took another 2 or 3 trains (I can’t even remember) before we made it to Berlin, one of which was so jam-packed that we stood most of the trip, until we realized that there was space upstairs, but the only way to get to it was to get OFF the train at a station, run down the platform with all of our stuff, and hop back on the train one door down. That was fun. Going from Berlin to Utrecht a train was cancelled, and it was rainy and exhausting. Yesterday might have been the worst, though. We left our hostel in Utrecht at around 9am, everything seemed to be going well, and our first train was on time. Then we’re told that our connecting train to Brussels has been cancelled. Apparently they were doing work on the track. You’d think that they’d have known in advance, right? Whatever. So we get off in some random Dutch town (I have no idea where), and are then instructed to get on a bus. The first bus is too full, so we take the second, by now REALLY pushing our schedule, because we have reservations on a EuroStar train from Brussels to London. We make our train to Brussels, a relatively pleasant bus journey later, but we still don’t have a lot of time in Brussels. We get to Brussels with about 12 minutes before our train leaves. Eurostar trains to the UK have near airport-level security and customs, so we race off the plane, through customs, run to the EuroStar terminal, go through customs again, go through security, and dash onto the train with about a minute and a half to spare. Seriously, we had to fill out those cards with info about where we’re going in Britain and talk to the passport people and we have about 3 minutes until our train leaves. Also, keep in mind, we’re running through the airport with MASSIVE amounts of luggage. I’m wearing an almost 40 pound pack and a heavy daypack, running through the Brussels train station. Sigh. It was exhausting. We arrived in the UK, and then were sent off on the tube in the direction of our homestay families. I called from the tube station, and my homestay mom was in a meetign with contractors (they are doing some renovations), so I walked another 10 minutes or so to her house. I almost got hit by a car doing so, too. I was so exhausted it didn’t even occur to me that they drive on the other side of the road here. Woops.

Anyway, I’ve made it, and I spent some time today wandering the British Museum. Now I’m heading home for dinner, and then going out tonight with a friend from the states.

Hope all is well!

I’ve been somewhat out of touch with American politics while I’ve been abroad, but there are a few things that I’ve noticed in the last 2 weeks or so that I think deserve a bit of attention. 1 is good, 1 is mediocre, and 1 is pretty crappy.

First, with the good.

