Sarina

Last week I went to a lunch with my dad where Ruth Bader Ginsburg spoke. Of course, everything she had to say seemed to carry a tangible weight of importance. What she has accomplished, and how she has done so, has made her a living example of the maxim she opened her remarks with; “the differences between men and women are something to celebrate, not denigrate”. She talked about how she had three strikes against her from the outset of her career – she was a women, she was a mother, and she was Jewish. Even though she graduated first in her class at Columbia Law School, no law firms would grant her an interview, and Felix Frankfurter refused to select her for a clerkship, saying that he was not ready to hire a woman. As a professor, she had to fight to receive a salary comparable to her male colleagues’, and struggled to be given a maternity leave. When she later started to handle gender equality cases, she encountered criticism from other women saying that she was not feminist “enough”. These roadblocks only motivated her to work harder.

When I watch the news every evening, I cringe about the situation in Iraq. I feel personal angst towards the pictures coming from the Darfur region of Sudan. I am anxious about the possibility of a second nuclear test in North Korea, and worry about it’s potential implications. The one thing that I do not care about is what the news anchor on the screen looks like. In particular, I hold no opinion on her legs, and how they are tanned and toned, and whether they are shown or not shown. Even when it comes to the illustrious Katie Couric, whose looks are the only thing I hear about with regards to her recent debut on CBS. Analysts do not ask how skilled she is at reporting, gathering information, and preparing stories. The better question: how much cleavage does she show?

I don’t know if it’s fair to say leave, because I wasn’t exactly here for very long. For what it’s worth, I’d really like to come back.

When I first saw a link to this site I immediately got excited, and wanted to jump on board right away. It struck me as a completely unique way to both exchange and get feedback on ideas, and being the fresh-faced and shiny-eyed feminist that I am, I wanted to take part. I had every intention of writing once a week with the same diligence I use to finish my math homework and study for the SATs. I never expected one of my closest friends to be raped, I never expected to feel so selfish about how upset I was, and I certainly never expected coming here to suddenly be painful. Add in the stress of some of my own health problems, and I quickly became furious about things that used to only feel like an abstract injustice. The idealist in me wanted to keep writing, but the rest of me was too pissed off at the world. I became very good at telling myself I would sign on “next weekend”, or “the week after that”, but all of a sudden I am sitting here two months later. I’ve always known that the easiest way to acutely deal with anger is to ignore it or stuff it into a box and throw away the key. After finally reading what some of what you have had to say these past few weeks, I’m starting to realize that anger can in fact be powerful. I’m sorry I’ve missed so much of that.

"And you'll have to come visit for Best Friend Weekend! They all have a Best Friend Weekend, did you know that?"

My best friends. I always laugh to myself when I think about the looks that we get – people cannot seem to believe that the friendship works as well as it does. We are an incredibly diverse group, but our individual puzzle pieces somehow fit together perfectly. Different ages, different backgrounds, different interests, but bound into the same tight family. We always joke that the quote "friends are the people who know everything about you, but like you anyway" must have been written about us.

I've been sitting here for ten minutes staring at a blank screen, not quite sure where to begin or how to introduce myself. Over the past few days I've been quietly reading your journal entries, so to some extent I feel like I already know many of you. The outsider looking in. I've been impressed, moved, saddened, enlightened, and confused by all the different things you've had to say, but the strongest sentiment I've brought away from my lurking is that I'm so very glad you (we) have a place to say it.

Last night I was telling a friend about AGA, and was countered with every possible reason why I could not (or should not) be a feminist. I like to wear short skirts and makeup, I enjoy watching chick flicks, I like boys, I come from a religious family – gawd forbid I don't fit any of the cliched stereotypes. The irony is that I hardly remember a time when I didn't consider myself a feminist. The word has been bounced around by my mother for as long as I can remember, and from a young age my identity as a feminist was simply something that I took for granted. The shift from being diffident in my feminism to taking an active stance has been a gradual one, and at times, a bit discouraging. What I really appreciate about a community like this is having a whole group of women and girls to hold my hand while I continue to figure out this complicated f-word for myself.