Feminism

"I drink poison Then I vomit diamonds

I gave you Mandela, Black Dalai Lamas

I gave you music

You enthused in my kindness

So how dare you reduce me to Donny Imus

Timeless in case we never been acquainted

Flyness who made it It gets duplicated"

- K'Naan in "Tribal War" Nas/ Damian Marley ft. K'Naan

Let's return to education.

I've always resented the label feminist when it comes to me, nor do I speak as much about gender inequality as I do about race and ethnicity in this blog. I've never been one of those women who hangs out in a group of other women and shares her feelings about sisterhood or "female issues". I yell at basketball/ football players on T.V., and when I express myself, it's usually with male friends or partners because they tend know what to say without saying too much or anything. They play music or put in a movie as a form of care.

Most people think of feminists as angry bitches who blame men for gender inequality (a misinformed definition). But believing that men also have a difficult time because society gives them much less love and fewer tools to express themselves emotionally, in addition to making them still feel the pressure to be a provider (esp. men of color), creates pain for boys and men despite the culture of patriarchy and male privilege. Boys are struggling in school and no one extends a hand of love and compassion to them merely because they are boys and boys are supposed to be stoic.

So I resent the "feminist" label, even while I am whole-heartedly, a feminist.

But there is always a but, as is the case when I feel a sharp sense of disappointment when sweet, caring men transform into sexist, homophobic, insensitive, crude people when they are around one another. When a "beautiful women" becomes a "chick" and a "ho." Where the language and ideas of mysogynistic music videos which people party to (and should only be used to listen to and party to) becomes ideas men take up in real life. A part of it is a performance in order to fit in with other men, and I can appreciate and understand that facet fully, but I tend to see that more and more of it, is a part of them that they want to be blinded to and hold on to which perpetuates women as objects they can subjugate...and the real definition of feminism is about equality and not about women being prude.

I tend to blow the male machismo off as bad performances but subconsciously, it's probably (it is!) the reason behind why I've grown apart from certain people (men!).

Because many men, even at Colby, even in Education classes, have the tendency to not understand the severity of misogyny and sexual assault and how this has everything to do with a system of patriarchy and law which protects men and silences women. I empathize with most things. Men are not allowed to feel the way women are allowed to feel. Men are not given as much emotional support. Women give them contradictory messages because nice guys never end with a great girl. Men of color are seeing women of color outperform them in education and career while seeing that gender expectations in communities of color remain the same. Men are limited in how they are allowed to present themselves... none of this information is new, and I'm always caught off guard that more people don't seem to care about how young boys are raised and the pressures society puts on them. But ignorance and excuses is much more difficult to be empathic to.

An overwhelming majority of women already do not report sexual assault, and for those who do, the extremely male oriented judicial system, does not support them. Rape happens more then women lie about being raped to spite men and put them away (come on!).

It starts with the performance when guys hang around other guys who engrain them with derogatory terms to use against their girlfriends, mothers, and sisters, followed by their sense of entitlement of how women should treat them, and who they can grab at a dance to who "should" give them sex... it's problematic.

Activism

"Fuck what they be talking about

They opinion doesn't count

We the only thing that matters" -Drake

The students on IHP were/are academically brilliant.

But I rarely felt intimidated or inadequate compared to them.

Most had a fire for humanity and empathy I share that dwarfed anything that had to do with academics. They put their hands inside my heart and I cried; I laughed, I argued, I was challenged, I changed, I spoke. One of my best friends on the trip is a White Economics major with an utterly sarcastic sense of humor; we could not be more different but he always made me smile when I was down, empathy.

I am blessed for Colby but I do not cry at Colby. I do not hold people at Colby. I do not argue at Colby. I am merely at Colby. I have conditioned myself to the apathy. If my fire is not allowed to burn and I am not allowed to illuminate, what else is there?

What is the purpose of academics and education and competition and financial success without humanity and empathy and care? This place has provided and exposed me with a million opportunities, such as IHP, for me to be me... but residing inside it, I always feel that it is a little backward, a little bit institutionalized, a lot contained.

And maybe it is superficial or romanticized but I miss the love people had for one another when looks don't matter, when clothing doesn't matter, and when the only things that matters is the bare being, the fire, and the challenge. I miss the women of color who are unafraid to be women of color, who are proud to be women of color. I miss the acknowledgment of class as a reality. And gender. And sexual orientation. And most of all the acknowledgment of pain and fear, so raw. I miss the strength people had to acknowledge that they are wrong. I miss sleeping on the laps of friends. I miss being allowed (and wanting) to see people for themselves. I miss being able to breathe and appreciate the privileges of life. I miss the fearless laughter.

I miss me a bit.

Maybe it is senioritis but every time I escape downtown, I do breathe more.

---

"If we die in each other's arms, still get laid in the afterlife" - Kanye West

So I go down to Waterville from time to time to see the students at the elementary schools. I make excuses to escape. I get lost. I do not know how to fill my own gas. I look a mess with my sweatshirt, mid-length mullet-like hair, and minimal make-up, but the guy at the gas station opens the door for me. I have trouble filling my own tank of gas, so the kid in the gas station helps me and smiles. I can kind of tell that he wants to laugh at me.

I love it. People are so off their high horse when they don't go to a college where the elite go to remain elite. This year, just as in years past, there's been talk of multi-culturalism, but more so, there's been talk of resistance to it. There are claims that Colby is diverse but I wonder how a white person would feel if they were part of the 20 percent rather than the 80 percent or how the rich would feel if they were poor, especially at Colby where everyone is beautiful and everyone is smart, where grades and looking good and being able to afford name brands seem to matter much more than other human beings. I think sometimes people here forget or were never taught that no one, under any circumstance, is ever better than anyone else.

I am agnostic but the idea of having money nearly puts the fear of God into me. I go to this college to perhaps have money in the future but not if it costs me my empathy or creates an ignorance about the marginalization and suffering of others. There needs to be a balance between people enjoying their lives without being self centered. I like the people at Walmart. I like the 2 dollar socks. I like my old ass car. I like to occasionally hear the Maine accent. I like the staff members at Colby who work in the dinning hall and dorms and clean up after students too lazy to clean up after themselves. I like their strength and beauty as people. I wonder what they think of us, who can't flush our own toilet, throw away our own beer, put our napkins in the trash, know our classmates' names, know their names.

I saw my mentor yesterday, she talks me through my troubles and gives me love. And I see my mentee who looks at me, with my braces and my weight gain and my tardiness and my occasional incompetence, the same way he always has, with joy. The 9 year-old is a real person who is stronger than me. I think I need him more than he needs me.