1. On November 6th, an amendment to the 2008 Foreign Aid budget introduced by my fabulous Senator Barbara Boxer that would reppeal the Global Gag Rule was passed by the Senate. An alternative version has already passed the house, and now it’s going to committee. The Global Gag Rule was first instated by Reagan, then reppealed by Bush and reinstated by Bush as soon as he took office. Basically, it puts limits on how US foreign aid can be distributed abroad in terms of family planning, contraception, and abortion. Under the Global Gag Rule, US funds cannot go to organizations that promote contraceptive use or offer abortion services. This means that groups trying to combat AIDS in Africa by distributing condoms and educating about safe sex can’t get ANY US Aid. For real. It also means that phenomenal organizations that we’ve met, like Women on Waves, have to find funding for their invaluable services elsewhere. Unfortunately, President Bush has said he’d veto any attempt to modify the current provisions, which blows. Personally, I think it should be slipped into a budget sending money to the troops, so he can’t veto it. There’s more about this at feminist.org.
2. The House of Representatives passed ENDA. ENDA is the Employee Non-Discrimination Act, and it provides protections against discrimination in employment based on real or perceived sexual identity. This is grand, and something people have been fighting for for a long time. Unfortunately, the version of the bill that passed was a pared-down version of a previous bill. The previous bill also provided protections for discrimination based on real or perceived gender identity. This is, I think, one of the real problem when it comes to workplace discrimination. Most places, you won’t get fired or not hired for being gay, you’ll get fired or not hired for being too masculine or feminine, in contrast with your perceived sex - and the assumed implications of that. That’s bad enough for people with a non-normative gender presentation, but who may not identify as trans or genderqueer. (Butch lesbians, for example.) But then you get into how people flip their shit when they can’t figure out someone’s gender, or when someone’s gender presentation and official ’sex’ are incongruous, and your talking about serious problems and discrimination. And this bill didn’t go far enough. Personally, I think we need to put the focus on incorporating language with an emphasis on ‘gender presentation’ in addition to ‘gender identity,’ because people are discriminated against based on how they are perceived much more so than how they identify. I mean, I guess it’s a good first step, although Bush will veto it anyway. But I think it’s a shame that the trans-inclusive version wasn’t passed. Also, there’s been a lot of controversy around HRC (Human Rights Campaign), which is the largest and most visible GLBT lobby group, but has a notoriously bad history of inclusiveness when it comes to Trans issues. Initially, HRC said that they would only support a trans-inclusive ENDA, but in the end, backed this version of the bill. Interestingly (probably only for me), the CCAR (Central Conference of American Rabbis) and the URJ (Union for Reform Judaism) supported the latter version of the bill, while Rabbi David Saperstein, Executive Director of the RAC (Religious Action Center) released a statement saying that it was imperative that gender identity be included in ENDA. I’m interested in that split, because the RAC claims to be representative of Reform Jews and Rabbis in the US, but so do the CCAR (at least, of Rabbis) and the URJ. My vote is with the RAC, as usual.
3. Did anyone watch the MSNBC Democratic Debates last week? I wasn’t able to watch them when they were on, but I saw some news coverage of them after the fact and have watched some portions on youtube. Most of the coverage was specifically about Senator Clinton’s performance and the barrage of criticisms and attacks thrown her direction throughout the debate - even from Tim Russert, who was moderating. Now, I don’t know that Clinton is my favorite candidate for the Democratic nomination. She’s a bit too much of a moderate for me, although I would absolutely support her if she were nominated, and I think it would be phenomenal to have a woman in office. However, despite my reservations about her as a candidate, I still think it’s really shitty the way that her gender is exploited in the media and in the race. How many articles do you read that mention what she’s wearing? How often is her personal life called in to question? Why is her husband’s philandering considered a commentary on her ability to be President, the strength of her convictions and her ‘quality’ as a woman, whatever that means, whereas even Giuliani was just endorsed by the Christian right - the bastion of family values, right? The other criticism of her that really gets to me, and this is most relevant to her treatment during the debates, is the claim and implication that she “flip-flops” on important issues, and that this is a bad thing. First of all, as far as sexism is concerned, this calls up the tired trope of women being unable to make up their minds. Even when men are accused of “flip-flopping” (Kerry, for example), it is in an effort to paint them as less ‘resolute,’ ’strong,’ or ‘determined’ - all masculine qualities. In short, it portrays them as feminine, and this is bad. So, on that level, these criticisms lobbied against Clinton reek of sexism. But on another (albeit connected) level, why is this a bad thing? The world is a changing place, and I think that any intelligent person should be flexible enough to reassess their views in that context. I wouldn’t want to elect a President who was still hell bent on fighting the Cold War, I’ve seen the remains of the Berlin Wall. I think that Hillary is pragmatic, and sometimes that results in votes and policy that I don’t agree with, but I think that pragmatism is an especially desirable quality in a President, especially in terms of foreign policy. I think that our current administration’s emphasis on “staying the course” and waging ideological warfare is misguided and dangerous - and I welcome political candidates who challenge such a narrow approach to dealing with conflict. That all being said, I’m still not sure Hillary’s my woman, but I sure as hell will keep calling out the sexism directed against her when I see it.

In European news, I leave Holland tomorrow for the UK. I have some really good friends in London (Philly, Laura, and my friend Penny), and I’m looking forward to living somewhere I don’t have to struggle to communicate. Even in Holland, where almost everyone speaks English, it can be a challenge. I went to a lecture on immigration last night, and the lecturer was a Dutch professor at Rotterdam University. He was fluent in English, certainly, but I still felt like I was translating in my head. It was as though he was actually speaking another language that I knew, but not well, and I had to translate everything he said back into my own language before I could process it. It was weird. But I’m pretty comfortable with British accents, and at least I’ll be able to read everything.

