Ren is writing about it. This is a good thing. I look forward to more.
Archive for the ‘The F-Word’ Category

Sweet Lord, there is no such thing as an “illegitimate child”
May 27, 2011Even a cursory glance at the coverage of the Schwarzenegger cheating-and-paternity scandal shows that WAY too many people still believe in the whole idea of “legitimate children” and “illegitimate children.” It goes beyond mere word-choice. The “illegtimate child” has an aura of embarrassment attached, at best. Oops, your parents messed up, and produced you! If only your dad had kept it in his pants and/or wore a condom! Or else, the child is viewed as an oughtright inconvenience. Some people even think that laws should be rewritten, so that the little “bastards” in question should not threaten a “legitimate” family’s finances.
This gif sums up my feelings on the matter:
I’m not one of those people who can honestly say that she loves her neighbour (especially not when he’s blasting really bad techno at 2 a.m.) or turns the other cheek. Like any person, I’d be pretty pissed off if my husband went off and had a kid with someone else, and I was in the dark about it. The reason why so much aggression and discomfort centers on the child has to do with the fact that the child serves as living, breathing “evidence” of a betrayal. People often project their own insecurities about their relationships onto children like that, without even knowing the child personally or consciously acknowledging what it is they’re doing. All of that is perfectly understandable.
None of it excuses the ridiculous label of “illegitimacy.”

I write about naked grandmas… I mean, naturism – for Feministe
May 25, 2011Yay.
The one thing I really didn’t mention in that post is how naturism has been a big part in helping me deal with chronic pain – most likely because so much of it centers on the idea of self-acceptance. You don’t go strolling naked into the waves without a sense of acceptance, I don’t believe. Not in this day and age, anyway.

Why feminist blogging sucks
May 3, 2011It sucks because of the fucking idiots.
Really.
Let me tell you a story: when I was 17, I really wanted to go to college. And I got accepted – all the way to Duke University, Eruditio et Religio et Huge-ass Fees. At the time I was accepted, my family were genuinely in a place where they could help out with said fees. By the time I was starting my sophomore year, my family was nowhere near being able to help out with the fees. ‘Cause that’s what happens sometimes. Circumstances change, and it’s not as if there are safety nets in place to help people when they’re already in free-fall – especially if those people happen to be immigrants.
So I got stuck with some huge student loans. And although I am committed to paying them off, I am also in a place right now where I could be picking between “make loan payments” and “make hospital payments for me and my baby.” I didn’t plan on this to happen either, I thought the future would be fairly solid for at least a year or so – and BOY was I wrong. I’m in a situation right now where I can barely afford prenatal vitamins day in and day out, let alone food. And it’s not because I don’t work, I work my ass off – while heavily pregnant – but unexpected expenses keep coming up (like needing laser eye surgery to prevent retinal detachment, woo! And dealing with an insurance company that wants me to wait for months to get treatment in a state clinic when I will lose my fucking retina if I wait for months, double woo!), and freelance gigs keep falling through for both my husband and myself, and chronic pain can take me out for an entire day when I could be being productive.
I have a donate button on this blog – for the fiction that I have published here in the past. I haven’t been able to publish any new fiction – because sitting at a computer for hours literally hurts. I try to do my best, but I am running out of options, and it sucks.
So then I read posts like the one I linked above, that pretends to care about “poor people” and people who no longer have their health, and I’m just like – please. Just stop it. Please.
It sucks that I even have to flay myself open, as Jill put in her original post on the issues in the feminist blogosphere, to get my point across – but whatever. I don’t even care about that anymore. I am tired. Lord, I am tired.

