Tucked away in a corner by the Gulf of Mexico, I ran to the edge of the water to snap this picture and paused in the serenity of the moment.
That was 48 hours ago.
In my offline feminist world, there is no stealing and full integrity.
There are no “feminist” editors spreading manure.
…in my offline life, where I am standing up and not sitting down blogging, I am held accountable in my writing should I ever take from a sister’s work. And, yes, she IS your sister. (Seriously, where are your scruples?) So, why should it be different in our work on the internet?
In my offine feminist world, there are no “comments,” just conversations about how are in this together and how there isn’t all that much time before “we” become “they;” we become the disregarded and discredited old-timers whose words are lost to the new generation of folks who are learning what liberation means to them.
Where have we gone, Feminism? Are we so caught up in ourselves that we’ve forgotten to say Thank You or give even a head nod to someone who worked so fervently and consistently on immigration as a feminist issue when we try and spread the word about womyn at the border?
Have we become so self-righteous and defensive that we call someone “deranged”(nope, I don’t link to hating blogs) because we don’t understand another’s expressive language? Or that we stop and point at a painful e-incident and pass it off as a hee-hee/point-and-look moment?
Are we not better than this; where our sites and blogs and “feminist writing” have become battle grounds? Have we also forgotten that the moments, hours, and years we have spent typing in front of a computer screen are rooftops of privilege that only a fraction of the world can claim as a hobby? Or a job?
When did this collection of movements that we call a “Women’s Movement” become a scheme for publishing, an avenue of money making, or a shortcut to fame in the name of liberation? We need leaders. We don’t need icons. We need truth tellers and thinkers. We don’t need “professional feminists.”
As I am finding the true face of “feminism” for womyn of color and contemplating what it means to me, I am beginning to wonder if I will accomplish more in my offline activism if I abandon this term, this political identity, where I have found the most resistance to my liberation work.
48 hours ago, there was serenity in my lens. When I add feminism, there seems to be cracks all over it.