I hope all is well at home. Peace.

While on the Women’s Studies in Europe program, I am doing an independent research project. My major, at Antioch, is titled Gender and the Middle East: People, Politics, and Ideology, and my research project falls under a similar purview. I am examining the legal structures of immigration as well as the public discourse around immigration and multiculturalism in the countries we are visiting (with a predominant focus on Germany, the Netherlands, and the UK), and particularly how both of these (the legal structures and the discourses) impact women within migrant communities from majority-Muslim countries.

There are a lot of issues that have come up in regard to these topics, particularly when it comes to Muslim immigrants or immigrants from majority-Muslim countries (these two categories overlap, obviously, but they are not one and the same, although they are often portrayed as such in mainstream media and discourse). One of the central figures of these debates, in Holland especially, but internationally as well, is Ayaan Hirsi Ali. Hirsi Ali is a Somali-born woman, she was raised in Somaliya and Saudi Arabia, and while en route to Canada for an arranged marriage, she escaped from Germany to the Netherlands, was granted asylum, learned Dutch while working within the migrant community (with women who had experienced domestic violence and abuse), earned her MA in Political Science, and became a very well known politician and activist. Hirsi Ali is very critical of Islam and the subjugation of women because of, she argues, Islam. She wrote and directed the film Submission, and the co-director and producer, Theo Van Gogh, was murdered shortly after its release, and Hirsi Ali has received death threats.

There is a lot more to say about her, but what really interests me is the way that she is utilized and positioned as a political figure. Her arguments are echoed by the liberal party in Holland (liberal in Europe = right wing), and have been capitalized upon on in debates about tightening immigration policies, particularly in ways that are discriminatory toward people from majority-Muslim countries. Many post-colonial academics and feminist activists have taken issue with her position on Islam, particularly in how she portrays Muslim women as victims, and excludes the voices of other women from majority Muslim countries in this debate. I share this concern, about the way in which other perspectives are made invisible, but I am more concerned about the way in which this criticism is directed at her, as opposed to at the neo-liberal politicians who utilize it.

Her arguments aren’t new, and they certainly are valid – they are reflective of her lived experiences of forced marriage, a clitorectomy, various other hurdles she has overcome as a woman living under Islam. However, she is invariably the target of left-wing and western feminist criticism, while the (mostly white, male) politicians who support her remain hidden in her shadow. What I want to delve into is why we so easily fall into this pattern of directing criticism at a woman of color (almost exclusively), and how we can reframe these discourses to affirm her experiences, but also to create space for the voices of women with differing perspectives and experiences?

The current climate is stifling and limiting. Invariably, the public voices that receive attention fall into a polarizing rhetoric of “us” and “them,” that is both an oversimplification of reality as well as extremely burdensome and problematic for critical voices from ‘within’ marginalized communities. A Turkish woman in Germany, for example, is forced to choose between fighting racism and Islamophobia by affirming and defending her Turkishness and the Turkish community as a whole (including those members and portions she may disagree with) or arguing against sexism and, implicitly, affirming the racist discourses coming from mainstream German society. German politicians from the Christian Democratic party that rail against abortion and advocate policies that deny a woman agency over her own body are suddenly focusing on the problems of sexism – but only within the migrant communities from majority Muslim countries. So what, then, are people to do who are ostracized or oppressed by their ‘own’ community, but also through expressions of racism in the ‘mainstream?’

This, in and of itself, is a huge problem. Even more troublesome, though, is the way that those who do venture criticisms are co-opted by the mainstream, both to supplement and to supply evidence for their ‘clash of civilizations’ argument, and also as the sacrificial lamb – when these neo-liberal policies are criticized, it is the ‘authentic insiders*’ who are challenged and used to insulate the greater dynamics of discourse. It is these internal dynamics that I find most problematic. I don’t necessarily think that Hirsi Ali’s approach is the most effective in empowering women within Muslim communities, as she advocates for renouncing Islam, as opposed to many Muslim feminists who argue for a re-reading of the Quran and a reinterpretation of Islamic texts and laws in a way that isn’t oppressive to women, however my beef is not with her. My issue is with those who hold her up as the single authentic voice and erase the possibility of recognizing a multiplicity of perspectives coming out of the ‘Islamic world.’