Per the Wills and Kate debate: yes, losing your anonymity can, in fact, suck
May 1, 2011I should be writing a new script. So that I don’t fall behind on my student loans (on can dream, anyway), and so the husband and I can stay fed this summer (the baby, presumably, will have the breast – just like in the “Lady Madonna” song). This naturally means that I am busy participating in useless online debates at Feministe. In the course of one such debate, I have discovered that – egad! – expressing pity for Kate Middleton’s utter loss of anonymity is problematic, ya’ll (I’m beginning to loathe the word “problematic,” btw: it’s right up there with “privilege” and “trigger”).
I don’t know what it’s like to be a diamond tiara-wearing international celebrity, but I do know what it’s like to experience a partial loss of anonymity. When I lived in Amman, Jordan, in the years 2008 – 2009, I couldn’t step outside and walk down the street without shit going down. At all. Seriously. I was a young foreign woman, and a conspicuously Slavic foreign woman on top of that, in a country where ladies like me are too often associated with being “easy”. Even some people who weren’t interested in getting a piece of me felt that they had every right to point, stare, make comments, and sometimes even follow me around as I tried to, say buy tampons or whatever. People took pictures of me with their mobile phones. Entire tables full of people would get curious, sometimes even viciously curious, if I wanted to have a drink at a restaurant at night. Girls made comments about me in club bathrooms, unaware of the fact that I could usually understand what it was they were saying about me in Arabic, so that I couldn’t even pee in peace.
We all lose our privacy when we go outside, but my loss of privacy on the streets of Amman was nearly total. I wasn’t a person – I was a curiosity at best. A lot of factors contributed to this – not just my gender, appearance, and age. I had a halo of vulnerability around me. I couldn’t get used to what was happening. Unlike some other people who find themselves in similar situations, I couldn’t cope with the situation, which only increased the attention.
Even kind attention, people calling me beautiful in an attempt to make me feel welcome (both men and women did this), devastated me. I moved about the city from safe space to safe space – house, gym, expensive hotel bar, friend’s house, etc. – tensing up every time I had to mix with “ordinary people.” The worst was being intruded upon in places I had initially decided were safe. I had felt comfortable going on shopping trips, and then the first time a group of grown men started making comments and pointing their fingers at City Mall, I went home and cried for hours. The same thing happened when I discovered that the guys who worked at the gym I attended had tried to get the women’s locker room attendant to covertly snap pictures of me with her mobile when I changed (when she had refused, they pestered her with questions about my body – what did it look like naked? When she told them they were being assholes, they were shocked, she said, because to them, what they were doing was completely innocent – they never even imagined that to someone like me, what they were doing amounted to a colossal, total betrayal).
Incidentally, I was pampered in Amman. I never had to hustle for money like I do in Moscow. I didn’t have to borrow at the end of the month, or delay medical procedures while I waited for a freelance fee to come through. I didn’t lie awake at night, wondering what on earth I would do when my savings ran out (as they’re about to, again!). I ate great food. I took mini-breaks at great hotels. Ladies were paid to put expensive pumpkin goo on my face and massage my back. I certainly never cleaned my own bathroom or cooked. I still have fabulous clothes and accessories from that period of my life, vestiges of past luxury: delicate cashmere scarves, sparkling Donna Karan dresses, pearls, giant sunglasses, golden keychains, designer tunics that now nicely contain my baby bump. I rocked that shit, yo. I was queen of it.
But the price was too steep. There were other factors that contributed to my ultimate decision to leave, many of them private, but the mere fact of my day-to-day existence in Amman had exhausted and worn me down to the point that I, little miss spoiled, went all the way to the crazy former USSR in order to get my shit together and heal. Seriously. I found healing in a place where the metro gets blown up, for God’s sake.
Incidentally, I had moved to Amman for love. That love was very much a real thing, which is why it chaps my hide to hear people make snide comments about the “real” reason why Kate Middleton married William (what do we officially refer to him as, now? Do I care?). Considering the Middletons are rich, I seriously doubt that money was at stake. Despite my own feelings about the British monarchy, which are conflicting, I think there’s actually a whole lot of sexism and snobbery involved in subtly making the claim that this girl is a damn gold-digger. Seriously, people, even royals, even rich folks, meet and fall in love – and then have to make sacrifices for that love. It happens, and I view Kate Middleton’s loss of privacy as a pretty giant freaking sacrifice.
I’ve got no doubt that Kate Middleton will be able to handle being a mega-celebrity. I’ve got good money on her! She rocks those tiaras! Still, unwanted attention can be a bitch for someone who still remembers what it’s like to walk down the street like a normal person. It can leave you feeling exhausted and bitter and hunted, and for anyone who thinks otherwise, I sincerely invite you to try it out for yourself.

Bei Bei Shuai: if you’re pregnant and suicidal, then you better damn well succeed at killing yourself!
April 16, 2011Or so the state of Indiana thinks, apparently.
The logic is flawless, you guys. Of course, they’re not taking it far enough. Next up: charging babies with manslaughter if the mother dies in labour. Charging fathers with murder if the mother dies in labour. If a pregnant woman gets hit by a car and suffers miscarriage as the result – let’s set up a special commission to determine if she were jaywalking, so we can charge her with criminal negligence.
Can you think of better use of taxpayer money in the middle of an unemployment crisis? I sure can’t! I mean, why worry about things like Medicare for the elderly when state legislators can busy themselves with abusing the mentally ill and people suffering from temporary mental collapse?

