My feminism
My feminism...
... is radical; not content with taping up the edges; only with exploding the entire system and creating it anew.
... sits in sympathy with socialist ideas, aligns with the left, and wants capitalism brought down with the patriarchy.
... is infected with postmodern paralysis though, so wanting 'capitalism brought down with the patriarchy' becomes something to scoff at, for it’s not as simple as that.
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My feminism...
... cannot be reduced to some A – Z roll call of issues - E for Equal Pay, P for Porn, R for Rape, S for SmashingPatriarchy - I deal with on my days off.
My feminism...
... is much, much more; a rich and broad-ranging ideology and philosophy, inextricably bound up with the intangible and everyday aspects of life.
... is a state of mind; an identity; always there, overt or covert, feeding and bleeding into everything I do.
~
My feminism...
... knows the need for nuance and difference in political discussions and organisation, and,
... envisions a future in which all women are taken into account; where there is support for our different situations, and celebration of our varied selves.
My feminism...
... recognises we have a government opposed to all that; instead preferring to set everybody into some white public-school boy mould, and forgetting about anybody who doesn’t fit into it.
My feminism...
... wants to wage a counter-attack on this conservative ideology; not issue by issue; but by striking at its very principles, which are contrary to everything lefty, radical feminism has ever stood for.
~
My feminism...
... scorches and soars like loud rock guitar.
... is fuelled by the crests of electric guitar waves; sounds just like them; is indistinguishable from them.
~
My feminism...
... goes hand-in-hand with a DIY punk rock/non-conformist outlook, and so,
... says no to marriage, no to a mortgage, no to a perm 9 – 5.
... seeks autonomy, impermanence, and freedom instead; freedom from treading well-worn paths, those which have stifled many women’s screams, screams to escape the dead-ends they lead to.
~
My feminism....
... embeds itself in everyday, concrete reality.
... speaks from personal experience, and,
... likes other feminisms warm with the blood of personal voice, emotion, and passion.
My feminism...
... aims to express itself thoughtfully, creatively, wholeheartedly.
~
My feminism...
... is confused, complicated and contradictory;
... critical as well as contemplative;
... queerying and self-questioning.
... stands in solidarity, but also sits alone.
~
My feminism...
... experiences excited hopeful energy, but,
... also knows hopeless despondency, from recognising all that needs remedying.
~
My feminism...
... disappears on looking in the mirror.
... does not straighten out that curl of low self-esteem I feel when I see my own reflection, and,
... gets frustrated by what I do for a living; serving, assisting, and pleasing; playing office housewife.
~
My feminism...
... validates my loner wanderlusting; for women should be able to roam wherever they may like too, literally and psychically; alone; unbound by convention, routine, and sexist expectation.
My feminism...
... signals an opportunity for self-discovery and self-definition.
... demands space to be herself/ves.
~
My feminism...
... dreams big, and,
... harbours a revolutionary, idealistic zeal.
... takes the form of a lifelong journey, changes with its ebbs and flows, and,
... is all-encompassing.
By Michelle Wright
(Winter 2010)
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