Certainly, criticism of her position is valid, and to suggest that a minority perspective can’t be criticized is condescending and privileges ‘Western’ perspectives as the only ones sound enough to bear criticism. However, I find it extremely troubling when hers is predominantly the subject of criticism, while parallel arguments from the entrenched White political sphere are ignored. She is a very intelligent woman, no doubt, and there is no reason why she shouldn’t be questioned or challenged. However, doing so without acknowledging the impacts of colonialism and institutionalized racism on Third-World women is, I think, irresponsible and serves to reinforce those problematic structures.

*The term “authentic insider” isn’t mine. In her essay, “Through the Looking Glass Darkly: Emissaries, Mirrors, and Authentic Insiders as Preoccupations,” Uma Narayan outlines “some of the problematic roles that are thrust upon Third-World individuals when they and their work enter the orbit of certain kinds of Western academic concerns and discursive spaces.” It’s definitely worth reading, and if anyone wants, I can email a PDF copy of the article.

I haven’t written as much about my academic work, so far, but don’t let that fool you into thinking it isn’t happening. This semester has been incredibly exciting and invigorating, and I think I am developing a clearer idea of what I want to do after I graduate, because of what we’ve been studying this semester.

The program is a women’s studies program, so we’ve been (obviously) studying all sorts of things related to feminism(s). We have one class, Feminist Methodologies, where we’ve beeen talking about how to engage in responsible feminist research - how to acknowledge that none of us are coming from objective positions, and that any research we do or knowledge we have or collect is colored by our particular subjectivity. I am white and upper-middle class, and that (among all sorts of other things) has had a very significant impact on how I view and understand the world. That’s not a bad or a good thing, but it is important to keep in mind and to remember that it filters my perspective. One of the primary undertakings of feminism, beyond securing equal rights for women, is to expose the ways in which the assumptions upon which people and the world operate are complicated and subjective. To explictly articulate that being “objective” almost always means coming from a masculine, white, heterosexist, middle class position - and that positing that position as uncomplicated or neutral systematically erases spaces for and negates the experiences of people of color, and women, and poor people, and queer people.

We are also taking a class called Continental Feminist Theories. The focus of the class is, I think, pretty clear, but it’s been really interesting to understand feminist theory in terms of continental European feminisms, as opposed to through the lens of anglo-American feminist academia. We’ve been reading everything from Freud and post-Freudian psychoanalytic theory (if you’re a feminist and into psychanalytic theory, read Irigaray if you haven’t already. She can be somewhat essentializing, but also offers some very interesting perspectives on ‘women’ within the symbolic order and what it might mean to represent the feminine) to Judith Butler (probably the most well known Queer theorist. [I use a capital 'q' because her academic work is within Queer theory, not because she's famous and queer, although both of those are true as well.]) and sexual difference theory. Really, it’s been incredible, and I walk out of classes and lectures just overwhelmed by how much I’m learning. The blog title is taken from the VNS Matrix, which is a manifesta, of sorts, from a feminist collective. They are part of a feminist movement called cyber feminism that deals with and engages with the way in which women and feminism interacts with technology, although it’s much more than that. Read the Cyborg Manifesto.

We’ve also had really interesting lectures in each of the sites from activists and academics within whichever city we’re in, talking about their work and the issues facing women and feminists in each city. It’s pretty awesome.