So this Planned Parenthood thing
April 9, 2011I was glad to read this morning that at the very least “a GOP push to strip $317 million in federal funding from Planned Parenthood failed.” But at times like these, you have to wonder why, really, do people go after Planned Parenthood. Why is it always in the cross sights? Why is it so easy to convince so many people, at the drop of a hat, that it needs to be the first to go? You can say “because of abortion”, and leave it at that, but most Americans are so vague on abortion to begin with. It’s a word that’s used so much, with so much zeal, that it’s begun to grow more and more abstract to the national conscience. “Well, I’m opposed to it! No need to kill babies! Those women are irresponsible to begin with!” It takes longer to heat up a frozen pizza than to make this standard sort of argument. The argument itself is virtually meaningless. A lot of people have abortions – and the sheer numbers tell us that even among those who make this sort of argument, there will be people who’ll have an abortion at one point or another, or else someone close to the person making this argument just had one last year, or will have one next year.
Maybe all of this is happening because “I’m opposed to abortions” is a whole lot easier to roll off your tongue than “I’m in favour of poor people dying.” Because that’s what such spending cuts are really aimed at doing – they make sure that some poor people simply won’t be around anymore to offend the honest, hardworking, responsible middle-class. Of course, considering the state of the economy, the complete joke of a social net, and the amount of debt so many people are in – being middle-class in the U.S. can largely be an illusion. Trust me, I’ve been there. Supposedly middle-class, and wondering what the hell I’ll eat for the next week. Not being able to afford basic medical care – having to wait until a tooth infection got so bad that I literally could have died from it to finally get it treated at one of the few places in my area where they could at least offer me a discount. And I was one of the genuinely lucky ones, that year. Millions of people have it so much worse. Shit – having a baby this year may mean that I will not be able to pay my student loans on time. I’ve got plans, but if they fall through, my only comfort may be living in Russia. And that’s just how it goes. Uninformed people say, “But Russia! Scary place!” And I say, “for God’s sake, at least I can afford a minimum of healthcare around here!”
So few of us generally want to admit that the system itself is broken, because it means that our place in the system is suddenly under question. Social anxiety trumps the need to be honest – for now. Better to just pretend that it’s “irresponsible poor people” who are dragging everybody down with them.
Remember that old Beatles lyric? “And oh that magic feeling – nowhere to go.” It was when I really felt what that lyric was all about that I began to let go of the idea that I had to appear as though things were fine. Things are not freaking fine, they haven’t been fine for a while. The people who are asking us, Americans, to tighten our collective belts will not be tightening those belts themselves. This thing about Planned Parenthood being a satanic abortion mill is simply there to divide us all. Believe what you want to believe. But don’t tell me that everything’s going to be OK and society will magically be fixed if poor women who can’t afford decent medical care will bleed to death from botched abortions, or else die from cancers that could have been caught early had they had access to affordable screening. These women aren’t the problem.
For more discussion, see Feministe.

March 8 dates
March 8, 2011Happy International Women’s Day!
Also, in more mundane news, I’ve seen so many people out on dates today in Moscow. International Women’s Day is a holiday, most people have the day off, and men and women are going on dates. The metro is awash in flowers – or, rather, people carrying flowers. Women are receiving gifts. And for some reason, this year, I’ve been struck by the people who do acknowledge the socialist roots of this holiday, however tangentially. We were at a restaurant tonight, and eavesdropped on other people’s celebratory toasts during lulls in conversation. “Let’s drink to my wife,” the guy sitting behind me said. “The beautiful mother of my children – and my best business partner. If it wasn’t for her hard work, we wouldn’t have anything.” It was nice to overhear that.
The original women’s day was dedicated to working women. Of course, few people still acknowledge just how much work children also are.

