Responding to the Post

This National Post article has caused quite a stir in Canadian media in the last week. It’s about Women’s Studies and why it doesn’t belong in academia. I’ve read a lot of the blogs, comments and letters to the editor about the article, and I wanted to add another voice.

First, I’ll concede that our system is not perfect. There are a list of issues that need to be addressed (i.e. custody laws, affirmative action), but I believe the list of problems we have now is better than the one we had 50 years ago.

Instead of slinging mud at the people and their opinions, I wanted to share the reason why I believe Women’s Studies is worthwhile.

Fundamentally, feminist research has brought forth a simple truth from which everyone can move forward. And that is the difference between sex and gender.  (While one’s sex is absolutely biological, many of the “masculine” and “feminine” traits we perform are learned and reinforced by our upbringing and social experience.)

This research is valuable because it undercuts what people believed to be inherent in both sexes. Instead of thinking men and women are born in complete character opposition, research and analysis has shown there is a continuum of masculinity and femininity. In fact, some characteristics overlap.

In a culture that enjoys finding differences between sexes, Women’s Studies aims to show that maybe we’re not as different as culture would have us believe.

Why is difference a bad thing?

Difference is not a bad thing. It’s a great thing. We can learn from each other’s differences. Unfortunately, when humans see differences, we tend to believe one is better than the other—and, historically, we act on that belief. And if that “better” or “worse” quality is associated with one’s biology, it gives license to systemically oppress, underrepresent and patronise entire groups of people.

From my experience, Women’s Studies is not a method of brainwashing or men bashing; rather, it takes the focus off our difference (which gets enough publicity) and onto our sameness (which rarely gets any publicity). It is a vehicle to bring men and women together under the umbrella of multidimensional humanity.

 

Private parts

My colleagues and I were talking about something today that I thought was worth blogging about, and that is home tours. Not the organised ones where you hop on a bus with the Red Hat Society and walk through strangers’ mansions. The everyday kind, where you have someone over for the first time, and feel compelled to show him or her around.

As a first-time guest in other people’s homes, I’ll admit I like the tour. I don’t even know why. The only other room that I really need to be aware of is the washroom, for which I am happy to take verbal directions. I don’t need to see it in advance, so long as I know it exists and it’s fully functioning.

Maybe home tours break the ice. Maybe they make new comers feel more at home. Maybe visitors want to assess the space-owner’s personality via home decor. Or maybe humans are just curious. Either way, “having a look around” seems to come up — whether offered by the host or requested by the guest.

I see nothing wrong with the concept itself, but today’s conversation led to the part of the tour when you have to show the guest your bedroom, and how it is often awkward. Unless it’s a close friend, the unavailing of the boudoir is a tad uncomfortable. There is a pause afterward, a noticeable silence. I find most people promptly direct the attention to the wall art or the window treatment. Some are more forward about the awkwardness and crack sly jokes.

I don’t remember this awkwardness before I started living with my husband, but now it’s evident. Even though the majority of time spent in one’s bedroom is sleeping, the bedroom is just a weird room to showcase. It’s private. Everything could be in order. The bed made. Clothes away. But it doesn’t matter, you know everyone is thinking about the naked mambo.

Me? I always open the door and sheepishly say “And this is where the magic happens,” hoping the person is familiar with MTV Cribs. And since everyone says it on that show, it leads me to believe that my colleagues and I aren’t the only ones who feel this way about the master bedroom (either that, or the celebs featured on MTV Cribs are just unoriginal).

You would think the bathroom — the room where the majority of time is spent with no pants on –  would be more private and most embarrassing, but it’s not. Which brings me to other questions about why the thought of sex is more mortifying than the thought of pooping, and what makes guests think the only place to do… oh never mind.

 

Love (the real kind).

I wish I could write something about Haiti, but I don’t know enough about the country, its government, its topography to add any meaningful colour.

What I know more about is North America. It’s in times like these, that it is instantly clear just how much more we have — that includes financial resources, skilled professionals, materials, equipment, etc. The speed at which our governments got involved, donations rolled in and volunteers boarded planes is breathtaking. I am encouraged by what I see as love shown to the Haitian people.

This week, I was listening to a minister talk about how real love is marked by the willingness to sacrifice — or at the very least inconvenience oneself — for the good of another.  When I hear stories of how people are responding to the earthquake, I see that kind of love happening and it feels right, like the stuff world peace is made of.

Suddenly, I am challenged. As I have budgeted this week in order to give, I am convicted about why I don’t do this more often. Why isn’t sacrifice a part of my lifestyle? After all, people around the world are suffering all the time. South African countries, for example, are devastated by AIDS and see astronomical death tolls month after month.