We had an thought-provoking lecture/workshop last week on Masculinity and maleness in the context of feminism. We watched a really interesting film called Tough Guise and while we only saw a section, I think that it’s a really worthwhile film, and talks about how to challenge the constructs of masculinity within a framework of understanding WHY we perceive masculinity as we do. I definitely recommend that people watch it, especially if you are a teenage boy. (Which, basically, just means that I think my brothers should watch it, because I don’t know many other teenage boys.) The session, in general, though, brought up some interesting issues having to do with the role that biological men can play within feminism, and what it means to be an ally – especially within the shadow of a construction of maleness that contributes to the oppression of women. There are some serious arguments within worldwide feminisms and amongst feminists about whether or not it is important to make feminism “accessible” to men, and what it means to work with male feminist allies. One of the challenges that often arises in feminist groups and circles that don’t explicitly specify themselves as women-only (as complicated as that notion is), is that even within feminist spaces and groups, the sexist dynamics we are accustomed to re-assert themselves, and often biological men who are trying to be supportive approach feminist projects with an attitude of “here, I can fix this.” The problem isn’t that men want to be involved, but asserting leadership is really counter productive, because it often silences and undermines the perspective of women whose daily lives are impacted by these issues, and who know what it is like to experience sexism on a level that even the best ally can’t entirely understand. Then, of course, there’s the issue of creating safe spaces for survivors of sexual violence (and with 1 in 3 women having experienced violence or assault on account of being female, that’s a significant group) and sometimes that means not having any dudes around. But it certainly makes for some interesting discussions.

It’s getting late now, so I think I’m going to get to sleep, but I’ll be in one place for a little bit longer this time (I’m in Holland, Utrecht, precisely, for the next 2 weeks still), so I hope I can update more regularly.

It has, once again, been embarrassingly long since I updated. But, this time, I have a very good excuse.

My second week in Krakow, I brought my computer with me to class so that I could reference a reading we were to be discussing in seminar that I’d saved on my computer. The cord to my computer charger is pretty short (I didn’t think to bring the extender), so I borrowed my roommate’s. She’s also a mac user. Her computer had been having some issues, so she wasn’t going to be using it. I got to class, turned on my computer, and plugged it in. Upon plugging it in, it promptly shut off. I was bewildered, and spent a while futzing around with it, but alas, Charles (my computer’s name is Charles) wouldn’t come back to life, despite quite a bit of coaxing. That afternoon, I took him to an Apple reseller in Krakow, but they weren’t a service location, and there wasn’t much they could do. We were leaving Krakow in 2 days, so I packed him up and brought him with me to Prague, where I finally located an authorized Mac service center. A very nice man in the service department spent a while looking at him, but the situation was hopeless. Charles’ logicboard had been fried, and the only realistic option was a new computer. What I think happened, but I can’t know for sure, is that Teddi’s charger wasn’t converting the voltage properly, and it overloaded the logicboard. The cost of a new logicboard is about the cost of a new computer, and since my computer isn’t under warranty anymore, there wasn’t a whole lot I could do. Luckily, the very nice man at the Apple store was able to remove my hard drive and put it in an external case for me, and he gave me my extra RAM and my battery (not that it’s worth much, I would have needed to replace it soon anyway, it only holds about an hour’s charge), and I left Charlie at his final resting place in Prague. So. I have been computerless for a few weeks now, and have only been able to check my email sporadically, thus no blog updates. However, my parents sent an old PC laptop we had at home to Berlin with some family friends, and I picked it up from Rolf yesterday. Now, I’m sitting in a Café on Oranienstrasse in Kreuzberg, Berlin, eating some sort of cabbage/carrot/potato soup, drinking a Berliner Pilsener, and catching you all up on my life.

Phew. That was a long back story. Now that that’s out of the way.

We’re on our fourth country, and approaching the mid-way point of the trip. That’s weird to think about, because it sort of feels like we left Bologna yesterday, and it’s also a little terrifying that I’m approaching my last semester of undergrad. But, those issues aside, I’ve been having a really great time.