So apparently being female and on Facebook is all about seeking validation
February 27, 2011I hope Tracy Clark-Flory was just bored, or something. I hope it was a slow news day.
Because – and I mean this in the spirit of sisterhood and camaraderie – who gives a fuck?! And who sincerely wants to live this way? A Facebook friend gets married and posts a bunch of pictures and you’re “pressured”. A single friend jets off to Brazil for Carnival and posts a bunch of pictures and you’re left “bemoaning your choices” or some crap like that. You know, I never thought I’d get to use this word as an insult, but how… middle-class of you.
Is this actually an article about some sort of disorder people have? The “if there are people in my social network whose lives do not line up my own experiences and choices 100%, I’m going to get all down and confused about it – because my ultimately destiny is to be a herd animal” illness? Or does it come down to having way too much time on your hands? Do many men also agonize like this – and simply fail to mention it because men are never supposed to let on to anyone that they, well, agonize like this?
I also love this whole notion how one can either be a woman with kids or a woman with a career – at least according to the article. The one woman profiled who does have kids and a career comes to us via a secondhand account – and is to be pitied, because she sends people late-night texts or whatever. I mean, I understand that so many of these Salon stories are filler, but come on.
Social anxiety is an interesting subject. We express it in new ways (via FB, for example) but the basic concept has remained the same. For people who can afford to take time out of their day to worry about crap like this (is my carriage fashionable enough? Are my status updates witty?), it can indeed be a burden (and just for the record – I can be very sensitive to this stuff as well, when I have the time). But the way it comes of here is flat, one-dimensional and annoying – I don’t have sympathy for the women Clark-Flory profiles, I merely experience a twinge of mild horror at their preoccupations.
This is why I have liked some of the comments to this article:
There are actually grown adults who feel affirmed by making judgmental assumptions from a photo or two on someone’s FB page?
Apparently!
I find it incredible that sites like Salon need to make women feel like they are ‘un-affirmed’ because they are living the life they want.
Me too, actually.
Yawn. Your women friends are boring
Boring in a horrifying way that’s hopefully at least partially exaggerated for the sake of the article.
I’m a married woman very much in love with my husband and I post pictures of my baby as my profile pic because she’s cute. I also am a VP at a large entertainment company and I work hard to have a family, a career, and a relationship.
But you’re not affirming Katherine and Kelly’s choices, dammit! Come on, at least admit that you secretly sniff glue and masturbate to mainstream torture porn! It’ll make other women feel better about themselves! …
… In other news, I should probably just stop reading Salon.

