Wanderlust

Today we meandered down early morning sleepy Seattle streets to meet with Inga Muscio, who I was introduced to when I read her book Cunt: a declaration of independence in my Female Sexuality class my sophomore year of college. Through that book, Inga put into words so many of the things I’d thought about but never had the words for – the way that sexual violence influences the way we think about our bodies, the acrimony between women and its roots, the use of strategy to get what you want out of life, and where we get our ideas about sex.  Its one of those books that I can read over and over again, and I’ve given away at least five copies in the six years since I first read it.  

Inga, Elizabeth and I sat on the front steps of her house and talked as gospel music from the church next door provided counterpoint to the cadence of our conversation.  I’ve been thinking a lot lately about the systems of power in our country and how they impact women’s ability to have autonomy over their lives.  It seemed to me, before I ended this trip, that there was value in working within the existing power structure – although clearly corrupt and morally bankrupt in many ways, it was what there was, and really, what were the alternatives?  But I’ve realized in my travels that there are alternatives – that outside the mainstream culture there are a thousand and one vibrant thriving communities who are creating alternate ways of relating to each other, of being community, of distributing power and granting autonomy. There’s the Free School in Albany, and Sistas on the Rise in the Bronx, and the Native American Women’s Health Resource Center in South Dakota, and A Woman’s Touch in Madison.  These individuals and organizations don’t have, nor do they want to have, much to do with the mainstream reproductive health movement, although all of them are working in some way to give women the tools to have autonomy over their bodies and their lives.

So what, then, for me?  I asked Inga this, because it seemed like she has thought long and hard about the structures of power and how individuals fit in. Did she think there was value in working within existing structures, the medical system, the educational system, or was it more effective to work outside the existing structures even if meant reaching fewer people?

Inga looked at me and said "Which one involves compromise?" Women are taught to compromise, from the very beginning.  There’s a workshop exercise in which a group of women are told to stand in a square and then walk around within it. Over a period of time, the square is made smaller and smaller until it’s impossible to walk around within it without bumping into people.  At the end of the exercise, the women are asked to think about how many times they heard and said "Sorry" for bumping into each other when they were put into a situation where they literally had no other choice.

I’m torn, because on the one hand, I was inspired by Inga’s fierce and uncompromising view of the world. She is clearly a woman who thinks deeply and passionately about the world, who is outraged at the injustices that are perpetrated by those with power on those without it. And I don’t want to compromise, and I am not overreacting.  Listening to the stories of women from around the country, it’s become abundantly clear to me that the systems of power that are currently in place in America are set up to fundamentally disempower huge swaths of the population, and all of the affirmative action and feel good legislation in the world isn’t anything more than window dressing.

But on the other hand, what about the woman in St. Angers, Iowa, who said to me wistfully after I told her about my trip, "you don’t have kids, do you." It was a statement, not a question, from a woman who clearly thought life in St. Angers left a little to be desired. She is so far from any kind of alternative perspective on popular culture that I doubt she has any idea how much compromising she’s done, and will continue to do.  That woman is certainly never going to pick up a book called Cunt and probably never going to connect her reaction to my life on the road with the social forces that keep her rooted at home, with the kids.  To her, it’s just how life is.  I don’t think there’s anything wrong with staying home with the kids, but I do think that its incredibly important that women are able to decide for themselves and with full knowledge of what they do when and whether they have children.

Inga’s written a new book, called Autobiography of a Blue-Eyed Devil: My Life and Times in a Racist, Imperialist Society.

We talked some about what it means to grow up "white and privileged" in this country, where the people in power are still mostly white, and the people on the bottom are still mostly people of color, and I think about what its like to always, always, always be conscious of the color of your skin. At the Sistersong conference in Chicago I was always conscious of the fact that I was a white person at an event designed by and for women of color. That aroused a lot of different feelings in me – I was uncomfortable, I was nervous, I was unsure of my place. I winced when white women said things I disagreed with, worrying that other women there would judge me based on the things she’d said. I didn’t talk much, because I wasn’t sure if my participation was welcomed or invited. And I knew, while I was there, that the feelings I was experiencing, most of the women at the conference experienced all the time in their lives.

I feel like I grew up in a society that claimed to be colorblind while reinforcing at every turn institutionalized racism that has existed pretty much since white people got to America.  The public schools, the prison industrial complex, and the media all work in different ways to reinforce power dynamics that benefit the people who hold the power.  Inga pointed out, though, that its not like white people get off easy either. There are just as many expectations that don’t necessarily fit our realities, and while we might have easier access to education and wealth, the definition of success that we are taught to expect is just as narrow as the definition of failure is for poor people of color, and just as debilitating. 

So again, I asked Inga, what, then, for me? How can I, as a white person, work to fix the injustices, end racism, etc? What can my action plan be?  And she looked at me, and said "you can just be with it, for a while." There doesn’t necessarily need to be solution to everything, an instruction book for how to put together what’s been broken. Sometimes, it’s enough just to know, and to be thinking about it.

These questions of race and the politics of power in our country are some of the most difficult, hard to answer questions that have come up for me in my trip, and these thoughts are a small attempt to put down on the computer screen my perspective at the moment.  I’m looking forward to reading Inga’s book, and I’d love to hear what you think about it.