We spent two weeks in Krakow, and it was a pretty emotionally challenging and enlightening couple of weeks. Like I think I mentioned, I was somewhat intimidated by Poland. Poland’s history with Jews and of anti-Semitism isn’t a particularly good one (to say the least), and my understanding was that there had been very little public acknowledgement of the roles that Poland and the Polish people played in the Holocaust. Plus, it was Rosh Hashanah and I was in a city with 150 Jews, and we had a visit to Auschwitz scheduled. (Originally scheduled for Rosh Hashanah, actually. The program director is well intentioned when it comes to issues of Judaism and Anti-Semitism in the context of the program, but perhaps less informed about contemporary Judaism than is ideal. But, we let her know what was up, and the schedule was adjusted.)

I was, however, pleasantly surprised by Krakow. Teddi (my fellow Mac user is also the only other Jew on the program) and I attended Rosh Hashanah services at the only functioning synagogue in Kazimierz (the Jewish district) out of the 8 that survived the war and communism. It was nice to be around Jews, but Orthodox services aren’t my thing. However, we were invited to Rosh Hashanah dinner with a group of Orthodox men from Brooklyn, and despite all of our political and ideological differences (we had a couple of heated conversations about racism, halakhah, and Reform Judaism), it was a very enjoyable dinner. There is something so comfortable and familiar about matzah ball soup, apples and challah with honey, and roasted chicken – and familiarity was just what we needed.

It was especially nice to be reminded that Judaism persists even in places like Poland, where Judaism and the Jewish people are considered and discussed primarily in a historical context. I felt like I’d been wanting to yell and jump up and down and flail my arms about just to remind people that Jews are STILL around. To say, “Hey! We aren’t just those people who used to live in the flats above the hot new bars in town. Despite SO many people’s best efforts, Auschwitz wasn’t the end. They didn’t win. We aren’t just victims, we are also survivors. Don’t forget the past, but don’t use it as a crutch to ignore the present.” As important is historical memory is (and especially in Poland, it is EXTREMELY important), ignoring the survivors and the persistence of the Jewish people and the faith throughout the centuries, and since the war, is a resignation to Nazi success. Instead of saying, “the Nazis did a terrible thing, let’s make sure to build an adequate museum,” why not say, “the Nazi genocide was one of, if not the, most heinous and brutal episodes of murder and hatred in human history, it marked an unprecedented low for humanity – but even they did not succeed”? We trace our histories in casualties and losses, but isn’t there power in taking note of survivors and perseverance? Seeing Judaism as solely historical was the most difficult part of Poland, for me, and sitting around a Festival dinner, challah dripping with honey and wine glasses brimming, was a much-needed dose of living Judaism.

We visited Auschwitz later that week, and it was an expectedly difficult and emotional experience. Auschwitz 1 is similar in many ways to most Holocaust museums I’ve visited. It is a museum. It tells the story of Auschwitz and the Holocaust, and illustrates the dates and historical facts with artifacts and photographs. Our tour guide led us through barracks that had been converted to exhibition spaces, and it is, I think, incredibly well done and powerful.

There were three particularly heartbreaking moments, for me. Relatively early on in the tour, we entered a room that contained some belongings that had been confiscated from Jewish prisoners upon arriving at Auschwitz. At the far end of the room, behind a wall of glass, were about 10 tallitot, most of them worn and some nearly falling apart, but all of them very personal reminders of the importance of faith, and how brutally it was stolen from people. Wrapping my tallit around my shoulders never fails to cloak me in warmth and contentment, and those tallitot hanging behind glass were very painful reminders of what it must have felt like to have that ripped away.

In another room, sometime later in the tour, an entire half of the floor had been sectioned off behind glass, and it was filled with suitcases. Most of the suitcases had a person’s last name, sometimes their first, and their hometown. Upon walking in, one suitcase caught my eye. Written across the front, in large letters, was “HAMBURG.” My grandfather’s family left Hamburg in 1935 (I think). I don’t know that much more than that needs to be said.

And, finally, walking through the one remaining gas chamber and crematorium was incredibly emotional and difficult. It’s almost beyond my comprehension how many individual people, with their own stories, with moments of joy and pain, who fell in love and had their hearts broken, who played make-believe as children and who teased their siblings, who skinned their knees and had first kisses and made mistakes and learned the Aleph-Bet and lit Shabbat candles and failed tests and read books and imagined futures, all of these people, entered that room and never left. I walked in, and I could walk out again, but thousands of people never had that opportunity.