Sick of this Dworkin crap
February 23, 2011People who are fans of Andrea Dworkin’s writing insist that she was too ahead of her time for men or women to really get her. I agree in part. Dworkin was, by all evidence, a woman of superior intelligence whose work changed a lot of people’s lives – whether leading to some form of political awakening or else.
One of my own favourite quotes from Dworkin goes like this:
“My fiction is not autobiography. I am not an exhibitionist. I do not show myself. I am not asking for forgiveness. I do not want to confess.”
I don’t necessarily relate to the first part (and as a sidenote, I think the distaste Dworkin had for showing herself had a lot to do with her blanket hatred of pornography), but I’ve always found the combination of statements here to be very powerful.
What I really don’t like is when people decide to swoop down on me or friends of mine, and quote fervently quote Dworkin at us, usually with the implication that we have yet to be introduced to the body of her work.
Here’s the thing – I am familiar with her work and her ideas. Sadly, I view a lot of those ideas in particular as self-defeating and counter-productive, or else downright eerie. And I don’t mean “eerie” as in “OMIGOD, they were just too revolutionary to handle.” I mean “eerie” as in “damn creepy, like if one of my fundamentalist relatives taught a college-level course in sexual ethics and replaced ‘hell’ with ‘sex’ in her lectures.” Too many pseudo-Dworkins in my life already, most of them leading destructive lives, for me not to draw some obvious parallels.
Dworkin’s obsession with “fucking” and “women getting fucked”, for example, has a distinct Old Testament flavour to it (and tends to ignore gay men, bi men and dudes who don’t identify as either but still like to get down for some penetrative action with other dudes). Penetrative sex can come with a lot of negativity and trauma attached, but merely viewing it from that angle is pretty limiting – and this is exactly what many Dworkinites do. As Susie Bright put it in her famous obituary of Dworkin:
“I loved that she dared attack the very notion of intercourse. It was the pie aimed right in the crotch of Mr. Big Stuff. It was an impossible theory, but it wasn’t absurd. There is something about literally being fucked that colors your world, pretty or ugly, and it was about time someone said so.”
Hell yeah. It’s also an experience that men and women share, whether literally or by being able to relate to one another. With few exceptions (Thomas Beatie, anyone?), men cannot get pregnant – and pregnancy remains a life-changing and potentially life-threatening event for women. Many men, on the other hand, risk social ostracism and even violent death if it is revealed that they enjoy being penetrated. There’s lots to talk about here. It is beyond doubt that mainstream attitudes toward penetrative sexual intercourse must change across the board – but reactionary statements about the so-called horror of the practice set the whole process back.
The reason why I bring up Dworkin right now has to do with people who insist on trolling this website while utilizing – and sometimes even plain hijacking – her writing. On this site, I now outright ban people who talk to me as if I’ve never experienced violence, sexual violence in particular. I don’t owe them any explanations, nor do I have to justify myself to them. However, I do wish to address this particular instance of trolling, because it so neatly exemplifies many of the disconnecting factors within Western feminism, to me:
[Persons starts out yelling at me about "embracing the fun-fem label"]
It makes me sad, at 18 years of age and on a full financial ride to a good school (better than the male-dominated campus of Duke), that Im ahead of people like you.
So apparently this young woman will never have to deal with the hell of student debt? Well, mazel tov on that latter bit, for sure, but here’s a tip for later: lecturing someone while simultaneously waving around your privilege and/or assumed privilege? Probably not going to get them to listen. It’s a familiar standard of behaviour, though. “Listen to me, because I’m better than you.” Honey, nobody who is confident in her ideas actually acts like this.
You say youre pregnant with a ‘patriarchal oppressor.’ Do you know what words like that mean? Are you going to take responsibility when your son is old enough to be violent toward women? Do you know what bringng [sic] more men into the world means?
The funny thing about bringing people into this world – you don’t know how they’re going to turn out. I’m sure that Jack the Ripper’s mother had no crystal ball handy. But you do the best you can, because that’s the only way to ever get anywhere, once you’ve made the choice to have a child.
Another funny thing about bringing people into this world – you have no idea what the world has in store for them. Will they be drafted into some stupid war? Claimed by some preventable disease? You don’t know any of these things. You just swallow your fears and keep on going.
Something tells me that the cub will kick some ass in this world – and his father and I will do our best to steer him to kick the right kind of ass. What we will not do is apologize for having a boy. I will never question my future kid’s self-worth in that particular manner, and won’t let anyone question his self-worth in that manner. Navigating male privilege as a parent is one thing – debating the ethics of having boys is straight out of dear Adolf’s eugenics handbooks. And “I am not asking for forgiveness. I do not want to confess.” Shaming mothers is a popular pastime, even in feminist communities, but screw that.
I doubt you got pregnant via arrtificial insemination; therefore, you have a lot to think about with regard to sex and fucking and women getting fucked. Your life very obviously evolves around the phallus, around the man, right now, and this is exactly how men want it (why else did you get married?). Andre Dworkin was very eloquent when writing on this subject, you should read her before running your mouth on radical feminism. [A bunch of links to creepy websites were creepy people discuss other people's personal lives creepily]
Didn’t get pregnant via artificial insemination? Why, this might mean that she’s not a virgin… Anyone who’s not a virgin in the traditional sense of the world naturally dedicates her life to “the phallus.” I’m not sure what that means in practice, but it sure sounds entertaining.
See, this is kind of a twisting of Dworkin already, because while the lady did have some weird opinions, she correctly recognized that belittling and punishing women for engaging in sexual intercourse was something that people who view women as lower life-forms truly excel at. Otherwise, the most common insult used against a woman wouldn’t be… yeah, exactly.
If you think radical feminists insult you, just think about the fact that the men insult you too, only much worse.
Oh, so it’s OK for a woman to belittle another woman for engaging in sexual intercourse, because, um… No, sorry, that got old years ago.
Maybe through insult some women can be urged into a greater awakening.
Oh, I get it! So when my dad tells me he wants to lose weight and wants me to support him, I should turn around and call him a “fat fucking slob.” For his sake. I’m so glad I’ve got 18-year-old feminist scholars who recently discovered the word “phallus” to teach me the finer points of consciousness raising, political organizing, improving one’s lot, etc. I could apply my newly acquired skills anywhere, and totally win, you guys.
Beucause [sic] there is nothing worse than a woman who claims the feminism mantle but does nothing toward a real revolution.
Here’s a list of things I consider to be really revolutionary: Listening to sex-workers and former sex-workers of all stripes, working towards making the lives of sex-workers and former sex-workers safer, challenging transphobia, organizing around issues like healthcare, childcare, the rights of women serving in the armed forces, (the list goes on and it’s damn long), continuing to bust myths around sexual violence (re: the idiotic response to the assault on Lara Logan, for example), resisting attempts to police women’s appearance, helping raise a generation that will not internalize most myths on sexual violence (yeah, this is where parental responsibility would come in, I’d say), make sure said generation actually has a planet that’s not totally destroyed to live on, etc.
Let me be honest – I’m a writer and a journalist, not an activist. What Joan Didion once referred to as the “irreducible ambiguities” of fiction is the main context I operate within. Yet as a writer and journalist and person who often has a public platform, I do what I can when it comes to political issues I consider important. I want to do more, and will keep on doing more. While you’re busy discussing “the revolution” in the commenting sections of various blogs, other people are out there doing shit. Sometimes, I even get to be one of them.
It’s easy to take Dworkin’s name in vain. Or show up on other people’s blogs to dissect their personal lives, because, as Clarice Starling might say, pointing that high-powered (or not even that high-powered) perception at yourself can be frightening. But all of that is only tangential to feminism. Feminism, to me, is mostly about being practical. It’s about stuff I can do and want to do and Dworkin, God bless her, had very little insight into actual desire.