Purposefully giving up a movie night, or a dinner out or (insert pleasure purchase here) to give to someone who is legitimately suffering seems just as obvious as prioritizing a Haiti relief donation. I am indeed aware that I sound like a World Vision commercial, but it’s what I (we?) need to hear. It’s about love for humanity.

What  if, in our personal lives, we consciously and consistently lived below our means so that we were positioned to give more?

 

Write or wrong.

I have been putting off writing this post, because I think it will come off as elitist. I’m hoping that by recognising this from the beginning, you will meet me half way.

Part of my job as a professional writer is sending away writing to get approval from people (outside my field). Too often, said people feel the need to change what I have written. And seven times out of 10, the revisions are not only not better, but actually far worse. Grammar problems, poor diction, redundancies, general convolution, nominalizations. It’s just a mess. I spend an hours going through various changes to fix every mistake.

I have commiserated with fellow writers about this, and they have similar experiences. As one of my copywriting friends put it, “No one interrupts a surgeon to offer advice, so why does everyone think they can do a better job than we can?” Granted, we’re not in school for 10 years, so the comparison is weak. But the point is there: writing seems to be underestimated  as an actual profession.

Here is my theory as to why I think this happens:

1. (This is a general suspicion) If given the opportunity in a project, people will meddle with anything they can, no matter how small the detail, to put their fingerprint on it. I think it’s a compulsion to feel like one’s efforts were necessary.

2.  Because everyone *can* write, everyone thinks they qualify as a writer.In my limited experience, I have found this to be false. Writing is a profession for a reason. It is a craft.

The non-elitist part to this equation (other than me not being perfect) is that writing isn’t magic; if given the proper attention, everyone can learn (even if learning involves reading a lot, regularly). But the fact is, most people don’t learn the craft of composing a written piece. They choose vocations such as engineering, mining, law or whatever, and invest time learning about those things.  And even though writing might be a part of a job description, it’s not the same as taking up a career in it.

 

I am human.

Language has immense power, which is why it behooves us to choose our words carefully. Words have the power to oppress or liberate, to include or exclude.

ANYWAY, I’ve been hearing a lot of talk in various media lately about emasculation (i.e. open disapproval, criticism, berating)  and how it’s one of the worst things you can do to a man, besides castration itself. The message goes something like this: “Women, don’t emasculate your man or he will cheat on you or leave you or fill in the blank.”

It seems pop culture uses emasculation as a valid excuse for all sorts of negative behaviour in men (think back to Jon Gosselin). After all, men are entitled to feel like strong, virile, dominant people; they should not be exposed to criticism or humiliation, particularly from women.

Before I continue, I’m not a proponent of humiliating men. I’m just not down with the word ‘emasculate’ and what it implies. While www.dictionary.com is no Oxford English Dictionary, it offers something worth mentioning.

• Emasculate (adj): deprived of or lacking strength or vigor; effeminate.

Image from http://static.open.salon.com

To emasculate means to reduce a man to a level of weakness…to a woman’s level. The word implies that men are on top and they deserve to stay on top, by virtue of nothing except for being male. By criticizing a man, we take away his essence, his supremacy. You can see why I ain’t biting.

To be clear, what I’m arguing here is constant disapproval, condemnation and humiliation isn’t emasculating, it’s dehumanizing.

In short, The Smiths had it right:

How can you say/ I go about things the wrong way?/ I am human and I need to be loved/ Just like everybody else does.

 

Welcome to 2010

Image from alloveralbany.com

The only thing I can think of to say about 2010 is it would be a good year to be born, get married or start something big that you will want to commemorate annually. Other than that, I hope you like the Olympics.

On a personal note, it’s time for ye olde New Year’s resolution, which, as always, will involve the scrupulous calorie counting. I would post pictures of my gut on a weekly basis to show my progress, but I believe that just because you can do something, doesn’t mean you should. Besides, there would likely be only two photos — I’m as committed to weight loss as I am to detailing my car every time my dog gets in the back seat.

I wish you all a fabulous year!

 

Remembering a good friend

Whenever someone in my life dies (which, thank heavens, is not often), I go through a period where everything else seems utterly unimportant. It’s a part of how I grieve. I haven’t been writing for the past few weeks for that reason.

A friend and coworker of mine passed away very suddenly at our staff holiday party; he was 29 years old. Apparently, his heart was enlarged by 30 per cent at the time of his death–seemingly appropriate for someone who was so compassionate. After some time alone, it seems I’m finding my way out of that abyss and feel comfortable returning to my blog–and, like a blockbuster DVD release, just in time for Christmas.

In the past month, I have been very cognisant of and grateful for what I have in a material sense. But my friend’s passing has allowed me to extend that thought process into being thankful for who I have in my life, as well. This is a short post, but all I really want to express at the moment is my recognition and gratitude for love, health, peace and freedom.

Merry Christmas!