I stood outside of the gas chamber and crematorium for a long time, with my arms folded across my chest, tears running down my cheek. Tour groups walked out past me, their tours ending, and one woman paused as she walked past. She reached out her hand and touched my arm, comfortingly. My first response, irrationally, was anger. Who was this woman to presume to comfort me? What does she know about me or why I’m standing here crying? Who is she, and where was she 60 years ago? But then, I stopped myself, and realized that if there is anything that should stand out against the depravity of the Holocaust, it is kindness to strangers. This woman didn’t know me. She had no idea who I was or where I came from or why I was crying, but that didn’t matter. That didn’t stop her from offering a measure of condolence – and that’s a lesson from which we could probably all benefit.

Auschwitz II – Birkenau is much less of a museum. Some of the barracks that were not destroyed in the Nazi’s retreat have been set aside for particular displays, but for the most part, it is a space for remembrance. I spent a long time sitting, thinking, and writing, and that was just what I needed.

The rest of my time in Krakow was pleasant, and I think it is a really great city. For all of my reservations about Poland, I left having had a meaningful and enjoyable time.

Our next two weeks were spent in Prague, and I had a good time there, as well. It is a beautiful city, but I feel like I didn’t really get an adequate feel for it. It is full of tourists and American college students, and I’d like to go back with more time to explore the city beyond the tourist spots. I don’t have a whole lot to say about Prague, really. I had a good time, and hopefully some day I’ll make it back, but I don’t think it will be one of my favorite cities of the trip.

We are in Germany now, and I am DEFINITELY enjoying Berlin. The city has so much character and is incredibly vibrant. I am living in Kreuzberg, which is a neighborhood full of alternative folks and immigrants, mostly Turkish. So, there are great clubs and bars, lots of cheap schwarma, and a plethora of crazy hair cuts. Really, who could ask for more? We’ve barely been here a week, and I’m already learning quite a bit about Germany. It’s really reminding me how little I know about my own family’s German heritage and history, and I want to know more.

I’m sure I will have more to write about soon, but I need to finish things up on the internet and get going, so for now, I’ll wrap things up.

I hope everyone is doing well, and I miss you all.

Poland is growing on me, no doubt. Last night was probably one of my best so far, in Krakow, and it was exactly what I needed.

I had looked into Rosh Hashanah services, and was somewhat disappointed to find out that the largest, newest synagogue in Kazimierzi (the Jewish quarter), which happens to be the progressive synagogue (called Tempel Synagogue), wasn’t having services. However, there is an old Orthodox synagogue that serves the existing (very small) Jewish community in Krakow, and they were having Erev Rosh Hashana services.

Teddi and I grabbed an appropriately non-kosher sushi dinner down the street before services, and then after getting a little lost on our way, walked in about 15 minutes late. The service wasn’t particularly moving, I don’t tend to connect to G-d standing behind a wall and a roomful of muttering, davening men, surrounded by gossipping Polish women. However, I took the time to daven a bit to myself, and as the service wrapped up at around 7:30, Teddi and I resigned ourselves to a mediocre Rosh HaShanah. However, as we were getting ready to leave, we struck up conversation with Jessica, an American girl studying medicine in Krakow. We hung back for a bit, and when we finally left the sanctuary, we stopped briefly to ask a group of Orthodox men standing outside talking to two other couples (so we knew they’d talk to women) about services the next morning and for Shabbat. As our conversation wrapped up and the synagogue was closed up for the night, the men we’d been speaking to invited us back to their hotel to join them for a meal. Relishing the opportunity to connect with a greater Jewish community, we went right along with them.

It ended up being a really enjoyable evening. I have my reservations about the Orthodox, but you can’t fault them for their hospitality - ever. We had a huge meal with plenty of wine and scotch, apples, challah, honey, matzah ball soup, chicken, veggies, and some sort of rice-like pilaf-esque dish. It was really good, and I was stuffed by the end. We had some really interesting conversations as well, some frustrating, some enlightening. But it was really great to connect with other Jews, and they were so warm and welcoming. We had a good time explaining what “women’s studies” and “feminism” meant, and talking about some of the pros and cons of progressive Judaism. I had a great, long conversation with Itzi about the development of Halachah, and all in all, it was a good night.

It feels really great to have reconnected with my Judaism, to some degree. I’m hoping to find a progressive shul in Prague for Yom Kippur, and hopefully Shabbat services at some point.

Tomorrow is our trip to Auschewitz. I am trying not to think about it too much, because I don’t think any amount of mental or emotional prep will really help, but I am, at least, comforted by a renewed connection with my Judaism.

I hope you all have a meaningful and sweet new year.

שנה תובה ומתוקה

Today was a tough day. This morning, we had a seminar session discussing our research topics, which went fine, and then we embarked on a tour of Krakow, led by a fromer participant in the program and ex-pat living in Krakow now, Julie.

The tour was actually really great, we started in the old Jewish quarter, which was a bit unsettling because it is now the hot bar district, and there are hip new bars right up against old buildings that haven’t been renovated or touched, seemingly, since the Nazi invasion of Krakow and synagogues that are hundreds of years old. I’m going to go back tomorrow morning and look into Rosh HaShanah services (the Reform synagogue in town isn’t actually operational, but it is the largest and newest of the 8 or so in Krakow) at the one active synagogue. It’s Orthodox, but I actually think that being in a warm Jewish community, even one in which I have to pray behind a mechitza, will be a welcome experience. After our tour of the old city, we walked along the river and into the former Jewish ghetto the Nazis established upon entering Krakow.

This was the part of the day that was really hard, for me. Near the entrance to the neighborhood, a couple of block’s from Schindler’s factory, is an open square along train tracks. It was in this square, in 1941 and 1943, that the Jews living in the ghetto were rounded up and sent to Aushewitz and Birkenau. Currently, in this square, there is a memorial art installation. Throughout the square, not in rows, but also not scattered about, are probably 2 dozen oversize metal chairs. The chairs are stark, and cold, and each one stands alone. Except for a few rows of 3 smaller chairs along the edge of the square, each chair is solitary. At one end of the square is a building with two doors, only one of which was open. Above the doors are the dates 1941 and 1943. The inside of the building looks, from a distance, like the cattle cars used by the Nazis to transport Jews (and others) to the camps. However, it has been built out of the same metal as the chairs, and is stark and cold.

I spent a few minutes walking through the square. Trying to comprehend how it is even possible that a community which was once 25% of the population now consists of 150 individuals. I was trying to make sense of the unfathomable, and to give each chair a face and a story. As I made my round of the square, brushing aside tears, I noticed the rest of my group, except Teddi, the one other Jew. They were all standing in a group, talking and making jokes. They were done with the memorial. Done with talking about the holocaust in Poland. They could choose to move on.

I don’t have that option, and I think that is going to be hard for me, in Poland. I don’t know that I will be able to just brush aside my tears when we leave Auschewitz, as though that was a sad moment in an otherwise normal day. And I’m feeling very alone in that. I have Teddi, but her relationship to Judaism is very different from mine, and while we can relate, I don’t know that we can entirely understand one another.

I’m also afraid of how my Jewishness is going to be noticed by others. I am afraid of being “the Jewish girl” and being looked to for some certain response to our interactions with the history of Jews in Poland. I want to be able to process and deal with Poland, and Auschewitz, and all of the ways my Jewishness is confronted here without being scrutinized. And I don’t know if I can get that. And I’m also afraid that we are conflating Polish Jewry with history, and ignoring the fact that Judaism DOES still exist, and isn’t just a relic of the past.

Thursday is Rosh HaShanah. I will eat plenty of apples on Thursday, because our trip to Auschewitz on Friday will probably not be a time for apples and honey, for sweetness and new beginnings.